#I feel like kids need to be forced to read The Hunger Games

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter two, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rest of the night narration, rafe and reader slowly getting along.

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cassaline dabs her lips with a napkin the color of crushed rose petals, sitting with a straight back and the posture of someone who’s never known discomfort.

“i know it’s all overwhelming, darlings,” she coos, pouring herself a bit more wine. “but if the tribute parade was any sign, you’ve both taken to the capitol beautifully. i mean, truly, the presence . . . you’ve got people talking. my inbox is glowing.”

you glance at her from across the table, chewing slowly. “good,” you say, voice even.

rafe doesn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth ticks up. not a smile. not really. just something close.

enobaria sets her fork down with careful precision, then lifts her glass. “she’s not exaggerating,” she says, her voice lower. “we heard from two different sponsors tonight. both asking when your training sessions start. they want to come watch.”

that catches your attention. you raise a brow. “already?”

“mhm.” she sips once, then adds, “and one of them’s on the gamemaker board. just so you know.”

rafe glances at you briefly, then shifts in his chair, letting one arm rest lazily across the table. “so we’ve got fans,” he mutters.

“you’ve got interest,” brutus says gruffly, standing up from his seat. he leaves half a steak on his plate and barely touched the glass of whatever cassaline poured for him. his arms are crossed, “but you need allies.”

you sit straighter at that. rafe’s already watching him, brow twitching.

“you’ll meet with district one tomorrow during training,” brutus continues. “maybe four, too. we’re working on the timing. you’ll make the call if you want the alliance.”

cassaline gives a soft nod, her earrings sparkling with the motion. “nothing is final, of course. but we’ve spoken to both teams. they’re open. interested.”

“they always are,” enobaria says smoothly. “no one wants to start a bloodbath between the careers on day one.”

you know what brutus means, though. alliances are useful, if they’re balanced. but three districts joining together? that’s six tributes, a quarter of the arena’s bloodthirstiest kids, all in one pack. and if it goes that way this year, it’ll be hard to break.

rafe seems to be thinking the same thing. “big group,” he mutters. “harder to manage. harder to trust.”

“harder to kill,” brutus adds, one eyebrow raised. “unless you’re ready to start with a war.”

you breathe in once through your nose and look at enobaria, who meets your eyes like she’s sizing you up all over again. “what would you do?”

she shrugs one shoulder, “i’d meet them, feel them out. see which ones have tempers, which ones like to follow. then i’d keep the ones who do what they’re told, and gut the ones who don’t.”

cassaline gasps, almost delighted. “enobaria! manners!”

enobaria smirks. “i used my fork.”

you don’t laugh, but you do look down at your empty plate and think about how different tomorrow will be. training. watching. reading every step, every hand, every flinch from the other tributes. you and rafe may have caught attention tonight, but now comes the real work: deciding who to trust before you're forced to kill them.

brutus gets up and steps away without another word, already done with his part—the advice and the meal. you hear the heavy thud of the door closing behind him, leaving only the soft clink of cutlery and cassaline’s gentle humming as she sets down her goblet.

“sleep well tonight,” she tells you both, smiling brightly. “you’ve made a lovely impression. tomorrow’s about making it last.”

you push your chair back slowly, rising from the table. you catch rafe doing the same across from you, both of you moving like something’s already shifted.

you glance at enobaria. she just nods once. you nod back. and then, looking at cassaline, you speak, “wake me up if someone dies.”

you walk out before anyone can reply.

the bedroom was way too big for one person. that’s your first thought when you finally get to be alone in it. there’s no cassaline talking your ear off, no brutus brooding in a corner, no rafe’s unreadable expressions across the table. just this room and you.

you’re not sure if his looks the same. rafe’s, that is. it’s across the hall, same size probably, but you didn’t peek when you had the chance. didn’t want to look too interested. you’re curious, though. you always are.

the floor in your room is marble, smooth and cold beneath your bare feet, a color you can’t quite name. there’s a vanity near the far wall, lined with bottles and brushes and jars of products you don’t recognize, probably don’t need, but the capitol put them there anyway. just in case.

the bed sits like a throne in the middle of the room, covered in too many pillows, too many layers. it’s clean, quiet, still.

the bathroom is attached, tucked away behind a set of sliding frosted glass doors that seal silently. it’s just as ridiculous as the bedroom. the kind of space you’ve only ever seen on capitol tv.

the showers have more buttons than a control panel. there are shelves full of body creams, hair masks, oils, facial rollers, scented salts. toothbrushes that buzz when you hold them, rows of toothpaste in different flavors. moisturizers labeled by time of day, skin type, weather conditions. you barely touch any of it.

you just rinse off the sweat from the day, scrub your face, change into the soft nightwear folded neatly on your bed. it’s nothing like home, but it’ll do.

when you’re done, you dive straight into the mattress like you’ve been waiting for it all day. it swallows you instantly.

you lie there for a while, staring at the wall of a window across from you. the capitol glows beyond it with impossibly tall buildings. it’s dizzying, a little nauseating. you’ve seen it on a screen before, back home. but this is different. real. loud. blinding. it doesn’t look like it ever sleeps.

you won’t, either, not with that glow crawling across the floor of your room.

you push off the bed with a groan, walking over to see if there’s a curtain or anything you can tug shut. but there’s nothing. it’s just smooth wall, smooth glass. no handles. no switches. you pause, then glance behind you, remembering the remote you saw earlier on your nightstand.

you pick it up and look at the buttons. a few have symbols, like mountain peaks, a sun, maybe a wave, but most of them are blank. figures. you try one, and for a moment, nothing happens.

and then the wall shifts.

it’s not like a regular projection. it’s too immersive. no glare, no distortion. just a seamless image stretching across the full height and width of the glass, and suddenly, your room is filled with the soft orange and dusty gold light of a wide, open canyon.

the wind doesn’t blow through the walls, but you swear you can feel it. it looks like somewhere people lived before cities were even a thought.

you lower the remote and sit back on the bed again, cross-legged this time. the colors soak into the walls. into your skin. it’s not quite comforting, but it’s distracting enough. that’s all you need.

your hand finds the small bowl of iced cookies on the nightstand. they look sugary, almost fake, like they were made of pastel chalk. you take one anyway, bite into it. it crunches, then melts, like snow under sunlight.

you heard that apparently, capitol treats don’t go bad. they can sit out for weeks and still taste fresh.

great for you. great for the ghosts who’ll live in this room after you.

you lean back slightly on your palms, chewing quietly, watching the canyon stretch on forever. just breathing. just listening to the silence, for now.

but now it’s been hours since you first laid down.

you’ve changed the wall at least four times. from canyon to forest to snow-covered field to soft ocean waves, each one more soothing than the last, but none of them work. you can’t sleep.

you’re curled under the covers now, still wide awake, staring at the window wall. it should be peaceful. quiet. you picked it because it reminded you of something still. something far. but your eyes won’t close for long. every time they do, something pulls them open again.

it’s too hot. too cold. too bright. too dark. the blanket doesn’t sit right on your shoulders. the air shifts strangely in the room. even your skin feels off, and you’re too aware of the sound of your own breathing. and every time you try to fix it, you reach for the remote to adjust the lights, toggle the air temp, you wake yourself up all over again.

you’re frustrated. angry in the quietest, smallest way.

tomorrow is training. the start of it. you don’t even know what time they’ll wake you, just that someone will. cassaline had told you and rafe you wouldn’t need an alarm. “an avox will be there at some point,” she’d said lightly, “if not one of us.”

and wasn’t that funny? not funny-ha-ha, but funny like a punchline delivered too early. the capitol cuts their tongues out, calls it justice, and then expects them to silently rouse tributes from their beds.

you’d seen them earlier. avoxes. a few stood near the corners of the main living space, close enough to act quickly, far enough to not draw attention, watching, waiting for the mentors or stylists or prep team to be done so they could sweep through and clean what’s left.

it wasn’t creepy exactly, but you hadn’t approached them. hadn’t really looked them in the eye. you weren’t supposed to talk to them anyway. weren’t supposed to acknowledge too much of anything.

your head falls into your hands, fingers dragging through your hair. you sigh.

“you have training tomorrow, go to sleep.” it echoes in your mind, soft and strict and familiar. probably your mom’s voice. or your dad’s. either one.

you almost laugh, because for a second, you really do wish one of them were here. just to scold you. just to be loud enough to snap you out of this feeling. maybe then you’d sleep.

but they’re not. they’ll never be in this building.

and so, after a moment, you rip the blanket off your body and swing your legs off the bed, planting your feet on the freezing floor. your teeth almost clack together at the cold. you groan under your breath, stepping to the dresser and tugging open a drawer, pulling on the first pair of socks you find. then, quietly, carefully, you push open the bedroom door and slip into the hallway.

it’s dim out here. not pitch-black, but close. the kind of darkness that has no intention of being inviting. your arms wrap around yourself on instinct. it’s colder than your room. empty, too. no footsteps. no soft laughter. just silence and carpet.

you walk slowly, tiptoeing across the hall, and into the living area.

everyone’s gone. probably asleep.

you glance at the dining room as you pass it. it’s spotless, like the chaos from earlier never happened. no wine stains, no crumbs, no twisted napkins left behind. you remember cassaline spilling onto herself, brushing it off with a soft laugh, enobaria amused. it’s as if it never happened. the table gleams like it’s brand new.

you move on, walking deeper into the living room, where the massive couch takes up more space than any normal family could need. a fireplace sleeps beneath a blank screen, both waiting for someone to wake them.

maybe, if you were normal, if this were a regular night in a regular place, you’d sit here and watch something. let yourself fall asleep to the soft flicker of warmth and white noise.

but then you notice it.

the balcony doors are slightly open. just enough for a thin, pale glow to slip through the curtains.

your brows furrow. it’s late. too late for anyone to be out there. close the door, that’s why it’s so cold out here.

you step closer, slow and quiet, fingers brushing the curtain aside, and through the narrow crack in the door, you see him.

rafe.

you stand there, staring at him through the crack in the door, and it’s just—why the fuck is he out here?

he’s just standing there, leaning against the railing, elbows propped on the edge, hands laced together. he doesn’t move. doesn’t notice you. he just stares out over the capitol. the city looks different at this time at night. not quieter. just lonelier. maybe you were wrong before.

you hover behind the door for a second, the cold draft brushing your face. he’s out there, just like you’re in here, sleepless, restless, waiting for something that won’t come.

you eventually push the balcony door open and step outside, the wind enveloping you immediately. as soon as you go to close it behind you, the thing lets out the loudest, most god-awful creaking sound you’ve ever heard.

it seals with a heavy clunk and you freeze, wide-eyed like you just got caught sneaking out.

rafe’s already spun around, shoulders tense, like he’s ready to lunge at whoever decided to sneak up behind him. but when he sees it’s you, his posture shifts. he’s less defensive, more irritated. he looks at you like you’re ridiculous for that. like really?

“that’s why i didn’t close it,” he says, turning his back on you again. his forearms settle on the railing, crossed casually like this is his personal hideout. this is night one, buddy.

you shoot him a flat look as you walk over, glancing behind you once at the door like it betrayed you. “how was i supposed to know that?”

he doesn’t even look at you. just shrugs. “and how did i know the door would sound like that?”

you blink. “yeah, actually.”

rafe exhales through his nose, amused in that dry way only he knows how to pull off. “my dad’s a high-ranking peacekeeper back home,” he says finally. “brought me here one time when i was a kid. to the capitol.”

you look at him, a little confused. “here here?”

“yeah.” he shifts slightly, letting his forearms relax. “i met some of the tributes that year. he showed me around the tribute center like it was a museum. made a whole point to bring me to the floor for district two.” his jaw flexes. “like he knew i’d end up here someday. or hoped.”

you watch him for a second, your hands coming up to rest against the top of the railing beside him.

“that, and the couches in the living room fold out into beds,” he adds, offhand. “just in case someone can’t sleep in their actual room.”

your eyebrows twitch up just a little, impressed despite yourself.

“huh,” you murmur, gaze slipping away from him and onto the city below.

but you stand there, quiet, next to rafe.

you eventually steal a glance at him again. he hasn’t said anything in a bit. his face is cut from stone, but his eyes look distant. like he’s not even here. at least not on the balcony, not in the capitol. maybe not even in his own body. you wonder where his head goes when he goes quiet like that. probably somewhere ugly.

you shift a little, toe nudging the cool floor. “so . . . was that your dad’s thing? training you early?”

he doesn’t move. not even a twitch. for a second you think he won’t answer at all, but then his thumb brushes absently along the railing. “his thing was control.”

you nod, slowly. your eyes flick back to the city.

“and your parents?” he asks, softer now, almost cautious.

you let out a breath. it fogs slightly in front of you, the night colder than you realized. “they’re not like that. they’re just . . .” you think about it, really think. “they’re quiet. good people. never wanted this for me.”

rafe finally turns his head just enough to look at you. “but you volunteered.”

you nod once. “i did.”

he waits. doesn’t push, but waits.

you chew on your lip for a second, then say, “there was this kid in our district. younger. maybe thirteen? untrained, like it was obvious her parents took care of everything for her and never needed her to train at the academy like we did. but she would’ve been dead by the first hour.” you pause. “figured if anyone was gonna die, might as well be me. someone who at least knows what they’re walking into.”

the silence that follows is thicker than before. it settles into your skin, makes your shoulders feel heavier.

“you?” you ask, voice lower now. “you’ve probably been raised for this since birth, right?”

rafe lets out a short breath. maybe it’s a laugh. maybe it’s not, “pretty much.” your brows knit, your grip on the railing tightening slightly. “i used to think getting reaped would be the worst thing that could happen to me,” he says, voice steadier now. “but being trained for something your whole life . . . only to be scared of it anyway?” he turns his head a little toward you. “that’s worse.”

you watch him. not saying anything. not really sure what to say.

there’s a pause before you mumble, “well i haven’t slept either.”

he shifts, slightly. “figured.”

you glance at him. “yeah?”

“i heard you pacing earlier. you walk loud.”

a huff of a laugh leaves you before you can stop it. then you lean a little more into the railing, your hair falling into your face. “think they’ll wake us with some kind of trumpet in the morning? or like, cannons to get us ready for the real thing?”

“nah,” he says. “probably just an avox, like cassaline said. just starin’ at you until you open your eyes.”

you laugh again, quieter now. “creepy, but possible.”

you fall into silence after that. the wind pulls through the balcony and you shiver slightly, shifting your arms closer to your body. you notice rafe glance at you, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

your voice drops to a whisper. “i hate this place.”

he’s quiet again. and for a second, you wonder if you said too much. but then—“me too.”

you look at him, and he’s looking right back. his eyes aren’t cold like they were earlier in the day. they’re tired. like yours.

you both look away at the same time, gazes falling back to the skyline. it’s a strange thing, sharing this moment. a quiet sort of closeness, made from exhaustion and fear and the knowledge that in a few days, one or both of you might be dead.

“so . . . you cold?” he asks, not looking at you.

“a little.”

he shrugs off the light jacket he’s wearing and holds it out. doesn’t say anything. just waits for you to take it.

you hesitate for a second, then reach for it slowly. “thanks.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he says, but his voice is softer than before.

you smile. barely. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

you slip the jacket on, sleeves a little long on you, and return to your place beside him.

you don’t say anything else for a while. you just stand there together, watching the city, letting the quiet stretch between you again. but it’s different now. less heavy. less lonely.

maybe, just maybe, the night will pass a little easier now.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae

[sillysoliloquyshits]

I really really need to get this out of my chest now but before I even watched Ne Zha 2 I had a feeling that the reason why it's exploding is because so many people resonate with the messages of the movie and by God it obviously did. I did talk about healthy masculinity and all but what I feel the movie really resonates more strongly is this:

Resisting against evil will always win.

(More Ne Zha 2 spoilers and believe me when I say Lu Tong's many arrows remind me of missiles and drone attacks by God it was terrifying seeing and hearing them at first)

But while it's a movie of all ages mainly targeted to kids, Ne Zha 2 is extremely relevant in reflecting this current hunger-games world where the working class marmots are like innocents dragged into ICE camps because they don't fit the green card standard, spirits who still side the green card assholes because out of survival and hypocrisy with internalized racism, and the petrifying censorships and arrests we face that reduce our numbers in resistance. Maybe it's just me overthinking the parallels but come on, China won't know much about American struggles but maybe it's fate that Ne Zha 2 really came at the right time to remind us what's most important in this time. We are surrounded by too many Wuliangs in the world.

When I first watched the movie I really felt that moment to my bones when all the sea creature spirits and Ao Guang and Li Jing gathered their strength to push Ne Zha and Ao Bing up to break the cooking cauldron. The strong collectivism is very symbolic of China's collectivism and teamwork in times of hardship which makes them a more unified country, and suffice to say maybe this was what the creative team really felt when they put their soul in animating and voicing and playing the music for this movie, to break their cauldron of limits and burst into the box office realm for China.

But as a Pro-Palestinian myself, I see this not just as a loose reference as China vs America's and the western oppression, of we see the enemy as US and other f@scist/zi0nist oppressors. The trappings of the cauldron to anyone who resits or doesn't obey by the oppressors' rule really remind me of the Palestinian resistance and so many other resistance movements in the world, like the LGBTQIA+ resistance and Black people and Latin Americans and Indigenous peoples and Asian Americans (BIPOC in general) in US and around the world, and the Lebanese and the Ukrainians and Sudanese and South Sudanese and Yemeni and Haitian and DRC people and Ugyhers and so many more-

The director Jiao Zi once said that he believes there is a rebellious and righteous Ne Zha in all of us, and he's right. This world is dystopian already and it's very normal to be overwhelmed and melt in the pressure, but the movie still provides us the hope we all need for our freedoms. And it's not just refreshing, it's extremely invigorating to the soul. (That's why people keep coming back to cinemas to watch-)

If we keep at it despite the heat, the cauldron will break. The Wuliangs of the world will have their skulls and stupid ass green cards cracked under our kicks. I've also recently read somewhere that fascism relies on forced compliance, and whether you're out protesting or quietly doing something to help out of self preservation, as long as you're focused on our common enemy and don't back down, our efforts will come to fruition somehow. The Wuliangs obviously can't fall immediately, but we can keep kicking cracks.

Tldr: if you see the breaking cauldron as a symbol of china starting to win US and the west, might as well see it as a strong symbol of resistance against worsening oppression in the world.

No one is free until everyone is free.

[ngage2003]

Hey! So, I want to bring up a fascinating detail to me in Marble Hornets that I feel people often ignore, that being just how long the Operator has been around for.

This is something initially shed light on by Alex's creepy story he tells Jay while he puts off killing him for the fifteenth time in Entry 38, because he is super straight or whatever.

I want to point to how the ideas posited here ties together with supplementary material from Troy Wagner's project, ECKVA though, all to tell us a bit about the Operator as an entity.

⟦content warning: mention of eye trauma, mention of assault⟧

For those who need a refresher, here is a quick summary of what happens in Entry 38.

It starts with Alex is leading Jay deep into the woods, saying he is taking him to something specific, a "there." Jay takes the camera from him after awhile, and asks what "there" even is, at which point Alex begins to talk.

"How much do you know about this area."

When Jay replies nothing, Alex continues, barreling on.

"When I first moved here, I remember hearing a story that, back in the 1800s, they thought this place was blessed because everything would grow so fast. They would take their worst criminals, murderers and child molesters, and they would put them on trial before God out here. They would tie them up to the trees and the idea was that they would get stretched out, kind of like a rack. They never fed or gave them water though, so they would just die of dehydration."

Wow, ok, cool story, Alex. Jay thankfully asks what we are all thinking next.

"Why are you telling me this?" "They never cut down the bodies. They would just burn the whole tree with them still on it. They stopped doing it though after the kid went missing… and he finally turned up in the area where they would do the trials. He had been dismembered and strung up."

After this point, Alex stops his ghost story, but I want to focus on what actually is being said here, as I think it provides interesting insight into how long the Operator has been around.

Before we get into that though, I need to tell you all about something from ECKVA, Troy Wagner's project.

See, an important part of ECKVA, is this pixelated game called "LOUSE, a trip through rot," which was primarily played through a twitter account where people voted on options, but the start of it can be found here for your reading pleasure, and the rest on the @SHawkins1926 twitter account.

While I highly recommend ECKVA purely for its cinematic aspects though, I won't make you go watch it for this post, as I won't get too much into it here as a lot of it is confusing and kind of heavily symbolic, which leaves so up to interpretation. All that being said though, there is some dialogue that I want to make note of.

See, in this game you play as a "Pilgrim" at "the beginning of the Rot," where you are pulled between this living, segmented force named the Rot, and another force named the Blot which lives in your left eye. The former is overwhelmingly widespread, and accented with this false affection and almost divinity, as it speaks with a sort of degrading tone and often references themes of infection. The Blot is meanwhile harsh and sort of cold/stoic meanwhile, an antithesis to the Rot's affection and hunger which acts like a disappointed adult.

As the game progresses, our character meets several aspects of the Rot and watches many things become infected by it. They want to stop it, but many times the creature claims in response to this that it is endless.

Now, stick with me here, ECKVA is in the Marble Hornets universe confirmed, and LOUSE is very abstract and strange, but I believe that "the Rot" represents the Operator, for many reasons, including but not limited to: ⠀⠀⠀• The fact Brian routinely used the word "rot" in his anagrams for the Operator ⠀⠀⠀• The use of the term "infected" for people afflicted by the Rot, a term/idea also used to talk about people afflicted by the Operator's sickness in Marble Hornets ⠀⠀⠀• The segmented nature of the Rot being somewhat similar to the segmented nature of the Operator, which exists as at least two parts (the aforementioned, but also the Ark) due to the scale of its self and general paranatural nature.

The game routinely tells us though that the Rot has been here a long time, and sure the title of "pilgrim" doesn't line up with the idea of what Alex said as his ghost story coming from the 1800s, true, but his story isn't about when they started hanging people from the trees, just when they stopped.

I believe the Operator has been around for a lot longer than we as the audience might originally think, its infection somehow reaching through Rosswood for centuries now, causing paranoia in the locals like it does in our protagonists and gorging itself off sacrifices until a freak accident and subsequent panic caused people to move away from it, something that could have coincided just with the changing culture and the gradual increased ease of transportation and the spread of information.

This led to the Operator having to change tactics, and focus its efforts to get foods on specific victims, which probably isn't honestly too different as I wouldn't be surprised if in the past it led to some of those crimes, those murders and the like, as we have seen it wear away at and ruin people!

I think this lens makes the Operator a lot more ominous in a lot of ways, as while LOUSE characterizes it as a conscious thing, it still feels very animalistic, especially with its ties in the game to hunger and consumption.

I don't know, tell me your thoughts :-)

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

Do you mean Katniss Everdeen?

The original tag was @susandsnell’s but I assumed it was about Katniss Everdeen.

At least personally, I don’t think her getting guilt tripped into marrying Peeta and having children with him is a fulfilling ending for her whatsoever. I guess unpopular opinion, but her feelings for him always read to me as more platonic and that the romantic angle was more being forced on her. And she literally starts out the series explicitly stating that she never wants children!

I understand the thematic thing Collins was trying to do, where by suggesting that Katniss feels safe enough to have children, it illustrates that the games are like well and truly over and they live in a society that’s safe for children now. But I don’t care lmao I don’t think the protagonist’s wants and desires need to be crushed in order to make that theme happen. In the first book we also see how resentful Katniss feels about being forced into the role of a caregiver, and just, nothing about her suggests that, after All That Trauma, she’s somehow going to be more amenable?

If Collins really needed to make that point end it with her be a fucking school teacher idk. Or give one of her few still living friends a kid and note that she’s feeling optimistic about it. The entire nuclear family set up just felt truly gross and forced on her to me— and the emphasis on how traumatized she still is just read to me like she’s all around unhappy with her life. Like obviously trauma does not magically go away but it truly felt like the book was sacrificing all chances of personal happiness for Katniss to make that ending happen.

And even then, if the execution was good, if it was completely believable that that is what happiness looks like for her by the end of the story, I still dislike it narratively. Why must marriage and a baby be the only way the story telegraphs success and happiness for its female protagonist?

If the main point is about the future of the children of Panem, Katniss is herself a child, the epilogue’s timeskip notwithstanding. Why isn’t it enough to focus on her security and future without making her a mother?

The white picket fence ending feels like an especially bizarre choice to me next to the way the series also presents Snow trying to force an idyllic narrative on her for the Capitol audience. Like consider the framing of the showy wedding dress and fake wedding planning, Peeta claiming that she’s pregnant to try to garner more audience and therefore donor sympathy, or even the propaganda video they try to film in the third book where they try to make her look glamorous and it entirely falls flat, and they end up doing a candid video instead. The narrative keeps making a point of how Katniss is idealized and romanticized in this very traditionally feminine way and how alien that feels to her. And then… the series ends with her framed in the exact same way?

But then, that’s always been my main problem with the Hunger Games in the first place. It’s far too enamored with the pageantry it’s also trying to critique, and it ends up undercutting its own purpose. So yeah, I guess, it isn’t surprising that the toothless series has a toothless ending but shfhff doesn’t mean I have to like it!

[romionestinyballoflight]

"The snow may fall, but the sun also rises."

I finished reading Sunrise on the Reaping on Sunday, and even now I feel like it hasn't fully sunk in. I knew it would be rough going into it, but my expectations were far exceeded. I keep asking myself how in the world they're going to adapt this one into a film without giving it an R rating, because there's simply no way they can't. They try to soften it, it'll lose it's meaning and that ultimately defeats the purpose.

I'm sure fellow book nerds/Hunger Games fans have seen the videos floating around on TikTok, Instagram, Twitter, etc., of people crying over Sunrise. Somehow, I didn't cry while reading this. I came close a few times and had to set the book down for a few minutes, but I never actually cried. The only explanation I can think of for that is I really went into it expecting the absolute worst.

Sunrise focuses on Haymitch Abernathy and his Hunger Games. If you know Haymitch, you know he's an alcoholic protagonist who won his own Games twenty four years before the original trilogy begins. Not only that, but he wins in a way that could be seen as "sticking it" to the Capitol. And sure, you can attribute his alcoholism to the fact that had to fight to the death against forty-seven other kids when he was sixteen and he's forced to mentor two kids from his own district every year after. But there's actually more to it than that. Which is freaking awful, considering the aforementioned description I provided would be enough to drive someone to drink. Haymitch deals with so much grief and loss at such a large scale in such a short amount of time, it's horrific. I'm not sure who pissed off Suzanne Collins the day she developed Haymitch's character and backstory, but they owe her one hell of an apology.

I also feel the need to put this out there, for some reason or another -- Sunrise is an IMPORTANT book; just like all the others in the franchise. Anyone who tries to say the Hunger Games books/movies are too politicized are either kidding themselves or are not paying attention. Suzanne Collins has even said she only writes when she has something to say, and she includes four quotes about propaganda at the beginning of this book. Not to mention there are themes of government control, distrust of authority, class discrimination, resistance, etc. woven throughout all of the Hunger Games books. Despite the fact that these books are marketed as YA, they're meant to be political and spark political conversations.

I say all of that to say this: this is a brilliant installment to the Hunger Games franchise, though obviously very heavy and not for the faint of heart in some areas. I would encourage any Hunger Games fan to read this if you can -- if you already like Haymitch, you'll like him even more; if you don't already like Haymitch, you'll gain a ton of respect for him.

Sidenote: I mentioned when I first read Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes that you absolutely do not need to read that if you're not compelled to, but you absolutely need to read Ballad before you read Sunrise.

[libertyybellls]

finnick odair + black!district 11!reader?? thank you and happy holidays 💓

SEA AND THE ROCK BELOW !

pairing; finnick odair x f!black!district11!reader

summary; you and finnick mentor your tributes before their games. yet only finnick can understand your unease.

contains: ANGST/FLUFF, comfort. mentions of death (it’s the hunger games babe)

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

being back at the capitol is bittersweet, the smell of roses overwhelm you in each room your in but you know you’ll find exactly who you’re looking for here.

mentoring two unsuspecting kids- to send them into a battle they’ll likely lose- it haunts you. you could do it millions of times ams yet even then you will not be able to shake the feeling of grief, of failure.

finnick knows where to find you- he maps you out in his heart and finds you in an isolated end of the hotel hallway.

you’ve just sent your tributes off to bed- you’ve given them all you know. they ask how you won your games, how you came out okay.

and you lie through your teeth. i didn’t come out alright. in my mind- i lost my games. you think that anyone who died in your games had won, atleast they’d left with their dignity.

he finds you at the right moment- before you can lose yourself in your mind. finnick pulls you into the most forceful yet endearing hug you’d only ever felt from him.

his love, his trust, his understanding- it all seeps into you. there is only adoration seeping from his pores as he looks at you, as he breathes you in.

you can’t remember the last time you’d seen him, there’s very few times you can cross districts unless it’d been unpleasant visits to the capitol.

you look at him, you can’t find the words.

“i know.” he holds your face, so soft you almost melt. putty under his touch.

you think about your tributes, a thirteen year old boy and a sixteen year old girl. what do they know? they’re babies, someone’s baby, someone’s little boy and girl.

you want to scream, you want to yell, you want to throw things.

“it’s not fair finnick.” you repeat this over and over. you begin to grow hysterical.

your hands go to cover your eyes, your tears spill with each passing breath.

“i can’t do this. every year-“ it takes a piece of you, you want to say.

every year i lose two kids from my district to a cash-rich spectacle for the upper class. for their viewing pleasure.

each year you lose faith. faith that finnick rebuilds each year, faith that he works to restore.

he holds you now, keeps you steady in his arms. kissing your forehead.

“when this is over we’ll be long gone, far away from here.” he speaks into your hair “how many kids do you want? two? eight?”

you laugh, “four.”

“a nice little house by the sea. i can fish, you can lay in the sun, read to me like you always do. our kids will play in the water.”

you can only manage to let out a small mhm of understanding through your smiles- your cheeks still wet.

“but for now, we have to get through this. and i need my girl to be okay. none of this is your fault.”

-

a/n; happy holidays babe and ofc. i tried my best but there’s so few places that ppl from two separate districts could get to know each other ykwim 🙁 but i hope u like it.

[clarethorngarden]

An audio of a Demi Furry consent narrative, written and read by me. Thank you so much @hornybabyyyyyy for inspiring me to do my own writing again!

The text:

---

Morning sunlight plays across the small wooden table at the waterfront cafe, and along the seams of your light earthtoned blouse and black ass-hugging fuck-me jeans. You're proud of that combination with your boots you spent all week desiging. Smartly balancing overt signals of please look at me, within the confines of a safe, public space for a first time meeting someone in person. Despite your sexy outfit and newfound sense of determination, you're still quivering inside with butterflies a little.

Your friends have been dating for a few years now. Some have years of experience age-cheating at online dating apps. Some have had sex already, some with multiple people, and walk around like it's no big deal. More and more, shy kids like you are made to feel further and further behind.

But you're legal now, and you're figuring things out thanks in part to a porn blog that's helping you tell people about what your body needs and wants. And you met someone there, a much older male who sees you as a person, supports your interests, cares about your wellbeing, and is excited about your future. Unlike boys your age who want to send a dick pick instead of ideas for a cute first date at the cafe.

I appear first as a shape in the doorway and you know in a moment that it's me entering - tall, and wild. Bristling beard, explosive floral-patterned shirt making my broad chest look like a meadow for frolicking, the leather collar at my throat and pulled-back hair the only sign of moderation. Until you see my eyes. Two chips of aqua crystal, you suddenly freeze in panic, paralyzed, mind completely locked as I look at you. Intense focus, limitless hunger, the disciplined devourer staring casually through your mind and your soul and through your sex. You gasp slightly.

I immediately sense what I've done, darting my eyes off and away, embarrassed. 

"Oh, um. You. Are you Bun Bun by chance?" I ask, trying to find a safe place to rest my glance that isn't anywhere on your body, eventually perching on the menu behind the bar. Come on, she's less than half your age. You need to be careful or you'll overpower her and this all goes wrong. Please don't stare at her body or glare through her eyes like that right now. She is kind, and her body is soft and beautiful, just don't stare.

You say you are, and I tell you that yes I'm Clare, and it's nice to meet you for real. You smile.

I order my coffee, and you chime in "make it two!" in a way that I think is impossibly cute. You think it's adorable how hard I'm awkwardly trying to make eye contact, and how I sometimes seem to drift away while listening to your voice flowing over me. We play one of the cafe card games and tell stories. We take a stroll along the waterfront and watch the sun glint on the channel. You tell a sexy pun and then laugh as I swallow and touch my collar trying to find the right response.

When it's time to go, you look up at me and ask, "Can I walk you to your car?" I cough slightly and grip my collar again, did she just ask nicely? 

I nod. 

The heat of the day is growing with the heat in our hearts and in our bodies. A fizzy force of nature, a gravity pulling us in. As we walk you follow me more closely. I lean in towards you a little more. Our bodies need to touch each other, to feel at each others' soft, primal selves. Intimately. We're at the back corner of the parking lot, where almost no one can see us, where I've parked.

You suddenly bound out in front of me, and my gaze snaps to your bouncing bottom. You flip around and watch me stare directly at your belly, a line of it peeking out below the edge of your blouse. I take a step closer, and then another. You lean back slightly against the side of my car as I approach. I stand over you, you stare up at me. We can barely breathe, our bodies going numb and we both begin to tremble. The fire, burning us away in our own heat. I lean forward, you lean back slightly, pushing out your hips towards me.

"Can," I try to ask, our panting bodies need it! Now! Your heart slams in your chest. You've been quietly soaking wet since the moment I first looked at you. My member is rapidly spreading a drool stain across my own pants, straining me to hold me in. 

"Bun Bun. Could I. Just. Once. Bite you?"

You choke, short of breath. You whimper "Yes.

Please."

The second word hits me like a slap to the face and a punch to my stomach. Did she just say please? Saliva floods my mouth, I flinch to try and wipe it away with the back of my hand, but no, you asked for it. There is just moving now. Rushing myself up right against your body, reaching down and gently pulling the top of your blouse away almost to the shoulder. You gasp and look away and suddenly grind your bunny cunt into my thigh. I bend my knee up into you, wrap my arm around your waist and pull you in, reach down to your soft fragrant skin, open wide, and just once - 

Your vision explodes in a flurry of stars blasting and swirling your mind, flung weightless through the air. The energy crashes though your body and you push yourself into it, into me, into us. Smashing into an eternity of mindless, rutting, sex. The relationship energy of life itself. Your ears ring around you and you lose your feet. You begin to float.

You gasp as you suddenly come to, collapsed onto the parking lot pavement, bum scraped, back propped up against the car. I'm still holding onto you carefully, I tried to help you fall as gently as I could.

"Fuck!" I hiss, "Oh fuck, I am so sorry Bun Bun. I did not mean to make you cum without asking first! Fuck! I just wanted - I just -" what happened? Fuck! How could I lose control? All I had to do was to not overdo it.

You sense my panic and instinctively nuzzle your face and then your body into me. I drop down and sit next to you, embracing you. You scoot over into my lap and start to curl up into me. You pull my arms over yours to rest against your bosom like a blanket. Warmth radiates our bodies as we cuddle into each other, watching the sunshine glint on the waves. You make a tiny, satisfied sound. Then another. 

The peace of the moment gently floats along in the breeze.

Eventually we can tell it's afternoon, and we're slowly losing our shade in the secret corner of the parking lot. It's time for us to part, but as what? Friends? Moots? Partners? She just came, so we just fucked. Do you know how horny I'm going to be by tonight? How hungry I'll be for Bun Bun, edging tomorrow morning? Why is this already so complicated?

You turn to me as your body starts gently pulling itself up off of mine. "Thank you," you murmer from the center of your spirit.

I swallow and grab my collar.

[asclexe]

⭐️ government-forced blog intro post ⭐️

(new and improved!)

welcome to marvin’s marvelous mechanical museum!

🌟⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️🌟

^ me if you even care..

art above by the one and only @pingunaa

remember 2 to do ur daily clicks for palestine

free everyone!! help some people in need!!!

fun websites masterlist

suicide hotlines

this could save your life!

kys /j <3 (KEEP YOURSELF SAFE /srs.)

hai!! hello!! hey!! what’s up!! basic info/fun stuff below the cut (very long intro soo sorry)

*flash/blink warning for the blinkies

name: asclexe formally? cameron causally, but call me whatever! no, seriously! idc! nicknames (ex: cam, ronnie, cammy, etc) are welcome! feel free to call me your pookie or your son or child or something, be creative!

⭐️gender and pronouns: i am uhhh. nonbinary i think. they/them preferred, but it/its or he/him are also fine!! i prefer gender neutral terms, but i also am more masc leaning. like im a man. but also just a person.

⭐️not specifying my age but im a minor. B cool!! internet safety!!

⭐️sexuality: aromantic asexual aplatonic lesbian dumbfuck

⭐️nationality/country: american fuck my stupid baka life (EST timezone)

⭐️ i am also white :/

⭐️star sign: leo :3

⭐️personality type: intj (also houses mtbi if u care)

⭐️religious alignment: atheist cause im god /j 💪💪

bigots and pedos/zoos are lame and not welcome. i bite scammers. exclusively nsfw/kink blogs not welcome. im a kid. ed blogs please do not follow me because im uncomfortable with that. also don’t expect a follow back if youre over 24 cus thats weirdd

also if ur a diehard stan of anything pls think :3

dni if you’re from earth or human. aliens only blog. /j

and everyone else is welcome :3

⭐️fandoms im most active in:

house md

doctor who (only on season 2!!)

good omens

warrior cats (on arc 5 but i don’t plan on reading them)

dungeon meshi

movies in general

+ any other fandoms i consume in the future!!

⭐️fandoms i rarely post abt but still enjoy

tbosas/the hunger games

dead poets society

six feet under

a series of unfortunate events

fnaf

she-ra/the owl house/steven universe/gravity falls/etc

bluey

barbie/monster high

doogie howser md

scott pilgrim

the amazing digital circus

the middle

stardew valley

the spiderverse

abbott elementary

aggretsuko

i will post abt my sims occasionally :3 most posts are text posts bc im untalented

*i’m looking to get into evangelion, supernatural, hannibal, saw, and dexter 👍

i write fanfiction and poetry (i take requests feel free to hmu), i do local theater, i make pride icons (also requests hmu) i drabble in the occasional doodle, and i like baking and watching youtube and scrolling through tumblr and walking through the forest and my neighborhood and making bracelets and spending money and laying on the floor and singing and dancing and being silly and reading medical textbooks and cool novels and hanging with my irls and idk, yeah! life! carpe diem!

*also i’m trying to get into reality shifting! (im not a freak i swear)

⭐️my fav music artists (a little all over the place:3) jack stauber, will wood, lemon demon, tally hall/miracle musical, dazey and the scouts, mommy long legs, the oozes, bear ghost, mitski, chappell roan, weezer, the smashing pumpkins, my chemical romance, laufey, liana flores, faye webster, MARINA, pearl & the oysters, queen, no doubt, slipknot, korn, mindless self indulgence, hole, some olivia rodrigo, charli xcx, some vocaloids,

i love pretty much all kinds of jazz, rock, and showtunes (except ballads. i dislike ballads)

my music taste can be described as like. neurodivergent weird kid alt rock and hot girl summer pop.

(music recs are very much welcome <33)

*taylor swift enjoyers follow at your own risk (i hate on her occasionally. i really dislike her music and she’s also not that great of a person)

random facts about me :3

⭐️i’m left-handed (bully me for it ik im a freak)

⭐️unfortunately a theater kid :/

⭐️tall for this website

⭐️the most insufferable and annoying person ever

⭐️DOESNT BITE!! (i swear)

⭐️ i’m genetically pitch perfect but i’m awful with rhythm

⭐️favorite planet is ur mom (i ❤️ venus)

⭐️honors roll baby 🔥🔥

⭐️im most likely neurodiverse?? undiagnosed but speculated

⭐️perpetually alone only child 😔 please talk to me i love chatting with people, asks and replies preferred, dms okay <33

⭐️favorite color green. all of the shades.

⭐️i haven’t cried properly in like a year and i am not breaking my mewing streak

⭐️minorly touch/attention starved :3

⭐️single & ready to mingle!! (please don’t fucking talk to me like that im aroace and a minor )

⭐️REBLOGGING MACHINE 💪💪

⭐️i’ve never seen an episode of spongebob but saw the musical

⭐️#1 BEST XBOX SIMMER 🔥🔥

⭐️im nicer than i seem (i’m also a very negative person in general but i keep my thoughts to myself!)

⭐️i have a massive sweet tooth :3

⭐️(new) tags guide!⭐️

*note this is a new system i’m trying out, some older posts do not apply

#asclexeposting - all original content

#camyyaps - unhinged text posts/late night eepy time posts/yapping in the tags

#cam touches grass - the rare times i go outside and touch grass and do stuff

#ask the fellows - relating to my ask blog (go follow it go do it its @ask-the-ducklings go ask stuff)

#me ask :3 - reblog of something i asked another blog

#mootie :3 - if we’re mutuals and you send me an ask i tag it with this :3

*you also get your own individual tag for asks, for example @pingunaa is ping :3 and @rubeslovesthesmiths is rubes :3, etc

#cammy’s 4 later tag :3 - stuff for later!!

#cam plays the sims :3 - my simming tag

old man doctor yaoi prompt list :3

my house md oc :3

⭐️side blogs!⭐️

@ask-the-ducklings - ask/roleplay blog 4 the house md duckligns

1/2 of @meanwhile-on-the-road, the other half is pookie @sillyhyperfixator

@house-md-referrer - house md references

@theindierockcafe - writing blog

this will be mostly reblogs of my silly mutuals/my fyp, i try to make original content often! I ❤️ REBLOGGING ART YOU SHOULD DO IT TOO!!!! hope we can get along! ask me whatever! i don’t know! be nice and respectful cause i’m a minor!

SPAM MY ASK BOX :3 create lore, send me images, ask for comfort, WHATEVER!!!! im friendly and ill answer your ask eventually.

disclaimer; i live in the us and a snowflake so im occasionally political, nothing too extreme im just scared 👍 i also don’t spoiler tag!! sorry!

if you want me to share your fundraiser; give me some time to verify you!!!! i promise im not ignoring you!!

blinkies made in the blinkie cafe :3

[pjo-tvs-version]

i wanted to drop this review in your messages but it was so long with so many thoughts that I will just drop it here in your inbox

soooo i finished the screaming staircase. in short, i loved it so very much. all the books and tv shows I've watched/read in the past few months have been disappointing me so bad, and I'm so grateful to you for recommending me FINALLY something that clicks. I loved the world building and the world itself so much. I know it's extremely dangerous but i would love to be an agent 😆

as you said, chaotic descriptions: I knew immediately what you mean. the way lockwood and lucy keep on roasting george is so so hilarious and the way lucy described fairfax as looking like a demonic frog 😭😭 i was continuously laughing

the sass: as I was saying, these kids are so damn done with everything, I love them so much. The way they were chatting with their enemies so casually and sassing them (example: "would you like a cup of tea while you ransack our place?"). but at the same time it doesn't feel forced either because they're kids who are forced to do adult work and they're exhausted and need money and it's just perfect 😂

as for the characters I'll go one by one: first of all, poor george 😭 his comedic relief was perfectly balanced. his one liners and jokes were hilarious. I LOVE george and lucy's dynamic, how they bicker with each other a lot and they have such sibling vibes too it's hilarious.

lockwood ooh his personality writing was top level, I could go on forever and forever I loved how he was silly and funny but at the same time for the correct situations he was still serious and you didn't feel like it was badly balanced. I loved how much he supports her.

lucy was perfect. jonathan really knew how to write a girl character perfectly (which is very rare for a male author) 😂 yes she had her moments of "I don't know fashion" that much but it felt very natural. he didn't have to push it in our faces to show that "OH SHE IS A GIRL SHE IS A GIRL" or anything like that. he didn't have to break his back to show that she is strong and sensible. she is smart and everything, but she's also gentle and empathetic which is PERFECT.

(spoiler alert for anybody who hasn't read) id also like to argue that the feminism message comes perfectly through how she was the only one who understood annabel ward, and connected with her to bring justice. it's girls supporting girls and bringing justice to her.

Also her backstory is so sad too, like her father who even if he died he would haunt the pub and not her house 😭 it brings me to another part I loved about jonathans writing which is that he brings personality to his characters in different and unusual ways. example is the biscuit rule instead of flat out saying "you are hired" and the thinking cloth on the table. its beautiful.

i am suspecting that lockwood and lucy are going to be the romance in this series. I was super sure that jonny boy was going to shove it in our faces that lockwood and lucy like each other from the beginning. and if he did, I would have not liked it all to be honest 😂 but there was virtually no explicitly romantic moments in this (except that one joke about lucy slapping george and touching lockwoods forehead to wake both of them up). and that fulfilled I have faith in jonathan that he will handle the romance nicely

otherwise, the plot was amazing, the plot twist was so unexpected, and if I'm not wrong, is the skull you keep posting about the ghost in the jar that's revealed in the end?

I'm so excited to go to the library and get the whispering skull and find out 😁 and I'm excited to see lockwoods backstory eeeeee

Thanks once again for recommending me this series ♥️ also thank you for letting me bombard your inbox with this rant 😅

Last year, I found very few pieces of Literature and media interesting (Arcane, Star Wars and Hunger Games) but nothing other than that. However, I love Locknation so much. It's an amazing fandom full of great people, and there's so much content on here, and I love it. Lockwood and Co. is genuinely one of the few things I really enjoyed up till now, so I am glad that you enjoyed it too! And yes, I would love to be an agent. Also, I will try to cosplay Lucy when I can get my hands on a pair of stockings.

Lockwood and Lucy may roast George in this book but he DOES NOT hold back later on so..... Plus, his roasts later on require aloe vera. Also, Lucy is the queen of unhinged descriptions (she called George's face uniquely slappable).

These kids have every right to go around literally humiliating every person they find. That line, "Would you like a cup of tea while you ransack our place? One lump or two?" is just a chef's kiss. It keeps getting better and better in the later books. There's a line in the show by George "This is a library not a braying gallery for bellends" is one of my favorite.

George "I am a man of science" is such a lovely character. Lucy and him hating on each for literally no reason at all is just so funny. The resulted bickering is out of this world. They do get development and its just so satisfying (cue to the end of book 2 and book 4). Btw if you grow to close George (as @solo-walker did) you are in for a lot of trauma treat. George gets such amazing development later on (aka trauma) and its written so damn well....

I, too, can go on and on about Lockwood's character and how well Jonathan Stroud wrote it. He isn't your stereotypical emo boy but just someone with a haunted past who has to live his life by himself (of course, he has George and Lucy now, but still, he didn't have anybody at some point). His character development from book 3 onwards is so painfully well done (book 3 broke me). Also, I love his sense of fashion, because he'd rather die and trip on his long coat than abandon his pseudo-victorian-gothic-noir style, as Sol likes to call it.

Lucy is so well done in the book series. She's such a relatable character to me (we even have kind of the same haircut and are short, angry girls), and I absolutely adore her. Usually, I do not enjoy first-person POVs, but Lucy's kept me entertained. I really understand her "I don't know fashion" moments because girl, same here 😭. One thing I love about her character is that no matter how harsh she can be sometimes (and trust me you should see her in the later books) she is still a sweetheart. She is always so empathetic abut the spirits she interacts with and that plays a major role later on.

The girls-supporting-girls message was something I didn't really think about, so thank you Help for bringing it up because now that I think about it... Yes, it's beautifully conveyed as the story progresses.

If you think Lucy's backstory is sad.... just wait till you get Lockwood's *evil laughter. But yes, her being used by her mother for money is so sad, and Lucy's reaction to her father's death says it all. The biscuit rule being used to show that Lucy was hired was another piece of good writing and I would love to have a thinking cloth at home myself... very good for communicating with siblings. There is a moment in the second book where the Thinking Cloth plays an important role so I love how details come together. Here's a snippet of it from the show...

About Locklyle..... they canonically never kiss (tehehehehe). The closest they have come to physically is hugging and slapping. It's such an amazing slow burn, and I just really enjoyed how their relationship progressed with each book. It never felt as you said "shoved it in at our faces". Though I'll say this, in the show, it's more clearly shown that there is a hint of a little something but nothing more. Their relationship is written in a kind of satisfying way, so after a moment in book 5, you just kind of feel happy that they didn't kiss. However, there is fantastic fanfiction out there on AO3 on Locklyle, which you should definitely check out only after completing the series.

The plot thickens from book 3 onwards *evil laugh again. But yes, the world-building done in the first 2 books plays such an important role later on (tehehehehe). The plot twist got me too, and the Red Room and Screaming Staircase scenes were so well done but scary in the show. And yes, the Ghost in the Jar is our dear Skull, who is an icon and diva. You will meet him in the second book, so ig you have something to look forward to.

I'm excited to see your reactions as you reach deeper into this world. Also, you're starting Whispering Skull, so hooray🥳🥳🥳. I loved reading your review, and thank you for reading the book because the more, the merrier and I love seeing what other people think about the books. I also apologise for answering this ask so late because it became a little long, and then I fell sick with a little fever, so I hope you can forgive me for that. Do update me as you read Whispering Skull, and hope you like it! Thank you so much for the lovely ask @helpallthenamesaretaken

[colorfulraven]

My 25 Most Reread Books

thanks to @francesderwent for starting this, and @cakeyouareoh for typing up rules so i could just copy them

rules: everything on the list is fiction. the books listed are not necessarily my favorites, they’re the ones i’ve reread most often. some of them i haven’t read in decades, but i read them over and over as a kid. mine are not ranked, and are in random order. i chose one most-read book by each favorite author. i will add more clues if needed, and update the list as i go with the answers.

anne of green gables by l. m. montgomery - reading this feels like coming home. despite the pain, there is always hope and wonder if you look for it. (dr hq)

the murderbot diaries (yes the entire series) by martha wells - redacted (@drharleyquinn-medicinewoman and @cakeyouareoh)

pride and prejudice by jane austen - the most perfect couple isn't even the main one in this story. but the main one is perfect to me. (drharleyquinn-medicinewoman and @cakeyouareoh)

fruits basket by natsuki takaya -sentient calendar falls in love with a girl. the calendar is multiple people, and the book is a manga series. (cake)

jane eyre by charlotte brontë - proving goth was never just a phase. also he's terrible idk why i reread this book so much. (dr hq and cakeyouareoh)

uglies by scott westerfeld - maybe she's born with it. maybe it's mandatory. there was a movie made about it recently. (fran)

curses, inc. by vivian vande velde - fantasy short story compilation from my youth. it’s by an author i asked cate and cake about. (cake)

the locked tomb series by tamsyn muir- spooky scary skeletons (@sparrowposting)

the lunar chronicles by marissa meyer - what if the real fairy tales are the friends we made along the way ( @cakeyouareoh )

twilight by stephenie meyer - it makes no damn sense. compels me though. takes place in the pacific northwest, mostly. (cake)

if we were villains by m. l. rio - theatre kids scare the living shit outta me. (@sparrowposting)

elantris by brandon sanderson - i recognize it makes no sense, but i still think she should have chosen the priest instead of the god. (@justanawesomeowl)

she was an artist girl, he was a biker boy

"surely *i* can mess around with forces i don't know anything about, because i know everything" says the main character

humanity is always with us, but perhaps it's also learned. 3rd in a series that I highly recommend.

enders game by orson scott card - what if up is sideways? you need to rethink your assumptions. (@ontheedgeofgreatness and @snailthimbles)

redwell by brian jacques - local monk becomes hero and is kicked out of his order. he’s still an integral part of the community, though. (fran)

harry potter by hatsune miku - whoops, my millennial is showing. i very much dressed up for midnight book releases as a kid. also movies as a teen/young adult. (@scrunchie-face and cake)

the hobbit by jrrt - the heroes journey. and then unjourney. (fran)

the hunger games by suzanne collins - the film adaptation was very much life imitating art. (cake)

this is how you lose the time war by amal el-mohtar and max gladstone - star crossed lovers in spacetime (@sparrowposting)

what happens when you get your doctorate in architecture, but don't have to study humanities. alternatively: a clock hand cures asthma.

the mediator series by meg cabot - what if melinda gordon were a teenager? written by author whose other series was turned into a much beloved movie. (dr hq)

from the mixed-up files of mrs. basil e. frankweiler by e. l. konigsburg - siblings take the ultimate field trip. Also learn clerical work. ( @ontheedgeofgreatness )

contraband diary at a dig site. If you’re reading this, I already hate you.

[haysplumjam]

you can hear it in the silence

part 3

an: hey guys! here’s part 3 of the finnick/annie thing! steadily working on it, i promise!!! as always, feel free to message w comments/critiques/TITLE IDEAS

tw: normal hunger games stuff, torture, violence, gun violence, gore, suicide/suicidal thoughts and actions

______________________________________________________________

When I wake, I know I’m not dead, and I’m not happy with it. There are tubes and wires in my arms and my wrist and hand are wrapped with fresh gauze. I can tell by the searing pain that they’ve done something to it. Probably surgery. 

My brother is dead again. I should be dead, too, but Snow’s promised me that killing myself will ensure a fate worse than death for the kids. If I can get them to give me whatever they’re pumping me full of now, I can manage. The dreams feel less real when the tubes are pumping me full of whatever capitol medications they think I need. I can live like this. Pump myself full of drugs three hundred and sixty four days of the year, show up to the reaping and let more kids die, have Finnick mentor them, drug myself again and repeat until I’m old enough to die of ‘natural causes’. 

I’d take up deep-sea diving or some other terribly dangerous hobby at home if I could even look at the water without freezing up. That would make it more realistic for me to die sooner. 

The door opens to reveal Finnick. Again. I close my eyes and hope he’ll think I’m still knocked out and leave, but when I hear a chair dragging across the floor and plant itself beside the table, it takes everything in me not to tell him to get out. A sleeping person would not be yelling at someone beside her, though. 

“Home soon, Annie,” he sounds more like he’s saying it to himself than to me, but I don’t mind, I just keep plotting my tragically early yet believable death. I could always hang myself attempting to tie a new net or something. Somehow end up in a shipping crate full of pearls just before it’s sealed and suffocate on the train ride to One. I don’t mind if it’s slow and painful, I probably deserve that, anyway. 

“Then you’ve just gotta keep your head down for six months and make it through the tour. Read the speeches they write for you and don’t talk much. You’ll be okay after that.” 

I once again want to tell him to shut up and get out, but I know that won’t go over well. He already hates me, I don’t need to make it any worse. He smells like capitol cologne with a hint of champagne. Is he drunk? Is it an appropriate time to be drunk? It takes everything in me not to wrinkle my nose in disgust.

“I think you’ll like most of the victors. They’ll understand the tears. They’ve always understood mine.” 

Now I feel bad for wanting him to shut up.

“Twelve just has Haymitch. He’s good for a drink, but not much else. Won’t bug you too much,” he pauses, “the mayor’s kind, from what I remember. He has a daughter who’s young, so he doesn’t like the party to go too long.” 

I don’t particularly care about the other murderers whose club I’ve just joined, nor the mayors of far off districts. Especially not now, when I want to bury myself in the sand and never come out.

“Eleven, too. Seeder is friends with Mags and brought her kids who are about our age to my dinner. They were nice. Briar and Bracken, I think. She was the only one who came to my dinner, but they have Chaff, Magnolia, and Reed, too. Chaff drinks like Haymitch. Magnolia and Reed are old. I think Mags is friends with them. Mayor was nice there, too.” 

He’s almost all the way through his tangent about District Nine’s mayor when I finally manage to drift off to a drug-induced sleep. 

When I wake, I’m no longer tied to the table. I’m in a different bed in a different room, still full of tubes and wrapped in gauze. Finnick is still in a chair beside me, but he’s asleep. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him asleep before. He looks younger. A teenage boy rather than a force of nature. Maybe he really isn’t mad at me. 

I rub the restless sleep from my eyes and push myself into a sitting using my good hand. I’m nearly silent, but the stirring still somehow wakes Finnick. 

“Hey,” he sits up in his chair, looking at me as if I’ve caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

“Don’t,” I say as he stands. 

He plops back down in his chair, and I would laugh if I didn’t feel like someone had carved my heart out of my chest with a circle hook.

“How many days?” I ask him. 

“Three,” he answers, looking out of the window beside my bed at the brightly lit evening. “There was a repair they wanted to do to some part of your hand, and your vitals got weird,” he just shakes his head. “It’s all above me.” 

I nod, moving my fingers one by one.

“Still no good?” He asks.

I shake my head. I’m sure they could fix it if they really wanted to, but Snow probably told them I didn't deserve it. I’ll never be able to slit his throat with a scalpel if I can’t wrap my hand around one. Head down, fires subdued, give them what they want. 

“When do I get to go home?” 

“Whenever the doctors clear you. Glavius told the press some things that got you out of the parties and such.” 

“That I’m crazy,” I continue before he can. District four and their crazy victors. Davey and now Annie. I can almost hear the headline in Glavius’ accent. What is in the water over there? I can't help but giggle a little. Not helping the crazy rumors, I’m sure.

“That you had emergency surgery and you wouldn't want to disrupt the festivities.” 

‘Crazy’ I mouth to him as a doctor comes in to check my vitals. His uniform is the same as Atty’s, and I feel my heart snap in my chest again. 

I want to scream at the man, but I know it’s not his fault that he’s directly assisting unadulterated evil. I barely catch a glimpse of my wrist as he unwraps the gauze before turning away. It’s disgusting. 

“Can we make sure she gets pain meds before we leave?” Finnick asks. 

“We’ll send her back to Four with a ninety-day supply of everything she’s on right now. All she’ll have to do is call for more,” the man doesn’t even look up from my wrist, just rattles it off like he says it every day. 

“Whatever’s helping her sleep, too?” Finnick asks. 

“Of course,” the doctor answers. “We’re going to have someone come in to discuss preventative care, but the medications will all be sent to her house. She’ll be released today.” 

The man exits the room quickly, leaving us alone again. The way they spoke about me like I wasn’t there was comforting, in a way. Childlike. 

Finnick looks at me like he’s waiting for me to say something, but I don’t. I just stare out the window at the brightly colored lights that hide the stars. The train won’t take long. Four hours or so, if I remember correctly. I’ll use it to talk to Mags. Maybe learn the hand symbols she’s trying to use. 

It doesn’t take long for someone in the same uniform to come into the room and start telling me all about my lovely chopped up hand. I ignore most of what she says, catching only ‘clean regularly’ ‘avoid dirt’ and ‘take the pills’. I opt for staring at the gauze, instead. The tiny little holes are perfectly uniform, just like everything else here. Nothing at home is uniform. Even the best made nets have odd patterns or different colored cord. Head down, fires subdued, give them what they want. 

“Annie?” Finnick snaps me out of it. “Got it?” 

“Mmhmm,” I nod my head, finally meeting her unnaturally colored purple eyes. 

“Great,” she nods, giving me a disingenuous smile before handing Finnick a massive stack of papers. “You’re all set to go. A guard will escort you to your car.”

As soon as she leaves, Finnick rises from the chair and offers me a hand. I ignore it and stand on my own, sock-clad feet thudding to the floor. 

I almost care enough to ask about a change of clothes, but it’s kind of funny this way. A victor in socks and a hospital gown being smuggled out of the back door of a hospital into a windowless van. 

The gem of Panem. 

When we arrive to the train station, there’s no cameras– not even a prep team. Just Mags waiting for Finnick and I with open arms that I crumble into. 

“Atty,” I say through tears that I don’t even notice until I taste them. 

“Know,” she barely manages. She’s teary-eyed too. She puts her palms together and wiggles them in the air a few times, moving them away from her body and pressing her pointer finger to Finnick’s chest. 

“Finn. That’s the sign she came up with,” Finnick says softly. “It hurts her to talk. And stand for too long, let’s go in, okay?” Finnick allows Mags to walk ahead of him, keeping a hand on my back as he guides us toward the sitting room car. 

“I think I’m going to go lie down,” I tell them as they settle in on the couches, wiping tears from my eyes. So much for talking to Mags. 

Mags shakes her head ‘no’, guiding me onto a couch where I curl into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest. 

There’s steaming cups waiting on the table between the couches, I recognize the scent immediately. Tea. And not the capitol stuff. Tea from home.

Mags wraps a blanket around my shoulders before sitting across from us and separating her two fingers before bringing them together. Finnick nods. 

“She wants us both over here?” 

“Yeah,” Finnick says, sitting beside me. “She still doesn’t have signs for some things, but we’re working on it.” 

Mags points to me before making a fist with her thumb up and wiggling it the same way she did Finnick’s name. 

“Annie,” Finnick says to me, making the same fist with his thumb up. “This is ‘A’, and this is fish,” he wiggles his flat hand in the same way.

Mags taps an ancient book beside Finnick’s remaining mug.

“Before the dark days, someone wrote this. It’s a whole language with your hands.This is what she’s been using. There’s letters, too, so you can just spell words if you don’t know the sign for them.” 

“Can I see?” I ask him. 

“I don’t know them all,” his cheeks flush bright red. 

“A,” Mags croaks, making the same fist with her hand up. “B,” her hand changes, a flat palm with his thumb tucked in. 

“You don’t have to say it,” I shake my head, making the shapes with my own hand. Finnick follows suit as Mags changes her hand again. 

By the time we make it through the entire alphabet I’m out of tears, but I’m also out of energy. 

Mags insists on going through the entire alphabet again as the train starts rolling. I can tell by the worried look deep in her eyes that she’s trying to keep my mind busy. Off of Atty and the capitol and all of the awful things they’re going to do to me, but it only makes the tears come faster. 

“I’m gonna take her to bed for a bit, Mags,” Finnick says without asking me. “Let her get some rest before we get home.”  

Mags just nods, a sad smile on her face as I wipe my tears with the wine-red blanket. I look down at my gauze-wrapped hand, and it’s shaking. The other one is too. I want to tell Finnick to give me a second or that I’m fine but I can’t. I can’t quit shaking or sobbing or thinking about Atty or Cove or Jewel. 

“Annie,” Finnick says softly, “do you want to be here or in bed?” 

I can barely manage to hold back a sob, much less tell him that I’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean than anywhere near this capitol train. 

“I’m sorry,” I manage, hands shaky as I attempt to push myself off of the couch. I barely know my name, much less realize what I’ve done when I push myself up with my bad hand. The next sob comes out as a half-cry half-scream as I collapse to the floor.

“I’ve got you,” Finnick scoops me up from the floor and carries me like a baby to my car as I clutch my hand to my chest. I can’t do this. I can’t. The peacekeepers and avoxes on the train look at me with a mix of pity and disgust. I don’t blame them. “Here we go,” Finnick places me softly on my bed. I hate this bed. “I’m going to check your hand, okay?” 

He doesn’t wait for me to say yes to unwrap my gauze. I stare at the ceiling, vision tear-blurred as I’m tended to by Finnick Odair. There are girls at school who stare out the window all day with just the hope of catching a glimpse of him, and here he is, dousing my bloody dagger-carved wrist with some painful capitol chemical while I sob on my bed like a baby. 

How lucky am I? 

Finnick rewraps my hand in the same pattern the doctors have before and covers me with a thick blanket. “What can I do, Annie?” 

“Nothing,” I barely manage, “I’m so sorry,” I pull the blanket close to my chest, yearning for my mother’s big blue quilt. I’m sure Navy has protected it like I asked her to. I just want to curl up in it and die. Slowly or quickly, painfully or peacefully, I don’t care. 

Finnick has a look in his eye I don’t like I’ve seen before. Panic. He’s worried. Probably worried I’m going to kill myself and tarnish his reputation as a mentor. As a victor, even. 

“I’m going to draw you a bath,” he says, nodding his head as if he’s sure that will fix everything. “There will be people waiting at the train station. Caspian, Navy, and Mariana. The other kids. We’ve gotta get you ready for them, okay?” 

He waits for an answer I can’t give before turning into my bathroom. The last time I was in this car Cove and I slept on the floor. Him by the door, me by the window, just like at home. We were too afraid to be alone. Especially here.

We were right. 

I stare out of the window across from my bed, watching what must be District One go by. Jewel. If my train has arrived to her home, hers must’ve been here long ago. Her body’s probably safe underground. I wonder if they drained her lungs of the water I forced into them before they buried her, or if she’ll suffer like that for eternity. Forever seventeen and choking. 

I’m sobbing harder when Finnick returns from the bathroom. He doesn’t know what to do, and neither do I. If I did I would tell him. If I knew what would make me shut up I would just do it myself. 

“Come on,” he gestures for the bathroom. 

I rise as I'm told, but the second I face the tub I’m paralyzed. I swear I can see her below the water. Her screaming face and her lips turning blue as I kill her in the worst way anyone could dream of. I stumble backwards, trading my sobbing for gasping as I attempt to take a full breath. Has she somehow gotten to me even now? Is this her revenge? Is the afterlife from the sailor songs real and has she come back to kill me as they always promise? Do unto others as you want done unto you, like Mama always said. Has she come for me after all? 

“Annie,” Finnick catches me before I can trip over the threshold. “Annie. This is not the arena. What did the water feel like in the arena? What did it look like?” 

He holds me steady as I stare into the bathtub. “Cold,” I manage. 

“See the steam? It’s not cold, Annie. Was it salt water? Did it have anything in it?” 

“Fresh water,” I stare into the tub. “Pieces of the dam and the arena. Trees.” 

“Look in the water, Annie. It’s just a bath. The same water as the showers you’ve already taken in the capitol.” 

He’s right and I know he’s right, but with District One flying by us I can’t calm my breathing. Finnick rubs the gooseflesh from my arms gently, facing me now. 

“This is hard. It’s going to be hard, and you don’t deserve this, but you��re going to survive it. Okay?” There’s such a kindness in his sea green eyes. They remind me of Dad’s. Kind but so so sad. I’ve found them comforting since I boarded this train for the first time. I trusted him then. I have to trust him now. 

“I’m so sorry,” I shake my head. “I don’t mean to make this hard for you.” 

“None of this is your fault, Annie,” he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a hug. “None of it.” 

Finnick leaves the bathroom and I float in the boiling hot water until it’s cool, careful to keep my gauze above the liquid. I shower off to wash my hair of the products Vesper’s been combing through it and rid my body of whatever oils Finnick’s put in the tub before wrapping myself in the plush robe before sitting carefully on the wobbly stool in front of the mirror. 

I look like hell. 

“Annie, we’ve got about an hour until we’re home, okay?” I hear Finnick’s muffled voice through the door. 

“Yeah,” I answer. 

I can’t help but stare at myself a little bit more. The circles under my dull eyes, my colorless face, my freckles near-gone for the first time in my life. When I leave the bathroom, Finnick has left my room and someone– probably Mags– has laid out. A plain white linen skirt and a white tank top. July in Four is unbearably hot, and I know my stylist wouldn’t have thought it through in this way.

I allow the capitol contraption in the bathroom to dry my hair, wincing as I’m blasted by hot air. My hair is always too straight when I dry it this way, but my extra time in the bath cost me any chance I may have had of letting it dry on its own. I slide my feet into the brown sandals beside my bed and give myself a quick look in the mirror before beginning my search for Finnick and Mags. 

I can tell by the blue blur outside of the window that we’re nearing home. The sky is bluer here. Mama always said it was because the sun loved us most, which feels like the truest thing in the world when you’re six. 

When I find Mags and Finnick they’re in the dining car at a table full of breads and breakfast foods I’ve only ever seen in the capitol. Mags pats the chair beside her, and I sit, gratefully accepting the mug of tea she hands me. 

“When we get there, it’s just a few pictures at the train station and a welcome at the justice building. Then we can get you settled in at Victor’s Village,” Finnick begins. “That’s it for today, though.” 

I feel tears brimming in my eyes. No more going home to a mat and dozens of little laughs. No more school or work. Just a cold empty house by the water. 

“Quick,” Mags choked out. 

“It’ll be quick, promise,” Finnick parrots. 

“Do I get to get my stuff?” I ask as confidently as I can muster. Still, there’s not much to my voice. My throat is raw from sobbing, my lips cracked and dry from refusing to eat or drink anything. My prep team would be furious if they saw the mess I’ve made of their hard work in such a short time. The red-eyed puffy-faced girl staring back at me in the sliver of silver platter not covered in decadent pastries is not the one they put on the train. 

“We can have it brought to your house.” Finnick pauses, “or you can go get it if you want.” 

“I promised Cove I would give his stuff to the kids,” I try my best to keep my voice from breaking, but I fail. 

“You don’t have to do that today,” Finnick shakes his head. 

“I want to,” I nod to myself, staring into my lap. 

Mags and Finnick attempt to get me to eat or drink or talk, but I just look down at my hands. It’s not until the bright blue of home enters my periphery that I actually look up, facing water that I know is different than the arena, but I may as well be there. 

Mama always told me that water never really comes from anywhere or goes away, it just exists in different ways. Was that water in the arena somehow the same water that killed them? Is this water the same water I almost died in? The water I sweat out as I ran from the people that killed Cove? The people I killed? The water they pumped into my veins despite my desperate fight to die after that giant claw pulled me out of the arena? 

All the same to me.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Just read all your shit with Haymitch in it and

A) I’m obsessed with it omfg no one writes for Haymitch AND THAT FACT THAT ITS SO WONDERFUL AND WELL WRITTEN?!?! god it has my heart

B) Y/N going on her fucking Tablets after their first time is so funny for some reason to me, like Haymitch is drowning in his sorrow and she’s just being a lil ipad baby. Like she’s the kind of chick that when their finished to roll over and play clash of clans💀

C) Y/N is sooo mirrorball coded. “I'll show you every version of yourself tonight” the way she forces Haymitch to constantly self reflect that makes him realize how much he admires her selflessness. The chorus is them trying to keep their love something secret and just there’s. AND DO I EVEN NEED TO EXPLAIN THE BRIDGE OMG

D) Not to be a sadist but god I love Haymitch’s internal conflict about feeling so guilty for everything. Also correct me if I’m wrong but him being her highest bidder so she wouldn’t get sold to some creep…my heart💔

anyways the new movie has me back in my hunger games faze and yours fics are all I think about.

I’m not kidding I was zoning out thinking about Lavender Haze today and didn’t slowdown while turning and thank god there was no traffic or else I would have caused a fucking collision

Screaming thank you! Haymitch deserves all the fics, his character has always been so interesting to me.

Y/N is an iPad kid, she’s definitely the type to be like “look, Haymitch.” Whenever she reaches a new level on her games. But the way she whips open her notes app whenever something is wrong it’s like girl, what if Snow hacks the iPad 😂 But on a more serious note, she respects the tablet and understands that it can retain a lot more information than she can especially when it comes to helping her tributes.

Mirrorball is an EXCELLENT representation of Y/N and their relationship.

Haymitch obviously feels so bad that he has to marry Y/N to keep her safe from being sold and then ultimately has to participate in her “working” for the Capitol anyway. He wanted to completely save her but all he can really do is soften the blow.

You’re so real for that, I’m glad you didn’t crash

[canidbutch]

it’s been a really long time since I read underland chronicles unfortunately but I do remember feeling pretty tore up when twitchtip (iirc) died. And I love the way that sides become grayer— rather than cut and dry the rats are the evil species, Bane is born out of the horrors of his birth, the humans committed a genocide to build their home, prophecies are self fulfilling for both good and bad. You can see the roots of Hunger Games’s societal critiques in it

oh, absolutely to ALL OF THIS, yes!!!! it's so complex and layered and clever and honest and intense while being written in such a simplistic way that kids in that target audience age range can actually understand without pulling ANY punches, she is Brutally sincere and doesn't shy away from darkness and death and genocide and war and duality and betrayal and the amount of love that is still present is made all the more gut wrenching

seriously, if anybody following me loves THG, you have GOT to read suzanne's other series, the underland chronicles. it's captivating and devastating and just altogether superb. it lives in my heart forever, like, not just the character death i spoiled with my post but every fucking thing that happens. gregor is only 11 when it starts. he's so fucking small. and he goes through so fucking much. suzanne is amazing at writing hopeless but resilient children who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and shouldn't be forced to be a figurehead during war. i need to reread it uuuugh

[hesitantlyhopefulspren]

Sorry for the odd question:

Do you have a favourite book?

Normal question I think.

But difficult to answer.

RAMBLED A LOT, REALISED ANSWER IS NO. But. I can't delete the ramble.

To start with. Since I was a kid I devoted myself to hp. Went along with a few comics (Asterix, Tintin, Geronimo Stilton ✌🏾). Jk Rowling stuff made me crash and stop reading for a while. Because. I'd put a lot of eggs into that basket, and suddenly the basket made me feel incredibly bad carrying it.

Started thinking more about the reasons I want to care about books.

Always have a soft spot for magnus chase series because made me realise I'm bi. Rick Riordan books are good in general.

Love artemis fowl.

Read bunch of the fantasy books. Tried out sci-fi, classics, thrillers, mystery, wasn't too interested. Liked hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy a lot, though I didn't understand a lot then.

Hunger games, lotr, bunch of standalone books as I started to realise there are good non-fantasy books which are not a series.

Then stopped reading since lockdown started.

THEN started reading again towards end of 2021. Starting with Cosmere.

Stormlight archive is more of a favourite than other Cosmere books, because kaladin. Also extremely good mental art from that whole series. Also plenty of fanart.

Good omens.

Recently started Discworld, finished guards! Guards! yesterday. have to actively force myself to stop reading because I know i have work. BUT ITS GREAT and I'm loving it. And I'll start Earthsea at some point. So.

Yeah. Which is a lot to say that I don't have a favourite. Different books occupy different shelves in my heart because they ended up being what I needed at the right times, I think.

[thealwayshungrygames]

through peeta's eyes

the 74th games through peeta's eyes! ♡

[ chapter 1 ]

I hate today, granted I can't think of a single soul in panem who enjoys reaping day, excluding the capitol of course.

District 12, being on the outskirts of panem and as far away from the capitol as possible, is usually lifeless and dejected but every year on reaping day the whole place feels like its at a standstill, it's so quiet all throughout the district. There's never usually any customers on reaping day, maybe a few after the reaping is finished and sometimes a couple of kids trying to trade what they've hunted that morning for some bread. I don't like the silence in the bakery, there's nothing to distract my disquieted mind, all I can do is try and get ready while Effie Trinket's speech repeats in my head over and over again like a broken record, "may the odds be ever in your favour," I can't help but imagine her reading my name through that microphone, knowing that I more than likely wouldn't see my district, my family, my home ever again it terrifies me every year. I've managed to escape the hunger games for the past four years, I'm luckier than most kids in my district, I'm the baker's son. My family, despite having three kids to feed, has never really struggled for food therefore I've never had to take out any tesserae and get my name put into the reaping lottery more times than its required in exchange for a years supply of grains and oils. I know majority of the kids in my class and all around the district are forced to take out tesserae as it can be their only chance at survival, I could never imagine being in that position.

The constant thoughts of what would I do if my name was called out wont stop, I know my chances aren't as high as the other kids in the district and technically I'm in a better position than majority of the other boys but nothing is impossible and hearing "Peeta Mellark" could switch from an imaginative scenario to my reality. I need to stop, I can feel my hands getting sweatier and I need to cool off. I sit on the front steps of the bakery despite my mother telling me not to so I dont ruin my nice clothes. I just sit and watch the dust and leaves get taken by the hot wind, there's no kids or parents outside this morning, they're all inside trying to scrape up their nicest clothes and fixing themselves up for the reaping. I'm drawing little doodles in the dirt with a stick when I see these big, very worn boots standing in front of me.

"Is your dad home?" I look up and standing over me is this very muscular and big boned brunette boy, he hasn't gotten changed into his 'nice' clothes yet and he's holding a dead squirrel by its legs. I recognise him, his name is Gale Hawthorne, I don't know him awfully well apart from the fact that his dad was a miner and died in the big mine explosion that happened and ever since then he's hung around with the skinny girl with the brunette braid who sings from my class, even though he's a year older than us. They both see my father regularly trading all sorts of animals that they hunt and kill for food such as bread.

"Inside, decorating a cake I think, why?" Although I know exactly why, he's hoping that my father will trade this squirrel for a loaf of bread, maybe even more because its reaping day and maybe my father will feel compassion for him, I certainly would, I heard his name was in the lottery over 40 times, his age and hunting ability made him the main provider for his family after his father's death and he's had to take out tesserae under his name for each of his 3 younger siblings. Selfishly, seeing him standing in front of me with the squirrel and knowing his need for tesserae calms me down, knowing his name is in there so many more times than mine makes me realise how little my chances truly are compared to a lot of other boys.

"I want to trade this squirrel with him." He says.

I tell him i'll be right back and take the squirrel from him. As I'm walking inside with it I notice that it's been hit right in the eye, I knew he was a good hunter as he's often around the bakery trading something with my father but I hadn't ever seen such a clean shot on his animals. I give the squirrel to my dad and he gives me a loaf of bread and four fresh cookies, one for him and each of his siblings, out of the fresh batch he had baked just this morning. My dad usually bakes a big batch of cookies every reaping morning, his attempt at lightening the dampened mood in the household.

"Here." I put a half smile on my face, my own attempt at lightening the mood. "Good luck." I say, god knows he needs it more than I do.

"Yeah, thanks." He broadens his shoulders and walks away as if he's trying not to succumb to the mournful feeling in the air. As I watch him walk away, already taking a bite from one of the cookies, I think about what his chances of survival would be if he got reaped, they certainly would be a lot higher than mine.

I go back inside and try and fix my hair, the heat has made me sweat and it's starting to show in my hair. Mum slicks it back with some gel and then tucks my blue shirt into my shorts. Before I know it it's time to leave, I stare at myself in my mirror for a second and think to myself 'will this be the last time I see myself in these clothes?'

The town square is packed to the brim with nearly the whole of district 12. Every child aged 12 - 18 is here waiting to find out if they live or die. The same video from the capitol that plays every year before the reaping is playing, the video is glamorising the hunger games and trying to convince us that they aren't as cruel as we believe and are purely a result of the districts own actions from 'the dark days', a war that ended 67 years ago. It truly frightens me how cruel a whole population of people can be, so cruel that they find forcing innocent children to fight to the death every year as a spectacle, they celebrate it likes it some sort of holiday while families in the districts are being torn apart and peoples whole worlds are being turned upside down. Instead of watching the video I find myself looking around, looking at all these people I know and wondering if this will be my last look at them ever, my classmates, my brothers, even Gale. Maybe even myself.

The video stops and Effie Trinkets heels click across the stage. Effie Trinket is district 12's capitol escort, she is sent by the capitol to present our reaping day and accompany the two tributes to and through the capitol. She dresses in such bizarre and boisterous clothing I can't help but giggle at her huge wigs and crazy outfits. Effie tries to start her small speech before the reaping but Haymitch Abernathy, district 12s only alive victor, stumbles across the stage and steals the microphone from her, in a drunken rage he starts yelling sentences that nobody in the crowd can understand before collapsing and being dragged back to his seat, watching him always makes it clear why he is district 12's only victor since the 50th hunger games, because he is meant to be our mentor, that drunk mess is meant to guide the tributes through the games and teach them how to win.

Effies face slowly loses the bright red colour that Haymitch caused her as she tries to steer the reaping back on track and save district 12 from being the laughing stock of the capitol, once again.

"As always, ladies first." She makes her way over to the bowl on the right with all the young daughters of district 12s names in it, she waves her hand around before picking one piece of paper and reading it to the crowd, before sending one girl to die.

"Primrose Everdeen." Her voice echoes through the crowd, silence. I look up and see Gale put his head down in sorrow, the only time I have ever shown him truly let his guard down. I look to my right and I see little Primrose desperately looking around as if she's silently begging for someone else's name to be read out instead, I truly don't understand how someone can be so unlucky, she was only twelve years old and had never taken out tesserae, her name was in the lottery once and only once.

Primrose slowly starts walking out of the pack of girls and through the middle walkway, still looking around praying that this isn't real. Suddenly my head snaps around as I hear another voice yelling "Prim! Prim!" Her sister, Katniss Everdeen, the skinny brunette girl who sings at school. I have never properly interacted with Katniss apart from once, a few years ago, during a thunderstorm I noticed her sitting, leaning, against the big tree out the front of the bakery whilst I was baking more bread. She looked so lifeless, she couldn't even stand up properly, a result from constant starvation. I had noticed her around school before that and started growing curious about her after hearing her sing in the schoolyard, she captured me with her brown eyes and I wanted nothing more than to get to know her properly but why would she ever like me? I was the baker's son, for all she knew I had never struggled, her and I were in no way similar, I never stood a chance. After seeing her hunched over at the tree, so colourless and torpid, I burnt the loaf of bread I was meant to be baking, this angered my mother as food was scarce during the wintertime and we could barely afford to eat the food that we sold. She hit me over the head and pushed me out the front where she yelled at me to feed the burnt bread to the pigs and hit me one more time before storming inside. I noticed Katniss just staring at me, watching the whole encounter, I got embarrassed that she witnessed that. I started tearing off a couple of pieces of bread and threw them to the pigs, I looked over to the tree and she was still just watching me, I looked back at my bread and threw her the rest of the burnt loaf, she finally lifted her head and slowly moved towards the bread, she looked at me disoriented and puzzled, charity was not well known in district 12, in a world like ours it's all about self preservation.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute." Katniss cries out. A volunteer? District 12 has never seen a volunteer in the whole 74 years of the games.

When the shock of Prim's reaping dies down Effie walks towards the bowl with all the boys names, I can't look up, every year I can never look up.

"Peeta Mellark!"

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

yay! finished chapter 1! this is lowkey so embarrassing if nobody reads this lolllll but oh well! here's a link for a tag list just incase anybody does read this and wants to know when I post a new chapter! (i hope it works, soo awks if it doesn't)

ps! I've finished and uploaded this at 3:22am so please if there's any grammar and/or spelling mistakes ignore themmmmm!!!!

[loomluna]

I think this is the first reblog on this blog for me (and I think my first repost on my old account was also a Wil Wheaton post; I think it was just a reblog of super hero themed condoms), mostly to come back and reflect on this a while from now.

But also because I've been in what I've referred to as a reading rut since late 2019; it was strange but also emotional to me to see this person I look up to (I know, Wil Wheaton is a normal person, but monkey brain fire at connection) having gone through a similar experience at around a similar timeframe as me. My reading is still small and far in between, but last year I finally read Erin Morgenstern's 'The Night Circus' and 'The Starless Sea', Chuck Tingle's 'Camp Damascus' and 'Bury Your Gays', and 'The Full Moon Coffee Shop'. I've picked up and started on the 'Cells at Work' manga and rereading a childhood favorite 'The Secret Garden' and I've been 'reading' those for months now in sporadic moments when the want arises. Even now, looking at them as I write this there's a part of me wanting- wishing I wanted to pick them up; but I don't want to push myself. My love of books and reading will not return to a voracious appetite if I force myself. Like building back up my energy, like a great many other things in my life right now, I need to remember that progress is progress, no matter how small.

For anyone who actually reads this, to answer Wil's question of casting people in my head; I don't find myself doing that too too often, probably due to a different media mix I tend to do. I often find myself pairing specific albums with books or series. From doing so, certain songs tend to start to hold these scenes that my brain can perfectly paint from these books that are absolutely intertwined to me in a way no one will ever understand.

Spoiling of various books ahead:

When I first read 'The Hunger Games' series, I had just seen Wicked on stage for the first time; so I had the soundtrack on repeat as I read the books. One Short Day from wicked makes for a PERFECT montage scene of Katniss and Peeta arriving to the capital (although not always in such the cheery mood). when I first hear the first whispered "one short day in the Emerald City" I see this sprawling metropolis at dusk, streets filled, chariots lining the street and all that enormity is absolutely drowned out by these two figures burning in the last chariot.

The Maze Runner series was accompanied by Imagine Dragons' Night Visions. Hearing Demons still brings out a dark dreary monsoon of a rain, a smallish group of boys (and girl) being herded onto a school bus by some official looking adults. The kids are mostly moving pretty automatically, still in shock. When, more or less a zombie is spotted in the darkness of the rain. I can still feel the fear and shock and the "what comes next" that Thomas and the others were feeling somewhere deep in the vibrations of the song itself. (side note, I loaded up Night Visions to listen to some of the songs I haven't heard in years, and as soon as Bleeding out started I brain went "Theresa's betrayal", so there's that)

More recently, Porter Robinson's Nurture paired extremely well with Camp Damascus. For the sake of not spoiling a more recent release, I won't describe it out as I have the others, but Something Comforting makes me picture the ending of Camp Damascus, and I am always warmed by how hopeful Dr. Chuck Tingle and Porter Robinson have made me feel.

And the last one I will share is the beautiful scenes from the Starless Sea my brain creates from The Midnight's Endless Summer Album. Bend is the relationship between time and fate. Lonely City is the ancient sprawling city below, the honey seas starting to glisten below, the air somehow sweet yet salty, dark but always just luminescent enough to clearly make out what's around.

it's in a book

Starting around 2016, when the world started going to shit, I woke up one day to discover that I simply could not read a book, except for work. This is about how I found my way back to reading for my own pleasure.

I know I am not the only person who experienced this, yet I have struggled for years to find any kind of logical explanation for it, or actionable advice to address it. Starting around 2016, when the world started going to shit, I woke up one day to discover that I simply could not read a book. Or a magazine. Or a short story. Or more than a news item, blog post, or some intellectual empty…