#with haymitch and effie and finnick and johanna?

[thegreenthepeacetheorange]

"Gale says I never smile except in the woods." - Katniss, THG, Ch. 1.

I present to you: Instances of Katniss effortlessly smiling/laughing around/because of Peeta in the first book:

Peeta unexpectedly laughs. “He was drunk,” says Peeta. “He’s drunk every year.”  “Every day,” I add. I can’t help smirking a little. 

“Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn’t he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?” says Peeta.  “With all that alcohol in him, it’s probably not advisable to have him around an open flame,” I say.  And suddenly we’re both laughing. I guess we’re both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we’re not acting sensibly. 

When we finally escape to bed on the second night, Peeta mumbles, “Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink.”  I make a sound that is somewhere between a snort and a laugh. Then catch myself. It’s messing with my mind too much, trying to keep straight when we’re supposedly friends and when we’re not. 

“I hope that’s how people interpret the four I’ll probably get,” says Peeta. “If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot.”  I grin at him and realize that I’m starving. 

Peeta, it turns out, has never been a danger to me.  The thought makes me smile. 

“Lean down a minute first,” he says. “Need to tell you something.” I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. “Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”  I jerk my head back but end up laughing. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“Katniss?” Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words.  “How about that kiss?”  I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can’t stand it. 

Peeta’s struggling to get up when I reach the cave. “I woke up and you were gone,” he says. “I was worried about you.”  I have to laugh as I ease him back down. “You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?” 

“So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent,” Peeta says.  “Oh, please,” I say, laughing. 

“What’s the problem?” I say with a grin.  “The problem is we’re both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing,” says Peeta. 

“Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games’ tales.”  “I told you, he hates me!” I say, but I can’t help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. 

“Hey, Effie, watch this!” says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, “We miss you, Effie!”  I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” 

[jaxie101]

the hunger games has been my roman empire since i read when it when i was 10 and here are all of my smaller empires bc this has always been my favourite series ever:

the tributes being treated to a life of luxury both as a “last meal” sort of thing and as a way to make them more vulnerable for the games. keeping them well fed before the games so the starvation hits harder

peeta repeatedly calling himself a mutt after katniss does :(

katniss’ ptsd

katniss being such an unreliable narrator

when cato realised he’s just as much of a toy as the rest of the kids

when gale says he should’ve volunteered in peeta’s place. NOT for peeta, not to save him the trauma, the injuries or his torture, and not to save katniss and to be there for her, PURELY bc he knew that getting hurt would get her attention.

GALE GETTING MAD AT KATNISS FOR KISSING SOMEONE TO STAY ALIVE. EVEN 10 YEAR OLD ME WAS LIKE ??

peeta’s “real or not real” and how easily katniss accepts it as his way of recovery

how perfect katniss’ character was. i was a little girl and i wanted to be exactly like her when i grew up. she wasn’t the cliche “doesn’t need anyone accepts this specific guy that will always save her” she saved peeta, and some times peeta saves her

probably the overdramatic english lit nerd in me but katniss’ hair going from intricate braids to messy ponytails

(tw sex assault) in the books katniss was terrified that peeta was going to be r&ped, for some reason that’s always stuck with me

what happened to finnick

how well written and realistic the books were. peeta loses his leg to the infection, katniss loses her hearing in one ear, finnick suffers from extreme ptsd and it shows in district 13, peeta not being an easy fix. he still suffers years later, but he slowly pieces himself back together. Johanna’s anger, people often don’t like the fact that ptsd DOES make you angry, haymitch’s backstory and effie’s growth.

the mutt’s have the dead kids eyes in the first games

[swirlingyouintomypoems]

I think I’m hilarious. Just btw.

masterlist

[darlingsnow0]

sejanus if he found out D2 was the last to join the rebellion:

[fclsebnnyodair]

[fandomsunited4hr]

THE HELENE COLLECTION IS OUT NOW!!

After weeks and weeks of organizing, writing and drawing. Fandoms United for Hurricane Relief is proud to present the Helene Collection!!!

The Helene Collection is a 300+ page digital anthology of 30+ fanworks from writers and artists from the Hunger Games community to raise money for those affected by the devastation of Hurricane Helene.

We cannot thank everyone enough for contributing and/or donated to the cause. This collection wouldn't have happened without you!!

If you would like to gain access to the collection, please consider donating to any of our approved charities HERE! And email your proof of donation to our email at fuhrgames74@gmail.com. You have any time between now and JANUARY 4th to send in your donation to get full access to this collection AND to enter our raffle(s)!! (More information to come very soon!)

Thank you so much to our team at @fandomsunited4hr for putting together this collection. It was a herculean task for sure! @disgurrr @mega-aulover @norbertsmom @thesweetnessofspring @atelierlili

And thank you to all the writers and artists that participated. You guys are the best!

ARTISTS: @cateluna @smallpapers @charlunday @atelierlili @millennium-queen @sadieillustrates @kald-dal-art @deadboydoodling @rottentiger-art @moethh @arthdoesart @maloops @am2c

WRITERS: @thesweetnessofspring @mega-aulover @katnissdoesnotfollowback @mollywog @jhsgf82 @xerxia31 @mtk4fun BellaGracie @hutchhitched @adsosfraser @thesunpersists @aimmyarrowshigh @norbertsmom @notanislander @notsocooljess @littlemarianah @thelettersfromnoone @dracoisalooker76 @capric0rnie @zenkor123

[bramblrose]

“What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button? How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by? What do they do all day, these people in the Capitol, besides decorating their bodies and waiting around for a new shipment of tributes to rill in and die for their entertainment?”

[cece693]

My Safe Place (Finnick Odair x M! Reader)

Going back to my Hunger Games phase and not enough fics for male/gender neutral readers can be found for him. So, I aim to fix it :) Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Finnick was known for his conquests whenever he traveled to the Capital, however, you were his main client—a man who didn't exactly act like the rest of the Capital society.

tags: mention of sex working, Finnick deserves better, reader is a safe place for him, President Snow being a dick, reader is different, Annie (unfortunately) is dead

The arrangement between you and Finnick was dangerous, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was giving him some semblance of safety, a fleeting escape from the nightmare President Snow had trapped him in. You never liked interacting with people, much less in the manner Finnick’s arrangement with the Capitol required. But when the murmurs began—stories of the young victor's so-called "conquests" echoing in the opulent halls—you couldn’t ignore the tug in your chest.

You weren’t foolish. You knew how Snow operated. Finnick’s dazzling smile was just another weapon in the Capitol's arsenal, a weapon honed through coercion and manipulation. Then you overheard a conversation at a party: a woman bragging about "paying" to spend time with him. Her words were dripping with self-satisfaction, as though exploiting someone so clearly tormented was a badge of honor. It made your stomach churn.

It was easy to connect the dots. Too easy.

The first time you reached out to Finnick, it had been awkward. Not for him—he was all smooth confidence, his charm slipping into place like a second skin. But you? You couldn’t keep still, looking around the suite for cameras or hidden microphones. You didn’t trust the Capitol, and Finnick was bound to be under constant surveillance, his every move scrutinized.

Sensing your nervousness, Finnick took control of the situation, his practiced mask of seduction sliding into place. He began unbuttoning his shirt, moving toward you with a deliberate air. After all, wasn’t this why you’d invited him here? Another Capitol indulgence, another client eager to own a piece of him.

“No!” Your voice cut through the tension as you stepped back, your hand flying up to stop him. The disgust on your face was immediate and unfiltered.

Finnick froze, his hands mid-motion, and for a moment, genuine confusion flickered across his face. “Then what do you want?” he asked, clutching the throw you’d hastily handed him.

It had taken everything in you to hold his gaze. "A safe place. For you. No strings attached."

For a long, tense moment, Finnick didn’t respond. He studied you, his sea-green eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to find the trap in your words. Then, to your surprise, he laughed—a bitter, hollow sound that didn’t suit him at all.

"Safe places don’t exist in the Capitol."

"Maybe not," you admitted. "But I can try."

From then on, it became a routine. You’d send the payment—an obscene amount, just enough to satisfy the Capitol’s watchful eye—and Finnick would arrive at your apartment late at night. He always used the private entrance to avoid prying eyes. At first, neither of you talked much. Finnick would sit stiffly on the edge of your luxurious couch, his shoulders tense, his hands fidgeting with the sea-green pendant around his neck.

You ignored his discomfort, going about your nightly routine as though he wasn’t there. You’d clean the dishes left on the counter, read a book with a steaming cup of tea, or sometimes sit at your piano and let your fingers wander across the keys. You never pressed him to talk, never demanded his attention. You simply let him exist in the quiet safety of your home.

When the time was up, Finnick would stand, his expression often a mix of confusion and gratitude, before slipping out the same way he came.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Months into the arrangement, Finnick began to open up. At first, he stuck to safe topics: the ocean breeze in District 4, the salty tang of the air, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shore. His words painted a vivid picture of home, a place you could tell he missed deeply.

You didn’t press him for more, content to let him share whatever pieces of himself he felt comfortable giving. But then, one evening, as you were reading, Finnick spoke a name that hung heavy in the air. “Annie.” The sound of her name made him freeze for a moment, as though he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. You looked up from your book, startled by the weight in his tone but careful not to push. You simply set the book down and waited.

Finnick’s gaze fell to the pendant he always wore, his fingers tracing the smooth surface of the shell. “She was my first love,” he said quietly. “She was different from everyone else. Quiet, kind, but strong in a way most people didn’t see. She didn’t care about the Games or the Capitol. She only cared about people.”

The smile faded from his lips, replaced by a shadow of grief. “But Snow couldn’t allow that, could he? He couldn’t let me have something that made me resist.”

Finnick’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the pendant, his entire frame trembling with suppressed rage and sorrow. “He killed her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t painless. He made sure I knew every detail, made sure I understood that her death was my fault."

You watched as his grief and anger boiled over. With a sharp, guttural sound of frustration, Finnick stood abruptly, grabbing a vase from a nearby table. Without hesitation, he flung it at the wall, the porcelain shattering into a million jagged pieces. The crash echoed through the room, but you didn’t flinch.

Finnick’s chest heaved as he stood there amidst the broken shards, his tear-streaked face turned toward you. The raw vulnerability in his sea-green eyes was almost too much to bear. His lip quivered as though he was fighting a battle within himself, one final attempt to keep the walls he’d built intact.

But then, those walls crumbled.

Without warning, Finnick took a shaky step forward and collapsed to his knees before you. His head fell into your lap, his arms wrapping loosely around your legs as though anchoring himself to something—anything—real. The dam inside him burst, and his sobs came in great, shuddering waves, his entire body trembling with the force of his anguish.

You froze for a moment, startled by the intensity of his collapse, but quickly recovered. Gently, you rested a hand on his head, your fingers threading through his golden tousled hair in slow, soothing motions. Your other hand settled lightly on his back, offering a steady, grounding presence.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “Let it out, Finnick. You’re safe here.”

His sobs grew louder, his pain pouring out in every ragged breath, every muffled cry against your knees. His tears soaked through the fabric of your pants, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was being there for him, letting him release the emotions he’d kept locked away for so long.

“I couldn’t save her,” he choked out, his voice muffled against you. “I couldn’t…I wasn’t enough.”

“Finnick, stop,” you said gently, your voice breaking with emotion. “You were enough. You loved her, and that was more than enough. What happened to Annie wasn’t your fault. Snow…Snow took her because he’s a monster, not because of anything you did.”

He didn’t respond, but his grip on your legs tightened, his trembling body pressing closer against you. You continued to stroke his hair, murmuring soft reassurances, letting him pour his heart out in the safety of your presence. As the minutes passed, his sobs began to subside, the storm of emotions giving way to quiet, exhausted tears. His breathing slowed, though his face remained buried against your knees, as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely, the words barely audible, yet they carried the weight of his gratitude and trust.

From that moment, something fragile yet beautiful began to bloom between you. Finnick grew comfortable in your space, his presence no longer guarded or wary. He started accepting small gestures of care—a cup of tea, a plate of fresh fruit—with a smile that wasn’t the polished charm he wore in public, but something tender and genuine.

His smiles were rare but transformative, softening his features in a way that felt almost sacred. It wasn’t the grin of a Capitol heartthrob or a victor playing his part. It was Finnick. The real Finnick. And it was in those moments you saw him as the man he was, not the mask he was forced to wear.

Finnick’s feelings for you deepened with every visit. At first, it was subtle: the way his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, the way his laughter grew warmer and more frequent when you were around. But over time, it became undeniable.

He found excuses to stay longer, to ask you questions about yourself—your favorite books, your childhood memories, your thoughts on the world beyond the Capitol. His curiosity was genuine, his attention focused solely on you, as though you were the one piece of sanity in his life.

And you noticed. Of course, you noticed. You weren’t blind to the way his gaze softened when it met yours, the way his voice grew quieter when he spoke your name. You weren’t stupid—you knew what it meant.

But you didn’t give in.

It wasn’t that you didn’t feel the same way. You did. Finnick had become more than a presence in your life; he had become someone you cared about deeply, someone you wanted to protect, someone whose laughter felt like sunlight breaking through a storm. But you didn’t want him to think that was all you were after. You didn’t want him to believe, even for a moment, that your care for him was tied to his charm or his body or any of the things the Capitol exploited. Finnick deserved better than that.

So you kept your distance, at least emotionally. You treated him as you always had—with quiet kindness and unwavering respect. Even as your heart ached to reach out, to tell him how much he mattered to you, you held back. Because Finnick’s worth was so much more than he realized, and you refused to let him think otherwise.

And then the 75th Hunger Games was announced.

The moment the words left President Snow’s lips—this year, the tributes shall be reaped from the existing pool of victors—you felt your chest tighten. You knew what it meant. Finnick would be going back into the arena.

When his name was called at the reaping, you watched from your apartment, your hands trembling as you gripped the armrest of your chair. Finnick’s face was calm, but you knew the storm that raged beneath the surface. You knew him too well to be fooled by the mask.

Days later, during the interviews, you sat in the same chair, your eyes glued to the television. The Capitol was abuzz with excitement, the crowd roaring with approval as Caesar Flickerman welcomed the victors one by one. And then it was Finnick’s turn. He stepped onto the stage, his signature charm firmly in place. The audience adored him, their cheers deafening as he waved and smiled. But when Caesar asked him the question that had been on everyone’s lips—is there someone special he's fighting for?—something shifted.

Finnick’s expression softened, the mask slipping just enough to reveal the man beneath. “There is,” he said simply, his voice steady but filled with emotion. The crowd erupted in gasps and murmurs, looking at each other as if he was speaking about one of them, but Finnick ignored them. "And I would like to tell them something, if you don't mind."

Caesar, ever the showman, gestured grandly for him to proceed but not before hushing the crowd.

"Though I cannot promise forever, Though the storms still rage around me, I leave my heart to you, And hope you’ll remember me kindly."

No one else knew who the poem was for. But you did.

And in that moment, it was both everything and not nearly enough.

[sweetlucygray]

Image ID:

Tweet from @/loversrespite: "It is deeply alarming and prescient that there is so much desire to consume more games content. mags' games, haymitch's games, finnick's games, annie's games. almost like people are missing the political message and just want to see children m*rdering each other. almost like…."

Quote Retweet from @/arakkisuperstar: "Well no actually i don't think people wanting more hunger games content is a sign of them aligning with fascism and it's alarming that yall have conflated the desire for more content from a layered, complex world created by a talented writer with watching children suffer. "

Continuation of previous tweet: "People want more from the hunger games universe bc the hunger games universe is poignant. these characters are interesting. that's.....not a bad thing. also...it's fiction"

End Image ID

[lovebeatriceplz]

Lucy Gray and the district people did not go through all of that just for y'all to sympathize with Snow

[spencerrsmopbucket]

Tides of Venom (2) | Finnick Odair

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

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

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

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

You were going to show them that they were wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Reid, are you--"

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

“Mind if I join in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[triassictriserratops]

very important question.

cursing and THG characters. Who curses. Who doesn't curse? What are their favorite curses? Who is the FILTHIEST and why ISNT it Johanna?

[liberalk1tsch]

In honour of Katniss’ birthday yesterday, I invite everyone to also remember the real-life men, women, and children in Palestine enduring unimaginable suffering in the midst of an actual war. To be aware of the censorship being deployed against protesters of this violence by corporations at the hand of unjust governments.

As you may or may not know, on the 6th of May, Macklemore released a song called "HIND’S HALL" in support of Palestine, where 100% of proceeds from streaming will go to supporting UNRWA.

Hind Rajab was a 6-year-old girl from Gaza. In January 2024, she and her family were shelled by the Israeli army while in their car. Hind and her 15-year-old cousin, Layan Hamadeh, were the only survivors, trapped within the car. They called the Palestinian Red Cross Society, with Layan saying, "They are shooting at us. The tank is right next to me. We're in the car, and the tank is right next to us." The PCRS sent a team to rescue them. However, after 12 days, on February 10th, when the Israeli army withdrew from the area, Hind Rajab and her six relatives were found dead in the car, along with the two paramedics sent to rescue them, who were also found dead nearby.

The song is not available on Spotify yet. It is not available on Apple Music yet. It’s available only on Youtube, where—for the first time in the 15+ years i’ve been using Youtube—they have placed an 18+ age restriction on the video that includes multi-step age verification, where viewers must prove their age with a government ID, credit card, or submit a photo of themselves to an AI age recognition program (that oftentimes won’t even load).

This is absolutely abhorrent of Youtube/Google to censor this video, especially in the light of the recent attacks on Rafah, where thousands of Palestians have been cornered in what was previously considered the final "safe" zone.

Macklemore has since reuploaded a second video including audio only which has not been age restricted (yet), but the lack of imagery greatly alters the impact of his message. Many people may not feel comfortable verifying their identity to a corporation we know to be corrupt. Others may not be "old enough" to see it, though as the next generation of voters, as the primary group fighting for peace, you all deserve to see the truth of what’s happening in the world. I have screenrecorded the video and attached it to this post, but if there’s any of you who have already verified your age or feel comfortable doing so, please visit and interact with the original video here to contribute to aid efforts. If you are under 18 or do not wish to verify your age, the audio only video can be found here. Remember that your streams hold power, and even those who have nothing to give themselves can make an impact.

Additionally, most of the people who interact with my blog are Hunger Games fans. You were all outraged when the men, women, children, medics were bombed in the books, when it was fictional characters. So why would you stay silent when it’s happening in real life?

Free Palestine. 🍉

[swirlingyouintomypoems]

THG + random text I found on Pinterest

masterlist

[celestiamour]

ft. katniss everdeen, peeta mellark, finnick odair, johanna mason, haymitch abernathy, effie trinket, gale hawthorne, annie cresta (separate) x gn! reader — the hunger games

╰₊✧ reacting to you being flirty with them┊0.5k words

contains: some suggestive comments, i think that’s it

➤ author's note: hunger games brainrot had hit me hard, i need to read the books

katniss everdeen has to do a double take sometimes because, even though she now knows she’s conventionally pretty, she assumes most people find her disagreeable and didn’t really think you would be any different. she’s definitely the most awkward about it though, saying a curt thanks before walking off to process what just happened because she still doesn’t know how to handle so much attention on her.

peeta mellark gets embarrassed easily and has his mouth slightly agape like a fish out of water at your words. his reaction will only spur you on to continue and maybe even go a bit further until he’s a pink, stuttering mess who is trying to cover his face so you don’t comment on it.

haymitch abernathy will scoff and take another sip of his whiskey, telling you that you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with a troubled old man like him any more than you already are. if you’re persistent, however, he may humor you and say something back if he’s really letting the booze flow, but you’ll need to test your luck and see.

effie trinket will giggle with an exaggerated "oh my!" definitely the most flattered of the bunch, especially if you compliment the effort she puts into her appearance. most don't look too much into it or straight out find it to be tacky, so she genuinely appreciates your words. will probably say something that her clothes would look better on the floor of your bedroom if she’s feeling cheeky with a wink and would blow a kiss in your direction.

finnick odair will match your energy and tease back until you two are exchanging compliments and flirtatious comments like a ping-pong match. the type of conversation that will make everyone else nearby groan or get embarrassed and yell to “get a room.”

johanna mason will match your energy tenfold until you’re the one who is on the receiving end and getting flustered at her comments ranging from how cute you are when the tables turn in you and how sexy you are when having the guts to flirt with her (most people are a bit put off by how intimidating she usually is).

gale hawthorne would try to keep his cool demeanor, staying nonchalant and replying smoothly like it’s nothing. however, he’a a bit too casual about it so you’ll be led to believe he’s just not into you like that or didn’t like what you said, but then he’s confused about why you don’t seem as enthusiastic as you did earlier and assumes the same things you’re assuming— the point is, you need to keep communication open.  

annie cresta will stutter and trip over her words, blushing a bright red when she realizes you didn’t hear what she said, and might end up running away to recollect herself. she’s always been shy, but she’s become even more timid with fear after winning the hunger games. after the first shock though, she’s a lot less shy now knowing what to expect, and might even flirt back if you catch her at the right time. 

[thedelicatearcher]

katniss and peeta absolutely hate washing the dishes, that’s why they often invite their friends to eat dinner and then having them wash them. that’s why johanna has stopped visiting. finnick is happy to do it as long as someone is besides him talking to him. effie physically recoils when her finger touches a wet soggy leftover. haymitch leaves in the middle of the dinner to avoid washing the dishes.