#in Panem

[mollywog]

Tomorrow

A prequel to Complicated (can be read as a stand alone) Set the night of the 74th Reaping

She’s wandering home when her ears perk at the sound of heavy footfall approaching. Silently slipping into the shadows along the path, a figure appears several paces in the direction of the still buzzing festivities. The light is low but the broad shoulders and blond waves unmistakably belong to Peeta Mellark. She watches with interest as he meanders alone. Though the path is clear and straight, his feet are unsteady.

She frowns: He’s drunk.

It’s not that surprising, half the kids their age are probably worse off than him, it’s the night of the Reaping after all. With her sister’s first reaping safely behind them, even she had stopped by the celebration, though she hadn’t had more than a sip of white liquor.

She and Peeta aren’t friends, they don’t even know each other really, but she still feels a twinge of disappointment at his current state. She’s always held him in higher regard than the other boys at school.

In the next step he stumbles; Unable to correct his footing in time, he tumbles to the ground, grunting as he lands. He rolls to his back and sits up, cursing under his breath as he inspects his knee.

“You alright?” she says, emerging from her hiding spot.

He startles at her voice, eyes widening as he spots her. “oh, Katniss, hey. I didn’t know you were there.” He pulls himself to his feet, wincing when he puts weight on his left leg.

“You okay?” She repeats, looking him over as she approaches; there’s a tear in his pants just below the knee, but she doesn’t see blood and he was able to stand on his own: all good signs.

“Ah, yeah, nothing hurt but my pride.”

“Good thing no one saw you.”

“You saw me.”

The usually confident boy looks bashful, and she wonders why he would care: She is no one, at least to him. “I won’t tell,” she says in reassurance. His lips upturn in a poor imitation of a smile and she scowls. “Promise,” she adds defensively.

At this, he shakes his head and laughs; unlike the smile, it’s genuine, “I believe you, Katniss.”

Her stomach swoops at the sound and she turns her head to conceal her own smile. “Well if you’re okay...” she trails off, not really wanting to leave, but not knowing what else to say.

“Could I walk with you for a bit? Make sure you get home safe?”

“Seems like you might be the one in need of an escort.”

He chuckles, “maybe so, but I can’t go home just yet… not like this.”

She frowns. Her parents would be none too pleased to see her in his state, but their lecture would be nothing compared to the back of Mrs. Mellark's hand. She shrugs her assent before turning towards the path, looking back to ensure that he follows.

It takes him a moment to register her response, when he does he jogs a few paces to catch up, “I don’t usually do this, you know?”

She doesn’t know: It must be written on her face because he continues, “Drink too much... or at all really,

She shrugs despite feeling a small bit relieved.

“Today was my brother’s last reaping; he wanted to celebrate and was feeling generous... I don’t know, I think he thought he was doing me a favor.”

“By giving you a hangover?” she raises a brow.

“Nah, he wanted me to loosen up. Relax enough so I’d talk to someone.”

She snorts.

“Hey, are you laughing at me?”

“I didn’t suppose you’d need help talking to anyone.”

“It’s a girl.”

Her heart sinks, “You talk to plenty a girls.”

“Not like this.”

She looks down at the plumes of dust her boots kick up as she walks. “So, did you? Talk to her?”

He hums an affirmation.

“And how did it go?”

“Not very well I think. I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m a drunk… or an oaf, or a clod… probably all three.”

She frowns. A very small part of her thrills at this; Had he succeeded, he might be off with this girl right now rather than here with her. But the greater part of her feels his disappointment. “I’m sorry.”

He grimaces, “and now she pities me, so definitely not good.”

Her eyes go wide and snap to his as realization dawns.

“I should have known the first time we spoke I’d make a fool of myself,” he adds as if in confirmation.

“Me?” Giddy laughter bubbles up, until a breathy giggle escapes.

He groans, “you’re laughing at me? This keeps getting better.”

“Not at you. I’m just… surprised?”

“You know what; Nevermind. Can we just… forget it?”

But she doesn’t want to forget…

Back when she was eleven, her father had been terribly ill but determined to return to work, her mother disagreed. Her parents had argued that night; they never did that. The fight ended with her mother conceding and making their evening tea. But what her father hadn’t known was that she’d added a double dose of sleep syrup to his cup. He slept straight through his shift, only waking when the siren’s had sounded all across town. A section of the mine had collapsed and a number of his crew had been lost along with it, but thanks to her mother’s deception, her father had not been among them.

She’d watched the families that hadn’t been as lucky as hers struggle that winter: some driven to the bottle, others to Cray, and worse still were the children sent to the community home; their neighbors unable or unwilling to help.

She had been among the helpless crowd until the day she noticed the baker’s youngest son sneaking rolls to the starving children that begged at the merchants’ back doors, despite his mother’s ire.

His kindness had taught her that even at eleven she was not powerless to help. As someone who could depend on two meals at home, she had begun forfeiting her lunches to the children at school who had none. Her father too had taken notice, offering guidance and foraging knowledge to any who dared venture past the fence. It was imperfect but it wasn’t nothing.

Ever since that day, she’s kept an eye on Peeta Mellark with a growing fondness she never imagined he could return.

But he does. She doesn’t doubt his sincerity; those years of watching have only strengthened her certainty of his goodness.

They walk in silence for half a minute as she gathers her courage, “So what was your plan? Before your brother decided to help?”

He sighs, “I don’t know. Offer to walk you home, minus falling on my face. Talk about something other than what a fool I am; like our favorite colors or the best time of year to visit the meadow. And by the time we made it to your door, if all had gone well, ask if you’d want to do it again sometime…”

“That sounds nice.”

“What would you have said?”

“Hmm?”

“What if I had asked you out? If things had gone… better than this, do you think you might have considered it?”

They’ve stopped in front of her porch and she stares up at the house to find it quiet and dark: same as the rest of the street. “One minute. Wait here,” she bids instead of answering his question. Ducking in the house, she silently sorts through her mother’s jars until she finds what she’s looking for, measuring and parceling the herbs with practiced hands, the familiarity helping to steady her nerves.

Reemerging, she’s relieved to find him still there. “Make a tea with this tomorrow,” she says as she hands him the packet, “in the meantime drink plenty of water. It should help the headache that’s coming.”

“Sure thing Doctor Everdeen,” he gives a half hearted smile, “thank you.”

He turns to walk away, but her hand shoots out to stop him, landing on his arm, firm and warm under her fingers. His eyes flit from her hand to her face, holding her stare. Her heart flutters, “What if you ask me tomorrow?”

His brows knit together before shooting to his hairline, “yeah?”

She nods, and because the odds have been in her favor so far today, she pops up to her toes, kissing his cheek, “see ya tomorrow Peeta.”

Complicated | What If

[marlinspirkhall]

🪩 Lewisa-watches-THG-2524 follow

District Ten's tribute doesn't deserve to win because she murdered both of district three's tributes at the cornucopia day one in cold blood

🥖 Bread-abs-circuses follow

It's. A death game. The point is literally to murder each other ☠️☠️☠️

🫐 not-president-coin follow

I can't believe some of you are still watching the fucking hunger games after everything that came out about the way they treat tributes in the Capitol after they win

🐦‍⬛ to-kill-a-mockingjay follow

... umm, if it took reading The Finnick Docket for you to realize the hunger games were bad there is NO HOPE for you

🦷 i-steal-teeth follow

why...?

🐦‍⬛ to-kill-a-mockingjay follow

23 children are literally murdered each year???????

🔲 71st-hunger-games-deactivated11082524

yeah but on average, 76% of the tributes signed up for tessera, so they knew what was coming

🗿 Colossus-of-snowdus follow

actually, the tessera statistic has been debunked several times.

❔ avox-anon-deactivated252014092520

You're missing the point, even if the tessera statistic was true then forcing children to sign up for something so they can eat is FUCKED

🗡️ THG-reject-2523 follow

Okay but some of us would literally LOVE to be in the hunger games. I'm from district 2 and I literally wasn't allowed to volunteer as tribute because they had too many volunteers. Not everyone is forced to participate in the hunger games, some of us literally train for it for years. Fighting in the hunger games is a privilege. Remember that.

🗿 Colossus-of-snowdus follow

putting the word privilege up on the banned words shelf until you learn what words mean...

🥖 Bread-abs-circuses follow

@THG-reject-2523 weren't you the tribute who bit the announcer on the ear two years ago ☠️ pretty sure that's why they banned you lmao

🫐 not-president-coin follow

We should be forcing the Capitol children to fight instead

🪩 Lewisa-watches-THG-2524 follow

Oh my god touch grass lmao

🫐 not-president-coin follow

I literally can't

[hrrystylesbookclub]

i don’t just want a book about each hunger games, i want to know the entire history of panem: the fall of north america and how it became panem, how long they existed as a capitol and thirteen districts, what led to the dark days, how panem changed in the time between the 10th and 74th games, if they have contact with other countries, what happened to the other countries, how far into the future this is

the brilliance of suzanne collins is that she created such a rich world where i’m genuinely interested in any sort of story set within panem, not just in context of the games but their entire history books

[radiant--as-the--sun]

do people really just wanna be fans of the hunger games and not mention palestine at all? like honestly? do you really wanna just support fictional uprisings and fighting back against fictional oppression but don't actually give a shit about it in real life? did y'all genuinely learn and internalize nothing from this series????

[picnic-at-dreaming-rock]

realising what I actually need from Suzanne Collins is just a multi-volume panem history book

[atelierlili]

Sorry not sorry, anytime I see someone say Peeta's childhood crush as obessive/creepy, I can tell they're reaching so hard or projecting. Because Peeta's crush on Katniss is literally so normal. He never acts on it until they're placed in a life or death situation and he only weaponizes it as a tool to keep HER alive. Peeta's affection for Katniss, is and has always been unconditional and innocent. It's so ick when people twist it into something it's not to perpetuate their narrative.

When he realizes that Katniss doesn't reciprocate his affections and may feel burdened by his affections, he put so much distance between him and Katniss that she admits to missing him and HE gets criticized by most of the fandom for freezing her out.

He has always been respectful to Katniss’s autonomy and respects her boundaries. Is he overly self-sacrificing and have little self worth? Yes, but in comparison to red flags in a partner, this is barely one at all. He’s not abusive at his own volition. Doesn’t guilt her for not liking him back or continuing their lover’s facade to keep their families safe. His flaw is workable and it’s never something that can harm Katniss physically or mentally (at least for the most part). And this is not to mention that Katniss shares these flaws as well.

At the same time, these examples of his self-sacrificing nature are placed within contexts where once again, Katniss and Peeta are planning to die for each other again. Where Peeta is doing the ruthless calculus of war and knowing in the grand scheme of things, his death will have less repercussions than Katniss’. He doesn’t have people relying on him to live. He’s not the one the rebellion is using as a symbol.

“Oh, but he used to watch her go home everyday-“ no. That’s what the movie said in that abysmal cave scene. Even if that were the case, it’s not like he’s stalking her- they go to the same school?? Some people act and cling to this instance as if he’s following her home and stealing her panties. All he’s ever done is watch her (and saved her life) and guess what??? Katniss was watching him too? She’s been taking sneak peeks at him too (oh, he can lift heavy bags of flour so easy, he came in second in the wrestling tournament. 🤨 Giirrrrrl) so I guess their both creepy and obsessive for each other. Match made in heaven 🤷‍♀️

[brothersnackariahsbitch]

People asking for books/movies about Finnick and Haymitch’s games are kinda missing the point. Suzanne gave us the information that she felt was necessary about their games. Especially with Haymitch, we got quite a detailed look into his games in the Catching Fire book. Anything more would be using the death of children purely for entertainment, which would be against a core message in The Hunger Games series. I think there’s a lot of space for other books within Panem that could communicate really important messages, but I highly doubt we’ll see the games of anyone we already know.

[ayo-cowbelly]

its “you look just like your father, coriolanus.”

its “you can trust me.”

its “can we go home now?”

its “i can’t have killed them all for nothing.”

its “a rainbow of destruction.”

its “too early for katniss.”

its “corio! help! MA!”

its “go sing, pretend nothing is wrong.”

its “no more loose ends.”

its “what happened to lucy gray, in the song? did she survive?”

its “please…”

its “ALL OF YOU!”

its “meet me at the hanging tree.”

its “he’s starving.”

its “what are the hunger games for?”

its “brothers.”

its “he took down the flag.”

its “i still have one foot in the arena.”

its “snow comes out on top.”

its “snow falling.”

its “the show’s not over until the mockingjay sings.”

its “the things we love most that destroy us.”

the ballad of songbirds and snakes.

[spencerrsmopbucket]

Tides of Venom | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Summary: During the Tribute Parade of the 3rd Quarter Quell, Finnick meets an infamous female tribute from District Seven. She's just as interesting as everyone says.

The people of Panem knew your name as well as, or maybe better than, they knew their own. You were Y/n L/n, or better yet, The Snake of Seven. The victor who had turned the 67th Hunger Games into a masterclass of strategy and survival. At sixteen, you were reaped from the sawdust-strewn streets of District Seven—a girl who looked too small, too quiet, too fragile and too beautiful to survive the bloodbath. But you had fooled them all.

You didn't survive by brute force, God no. You didn't have the size for it. You survived by being smarter, colder, and crueler when it mattered. You waited, watching from the shadows, letting the other tributes tear each other apart. When you struck, it was precise, calculated, and lethal. You weren’t just a fighter; you were a predator. You turned the arena into your hunting ground, weaving snares from vines and luring enemies into deadly traps. When you got them captured, like a rabbit in a trap on the snow covered ground, you quickly and efficiently did away with them.

By the time you’d reached the finish line of success, the area was soaked in blood — close to none of it yours. You had outlasted them all, and not just through skill, but by ensuring that every single thing you did was deliberate. Every alliance you made was temporary manipulation, every smile a well-placed mask. When the final cannon fired, it wasn’t just because you had survived. You had conquered.

The Capitol adored you, of course. They polished your image until you gleamed like the blade that had won you the crown. They said your name with awe and fear: The Snake of Seven. To them, you were the perfect mix of beauty and terror, a creature that captivated even as it threatened. Of course, your biggest fan was President Snow. But for all the Capitol’s praises, you knew the truth. The arena hadn’t just taken your innocence; it had carved out pieces of your soul and left them to rot in the jungle where you’d won. The nightmares came often, visions of the traps you’d set, the image of you slitting a throat, the screams that followed, and the sickening silence afterward.

Even still, you played the role you’d been given. It was that or die. It was that or lose your family (an ultimatum given by Snow.) The Capitol needed you to smile in your interviews, to look stunning in gowns designed to look like snake skin, to sip champagne with Snow’s favorites. You did it without flinching. You’d learned through the experiences of others before you that defiance came with a life ruining price. And so, with snake-like venom aimed inward at yourself, you were poisoned until only steel remained.

The 3rd Quarter Quell was nothing like any previous Hunger Games. It was a reminder of the Capitol's absolute power, and this year, they chose to mark it with a brutal twist: the victors, those who had already been crowned, would now be thrown back into the arena. Every single one of them—a brutal celebration of their own suffering. And you, The Snake of Seven, were no exception. When you'd been Reaped, you stepped forward, ever confident, your e/c eyes the sole vision of determination, focus, and bloodthirst. But you were always so good at keeping people at arm's length, never letting them see how you truly felt.

You were devastated. You felt doomed — but the worst part? You'd always known you were from the start. This was just the confirmation.

Today was the Victor Parade.

The streets of the Capitol buzzed with an unsettling energy. The crowd, with its eager eyes and gleaming teeth, watched as the tribute chariots rolled down the grand avenue, a parade of former winners paraded as if they were just another form of entertainment. The Capitol was reveling in their cruelty, and you knew, deep down, that it was more than just the games this time. The Capitol wanted to break the victors, to make sure they knew they were never free, never truly safe. You had survived the Games once, but this time, survival would come at a greater cost. You were by far the most thrilling tribute to watch, solely because they knew you'd do anything to win.

Your district partner, a tall, athletic and somewhat shy Victor named Reid, stood beside you. He was a few years younger than you, but his respect for you was evident in every glance. He had a crush on you. It was easy to see in the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his voice caught when he spoke your name. But, much like everyone else in the Capitol, you weren’t here for love or affection. You were here to survive—and if you had to, you’d use Reid’s infatuation to your advantage. But, you’d never admit it aloud.

Reid was a good fighter, but he wasn’t built for the Games like you. His focus was too soft, too sentimental, which made him vulnerable. He wanted you to recognize him as a friend rather than just a district partner. Rather than just an ally that you'd eventually have to turn on. But you? You knew. Reid would have to be the first to go. You'd put him out of his suffering before any other Victor could get their hands on him. In a cruel sense, it was you being kind. If anyone else got him, his death would hurt much more.

Your outfit, designed by Capitol stylists, was as extravagant as it was deadly. You weren’t just a symbol of beauty; you were a living weapon, and your outfit reflected that. The stylists had draped you in a shimmering black gown that hugged your form, slithering down your body like the skin of a serpent. Silver, delicate scales shimmered along the bodice, almost seeming to ripple as you moved. A thin, sharp line of emerald green ran across your eyes, reflecting the coldness that had taken root deep inside you. Your hair was twisted into a sleek, tight braid that framed your sharp features, the tendrils of the braid curling at the ends like snake’s fangs. The design was meant to evoke fear. To show that beneath your beauty was a creature that could and would strike. The Capitol admired you, but they feared you too.

As the chariot lurched forward, your eyes scanned the crowd—thousands of faces staring back at you, each person either adoring or shocked. The screams, cheers, and jeers mixed into a cacophony that only heightened the tension in the air. It was a celebration of blood, and your life was the prize. But you didn’t need their approval. You didn’t need their affection. You were here to survive—nothing more, nothing less. You forced your cold eyes forward, staring at the person that continued to ruin your life, over and over again.

Snow.

He gazed down at you with a lukewarm smile, one to say, 'welcome back, Snake.' You simply glared back, fighting the snarl that threatened to develop on your lip.

As the chariot rolled forward, you could feel Reid’s nervous energy beside you. His hands gripped the edge of the chariot so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his broad shoulders stiff as though he were bracing for an attack. His unease was palpable, and while you could sympathize with it, you didn’t have time to coddle him. This wasn’t his first Games; he should know better than to show fear in front of the Capitol. Weakness was blood in the water, and the Capitol’s sharks would circle the moment they saw it. It would draw attention to the two of you, something you didn't need more than you already had.

“Relax,” you muttered, your voice low enough that only he could hear. Your eyes remained fixed on the glittering horizon, refusing to meet his. “You look like you’re about to jump out of the chariot.”

Reid’s head snapped toward you, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “I’m fine,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed him.

“Sure you are,” you replied dryly. “Just remember, they’re not cheering for you. They’re cheering for the show. Don’t give them a reason to think you’re the opening act.”

Your words cut sharper than intended, but it was necessary. Reid needed to toughen up, and fast. This was no place for soft hearts or shaky hands.

The chariot came to a halt in front of President Snow’s viewing platform, and the crowd’s roar reached a deafening crescendo. Snow himself stood like a vulture on his perch, his thin smile radiating smug satisfaction. His presence was suffocating, a reminder that every move you made was under his watchful eye. You held your head high, refusing to let him see the disgust simmering beneath your carefully constructed mask. If he wanted a performance, you would give him one.

You stared at the other Victors. You knew who they were, of course, since you'd been paraded around with them before. The most notable ones were the ones from the Career districts -- and District 12. You saw Cashmere and Gloss looking disgustingly gleeful. They were District 1 Careers, always loving the attention they were getting and the idea of getting to put up a fight. Brutus and Enobaria, District 2, were the same way.

Your eyes lingered on the Careers for a moment longer, taking in their smugness, their overconfidence. Cashmere’s sharp laughter cut through the murmur of conversation, a high, shrill sound that grated on your nerves. She and Gloss stood close together, their matching golden armor glinting under the Capitol’s harsh lights. Their every move screamed superiority, a reminder that they had been bred for this, groomed for the arena like thoroughbred horses. You didn’t doubt their skill, but you also didn’t fear them. They were predictable, and predictability was a weakness.

Your gaze swept past them to Brutus and Enobaria, whose confidence bordered on feral excitement. Brutus’s bulk made him look more like a battering ram than a man, and Enobaria’s predatory grin, with her infamous sharpened teeth, was a haunting sight. They thrived in the chaos, their bloodlust an edge that couldn’t be underestimated.

But it wasn’t just the Careers you had to worry about. Your eyes flicked to Beetee and Wiress, District 3’s champions. The Capitol often overlooked them, mistaking their quiet demeanor for weakness, but you knew better. Their minds were their greatest weapons, and they could turn the arena itself into a deathtrap.

Then, blurring out the other Districts, there was District 12.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark stood together, the Capitol’s golden pair, their unity a sharp contrast to the division around them. Katniss’s stormy eyes locked with yours for a fleeting moment, and you could see the fire smoldering behind them. She didn’t trust you—good. Trust was a luxury none of you could afford. Peeta, on the other hand, exuded a calm that was almost disarming. Almost.

And then there was Finnick.

He sat casually in his chariot, his trident resting at his side, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes roamed the area, sharp and calculating. His sea-green outfit, designed to evoke the beauty of District 4’s oceans, only served to heighten his allure. Beside him, Mags sat with quiet dignity, her frail form a stark contrast to his vibrant presence. Yet, there was strength in her weathered gaze—a reminder of the resilience that had carried her through her own Games decades ago. The Capitol adored Finnick, just as they adored you, but his charm was a weapon, honed and deadly, and Mags was his anchor, her mere presence a testament to the bond between them and the wisdom she carried into the arena.

His gaze caught yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. His lips curved into a faint smile—not the easy, flirtatious grin he reserved for the Capitol’s audience, but something quieter, more genuine. It was unsettling, that smile, because it felt like he saw through you, saw the armor you’d worked so hard to construct.

You broke the connection first, turning your attention back to Reid, who was fidgeting nervously at your side.

“Stop moving,” you muttered under your breath. “You’re drawing attention.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and apologetic.

You sighed, the weight of his unexpected inexperience pressing down on you. If he didn’t toughen up soon, he would make you look foolish too. He didn't act like a Victor. And the rest did.

Snow’s voice crackled over the speakers, his tone smooth and syrupy as he addressed the gathered victors. “What a spectacular display,” he said, his words dripping with false sincerity. “You are all reminders of the strength and resilience of Panem. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The room fell silent as the announcement ended, the weight of his words settling over you like a shroud.

Reid leaned closer, his voice barely audible. “What now?”

You glanced at him, your expression hardening. “Now?” you said, your voice cold. “Now we wait. And when the time comes, we fight.”

Finnick’s laughter rang out suddenly, drawing your attention. He was talking to another Victor, his posture relaxed, but his eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment. There was something in his gaze—challenge, curiosity, maybe even understanding.

You turned away, refusing to engage. Whatever Finnick Odair was playing at, you had no intention of getting caught in his game.

As the outro anthem of Panem played, you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Your gaze flickered to the chariot beside yours, where Finnick Odair stood, resplendent in a sea-green ensemble that glittered like sunlight on the ocean. His golden hair caught the Capitol lights, making him look every bit the god they believed him to be. But his expression wasn’t one of triumph—it was of quiet defiance, a subtle rebellion that only those who knew the arena could recognize.

When the anthem ended, the victors were led to the holding area behind the parade route. The Capitol’s cheers faded into a low hum as you stepped off the chariot, your gown shimmering with each calculated movement. Reid stayed close to you, his presence a reminder of the responsibility you didn’t ask for but couldn’t ignore. Capitol stylists swarmed you both, fussing over stray folds and imagined imperfections. You barely acknowledged them, your focus already narrowing on the other tributes gathering nearby.

"Reid," you muttered under your breath, your tone sharp but quiet enough to keep Capitol ears from catching it. "Stand tall, and stop looking like you're about to bolt."

He straightened, though his hands still twitched at his sides. You suppressed a sigh.

Before you could step further into the mingling chaos of tributes and Capitol elites, a voice laced with sugar-coated steel sliced through the noise.

“Well, if it isn’t the darling of District 7. You’re just as intimidating as they say.”

You turned to see Cashmere gliding toward you, her golden locks framing her face like a halo, though the icy gleam in her eyes was anything but angelic. Her gown shimmered like molten gold, every inch of her radiating Capitol-perfect elegance. But there was no mistaking the predator behind the polished façade.

“Cashmere,” you greeted, keeping your tone neutral, even bored. “You flatter me.”

“Oh, it’s not flattery,” she replied, her smile sharp enough to cut. “It’s admiration. You play your part so well. Cold, dangerous, untouchable—it’s a wonder the Capitol isn’t already throwing parades in your honor.”

Reid shifted uncomfortably beside you, his unease a palpable presence. Cashmere’s gaze flicked to him briefly, her smirk widening as if she found his nervousness amusing.

“Who’s your little shadow?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. “Does he speak, or is he just here to look pretty?”

Reid’s jaw clenched, but before he could stammer a response, you stepped in.

“He’s my district partner,” you said coolly. “Focus on yours.”

Cashmere arched an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the tension. “Protective, are we? How sweet. Though I can’t imagine there’s much point. If he’s anything like my dear Gloss’s partners, he won’t last long.”

You took a deliberate step closer, your gaze locking with hers, sharp and unyielding. “And yet, here you are, wasting your time on him—and me. Be careful.”

Her smile faltered for the briefest moment, the crack in her composure almost imperceptible. But then she laughed, a light, airy sound that somehow felt more menacing than genuine.

“Always the sharp tongue,” she said, tilting her head. “I suppose it’s what keeps you alive. Just remember, darling—words can only cut so deep. Out there, it’s the blade that matters.”

“Thanks for the advice,” you replied, your tone as biting as hers. “I’ll be sure to remember it when the time comes.”

Cashmere’s eyes narrowed slightly, the playful mask slipping just enough to reveal the steely determination beneath. “Do that,” she said, her voice a whisper of warning. “I’ll be watching.”

With that, she turned and strode away, her golden gown catching the light with every step.

Reid let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, his voice low. “What was that about?”

“Don't worry about it,” you muttered, watching her retreating form. “Everyone’s playing their own game. Hers just happens to be gilded in gold.”

The energy in the Capitol’s holding area was electric, each victor carefully eyeing the others, feeling the tension rise with every passing second. The air was thick with power and the weight of what was to come—the 3rd Quarter Quell was unlike any other, a twisted reminder of the Capitol’s dominance, and each victor knew they were not only fighting for their lives but for their dignity as well.

Reid stood close, his nerves still apparent, his eyes darting from one tribute to the next. You could feel his discomfort radiating from him, and though you didn’t have time to indulge him, you found yourself slightly irritated by it. This was supposed to be a place for cold calculation, not weakness.

“Take a breath,” you muttered again, your eyes scanning the crowd of tributes. “You’re making us stand out.”

“I—sorry, I can’t help it,” Reid replied, the sincerity in his voice mixed with frustration. “This place... It’s too much. I never imagined I’d be back here, much less be facing them again.”

You took a deep breath, letting the noise of the Capitol’s elites wash over you. It was a dull hum compared to the chaos of the arena, but the stakes here were just as high. You weren’t just a Victor anymore; you were the prey.

“I get it,” you said, your voice colder than before, but not unkind. “But you need to act like one of them. We’re not here for anything other than survival. And in case you haven’t realized, that means playing their game better than they do. Don't let them think you're weak, even if you think you are.”

Reid nodded, his jaw set in determination, though the unease still flickered in his eyes. You didn’t think he’d ever truly understand. His idealism would be his downfall, you could already see it. The Capitol’s games had broken you, stripped away your humanity, and in the end, it had made you stronger. You knew better than anyone that to survive in this world, you had to be willing to kill what remained of your soul.

As the seconds ticked by, the other tributes continued to mingle—some more comfortable than others. A few whispered amongst themselves, their eyes darting in calculated glances, while others stood proudly, basking in their newly cemented fame. You didn’t join them. You had no need to.

A moment later, a voice rang out in the distance, one that cut through the tension in the air like a blade—soft, melodic, but with an undeniable edge.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Snake of Seven.”

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. His voice was unmistakable, like the sea itself, deep and quiet but filled with a hidden strength. Finnick Odair.

You met his gaze, not surprised to see him standing at the edge of the crowd, his trident at his side, the shimmering blue of his outfit contrasting with his golden hair. His green eyes gleamed, mischievous yet sharp. His dimpled smirk only deepened when he noticed the way you studied him—cold, calculating, as always.

“Finnick,” you replied coolly, your voice betraying no emotion, even as your insides clenched. “I didn’t realize the Capitol was still fascinated by my name. I thought they’d moved on to the next little toy.”

His smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving yours. “Oh, they’ll never tire of you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, almost like a whispered secret meant only for you. “Not with your reputation. It’s not every day that the Snake of Seven steps into the arena, is it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sound almost impressed.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?” Finnick’s tone was casual, but there was an edge to it that made the words feel like a challenge. “The odds of you making it this far... I’m curious how you’ve done it.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the curiosity in them. There was something in his gaze that felt like he wasn’t just talking about the Games anymore. His eyes raked over you, not in the way the Capitol admired his victors, but like he was trying to peel away the layers and understand the person standing in front of him.

“Survival,” you answered simply. “It’s not as hard as people make it out to be. If you’ve got the right instincts, the right drive, you can make it through anything.”

“And you’ve got both,” he said, his voice quiet but unmistakably admiring. “I can see it. But I think there’s more to you than that. More than just the survivor everyone sees.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, just holding his gaze as the crowd around you continued to buzz with their typical Capitol energy. There was something about the way he looked at you, though. Like he wasn’t just sizing you up as a potential ally or foe, but like he was seeing through to something deeper. And it unsettled you.

“You’re not one to mince words, are you?” you asked, your voice sharp, trying to redirect the conversation, but you could feel the pull of it all the same.

“Why bother?” Finnick’s expression softened just the slightest bit, his eyes glinting in a way that made you wonder if there was something he wasn’t saying. “This game’s already full of lies. We don’t need to add to it.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “And what would you suggest, Finnick? That we just lay it all bare? Is that what you think is needed to win this?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Maybe. Or maybe the truth is the only thing we’ve got left.”

The words hung between you, a quiet tension settling in. His gaze didn’t waver, but something in his stance softened, almost imperceptibly. For a moment, you saw past the Capitol’s golden boy, the victor who had charmed his way into the hearts of millions. You saw the man who had fought in the arena, who had survived the same twisted game that you were now part of. And for a fleeting second, there was a vulnerability in his eyes, something raw and unspoken.

“You know the game better than anyone,” you said quietly, your tone softer now, the challenge gone. “But we’re not all playing by the same rules, Finnick. I don’t think you understand that.”

His smile faded slightly, and he tilted his head. “Oh, I understand more than you think. But you’re right. Not everyone is playing by the same rules. And that’s why I’m curious about you.”

You didn’t respond immediately, the weight of his words sinking in. There was something in the way he said it that made you feel like a puzzle he was dying to solve. But you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

“Curious about me?” you repeated, stepping closer to him, your voice low but firm. “Why? Because I’m a challenge? Or because I’m something you can’t control?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. If anything, he took a small step forward, closing the gap between you. “I don’t want to control you,” he said, his voice steady. “I want to understand you.”

The words were simple, but they carried an undertone of something that felt more intimate than anything you’d heard in a long time. His eyes searched yours, the playful mischief replaced with something darker, something more serious.

You almost faltered. Almost.

"Then understand this," You lean in, boring your eyes into his. "When you lean into the face of a snake, it sinks it's teeth in."

Finnick’s eyes gleamed, a flicker of admiration dancing in the depths of his gaze. His smirk only deepened as you leaned in, the challenge clear in your words and your posture. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down—if anything, the tension between you only seemed to grow.

He paused, taking a slow breath before responding, his voice low and even, carrying a hint of something darker beneath the surface.

“Well, I’ve always been a fan of a good bite,” Finnick said, his tone smooth, but there was an edge to it now, like the words themselves were an invitation, a dare. He stepped just a fraction closer, narrowing the distance between you with a kind of quiet, deliberate confidence. “But don’t mistake my curiosity for weakness. If you sink your teeth in, be sure you’re ready for what comes after.”

His eyes never left yours as he said it, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air, and for a moment, you could almost feel the pulse of something dangerous, something thrilling, between the two of you. Finnick Odair wasn’t afraid of a fight. But neither were you.

Finnick’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer, his lips curving into a more playful smirk as he took another slow step back. But the mischievous glint in his eyes told you that he wasn’t done with you yet.

“I have to admit,” he said, his tone lighter now, but no less charged. “You’ve got grit that I wasn’t expecting. Most people would’ve backed down by now, but not you. No, you’re… interesting.”

He took another step, the air around you thick with an undeniable pull. “You know, I like a good challenge. But you,” Finnick continued, his voice dropping an octave, “you’re something different. Something… unpredictable.”

He leaned in just slightly, his breath a faint whisper against your ear. “I’ll admit, I’m curious to see what else you’re capable of.”

You glare at him as he leans away.

"Curiosity killed the cat, now didn't it?"

Finnick’s grin only widened at your sharp retort, the gleam in his eyes turning into something almost predatory. He didn’t seem offended—if anything, your challenge made him more interested.

"Maybe," he mused, his voice soft, playful, but still with that underlying edge. "But I’ve never been one to shy away from danger. And I’m not the type to get caught in a trap either." He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the game between you two.

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment, his green eyes flickering with amusement. “You’re quick with your words, but I have a feeling you’re not just all talk.”

His gaze traveled from your eyes to your lips, lingering just long enough for it to be obvious, before returning to your gaze, the tension between you thick enough to slice. “Tell me, what else do you have up your sleeve, hmm? Because I’m starting to think you’re not just some venomous snake. There’s something else there… something more.”

He stepped closer again, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, but not quite enough to touch. The space between you seemed to shrink with each word, with each look, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Finnick wasn’t just teasing anymore. He was genuinely intrigued.

"You’re right," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Curiosity might’ve killed the cat, but satisfaction, well, that’s what makes it all worth it, don’t you think?" He let the words hang in the air between you, daring you to respond, to challenge him once more.

Finnick was getting closer to you now, but there was no rush in his movement—he was taking his time, savoring the moment. The air between you felt charged, a magnetism that was impossible to ignore.

“Just remember,” he added softly, his lips yet again dangerously close to your ear, “you started this game. And I’m not the type to lose."

With that, Finnick Odair strode away, looking over his shoulder to give you one last dimpled smile.

[wpdarlingpan]

Snow Falls… In Love?

Part 3 (Finale) ❄️

Yandere Coriolanus Snow x innocent!Reader

Female Pronouns

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Manipulation, Yandere, Coriolanus Snow, Hunger Gamed typical warnings

Click below for the other parts! ❄️

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Snow kept his promise. The day after the games ended he woke up next to Y/N as the sun shined in then from the window. He simply laid there and watched as she slept and the ride and fall of her chest. It meant she was alive and that’s all he ever wanted.

She began to stir and her eyes opened tiredly before peering up at the boy who didn’t even try and look away.

“Why are you staring at me? Is my hair that bad?” Y/N teased as she used her fingers to brush down her hair. She’d never woken up beside someone before so that little nagging thought in her mind wanted her to look presentable.

“You look as beautiful as ever.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently. She blushed flustered. It was odd. Going from waking up in a dingy vent, fearing for her life every second as more and more people died. Now she was laying in bed with the boy she thought she loved, but it was hard to determine. After all, who wouldn’t grow some sort of appreciation for the one who saved their life?

“Oh I doubt it.”

They continued to go back and forth teasing each other, almost making the air in the room feel that much lighter. To outsiders it looked like a married couple. They got ready and cooked breakfast together in an apartment Corio rented just for her. It was all very domestic as they simply sat in each others presence talking about what the plans are for the future,

After receiving the prize money along with Y/N, they went out to the shops and bought her clothes and the apartment, both of which she greatly protested not wanting him to spend money on her but he ignored her.

Then he paid off all of the debt for the Snow estate so Tigres and Grand’mam wouldn’t have to move for as long as they both lived. Sure it was technically his but he figured he’d be spending more time with his soon-to-be wife before they'd move in.

Coriolanus was someone who always thought about the future and so he made plans. He wanted to be married as soon as possible. It didn’t matter how long they’d known each other but he loved her. He wasn’t going to let some stuck-up capital prick take her away from him.

He gave it a week.

Y/N and he went on dates and he showed her things she couldn’t ever dream of. Of course, it only brought up her admiration but now she knew she liked him if not loved him.

Life or death makes people do crazy things.

The kiss at the capital zoo was something she thought about constantly. Now that the looming figure of death wasn't influencing her every move, she had time to think about what it meant, as well as the fact he called her 'my love' in the arena. She doubted he even remembered the last part cause he had never brought it up since.

Y/N wanted to believe all of these dates meant something. Meant that they would someday be together. But to her, it seemed like false hope. After all, no one would approve of them nor would Corio deserve to be stuck with someone from the districts.

Y/N and him were in their practically shared apartment when he asked her to come to the living room.

"What is it Corio?" She asked as they sat down on the couch. He took her hand into his and made his features appear sad.

"The President sent a letter today...'' He trailed off to see her reaction which was immediately frightened giving him the cue to comfort her. "He wants to send you back to District 12 to show them the control of the games"

"No! I don't want to go back! There is nothing for me there. My family is dead, I had no friends, I can't go back to that. You are all I have Corio!" She blurted out the last part before covering her mouth as if it was some sort of crime. It only made Coriolanus love her more. After all, that's what he wanted. her reliance only on him.

"He gave an ultimatum" Y/N shook in fear at the idea. What would it be? Would she be forced into hurting more people? Would she be treated worse then she was in District 12? There seemed to be no way to win. But she finally asked what it was.

"You have to marry me" Her jaw dropped and she instantly turned red. "He wants someone to be watching over you, someone from the capital in order to ensure you don't 'embarrass them' as he said. We could try and find you someone else-"

"No. Please." Y/N begged, she did not want to be sent away nor did she want to be stuck with someone she did not love. "I don't want this for you Corio. You deserve someone with a higher standing. I can't help you get anywhere in the capital and we know it is all about connections and standing, to which I have neither. I'll go back, I love you Corio, but-"

Coriolanus froze at the admission. Sure he loved her with his entire heart. Y/N was his reason for living. She was his.

But he didn't know she fell for him just as he did her, even if it was at a lesser level.

He reached over and pulled her into his lap, her legs on either side of his as he put both hands on the side of her face to bring her closer.

"I love you Y/N. I could never imagine being with anyone else. I want you by my side for the rest of my life." He brought her close and kissed her gently to which she reciprocated. Both tried to put their emotions int the kiss once more but it felt different. Y/N did not know how to pinpoint the feeling.

So she agreed.

Coriolanus had never felt happier. He had the girl, the money, and the power.

But all that rises must fall at some point.

It was the day before their wedding. everything was planned out. Even Tigres made her a beautiful dress just waiting to be worn down the aisle.

Corio had been on his way back home to Y/N when he saw Sejanus go down an alleyway looking around hesitantly. So he followed him.

He was led to a door that was thin enough to hear through if someone tried hard enough and oh he did.

"I know a way out. It can get us out of Panem. If you just go north-" Sejanus was talking to an unknown voice. Coriolanus felt betrayed, he knew how much a sympathizer he was to the rebels but he never thought Sejanus would go as far as to abandon Panem. He grabbed a small recorder from his briefcase and slipped it under the door just enough to catch the information more clearly.

They seemed to be in a rush, not even bothering to check out the door if anyone was there. Nor glancing at the blinking red light.

Once he had enough information Coriolanus took it and ran out of the alley. Walking once he got out in order to not look suspicious.

He quickly went home, letting himself in as he heard Y/N cooking in the other room. The idea of seeing her and getting married the next day made him forget about the recorder sitting in his jacket pocket.

"Hello my love" He spoke as he walked in kissing her cheek. She blushed at the name but returned the greeting. Y/N was still getting used to the pet names and casual admissions of love. After that day on the couch determining they were to be married and they loved each other, he had changed. She noticed he was constantly checking in on her and telling her about how dangerous it was to go out without him. After all, they didn't love her like he did. They wouldn't understand what she had been through so they wouldn't treat her right.

He instilled all of these thoughts into her head and her fear of leaving the apartment alone increased by the sentence. Even when she woke up screaming from nightmares of dying or killing someone. He was right there comforting her, he could still see the kind and innocent glint that shined bright, the reason the capital loved her.

After all, she was what they could never be. They were too full of pride, gluttony, lust, and greed.

He asked her about her day, albeit their was not much to do around the apartment so she sketched.

"Could I see it?" He asked and her eyes lit up as he showed interest in something important to her but she shook her head "It's not done yet. How was your day?"

She successfully deterred him from her and he went on about his day, not including the aspect of Sejanus's 'betrayal'.

They finished their dinner and began getting ready for bed. Y/N still was not comfortable changing in the same room so she straightened up the living room.

Y/N spotted his blood-red suit coat sitting on the chair by the entry way and went to grab it to hang it up but as she did something fell out of the pocket.

She looked down and saw a.. box? It fell open on impact leavig a small recorder to fall out. She knew he carried one around to have in classes or whenever he was learning with Dr. Volumnia but he usually left it with his other materials.

Y/N bent down to pick it up, accidently pushing the 'play' button on the side. She was startled and attempted to turn it off when she heard what it was saying. The rebels. Leaving Panem. All of it.

Why would he have recorded this? She didn't know or at least she didn't want to believe it.

Turning the box around she saw "To Dr. Volumnia" Y/N knew of Coriolanus's loyalty to the Capital, he would never leave it. She knew he was working to design the Hunger Games and of course, a part of her broke at the idea. But, he always treated her like she was worth everything and she loved him.

He was planning to turn Sejanus, someone she met and determine she liked, in as a rebel.

Coriolanus Snow walked into the room, annoucing it was her turn to change and get ready when he saw what she was holding. His heart beat faster and his jaw clenched.

Of course it wasnt Y/N's failt, it was Sejanus's for putting him in this postion.

"Sweetheart?" He called softly as if she was a frightful animal.

"What were you going to do Coriolanus" Y/N spoke giving him a look of anguish.

"What is right."

"This is not right! Sejanus is your friend!"

Coriolanus scoffed at the idea of his 'friend' he was a traitor.

Although Corio supposes he should thank him, after all once he turns this in he will be praised and likely bring him and his love even higher up in the world.

"I don't need him." He walked over taking the box and recorder from her hands before returning it to his coat pocket.

Y/N rushed for the front door. The coldness in his voice scared her. He was willing to sacrifice his childhood friend for what? Power? Money? What she did know was that she did not want to be next on that list.

She pulled it open but a hand reached above her head, shutting it instantly before pushing her against it.

He held both of her wrists above her head as she struggled before growing tired. The adrenaline and anger are being replaced by fear and sadness.

"This is for us my love. When I give this to Dr. Volumnia she will tell everyone what I did for the Capital. How I saved it from the rebels and traitors that claimed to be one of us."

"But I am not one of you! My name is Y/N L/N, and I am from District 12. I hold no power with my last name nor do I have a fortune to sit behind. I am part of the Districts!" He kissed her harshly before he began to speak

"Sure right now you are, but tomorrow? We will be married, You will become Y/N Snow. An heiress to the Snow name and future First Lady of Panem."

Y/N scoffed as she looked at him defiantly. Of course she loved him, it wouldnt turn off in the blink of a eye. He was all she has ever known after being alone for so many years but he was foolish to think she would still marry him.

"I would rather be sent back to District 12, Hell even marry some stuck-up prick than marry you." Her words lacked venom which he picked up on but it only mildly dulled his anger.

His delusions of his love didnt allow him to be anger at her. After all, all of this was Senjanus's fault for corresponding with the rebels in the first place. It isnt Y/N's fault that her sweet mind was corrupted by those foolish rebels.

Still, He wouldn't reveal that the president wasn't forcing them to be married, why would he expose more secrets that are already laid to rest.

"You act as if you have a choice, my love. We will be married tomorrow Y/N Snow. This will all come to pass and we will be the happiest couple in Panem. I will give you everything you've ever desired. My love for you will never die Y/N."

Y/N struggled some more before he reached into his other pocket of the nearby coat. It held some powdered substance. He kept Y/N pushed against the door with his body before quickly opening the powder and blowing a small pinch in her face,

"What did you do?" She cried out, worried it was the same poison se used in the games. "Did you poison me?'

Coriolanus's face grew sympathetic as he put the powder away and picked her up bridal style as her muscles grew limp.

"Of course not my love. I would never hurt you. I'm sorry I worried you, This will just help you get some sleep. After all, we have a big day tomorrow." Y/N went to protest as she felt her eyes close and his grip around her loosened as she was laid in the bed. "Sweet dreams."

Meanwhile, he went and grabbed her sketchbook. He was curious about what she had spent the day drawing and he had nothing else to do before joining his dear fiancée in bed.

He opened it to see a drawing of the two of them, it was an almost photographic image of one of their dates when he took her on a picnic.

Coriolanus tore the page out and placed it in a frame, she claimed it was not finished but he had a feeling it was just cause she was embarrassed to show him.

Walking back to the bedroom he got into bed, kissing Y/N's forehead who was out like a light.

Knowing he would be getting what he dreamed of when he awoke the next day.

~*~

Y/N awoke the next day to Coriolanus out of the room. He sent stylists to help her get ready and had a few guards blocking the exit. The outside at that. He would not allow any men near her while she was getting ready. He didn't trust anyone's intentions, not even the women but someone had to get her ready, and Tigres would cave in an instant. He paid them to get her ready as they were assigned to ignore anything she said about leaving or not going through the wedding.

After all, he couldn't do it himself, it was bad luck to see his bride before the wedding.

After a lot of struggling Y/N figured it wasn't the stylists' fault. She vowed to not lose her values even now.

Then she was escorted to the wedding venue. No one was there to walk her down the aisle and nobody filled the seating area other than Tigres and his Grand'mam.

The officiator stood at the end of the path, white rose petals lining the surface leading her to snow himself.

Y/N walked herself up to the podium where Coriolanus took her hands in an inescapable grip but the poor girl had already succumbed herself to her fate.

She told herself it was because she was tired and there was no way she would get out of this.

But a part of her heart ruled her actions. Just wanting to stay by the man who seemed to love her so dearly that he couldn't stand being without her. She would never admit it.

Not even during their vows where he promised to love her for all of eternity. That she would be his forever.

Not as he slid a beautiful ring on her finger that seemed to be made just for her.

Not even when the question finally came after his own.

"Y/N L/N, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in marriage in Panem, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

Coriolanus gazed into her eyes, a look prompting her to say 'I do'.

A tear fell. For what she didn't know, A loss of freedom? or was it happiness to be married to the man she loved? Y/N felt as if she was forsaking her love and kindness, everything her mother wanted her to be, if she didn't try and fight back. But it was just so hard, she was tired of fighting.

"I do."

"I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Snow, you may now kiss the bride."

Coriolanus didn't waste another second as he dipped Y/N lovingly. It was a kiss straight out of a romance novel. She kissed him back unknowingly and he knew right then she still loved him without any words needing to be said.

After all, Snow always lands on top.

~*~

Thank you guys for all the love of this story. I am hoping to do more Coriolanus x Reader in the future. After all once I see the movie again Tom Blythe will pull me right back in. I hope you all loved the ending and thank you again 💙

Also this is just an ironic fact but I didn’t do the word count in purpose.

The first part had 1k

The second has 2k

The third has 3k

Taglist:

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@stelleduarte

@urmomsbananabread

@coconut-dreamz

@bricapellan16

@diannana

@olivetree420

[taytrashmouth]

hello lovely!! would u consider writing a peeta x reader, where ur both in the quarter quell, but reader is separated from peeta from the start and goes through mutt attacks/blood rain/jabberjays by herself and when peeta and the group find her on the beach she is injured and traumatised. hurt/comfort, where he looks after her afterwards and comforts her, washes her in the water and stuff? loooads of gentle comfort and fluff. sorry for my bad english!!

Okay I am absolutely obsessed with this request!!!! Omg can’t wait for you to read this!!! Ahhhh! Okay okay I hope you love it 😊

Peeta x reader

(Catching fire)

Requests are open so don’t forget to send them in!!!! Prompts under my profile!

:readmore:

When you woke up the morning of the games in Peetas arms you somehow felt safe. It was like you weren’t being sent to die that day. He kissed your head and told you he’d be by your side.

You had dreamt about the last games, how you were separated and the only reason you survived was because he became allies with those horrible kids from 1 & 2

When you eventually found each other, all you did was help Peeta get better, applied the ointment and comforted him. He did all the killing, he saved you.

You only survived the first half by dumb luck, that spear was supposed to hit you…not Rue. If only you hadn’t moved out the way.

The whole lovers idea was Peetas too, only it was true. Deep down you both knew you’d liked each other since kindergarten back in 12

But here you were in the little glass tube that sucked you straight into hell. You felt sick but you really wanted to throw up when you couldn’t see Peeta.

“Peeta!” You screamed as the countdown started. Sweating and getting panicked. You couldn’t do this again, not without him. You had a deal: stay together.

The games had begun. You needed a weapon. You jumped off the platform into the water swimming for the weapons.

Once you found your feet at the cornucopia, you began to hear screams and watched people start to fall. You grabbed a machete and ran for the jungle on one of the thin arms of rock.

“Peeta!” You screamed from the beach. But no answer. That was when a knife flew past your head and missed by an inch.

You couldn’t kill somebody. So you ran.

You shoved past trees and vines running deep into the jungle.

You found a spot hollowed out under a tree. It was hot- and you needed water.

That was when you heard his voice. Peeta.

You screamed for him as you ran towards the sound.

“Help n/n!” He yelled.

“Where are you!?” You frantically turned around. “Peeta?”

That was until his voice became overwhelming. Your ears started to ring. His cried for help, his screams.

You began to cry, realising this was some cruel trick of the capitol. “STOP IT!” You yelled, throat raw. You screamed as loud as you could covering your ears to get it to stop but it didn’t help. It was overwhelming. You tried to run but a forcefield locked you in. You screamed and banged on it but nothing worked.

You grabbed your machete and banged at the field but it just ricocheted.

You sunk to the floor, covering your ears and cried. You were there for what felt like a decade but was probably only an hour.

When his cries suddenly stopped you felt a strange sense of sadness. The screaming had been awful but you were worried about him. What if he was dead.

You began to walk deeper into the jungle, sweating and with tear stained cheeks. You had never been so thirsty before, after screaming so loudly in what felt like 100 degree heat.

As desperate as you were you stumbled across a little pool of water. You smiled dryly and lay on the floor, drinking out of the pool. A sigh escaped your mouth as you quenched your thirst. You splashed your face. And sat up leaning against a nearby tree.

This is where you would sleep. You gathered sticks and placed them in a circle around the area, to ensure that if someone walked by you would hear them.

The music began to play, you looked up at the sky, holding your pin. Praying you wouldn’t see Peetas face. You didn’t. Relief washed over you as the final canon went off.

You barely slept when you felt a warm air hitting your face, as your eyes opened you were greeted with a large mutt, two inches from your face.

You took a shocked, shaky breath in and slowly reached for your machete. It belted a loud noise sending a signal to the rest of his friends.

You closed your eyes as you wedged the sharp end of your blade into the mutt in-front of you.

You pulled the machete out of its body and stood up. Swinging at any that got a little to close. Just as one of the beasts began to jump at you, you decided the best option was to throw the machete and run.

As the mutt jumped and you released your blade, the woman from 6 who had been hiding in the trees tried to save you. And the machete hit her instead. A scream escaped your lips. You had killed someone.

You covered your mouth with your hands, shaky breaths escaping your lips. “No!” You sobbed.

You bent down to try help her, applying pressure to the wound. “I’m sorry.” You cried as she became limp.

You held her to your chest in the hopes it would cause a miracle.

Soon you noticed the mutts had began to run as a white smoked reached the edge of the water, you stood up, knowing something was coming.

One of their claws ripped the back of your calf open as it ran away. “Shit!” You fell into the smoke, immediately screaming and running.

The sun had started to rise, and you were limping with an excruciating pain in your arms and legs with growing boils from the poison.

You screamed as you ran not caring about attracting other tributes. The sun has begun to rise, and you were now an easy target.

You ran through the jungle searching desperately for the beach but it was so overgrown you had no way of knowing.

You stopped in a small clearing. Crying and sitting in the dirt. Desperately wanting to rid yourself of the boils.

After a while of crying A cool liquid hit your face. Rain. You looked up at the sky, hoping the water would help your sores. Opening your mouth to quench your thirst.

It was definitely not water. You gagged. Spitting onto the dirt. Blood.

You sobbed and ran wherever you could and tripped over a log of wood. Tumbling onto the sand of the beach. 

You screamed and cried. Not knowing what to do. You hated the capitol. You hated that you didn’t know where Peeta was. You hated this. You hated that you had to die.

Just then you heard voices. You put a hand over your mouth trying to quiet your whimpers.

Tears running down your face. You couldn’t run anymore. This was it.

You shuffled back, trying to find and escape route but there wasn’t one.

You got on all fours and crawled on the sand, dragging your leg with a gash in it in the sand.

You let out chokes of pain and self pity as they grew closer, you refused to look.

“N/n!” You heard him…peeta. “Oh my god it’s y/n!!!”

You screamed and covered your ears lying in the sand. You would rather die than listen to the jabberjays again. Until someone rolled you onto your back and you were met with Peeta.

He looked so scared for you. You immediately started to cry as he hugged you tightly to his chest. “You weren’t real.” You sobbed into his chest, feeling his hair, his back, anything to make sure he was there.

“I’m real now. I’m here now.” He kissed your forehead and held you again. Until you hissed when he touched your boils.

“Oh shit! I had them too see-“ he showed you the faint scars on his hands.

“I need to get freshwater.” He began to get up but you held onto his hand. “Don’t leave” you whispered.

He stared at you for a moment too long, his eyes laced with concern.

“Finnick! I need water.” Peeta yelled at the group that was a safe distance away.

While you waited, Peeta brushed hair out of your eyes that was covered in blood and sand, just like the rest of you and you squeezed his arm in pain.

“It’s okay.” He kept repeating. Kissing your head despite your state.

When finnick returned Peeta poured water all over your boils and you screamed in pain as they vanished.

“Thank you.” You smiled sadly. Overwhelmed. Peeta often said you were a kind sole, you wouldn’t hurt a fly at home, literally. You sang songs and picked flowers. You weren’t meant for this. Nobody was really….

“Come on, let’s wash you off…if at least half this blood is yours, we’re in serious trouble.” He joked and you attempted to laugh. He picked you up bridal style.

You would argue that you could do it yourself but it just wasn’t true.

He dipped you into the salt water. You hissed in pain, clutching his wetsuit.

“I know it stings. I’m sorry.” He rubbed your arm but kept you underwater.

“It okay. Thank you.” You whispered again, almost scared something bad would happen like it had been. One after the other. Peeta cupped water into his hand and tilted your head back rinsing the blood out of your hair and carefully brushing through it with his fingers.

He washed you off, holding you with one had at all times. Afraid to let you go. He was careful around your cuts and scrapes.

“I killed her.” You let out, staring at nothing.

He stopped his movements and just helped you too his chest.

“Who?” He whispered.

“Six… she tried to save me and-“ you chocked on your tears.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay…I’m here. You don’t have to talk about it now.” He assured.

You were both wrinkly like the raisins Peeta used in his raisin bread back home by the time you got out the water.

You tried to walk but you could barely stand on your right foot.

“What happened?” Finnick asked before Peeta got the chance.

“Mutts.” You answered simply, trying to see the gash on the back of your calf.

You almost fell but Peeta caught you. He picked you up agin and placed you on the leaves they were using as beds in the sand tonight.

“Now we match.” Peeta smiled at you pulling up the leg of his wetsuit to reveal his prosthetic leg.

You laughed, for the first time in days.

The others were asleep while Peeta took the first watch. You sat in his lap, and wrapped your legs around his torso, like a koala.

Head on his chest listening to his heartbeat as he leaned against a tree looking at the waves.

“I thought I lost you.” He whispered, a tear running down his face. You sat up slightly to wipe it. “Me too.” You assured and squeezed his hand.

“So much for sticking together.” He half laughed.

“Yeah.” You looked at his brown eyes and played with his blonde fringe. He leaned in and Kissed you gently but passionately. Holding your cheek and pulling you in by your back. Carefully avoiding your right leg that was tediously bandaged with leaves and vines.

When you broke apart for air. You smiled softly at each other. Heart still heavy from the past two days.

“I love you n/n.” He spoke with only truth in his tone. It wasn’t just an act and you knew that.

“I love you too…so much.” You teared up thinking about how you were going to have to say goodbye soon.

You resumed your position on his chest and fell asleep to his hand rubbing your back and his whispers of “it’s okay.” And “I love you.”

[thatthingilovewith]

Vintage District Seals based on TBOSAS still a work in progress.

[imaginaldisk2024]

The Hunger Games is such an interesting series but I'm always floored by how genuinely good and smart it is. I think it's easy to look back at the absolute nothingness that the YA dystopia genre became and curse out all of its leaders, but The Hunger Games was always a smart and interesting series that even in the first few pages of its first book gripped the reader with possibility.

And I think that's why it continues to be successful and loved in a way that even its popular contemporaries are not. Because there's nothing about the world it takes place that seems strange or impossible, yes even with the child murder games. Katniss tells us that Panem has formed from the ruins of North America, the countries of which ultimately fell due to conflict caused by climate change and lack of resources. Not only is this situation not impossible- it is literally probable, and seems more likely each year we go by the with our leaders pretending the climate crisis is not real. Like North America didn't fall under an evil "foreign power" who took away American (specifically the United States') values. This world wasn't formed over night. It emerged out of the brutality and greed of the world we currently live in.

And even with The Hunger Games as an event, the world still seems so immersed in this reality. It helps that events similar to this have taken place throughout history. The comparison between Rome and the Capitol is not exactly subtle, but it helps ground the Capitol's brutality in a very real history. Using this sort of barbarism as punishment AND entertainment (even to the ones being punished) has happened throughout history, and happens now in ways that are more concealed. Also, the Hunger Games being used as a reminder of the Capitol's control over the districts and a tactic to dissuade rebellion (with the idea that they will be crushed if they try to revolt) MAKES SENSE.

And making sense is why it is so successful. You know what doesn't make sense? Dividing the US into 5 character traits and making people who have more than one *dangerous,* or any of the other strange and contrived plots that came after it in the wake of its success. It works because its possible, and in a sick way, rational. It reminds us that humans can be brutal, and greedy, and evil. But they're not stupid. It's not improbable or even ineffective (for the rich at least) to create this world. class difference MEANS THINGS, and drives the conflict. It's the USA if we keep going down this path and ignore our impending doom.

[untiedbikini]

katniss was 17 and the face of a nation's rebellion? she shoulda been on tumblr

[jasmineslonghair]

Another rant.

In a sense I do believe that Snow did love Lucy Gray, but I saw this tiktok talk about how it isn't a love story, it's a tragedy. I have to agree, because Snow was given so many chances to choose the good path, he had people that genuinely believe in him. Tigris, Lucy Gray and Sejanus but Snow is so emotionally stunted and not willing to progress. (At least from my view that's what I concluded)

So many times throughout the book I caught myself smiling or laughing at something he said. And I literally would be like "wtf" but Suzanne Collins is such a genius writer like that, and like a broken clock I'll repeat, she wrote this book so well that, I was genuinely forgetting that this young man will become a man I will hate and wish death upon.

Reading the original trilogy as a pre-teen I never truly understood the gravity of Snow's evil and watching the movies again recently with context from the book, made so many little actions and lines hold more weight.

I hate over-analysing books because of English in school, but books like this remind me why I love to read and get lost in worlds that are are different but the same.

I'm rambling but this book and this whole franchise has been on my mind for a while and I need a creative outlet.

[thebluemallet]

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes + The Onion Headlines

bonus sejanus (because i had a hard time picking between two different headlines for this moment of him):

more of the onion in panem:

the hunger games

catching fire

mockingjay part 1

mockingjay part 2

things to never say to someone who just came out