#district two

[lost-in-beacon-hills]

I think at this point everyone has different opinions on each of the Districts and honestly I love that. It's so fun to read people's thoughts.

(I'm sure I'm not the first person to think or say this but) I have a theory on why District One/Two win so many of the games beyond just being Volunteers in a game full of people going in blind.

It's something I've thought heavily about and even incorporated into my own fanfics.

But District One, I think, they win by raising their volunteers to be pretty. They train them to fight, yes, but I think they pull sponsors by making their kids "sexy." In both the book and movie, Glimmer is heavily sexualized. In the book, she's in a sheer gown that shows everything. In the movie, they tone it down but still show quite a bit of her body during the interview. Even the two victors we get to hear a little more about (Cashmere and Gloss) are mentioned to be pretty. Despite being a sibling duo, they're incredibly popular within the Capitol.

But even after they get 'popular' they don't turn down their attractiveness. She still dresses pretty with make up and smiles like she's been taught to do. He's still beefy and hot. You would think if they had any bodily autonomy they would start to tone themselves down in order to get away from the sex slavery.

I think sex appeal is what makes them a victor. Literally. People 'sponsor' them in the hopes of getting to fuck them. They get told that these people are who they're indebted to and most likely are forced into sex as a way to 'repay' them. Everyone says if Glimmer had won she would become the next Cashmere. Which is true. But no one points out how this is planned and a tactic that one consistently uses. Once they win they realize how fucked they are. They don't know they shouldn't want to win until it's over. It's too late to back out. Part of why Cashmeres life is devastating is because Gloss knew what was coming and he wanted better for her. But it happened away. And now they're stuck repaying the Capitol with their bodies.

In Two I think they raise fighters. They put all their effort into skill, endurance and survival. Out of all of the districts I think they do the best at giving them a chance. They make sure they send the best trained, the most skilled and the smartest. Clove is such a good example of this. She never missed her target. (Except for when Katniss moved the backpack making her miss). She was brilliant. Cato too. He was strong and a fantastic fighter. They only lost because the story demanded Katniss win. Hell there's so many moments where Katniss almost dies at their hands only to **magically** get away. (Thresh owing her, tracker jacker nest, not seeing her a few feet away) all of it. They weren't stupid meat heads. They were warriors. Children raised to kill.

I think they delbrately send plain victors. They don't want want to send "pretty" kids. They tone down any sort of beauty their tributes have. One of my favorite examples is Enobaria. She's pretty. And I think that's her downfall. It's mentioned in the series that she wins by ripping another tributes throat out with her teeth. (A popular theory is she was raped and used the very last thing she had in order to get away.) But she ends up getting her teeth filed down. While a lot of people think it was the Capitol, I believe it was her mentors. They filed them down, knowing she wouldn't be able to be raped again. I mean, who would have sex with her knowing one wrong move and you could be dead? She can bite your dick off in seconds if she wanted to. (Not to say she doesn't get booked) It would sway a lot of people away. I think much like Haymitch fighting against Katniss's breast implants, her mentors fought to get her teeth sharpened.

If they're able to I believe Two will alter the victors in order to make them less desirable. One plays it up, Two tones it down winning off skill and merit alone. Any sponsors they get isn't driven by sex.

It's why they win so much, and why the other districts have such a hard time getting sponsors.

I also think that District Four, the last of the career pack, has it's own way of creating victors. They send tributes like the rest but I think they do something different from the rest. My own headcanon is that they send orphans. It's fucked up but if I remember correctly they never mention Finnick having family.

I think they take the kids with nowhere else to go and put them in a training center. Whoever scores the best goes that year. Unluckily for Finnick, he was picked at 14. He was attractive, and part of me thinks Mags played into that to give him the advantage, thinking he didn't have family to leverage. It would have been fine, but then Annie happened. They use her as a control tactic.

I also think Finnick is the reason it was a one and done on leaning into the sex appeal. It fucked him over. Annie was pretty too but she wasn't used. (No one has ever said ah yes she's crazy let's just not rape her, fuckwads do it anyways.) But I think Mags learned from her mistake and played Annie down. Made her less pretty like they do in Two.

It's fucked. The entire system is fucked. But I think each 'career' district creates winners any way they can. No one in Four would volunteer they're disillusioned unlike one and two. So why not send the kids who have nothing, no one to come back to? In Two why not train them and maim them after to keep them safer? In One why not make them fuckable to win? They won't understand until its too late?

Maybe I've overthought this. Probably have. Idk. Just a thought.

#district two #district one #district four #hunger games #the hunger games #finnick odair #mags flanagan #clove kentwell #cato hadley #marvel #glimmer #enobaria #brutus #cashmere #gloss #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #career apologist #career pack #the careers #hunger games renaissance #hunger games headcanons #headcanons #literary analysis #annie cresta

[alavestineneas]

Soul

pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!reader

summary: This is war, and people make choices. Sometimes, there is no right one.

warnings: typical hunger games violence, Finnick and Annie aren’t soulmates, minor character death

Haymitch clicks the skip button on the remote; the next pair of tributes shows up on the screen.

''District two,'' he announces. ''Male volunteer, Brutus. His main weapon is a spear. Female tribute: Y/N.''

"Wow," Peeta mutters under his breath.

''I know her,'' Katniss says, glancing at the man beside her. ''She is on TV all the time.''

''Trust me, she is everywhere. Y/N is your main competition—Capitol's darling, lines of sponsors, deadly with a knife. They call her Panther.''

"Panther?" Katniss scoffs.

"She killed one in the arena with her bare hands." Haymitch chuckles, seeing his tribute's face transform from confident to slightly horrified.

''She is committed. I'll give her that,'' Peeta jokes.

The woman on the screen gives the cameras a half-smile, joining hands with her partner. The District 2 audience roars in excitement. Katniss felt shivers coating her skin; something in the woman's gaze caught her attention.

-

''Nice dress, dear. Though I don't know if I can call it that.''

Y/N did not even turn around, completely ignoring Finnick's existence. Her dress, or rather, a piece of cloth, left a little to the imagination. Black, almost sheer fabric lightly coated her body, tracing its curves; the only stronghold of modesty was lace lingerie.

Finnick would lie if he said she wasn't impressive; the woman looked like a goddess. It was her job, after all. Besides, he had seen her in much less. They fucked a couple of times, both too drunk to remember. That's what he told her, at least. That it doesn't mean anything because, to her, it didn't.

Finnick remembers every whisper and every messy kiss. The smell of her perfume mixed with shampoo and sweat; Y/N's hands on his back. Not soft like Annie's; no, in calluses and cuts from hours of training.

He knows it's a dead end and still allows her to kiss him. She never stays, each time running through his fingers like sand. He wasn't in love with her. Love is supposed to feel light and warm, like Annie's smile, and this felt bitter.

And yet, his soul belonged to Y/N. Maybe because she didn't care about him, Finnick was willing to let her keep it. It wasn't fair. He was supposed to be happy with Annie. She was home, his lighthouse.

But Y/N was his sea.

''Look who's talking.'' The woman finally turned around, finishing checking the strings on her horse. ''What do you want, golden boy? An alliance?'' She raised an eyebrow.

''With you? I'd rather be dead.''

''I wouldn't worry about that part, Odair.'' Brutus intervened. ''We have fifteen minutes before the start, so I suggest you keep moving.''

His outfit was much more proper. Finnick guessed it was for the best; he was not particularly excited to see the man naked. Odair suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and flashed Brutus a smile instead. ''Of course.''

''Peacock.'' the man muttered.

Y/N chuckled at her partner's remark; Finnick headed to the District 12 chariot. He wished he didn't feel her piercing gaze on his back.

-

''I believe we hadn't met before. I'm Y/N, District 2.''

Katniss looked up from the target she threw knives at. The woman in front of her was truly stunning; the camera did not do her justice in The Reaping.

''Katniss Everdeen, District 12.''

The woman laughed, clearly finding her amusing. Katniss felt the tingle of anger—did she say something funny?

''Oh, darling, I know. Everybody here knows your name. After all, you are the reason we are here again.'' The woman came closer, taking the smallest blade from the row and throwing it into the target. It hit the dummy right in the head. ''Besides, I mentored Clove and Cato in your games. Wonderful children, you know. Marvellous fighters. Had every chance to win.''

Katniss glanced at the woman's face. It was stone-cold, and her eyes focused on the targets. She wondered if the reason Clove chose the knives was because of Y/N's win. How did the career mentors feel about sending children into the arena?

''They were...good.'' Katniss agreed.

''Here is my advice, Katniss Everdeen from District 12.'' The woman hit the last target with ease. ''Pay attention to the hands.''

Katniss wondered what that was supposed to be about until she looked down at her hands. Of course, she was holding the knife wrong.

-

The first interview the Capitol aired was more of a warning. Finnick is too lost to comprehend anything Caesar is asking Peeta, his attention fixed on the Y/N next to him.

She sits on the chair, anxiously tapping on the armrest. Her eyes follow every move Caesar makes. Y/N answers carefully and thoughtfully. She didn't know the rebellion was being planned.

''Katniss, can you remember when you spoke to Y/N in the training centre?'' Plutarch asks.

''I think so.'' Katniss frowns. ''She told me these games were done because of me.''

Beete shares a look with Plutarch. Finnick doesn't know why they are surprised; Y/N always was smart.

''Anything else?''

''She talked about Clove and Cato. And that I have to pay attention to my hands.''

''Your hands?'' Plutarch doesn't sound too sure.

''Yes. I was holding the knife wrong.'' Katniss looks around the room. ''I decided.''

Plutarch nods at him, and Finnick is finally free to leave the room. After seeing this, he has a lot to think about.

-

''Finnick, there is something we want to show you.'' Haymitch nods, and Finnick steps into a small room filled with screens.

Beetee is there too, as are Katniss and Plutarch. An uneasy feeling covers his stomach; if they have him here, something happened.

His mind floods with hundreds of possibilities. Annie is at the Capitol. Y/N is there too. He did not know if they tortured her; the woman didn't know about the plan. But so did Peeta, whose ''interview'' he is watching on the screen now.

His face is beaten, and he looks like he hasn't slept for days. The boy lost what looks like fifteen pounds, the ridiculous suit on him hanging like a sheet. Peeta says something about rebels using Katniss. His interview finishes, and the screen fades to black.

Finnick feels like he missed something until the screen lights up once more. This time, a figure is tied to a chair in the middle of the cell. Finnick almost jumps, the realization hitting him—it's Annie. She is crying, begging not to kill her. Her hair is a mess, and her skin is covered in bruises.

''Move in front of the camera.'' a male voice orders.

A person comes to stand to the left of Annie. It's Y/N. She is in a military uniform, her hair tied tightly. She looks different from the first interview—now calm and collected. Her steady hand holds a gun.

''Proceed.'' the same voice commands.

Katniss gasps. A loud gunshot fires, echoing in the chamber. The screen is covered in blood and brains. Finnick doesn't hear a word Plutarch says to him. Annie is dead. They killed her.

-

''Are you sad again?'' Y/N asks, sitting beside him.

Finnick doesn't answer, still fidgeting with a piece of rope.

''You have to eat, you know?''

''Why did you kill her?" he asks, looking into her eyes.

Y/N smiles. ''She was dead way before I pressed the trigger. You killed her when you picked me over her.''

''No.'' Finnick whispers. ''It's not true.''

''Not true? Each time you looked away when you kissed her, each time you whispered my name instead of hers, you think she didn't know?"

Finnick's lower lip trembles, tears blurring his vision. ''Shut up.''

''You can stop lying now, Finnick. For once in your life, be honest with yourself. It's kind of liberating, isn't it? Not having to worry about pretending anymore. You are free.''

''I said shut up!'' he shouts, throwing the nearest mug at her.

It hits the wall, crashing. The room is empty. It always was. A scared-looking nurse watches him through the glass, ready to call for help. He waves her off - just another one of his visions.

It haunts him that the only one appearing in his dreams is Y/N. It should've been Annie, but she is dead, and Finnick hopes she finally found her peace.

Y/N is with Capitol. It's not surprising; she has no reason not to be. She was saving herself. Annie was as good as dead anyway. Still, it broke him. All of these things they had to survive because of Snow, and she still chose to serve him.

He can't blame her—Finnick saw what they did to Peeta. He doesn't know what he would've done under that torture. Still, he hopes it hurts her, given the way she betrayed herself.

-

The rescue mission was successful. Peeta and Johanna are in District 13. They captured Y/N too, but Finnick doesn't care. Coin and Plutarch spent most of their time in her room. Nobody tells him anything, but Finnick guesses that Katniss's condition isn't going to work this time.

A few days after that, Coin has an announcement to make. There are numerous cameras present, and she, as usual, wants the surviving victors to be present. So, he sits near Katniss in the first row, waiting for the tribunal to start. He knows what his vote is going to be.

The president's Coin speech is unnecessarily long and dramatic. She waves her hands around, talking about lost fighters and the need to continue resisting. ''And now, I want to award a few of our bravest soldiers.'', she concludes.

''People are dying.'' Finnick hears Katniss mutter under her breath. He is not happy with the idea either. He just wants to get over this.

The first to get a medal is a man who was leading the rescue mission. Next: two rebel soldiers.

''The last person I want to honour made the rescue of our victors possible. They spied in the heart of the Capitol and were dedicated to the revolution even in the face of death.'' Coin gestures to the bottom of the improvised stage. ''Sergant Y/L/N.''

Finnick freezes. Annie. Her screams. A gun. She is an enemy. A killer. Anxious tapping. Pay attention to the hands. The world around him begins to collide.

Y/N steps are firm. She shakes the woman's hand, accepting the medal. A few claps ring in the hall—people are surprised and likely scared. District 2 victor's face holds a few new scars.

She gets off stage as quickly as she got on, taking her place beside Plutarch. Y/N sits straight, focused on the president's words. Finnick wonders why he can't hear anything except for the heartbeat in his ears. A taste of blood fills his mouth.

''Finnick?'' Katniss whispers.

The world stops spinning.

-

Y/N is tying the laces on her boots tightly, checking everything. She blends in with the soldiers easily; they even throw around a few jokes. This is her element, something she was born and raised to do. Y/N has the most weaponry on her hands: knives, guns, and a few grantees. They have another mission.

Peeta is right next to her. For some reason, he feels the most content having her around. When Katniss asked Y/N about it, she just shrugged. ''Mutt things.''

She is in Squad 451—of course. Coin wouldn't let such a famous face get away with just living. Finnick hates having her around and hates admitting that he understands her now. There was no other choice—Y/N had to kill Annie to prove her loyalty.

The mood in the team changes completely after Mitchell's death. Finnick doesn't know what to say to Peeta, too busy calming everyone else down, and Katniss is frankly completely useless, so deep in her own emotions.

''I'll talk to him.'' Y/N stands up, checking the gun.

Katniss looks at her in horror. ''No!''

''Let her,'' Finnick says, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose.

''How could you say that?" Katniss turns to him in anger. ''You saw what she did! You saw!''

''I did,'' Finnick agrees, his jaw tense. ''And because of that, you got Peeta back. So let her go, Katniss.''

Y/N watches their bickering silently. Finally, Katniss nods. The woman leaves them, approaching Peeta. Their voices are still heard, and Katniss eventually relaxes.

''They were right. I am a monster.'' the baker boy says, his eyes still closed.

''It makes two of us, then.'' Y/N jokes, sitting beside him. ''You are the one Capitol created, and I am one by choice.''

''How could you say that so calmly?''

''I came to terms with it pretty early. People see what they want to, Peeta. What do you see when you look at me?''

''You saved my life.'' he shrugged.

''Yes, but I lied, and I killed people to do it. Am I a monster?'' Y/N asks. The question is rhetorical. ''When I look at you, I see a scared eighteen-year-old boy, who just wants to survive. You are strong, Peeta. Stronger than most of us. This is war, and people make choices. Sometimes, there is no right one.''

Peeta stared at her for a solid minute. ''You aren't as bad as you think you are.'' he finally says.

Y/N smiles sadly. ''You aren't either.''

-

Katniss tries to focus on the wet ladder when she hears a shout.

''Why is he there alone?'' It's Y/N.

Katniss looks down - Finnick is fighting off mutts with his trident. There are a lot of them, she realizes. He can't handle that. Just as she turns to grab something to help, she sees Y/N coming down.

''Climb!'' she shouts at her, pulling out a gun. And Katniss does.

A mutt breaks Finncik's trident in half with a loud thud, lurching at his head next. Just as its mouth opens, it falls, lifeless.

''Here.'' Y/N throws him one of her knives. ''On your left!''

They are fighting back to back - Y/N has run out of bullets, so she uses knives instead. Duck, step, and push. They have done it thousands of times, both from career Districts.

Finnick doesn't have the time to count, but mutts are slowly covering the floor, painting the water red. He feels a sharp pain in his stomach—one of the bastards managed to get him good - and grabs the nearest wall for support. Finnick watches as Y/N kills the last monster, pulling her knife out of its chest.

''Y/N,'' he says, trying to grab her attention.

''You know, you could've asked them for hand-to-hand combat if you wanted to die that badly. What were you thinking, staying here with one piece of metal on your hands, huh?''

''Y/N.''

''That's why I said you are all not fit to be fucking soldiers. You lack common sense!''

''Y/N.''

''WHAT?'' she snaps, turning to him. Her face changes from angry to concerned in a matter of seconds. ''Finnick, you are bleeding.''

He nods, feeling his knees weaken. Y/N is already beside him, sitting him on the cold floor. The water hits and soaks her pants, but she doesn't seem to notice.

''It's okay, let me look,'' she mutters, removing his hands from the injury.

It's big; she notices with horror. If they can get him help in twenty minutes, he will survive. Anything longer, and it's a dead end. Finnick knows it too; he has seen enough wounds to understand his chances. He watches as Y/N takes off her jacket, pressing it into his stomach.

''Can you hold it for me?'' she asks.

Finnick nods, feeling a sharp pain coming back. Y/N searches in her pockets until she finally finds a radio set. She tries to turn it on a couple of times, her hands trembling.

''Y/N, it's okay.''

She shakes her head. ''No, you are not going to tell me it's okay. I'll get you help, no matter if you want it or not.''

Finnick looks at her, a slow smile appearing on his face. ''Kiss me.''

''What?" Y/N looks up from the radio, mortified.

''I said kiss me, Y/N.''

She leans in closer, salty tears staining her cheeks, and places a soft kiss on his lips. ''You are getting out of here alive,'' she whispers.

''I love you,'' Finnick mutters. He closes his eyes just for a second. He is so exhausted.

-

The first thing he sees is the overbearing light. Finnick struggles to open his eyes. If this was death, it was certainly not peaceful.

He comes to his senses slowly—first, he hears beeping, and then he feels his stomach.

''Fuck.'' Finnick groans. The pain is impossible.

''Finnick?'' He hears a familiar voice. It's Y/N.

Her face is puffy, but she looks real to him. Even if it is one of his visions, Finnick is still happy to see her.

''How do you feel?'' she asks, moving the sweaty hair out of his eyes.

''Are we dead?''

Y/N stops to look at him. ''No. The radio worked, and the team managed to find us in time.''

''Good.'' Finnick closes his eyes once more. ''Because you didn't say it back.''

A choked laugh escapes her lips. ''You are an idiot, Odair,'' Y/N says, pressing a kiss on his temple. ''But I do love you.''

Finnick smiles. He always knew his soul was safe in her arms.

#thg #hunger games finnick #finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick odair #au #imagine #district two #hurt/comfort

[peetapie]

I think it’s so so interesting that during the rebellion district two is the last to rebel against the capital in the original trilogy. Throughout the original trilogy they so closely aligned themselves with the games and with the capital. In the games they revel in the deaths, they brag about killing a 12 year old. They’re much more into the games than any of the other careers, at least that we see in the 74th and 75th games. And I think it’s such an interesting contrast between the 74th games and what we see in Ballad and the 10th hunger games with Sejanus and Marcus, two people who are so against the capital and so loyal to their district. Loyal to the point where Marcus refuses to have anything to do with Sejanus, even if it means going into the games starving to death, because he views Sejanus as a traitor. As a capital boy. And to see how loyal Sejanus is to his district, even after they essentially shun him and want nothing to do with him, how against the capital he is up until the very end. To go from that to district two being capital lap dogs. To being the last district to rebel against the capital in the end.

I think it’d be really interesting to see how district twos loyalty to each other and to their district is turned to the capital if we get another prequel. Snow knew first hand how loyal district two was to its own and how against the capital they were, so I wonder how much of district twos brainwashing and propagandizing was done because of his first hand experience with their loyalties. I wonder if snow saw the potential of them turning with Strabo Plinth turning. I just think it would be interesting to how powerful propaganda actually is, and how with enough time and enough isolation these things can come to be.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosbas #tbosas #thg series #district two #district 2 #Cato #snow #coriolanus snow #president snow #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth #the hunger games #the hunger games series #mockingjay

[irenespring]

Happy Ides of March to @lorata's Victors: you would have loved finding some old history book and then making Brutus' life hell all day every year.

#we must be killers: tales from district two #district two #the hunger games #lorataverse #Everyone saves their broken or old knives they no longer want for Ides of March and then dumps them on Brutus' doorstep #he thinks he's safe and then in the afternoon...more knives #Bb!Misha made Ides of March knives when she was forced into metalwork #Devon makes him a knife-shaped cake and uses frosting like paint to perfectly shade and make it look like metal #Lyme and Brutus have a toga wearing contest one year #ides of march

[analiza-beta]

Exit Interview: Artemisia

For her exit interview Artemisia's prep team curled her hair and pinned tiny daggers to dangle between the ringlets, but Callista's left it loose, wavy and a little bit wild. She looks -- normal, happy, and even better she actually looks eighteen, not like a kid sexed up far beyond her age so the Capitol audience won't feel guilty drooling over her. For the first time since the Reaping, her clothes don't look like they're just waiting for an artistic spray of someone else's blood.

Anyways, I reread Nobody Decent by @lorata for the hundredth time probably and was completely possessed. Happy New Year everyone, may this little Misha bring you good luck!!

#the hunger games #we must be killers: tales from district two #my art #thg #lorata #artemisia jacobs #wmbk #district two

[startgame]

how i would dress each district for the opening ceremony in the hunger games: district 2 (masonry)

district 2 are the ones in charge of architecture in panem, as well as manufacturing weapons and machinery. but the word "masonry" itself makes me think of medieval times

i kept getting this image of zendaya in the joan of arc gown at the met gala, and yeah that's the gown it outsells anything else

and for the guys i gotta say i was at a loss here. that is until i saw this... ladies and i gentlemen, i present to you, him.

i think both careers should be dressed as medieval knights because the hunger games IS war, people! and i feel like this would make everyone intimidated like they're ready for battle literally

edit: it would be cool if the guy’s outfit was more avant-garde and unconventional, like this vibe ^

#the hunger games fashion #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #district 2 #district two #cato #clove #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #president snow #hunger games

[raspberry-gloaming]

This is some ramblings about a sort of oc, for the missing mid 30s district 2 victor for @lorata 's We Must Be Killers universe. It's not all coherent and there's a lot of run on sentences here, but it's all just thoughts currently.

First off, introducing Knox! 2m, victor of the 35th Annual Hunger Games.

Merchant class, not quarry or offering, kinda in the middle just like he's in the middle of the shift from the elite to the modern way the center changed. His childhood was honestly pretty neglectful emotionally by his parents. They already had two other children, one to carry on the business, one to become a peacekeeper. Knox was an accident, an afterthought. They put him in the program to give him something to do, and somewhere to put him and forget about him for a while. Perhaps he'd come out with a good reference. Perhaps he'd become a peacekeeper like his brother. Perhaps he'd die in the arena. It didn't really matter - he was away and easily forgotten about in residential from 13, and they got a tidy stipend.

He was 18 in 35, so was 13 in 30. which means he was one of the new residential kids who were there when it all went down with I think he was called James? But with Joseph and all that. That's fun! (not)

He's like the opposite of Lyme when it comes to kids. The younger the better, he'd be great as a trainer of the 7-9s honestly. Babies, young kids, he loves them, gets on great with them. But the closer they get to residential age... nah.

It's partly due to the 30th and what happened, partly due to how his year group were just a bit wild. They did some shit, saw some shit, took it too far a lot of the time. Wanted to prove themselves and got too cocky when they knew that they wouldn't act like James had. The trainer's would put a stop to stuff, sure, but alot of it was psyching them all up. Getting them stronger, more confident (too confident, even when they were wiped the floor with by the older trainees.) No-one in this year would fail at volunteering and getting far. Both the kids and the trainers, as well as the trainers' treatment and reaction to the kids made sure of it. The arena wiped some of that out of Knox, but it was a recovery process, definitely. He later met up with some of his year mates and they'd had a tough time in detox. It wasn't just the events, of course, but it definitely had an impact, with the actions of the trainees and the trainers, as well as how they acted in the mock arena and who was selected down to the final few at the end.

Knox wasn't the craziest out there by far, in fact he was probably the least out of all of them. He knew how to put it on though, but was wary of his year mates. He got the highest scores in his year, which is why he was chosen, not because of his persona or personality. While they needed someone who was desperate to do the task, they also needed someone noble enough for the five year mark.

He's a bit dramatic honestly, but has definitely calmed down by the time canon rolls around. He's nearly 60 then, afterall. His dramatics have definitely changed over the years. From the petty, huffy, why aren't you __ at me?! phase several graduates go through, to an "oh god I'm an old man." he's thought himself as one of the old squad for a long time. Even when he was in his thirties, and with Adessa who thinks Odin (4 years older than Knox) is a baby, I wonder what she'd think of him lmao. He's quite a hypochondriac, and I'm not sure who the village go to for a doctor when not in the capitol but I'm sure they're busy with him. I feel like he'd go to Emory a lot trying to get her to teach him how to make all her quarry natural remedies and such.

While he doesn't really like teenagers and generally up until they're 21, he's got a soft spot for the volunteers and young victors. He remembers what it fealt like, how much the arena changed and took from you and how hard it was. He mentors a lot of the "lost causes." Like when it's been a massive string of careers in a row, or there's a major rumour that the arena is made for an outlier win, or in the 2nd quarter quell, or two has just got a double victor (43) so they aren't going to have a third straight after.

He also mentors those who think they are a lost cause. When it's been a tough time, and they want to win! and they'll do their duty! but they're starting to give up hope, Knox likes to come in and beat that out of them (litterally, as well as metaphorically). Unfortunately, since he never got a victor, due to choosing those who weren't likely, it hasn't impacted well for his second type, those who don't think they are likely but still have just the same chance as always, if they just get in the right headspace.

He mentored on and off for a long time, I think his last would have been the 63rd. Which is longer than the normal, but he had heart and wanted the best for those he believed had it in them.

Since then he'd settled down into his "old age" even though he's not even 60 and still spars and keeps as active as the other older twos. His talent has something with acting, privately I mean. I think his public might be a bit similar, something that he still enjoys like poetry reading because he can be dramatic with it and hide jibes amongst the metaphors against the Capitolites he's reading it too. The capitol may take his talent in the way they always do, but he can poke fun at them while they do it.

He's got a garden, and he likes walking on the mountain trail. One of the things that he got built as a new victor was actually in the forest behind, a stone, old fancy amphitheatre like the ancient ones. He likes doing soliloquies and monologues and one man shows out there, but if he can drag anyone else out to join in he's as pleased as a punch.

#district two #d2 #hunger games #the hunger games #HG #thg #lorata #we must be killers #hc oc #oc #original character

[enixamyram]

Katniss delivers a lot of powerful speeches throughout the series, but one of my favourites is the speech she gives in District 2 right after the Nut is taken.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you?" "I can't. I can't. That's the problem, isn't it? We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We've got every reason to kill each other. So do it. Make the Capitol happy. I'm done killing their slaves for them." "I'm not their slave." "I am. That's why I killed Cato... and he killed Thresh... and he killed Clove... and she tried to kill me. It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games.

"When I saw that mountain fall tonight, I thought... they've done it again. Got me to kill you - the people in the districts. But why did I do it? District Twelve and District Two have no fight except for the one the Capitol gave us. And why are you fighting with the rebels on the rooftops? With Lyme, who was your victor? With people who were your neighbours, maybe even your family?" "I don't know," "And you up there? I come from a mining town. Since when do miners condemn other miners to that kind of death, and then stand by to kill whoever manages to crawl from the rubble?"

"These people are not your enemy! The rebels are not your enemy! We all have one enemy, and it's the Capitol! This is our chance to put an end to their power, but we need every district person to do it! Please! Join us!"

#The Hunger Games #Katniss Everdeen #Mockingjay #District Two #District 2 #The Hunger Games: Mockingjay

[twobraincellkentwell]

Nobody's business

[A Game Called Revenge]

Part Ten

Series Masterlist Part One.

Summary: "ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ. ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪᴛ ɪɴꜱᴜʟᴛꜱ ᴍʏ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴀɴɢʀʏ."

Meetings. What are they good for? A meeting room filled with twelve slightly rebellious victors is never good for anything.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the nature of content in some of the chapters. The usual mentions of murder and death. That's it I think.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: As always there is a reference in there somewhere and I want to know if you can find my favourite line yet again! :)

“What the fuck.”

The door slamming shut behind her snapped Clio out of her bewilderment as she felt her animosity begin to rise once more. Twelve heads snap towards her and the conversation ceases immediately. So much for an empty meeting room, she thinks. Part of Clio’s mind is screaming at her to turn around and leave, pretend she didn’t see anything so that she is less attached to her enemies in the arena; but her stubbornness wins over and she plants her feet firmly into the marble flooring as she decides to make life hell for everyone in the room. No one has spoken to her yet and she wonders who's going to be the first to address her. To tell her to leave.

She tilts her head as she awaits an address, defiance burning through the hazel of her eyes. The room is still silent. Looking them all in the eye, she takes note of everyone who is present in the room.

Haymitch. One.

She glares at him, all the resentment she feels towards Katniss is almost spilling out of her face, and by the look on the older man’s face she can tell he’s surprised that she hasn’t made a scene yet; given her short fuse.

Beetee. Two.

She moves glare onto him next, as he looks down and refuses to meet her eyes. She knows she doesn’t scare him, he’s told her as much when he recounted how he didn’t need to be close to kill off multiple people at once.

Wiress. Three.

Now Wiress is definitely at least a little scared of her, especially after her words at the farewell dinner. She’s made certain of that when the woman looks helplessly around the room, locking onto everything that isn’t Clio. She hasn’t looked at any of the others yet either, Clio thinks, maybe we have our first weak link.

Male morphling. Four.

As Clio looks towards him, she’s surprised to find that he holds her stare. She doesn’t even know this man's name, she’s seen him around at victor’s events in the past year but not once has she heard even an utterance of what might be his name. At least she knows now he’ll be easy to kill, the nameless ones always are.

Female morphling. Five.

She’s unsurprised that she’s in the room too, it’s not uncommon for district partners to share an alliance. What does surprise her however is the fact that Haymitch is considering her of use to his tributes. She’s of no use to them, she believes. In fact, she’ll be surprised if both district six tributes make it past the first night before going in withdrawal.

Blight. Six.

Blight is another who refuses to meet Clio’s glare. He stares directly ahead, almost in a daydream whilst his leg jostles underneath the table in a steady absentminded rhythm. She doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of his axe but she’s not particularly threatened, in fact, she finds herself quite enjoying the prospect of killing him after his choices at the dinner.

Mags. Seven.

Not Mags, Clio groans inwardly, though it quickly dawns on her that Katniss immediately grew fond of Mags over their limited interactions in the training centre and so it makes sense why she’s included in their alliance meeting. Selfishly, a part of her is thankful that the elderly woman is included in their alliance as she deems none of these people trustworthy enough to protect the old woman, and so she likely won’t have to be the one to end her life. This also brings up more feelings of disgust and hatred towards the tributes in the room, for setting vulnerable, loving Mags up for certain failure. Mags smiles warmly at the young girl before she directs her glare at the man next to her.

Finnick. Eight.

Fucking Finnick, she thinks, to think we considered him one of us. She verbally scoffs when he holds her attention for a second before turning away to look at Mags. His presence in the room is what concerns her the most. After all, he is the biggest threat to her besides her own friends and given that he was in an alliance meeting with them just last night she can’t quite believe her eyes. In fact, she would have considered Finnick a friend had she not have stumbled across this meeting, and that alone makes her glad that she stayed. She thinks back to her comments when the scores were announced, guess we’re playing avoid the trident much quicker than we expected.

Seeder. Nine.

The woman must be in her sixties, never caring to introduce herself to Clio and she begins to wonder if she is starting to regret that now as her brown eyes are almost pleading as she catches Clio’s attention. Looking her up and down, she can tell that although the woman has aged considerably, she still looks strong and dependable. There’s no sign that she’s turned to alcohol or morphling to cope with the effects of her games. Still, she remains unthreatening to the young career.

Chaff. Ten.

As soon as Clio’s eyes meet Chaff’s, he winks at her, causing her to roll her eyes and move on immediately. She knows enough about the man, again he had never directly introduced himself but she had caught a glimpse of him throwing spears, and engaging in overly friendly chatter with Peeta during training while she watched Cato’s throws; and so it is instantly obvious that the tall, heavy built man had kept up with his training in the many years since his win. Cato and Gloss could easily overpower him though, she notes as she locks eyes with the next victor.

Johanna. Eleven.

Clio almost laughs when she sees Johanna’s expression. To many it would be unreadable - Johanna is good at hiding her emotions - but Clio can see the anger boiling over in her eyes. The girl is angry, and Clio does not want to be on the receiving end of that anger. She’s ready to move out of the room, but immediately decides against it once she spots the identity of the final person in the room.

Plutarch. Twelve.

Oh my god, Clio laughs, the fucking head gamemaker is in on their alliance. As she watches Plutarch she feels the stares of everyone else on her face; and that's when it clicks in her mind. This isn’t an alliance. It’s a motherfucking rebellion. Clio bursts in laughter which shocks everyone in the room, this wasn’t the reaction they expected. Plutarch uses this momentary lapse in Clio’s glower to lean forward and grasp the two large pieces of paper off the table, hoping to move it before she sees their contents.

She’s moving then, lunging across the table in a split second as she pounces at Plutarch with the aim of retrieving those papers. The head gamemaker seems to be of high importance to whatever they’re planning, as Haymitch and Chaff immediately come to his defence, working to put some distance between the two. About to dive at him, Haymitch and Chaff be damned, I can take two drunks, she thinks, she is suddenly held back by two hands around her shoulders as she struggles. The hands restraining her are rough and have a tight hold, while another pair of lighter hands works to remove the knife kept in her right pocket. “Finnick. Let me go.” She demands, her hands balled into fists as she tries to free her arms from his grip.

“I can’t.” He avoids her elbows, “not until you promise you won’t try to stab Plutarch again.”

“I could have him killed for less.”

Haymitch can be heard laughing as he grabs Clio’s knife from Johanna, “Sweetheart, no one listens to you anymore. You’re old news. So either you stop trying to kill us all in here or we kill you first in there.”

“Not like you aren’t going to do that anyway.”

“You’re right. That’s exactly what we’re planning right now.” His arms cross in front of his chest as he reprimands her, his lies as smooth as the velvet cushion he was sitting on.

“Just how stupid do you think I am?” Clio sneers back, “There’s no way that you’re all here for that.”

Clio directs her icy stare towards Plutarch, and once his darting glance lands on her, she holds her head high as her lips curl upwards into a sly smirk. “I wonder what action our dear president will take when I expose all about your precious little scheme. I suppose you’ll all be dead when I get home.”

Her words bounced across the room, stretching out like a rubber band, getting thinner by the second until only silence rang in the ears of those in the room. Plutarch’s face drops in fear, and others around him freeze as the silence continues before it is broken by Haymitch’s snicker.

“I don’t think he’ll be too pleased, but are you forgetting that your plan relies on him believing you?”

The noise Clio makes comes deep from within her throat, as she narrows her eyes at Haymitch. “Oh I think we all know he’d believe me. Or are you forgetting that he actually likes me, given how well we’re treated back home?”

“Right. You always have the advantage don’t you? But tell me what do your parents think of this year’s revelation?”

An enraged Clio lurches forward again, but Finnick is quick to restrain her yet again as she raises her voice, “You think you’re so smart don’t you?”

“Clio.” It’s Johanna who speaks this time, and the atmosphere in the room shifts as everyone swivels in their chairs to pay attention to the young girl. “You don’t have to believe us, none of us have anything left to lose.”

Finally some honesty, she thinks as she can feel the way Finnick tenses behind her, as the muscles in his forearms tighten around her shoulders, as if disputing Johanna’s statement. Suddenly she’s highly aware that Luna is nowhere to be found, she had seen the girl walk in the direction of the bar just minutes ago. If they’re truly forming an alliance why isn’t Luna here to give her two cents.

Grabbing Finnick’s forearm, she twists it at the elbow in order to free herself from his grip. Sliding underneath this arm, she pushes away from him as his body hits the wall at some force before he presses his face into the wall by the back of his head and directs her thoughts to him, “I’m sure Luna will be positively delighted to know you’re ignoring her wishes. And I’ll make sure she knows why we ignored her little promise about giving you time when she watches Cato sever your spinal cord with his sword.”

“I don’t need to follow everything she says, especially when she wants me to trust you.” Finnicks spits in defence.

“You’re not seriously thinking about teaming up with the nation’s fakes are you? Over us?” She challenges him before she notes that the two supposed allies are also not present, “Speaking of, where are they huh? I’m supposed to believe you’re doing all this planning without them?”

Her hands fly into the air, letting go of Finnick’s head as he gasps for breath once he stands upright again. Veins pulsing in the base of her neck, she forces laughter as she inspects the body language of everyone in the room. Plutarch, Blight and Wiress have visibly paled; Haymitch, Finnick and Johanna show signs of amusement; Seeder and both of the morphlings look down at their hands, twiddling with thumbs in nerves; Chaff and Beetee are whispering amongst themselves which abruptly ceases when they feel Clio’s glare. And Mags, the elderly woman is smiling at Clio. Her smile is warm and loving, and her eyes show compassion and understanding as she slowly pushes herself out of her chair and steps towards the young girl. The jaws of the others are thrown open in shock as the mature lady angles her head downwards and cradles the brunette’s face in her hands. Clio can feel Mags’ hands shaking slightly as they cup her face before one of her fingers lifts the curls falling in front of her eyes; pushing it aside so the two can hold eye contact. The kind, tender smile Mags gives her shows her protective, motherly instincts and instils a sense of trust between the two women. Mags gives her a finally gentle nod before returning to her velvet chair.

“You have 24 hours to prove to me that this isn’t what I think it is.” Clio’s voice is commanding as she delivers the ultimatum to the group, “Or I will climb on top of the cornucopia and expose your plan to the entirety of Panem.”

Without waiting for a response, she pushes her way out of the room and begins to make her way down the corridor back towards the lift. As she walks, she can hear whispered arguments in the room regarding who was going to go after her and make sure she didn’t just expose them all then and there. A minute later, Finnick rushes out of the meeting space and calls her name.

“Come to lecture me some more?”

He shakes his head as he steps closer to her and lowers his voice, conscious of who could be lingering around the corner to appear at any moment. “I want to know what it will take to show you that it’s purely an alliance.”

“You can’t Finnick.” She arches her back as she holds her head high to meet his eyes. “We involved you in our alliance, in our plan, only for you to go running back to those useless idiots. Unless you double cross them by coming up to my floor and telling us everything.”

Finnick seems to think about his options before he refuses, “I can’t. I trust Johanna and Haymitch more than I trust you.”

“The drunk?” Clio laughs, “You trust a drunk over me?”

He nods. “Yes. I do. I’m sorry.”

Clio leans forward, clutching her stomach as she laughs uncontrollably. He cannot be serious, she thinks. “You’re sorry?” She asks him rhetorically, before opening her mouth once again to threaten the man, “You’ll be sorry because is helping her really worth making an enemy of me? Of Cato?”

Finnick just shrugs his shoulders in response, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he lets Clio continue towards the elevator. He only lets her take a few steps before he speaks again, “You know, I used to find it insulting that I was barred from your special little career club.”

“You weren’t barred you fucking petulant child,” she disagrees before spinning back around to face the golden haired man as he resumes his speech.

“But now I realise that I lack the flexibility to become a true career. I could never get my head far enough up my own arse.” His hands flourish as he uses them to drive home his point, circling his right hand forwards as he dips into an overdramatic bow.

The thought is laughable, Finnick? Lecturing me about humility? She snickers to herself but when she notices the expression plastered on his face, she decides that she can’t let him win this argument. Storming back towards him, pointed finger raised, she jabs the digit into Finnick’s chest in answer to his smirk, prepared to counter but she is interrupted as he taunts her further. “Your arrogance will be your downfall Clio. I think we both know by now that even the strongest of warriors aren’t invincible.”

She watches him tip his head back in howling laughter as he strolls back to the underground meeting, winking at her before he disappears behind the door.

Clio reluctantly walks herself back to the end of the corridor, turning right to bring her out into the ground level foyer where she calls the lift to take her back to her level of the building. As she steps in the lift she looks at herself in the small mirrored pane whilst she pushes the button for level two; her wavy hair looks windswept despite not having set foot outside and the fancier, more expensive blouse she had chosen for tonight’s dinner is missing a button in the middle of the central piece. No doubt a result of this evening’s scuffles, she thinks, using the short span of time to smoothen down her hair slightly and try to rearrange her blouse before staring at the mechanisms of the lift as it flies upwards.

As the lift doors open on the second floor and she walks down the hallway into her living quarters, she finds Brutus and Enobaria sitting at the table waiting for her. “Where were you?” Enobaria asks.

“None of your business,” she grumbles as she trudges past them, feet heavy, to get to her room.

“Li, c’mon talk to us.” Brutus encourages, his voice calmer than Enobaria’s as he attempts to get her to open up.

“Promise me you’ll prioritise Cato.” She says, her back still facing them, and her two mentors look at each other in astonishment.

“Clio, whatever you’ve done can be fixed.” Enobaria tells her as she edges towards her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Not this time.” Clio responds, turning to face the woman she had looked up to for many years. She could see the worry in Enobaria’s eyes, something which she had never been on the receiving end of, but this only served to solidify her plan to get Cato home. “Promise me Enobaria.”

“You’re exhausted, lovely. Go to sleep and we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

Clio rolls her eyes as she drags her feet in search of her bed, “Fine, but you won’t change my mind.”

Yawning to herself, she moves languidly down the hallway until she finds the door that contains her room in their suite. Her hand twists the golden handle but she pauses as she hears the creaking of another door across the hall, making her lazily turn to face the noise, to find Cato who stands by the opposite wall.

Tiredness shows on his face as he opens his arms out to the girl, ushering her over to him, “Come here.”

She stumbles over and into his arms, twisting her neck so that her face rests on his chest as he wraps her in a tight hug. Her arms slid under his as he instinctively reached forward, using one arm to firmly pull her body into his while the other gently rests on the back of her head. Her breath falls on his chest softly, his own falling into her hair as his fingers move to rake lightly through the long waves that spill down her back; the only purpose to sooth the worries he could tell were plaguing her. He will hold her all night if need be, and all throughout the next day; interviews be damned. He will hold her until they hear cannons around them, for if they were to die in each other's arms, he thinks they can deal with that together.

They stand in each other’s arms for a long while, not speaking, just simply enjoying the comfort the other provides. As Cato’s hand calmly strokes the back of Clio’s neck beneath her hair, he feels her body tense and begin to tremble violently. She felt like she was falling apart and the only thing that was holding her together was the feeling of his strong arms wrapped securely around her. In the moment, in his embrace, she felt safe. Clio shuts her eyes, swallowing instinctively against a wave of tears, before she lets them flow freely, dampening the centre of Cato’s chest as he cards his hand through her hair once more in an attempt to calm her.

She hasn’t cried in a while, and never outside the comfort of her own home, but today she just really, really, needed to cry, and his ability to be there for her as she does, is the thing she treasures the most. Sniffling, she manages to force words out of her dry throat, “We should be at home Cato.”

Sighing, he presses a soft kiss to the top of her head, “I know, angel.”

#cato #cato hadley #cato hadley x oc #cato hunger games #cato x oc #finnick odair #hunger games #finnick x oc #hunger games catching fire #quarter quell #catching fire #clio #original character #victors #char writes shit #enobaria #twobraincellkentwell #thg finnick #district two #the hunger games fanfic #the hunger games trilogy #hunger games fanfiction #75th hunger games #hunger games fanfic #fanfiction #cato fanfic #fanfic #thg #thg fanfiction #thg fanfic

[clatoera]

☕️ The Career mentality / psyche.

Thank you

Okay so. As the resident careers enthusiast/apologist this is going to take me a minute. 

I’m going to talk about the careers as a whole then 1 vs 2 because I think it’s a little different even between districts. I’m just sticking with my big two career babies (1 and 2) though this is not D4 erasure. I just..feel very strongly about 1 and 2 and D4 has lots of fans. 

Alright. So. 

Overall Career Mentality. We know that the careers train (illegally, but I disregard that when writing LOL), and that there is great pride associated with winning. We know they get endless money and presents and gifts raining on them, but we also know that it’s a gift to the district to have a winner. I believe the winner’s districts get some sort of gift overall, which the career districts don’t need, but I am sure they don’t oppose it. They are raised with this idea that winning the games is the greatest of all things. It is the greatest pride, the greatest honor, and I’m sure the current victors are flaunted in their faces, right? They have the best houses, the best lives (that they know of), I'm sure the past victors make appearances at training like “look how good you could have it one day”. These districts are under the thumb of the capitol, and what they are shown is very tailored to that. I think there's some general similarities. For example, neither of these districts have starving kids. That being said, I think they approach the way they feed their kids differently. I think in one it’s about being strong but maintaining the ideal beauty standard for Panem (however that looks), or maybe even about how to maintain the most teenage physique (disgusting, i know, but I don’t put it past them). In two I think they bulked them up with a TON of protein, but made sure they were still like…desirable? They wanted them to be muscular and nothing more. Think plain chicken, rice, and green beans, imagine they’re fed the gym bro meal prep diet. Neither 1 nor 2 is starved, but they aren’t allowed to enjoy food. They don’t get to like..hangout with friends either. I think their peers are purposefully placed to drive them into competition and surround them only with the best in their district, and push each other to better performance. I know, these are two specific examples but..they’re ones I feel strongly about. 

That being said, no matter which district, those are kids who were shown a very skewed reality to essentially brainwash them into this. No kids are ACTUALLY volunteering to be slaughtered, they believe they’re the best, yes, but they have to be shown a really twisted/convoluted reality to think it's a thing they’d want to do (especially when you consider the reality of what victors go through). But also, compared to what else these kids could be doing with their lives, yeah, it makes sense that volunteering with the expectation to live a life of luxury is better than the alternative.

We’ll start with one. 

You wouldn’t think at first that in one they would need to volunteer for such luxuries, considering that's what their district specializes in. That being said, if you show these kids the kind of GREAT things they could have, of course they’ll go after them. We still do it, flaunting luxury and designer and free trips in the face of teenagers and tell them what they have to do to achieve it. I think the way one went about volunteering and training was very different. I think they certainly were trained physically, but I think there’s a lot of like…social training. Learning how to manipulate an audience, Learning how to smile pretty, and how to use the assets you are born with. Kids in one probably aren’t allowed to volunteer if they don’t have charisma, charm, and the look. You know the look. The Glimmer, Gloss, Cashmere, look. While of course they’re trained in combat, they are trained in manipulation. How to interview and lead the interview the way you want it to go. How to draw in sponsors. Everyone probably has a tactic they’re “assigned” (by assigned I mean I think they naturally have something to exploit), and thats what they’re trained in. Glimmer is trained to be a ditzy, pretty blonde girl. She’s still a trained killer. She is still a career. However I imagine thats her assigned “role”. I don’t think she’s a dumb girl by any means, I think that was a calculated way to present herself. In the book she is in a see through dress at like 16/17. The district one careers are trained not only in the art of being a career but in being a great, ideal victor. I..think the kids in one are allowed to go based on who (obviously can fight) but will be the most desired, ideal victor. That's how you end up with the Glosses, the Glimmers, The Cashmeres. Lethal but beautiful, charismatic, charming. I think theres something so inexplicably fucked up about it, the fact that they probably look at the pool of 9-12 year olds and decide hmmm this one has potential. I personally think district one ends up with the highest rate of sexual abuse of the victors. I imagine that career training in one involves interviews and seeing how they look in different clothes, essentially camera testing, head shots, all of that. I think winning in one of course is an honor and brings immense pride, but I think it’s about becoming a celebrity of sorts?  They have no idea what the immense beauty they are rated on will lead to. They have no idea what kind of horrors they’ll face. They see the opportunity to be famous, I believe, and that's how in D1 it works. Winning is great, but the attention and praise and the GORGEOUS GORGEOUS homes and luxuries and celebrity status is what matters. Think of the alternative though, in terms of luxury? Are they going to raise these kids up and be like you are gorgeous now go work in leather making. Go work in the diamond mine. Go work in the Jewelry store full of things you cannot afford. “Go in the games, or waste all that beauty and grace and charm” is probably the vibe in one, so of course the best of the best want to go into the games. It feels manipulative to these kids, to tell them that they’ll waste all that potential, if they don’t train to win the games, when you consider what happens to them after. “Win because otherwise the capitol cannot benefit off your beautiful young body.” And again..it’s gross to imagine how they look at the kids and decide who is pretty enough/the best fit. It probably even changes as they get older. They hit puberty and suddenly all of a sudden sorry I think A is our best option now Not you B.  It’s sad. It’s manipulative. It’s disgusting.

Now for two. 

Two I think is the polar opposite. They win for the glory of winning, for being the strongest, the best, the most vicious and violent tributes. This comes with the environment of two, which is WEAPONRY and Peacekeepers. They turn their kids into weapons, ideal weapons. Think about Enobaria and Brutus vs Gloss and Cashmere, the way they hold themselves is so different during the Quell reaping. Cashmere and Gloss are smiling, Brutus and Enobaria are like..they have these TERRIFYING expressions. Take that even down to Cato/Clove vs Marvel/Glimmer. Marvel and Glimmer notably smile during their interviews, but Cato and Clove are COCKY. They’re smirking, they aren’t all smiles and waves. They’re lethal and they know it. But back to the district itself. By training those kids to be violent and vicious and under the guise of “the capitol is SO great,” they effectively are ensuring really loyal, great peace keepers. If only 2 kids a year get to go to the games, that makes dozens that are now highly trained, brutal, ready to kill and maim, that are perfectly equipped to become peacekeepers. The capitol knows that so of course they’re like yes D2 perfect little district! I think winning the games is a way to escape a relatively hard life of peacekeeping or working on weaponry. It’s not cushy in 2 like it is in one.  I think tribute selection in 2 is FAR more on skill and willingness to be this brutal, bloody career. That's the image they WANT for District 2. They’re so good at making weapons even their victors are a weapon, you know? However, in terms of getting a little controversial, I think there’s also a blatant parallelism to nationalism and recruiting poor kids into the army. Pride yourself on this district, what an honor it would be to DIE for your district. Win to bring PRIDE to your district. Sound familiar? I’m not saying the kids in the academies of 2 are from poor families, no. But I think that would be a great way for them to see a way to escape and pull their family out of tough times, don’t you? A promise of escape and glory..a promise of pride and honor…there may even be a sense of duty there, don’t you think? That feels very intentional, to me, on Suzanne Collin’s part to make the best tributes from the capitol’s most loyal district …the district of the military and weaponry and law enforcement. I do think the life of a victor in 2 doesn’t stop there. I think they continue to act as trainers, making tribute selection, like once they’re in they’re IN. This is their whole life. They will be holding classes, they will be mentoring. Winning in D2 is a whole way of life, not just something that leads to glory and then they get to go about their lives. It goes with that militant mindset.

And again. I don’t think this is a normal thing for kids to think these things. LIke..theres some serious brain washing involved. It’s not normal to raise these kids as weapons. 

I believe the careers are still normal kids.  LIke they have families (most of them), they’ve got crushes, they’ve got birthdays, they’ve got favorite things, they’ve got things they dislike.

While I can explain why I think they are the way they are…I think they’re products of their environments. Without the glory hanging over them, I think they’d just be normal kids. They just are normal kids.

The careers were NEVER the enemy. They were not the true antagonists. They’re kids, who are convinced they want this by the situation they are born into, they are told this is the ultimate honor and success. 

We tell kids these things even today. That this career is the best thing you could do, what an honor it would be. 

I empathize with these kids. I think I share some of the same psyche. I’m an oldest child, the only person in my family to ever go to med school, I am the best at everything i’ve ever done, or else I wasn’t going to do it. There was never a choice but to be the best. To be at the top. I won’t do something unless i’m guaranteed to succeed or be the best. It’s not healthy and it’s not really okay but it’s how I think and who I am. There’s no limits on what it takes to succeed, and I think thats very much how they were raised.

Okay.

Careers apologist 4ever. 

#the careers #thg careers #careers apologist #district one #district two #cato #clove #glimmer #marvel

[darthnell]

55. Rattle

#true vengeance 151 #venatrix pyke #mariposa fonesca #maritrix #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games #hunger games oc #hunger games fanfic #district two #my art #hunger games careers #the hunger games #venatrix #mariposa #fanfiction #hunger games ocs #sorry for all the Tags but. the GIRLS ;-; #i rly enjoyed writing this scene #and I enjoyed drawing it too

[lost-in-beacon-hills]

I need people to love Cato as much as I do. I don't see enough Cato love. The way he died was atrocious but people just forget about him because he was a career and an obstacle that Katniss had to get through.

(Don't get me started on the careers. I will defend them forever.)

But he got the worst death in the series for me. It lasted for hours. He was chewed apart by mutts. He screamed and whimpered and begged for it to end. But Katniss let it drag on because she knew it's what the Capitol wanted to see. And she had one arrow left that she wrapped Peetas leg off with.

Even at 12 I knew the boy didn't deserve the way he died. It was the worst way any of them went. Most of them had fast deaths at the very least. The movie really did a disservice cutting it out. It was good to see him go a little more gently but the book showed the horror of it.

Even if you hated him by the time he died you was begging for it to end as well.

#hunger games renaissance #cato hadley #cato #district two #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #rue #foxface #clove #hell clove had a horrible death too #and that could have easily been everlark #they were in love too #career apologist #suzanne collins #the hunger games #thg #hg

[alavestineneas]

Home

pairing: catohadley x fem!reder

summary: He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price. warnings: canon-typical violence; mentions of meat (as in reader owns a butcher shop); trauma and poverty word count: 6k

author's note: hello beautiful people! In honour of my birthday, I am posting about this bad boy today. Hope you like it - it was such a fun thing to write! Enjoy!

The stones under his worn boots are changing quickly; they are coloured in all shades of grey, sometimes with funny black dots on their rounded bellies. Cato would stop and collect a few if it wasn't for the important task at hand: Mom sent him to the butcher's, letting him take the thinly metaled coins for the first time, which are now snugly stored in the pockets of his raggy coat. He has the order memorized; Mom always buys the same. Three pig legs for the soup, which are then added to the porridge she cooks, and two bottles of the cheapest milk on the counter. It's good for the bones in his body, she says, and Cato believes her. Soon, he will start school; he has to be strong to get the chance to try out for the academy.

The butcher's is just around the corner; it's the only shop in their block that is always open. And, although the signboard is already faded, it is still his favourite place to visit. The door opens with a creek, and a small bell over Cato's head sings its cheerful melody. He takes a few steps inside, the colourful counters greeting him with all kinds of meat and sausages. He reads the curved writing on each of the signs carefully, trying out the way the letters come together in words. The sound of rushed steps is the only thing that breaks his mesmerization. They are soon changed by the grunting of the wood chair on the old tiled floor, and then, finally, a head pops up from behind the stands.

''Good afternoon!'' A pair of curious eyes stare at him, a smile missing a few teeth serving as a second greeting. ''What can I do for you today?'' the girl asks, changing her cheerful demeanour to a more serious, business-like tone.

Cato straightens up, his fingers finding the coins. He is a grown-up now; no other four-year-old he knows is allowed to go to the butcher's by themselves. ''I am here to buy meat.''

The girl laughs, her hair shaking with her mirth.

Cato feels the redness creep to his ears—of course, he is here to buy meat; everyone does. ''Why are you behind there anyway?'' he mutters, crossing his hands in front of himself. He thinks the girl should stop now; it's really not nice to laugh at others.

''Grandpa went to trade for bread and left me as the captain here,'' the girl boasts.

''That's a shame.'' Partly because Cato liked Grandpa Marc—he always sneaked a few pieces of candy for him and his brothers at home—and partly because he didn't like the little know-it-all. ''I would like three pig legs and two bottles of the cheapest milk,'' he declares in one breath, careful not to mess up. He isn't sure he can take another wave of her laughter.

''Sure,'' the girl nods, packing the meat in a big brown bag. Cato patiently waits as she moves her chair to reach the milk shelves, stopping before them. ''Which one again?''

''Shirley's.''

The girl doesn't move; the flowers on the back of her dress are still facing him.

''Shirley's,'' he repeats a little louder. Cato feels silly again; he doesn't like the mean girl and the way she teases him. ''Are you stupid? The one with the blue cap is Shirley's.''

''Right,'' she finally grabs it, moving to the register. Her hands work quickly, wrapping the goods and putting them together. ''The meat is this much money, '' she scrambles the numbers on the piece of paper lying nearby, ''and milk is this much.''

Cato goes over the symbols, carefully counting the total in his head. ''Here,'' he says, reaching for the money. ''And you wrote the two here wrong—it should be facing the other way, like a swan.''

''Oh. Sorry about that. Is this with change?'' She points to the colourful coins on the wood.

''Don't you know how to count? You need to give me 50 cents in change.''

''I do!'' she argues, her hand slapping the counter. ''I was just, hm, testing you!''

''Sure. Then why are you giving me two dollars back now?'' Cato raises an eyebrow. Part of him wants to laugh at her, just like she did moments ago. But he doesn't. Instead, he swaps the coins for the right amount, giving her the money back. ''Here you go. All good.''

''Thank you! Have a nice day!''

Cato nods, grabbing the bag and exiting the shop with a light heart. He did what his mom asked him to; she will be very happy to know that. The air is warm, and the soft wind is hitting him right in the face. In no time, Cato is home; the door is never locked. He places the bag on the kitchen table; Mom will see it when she puts the baby to sleep. His third brother - the other two are sleeping on the big bed in the children's room. That used to be his, but now he is a big boy—he sleeps on the couch in the living room, right near the kitchen. He likes it here; the baby's crying is not as loud, and he can see Mom as often as he wants to when she cooks.

There's not much to do right now; it's the ''quiet hours'' in Hadley's house. Usually, Cato would go play outside at this time, but instead, he grabbed the big book from the kids' shelf. There, with big, red letters, are all of the alphabets and numbers. It was his favourite. Cato remembers how mom would sit with him on her lap, her soft finger circling every picture. ''This is one. Look, it has a tiny nose, just like you do! Here, give me your hand—that's one finger you have, little gentleman!''

Cato throws one last glance at the closed door to the parent's room—he decides that mom won't be mad at him if he plays not in front of the house for once—and grabs the book, leaving the still place. This time, he grabs a few of the prettiest rocks on his way—he builds bridges and castles with them in the small creek behind their house. The butcher's is still empty when he gets there; the girl sits on the tall chair, drawing on the paper.

''What are you drawing?'' Cato asks, trying to see, but the counter is too tall for him to reach.

The girl doesn't look surprised to see him here; it's like he never left in the first place. ''It's worms. Papa worm, mama worm, and little worm. They are having dinner.''

''What are they eating? Meat?''

''No,'' she said, shaking her head. ''Meat is expensive; they have no money. They're eating a dirt pie. Here,'' the girl climbs off the chair, sitting down on the floor instead. Cato sits down near her, looking over her shoulder. ''They have small plates and spoons.''

''My dad doesn't like pies. He likes potatoes more.'' Cato thinks meat is better than pies and potatoes, but he doesn't tell Dad that. The girl tells the truth: meat is expensive.

''Where is he? At work?''

''Yeah, at the factory.'' Most people work at the factory—that's what Cato's dad says. They go when it's dark outside and Cato is still sleeping, and they return when the clock shows all zeros. Then, his dad eats while his mom drinks tea, and they whisper about something. ''And yours?''

The girl shrugs. ''I don't have one. It's just Grandpa and me. What is this?'' She points to the book in Cato's hands, and he finally remembers why he came.

''That's my book. It has numbers. Do you want to see?''

The girl beside him nods, and Cato smiles. He opens the book and proudly shows off the beautiful pictures. The girl likes them; she listens carefully to what Cato has to say about each letter. He likes it when he doesn't laugh at him.

-

''Good morning, Grandpa Marc!'' Cato greets the man behind the counter, cutting up yet another piece of meat. It's early, but he already stands in the butcher's, his dad's old bag on his shoulder. They can't be late for the academy.

''I'm coming, I'm coming!'' YN shouts, biting into the apple in one of her hands and tucking in her shirt with the other. ''Bye, Pa, see you!''

They both passed the exam for the academy; only four people from their neighbourhood did. They got the chance only because they were ''exceptional'' students, the only four whose training was free for now. The debt will be paid by them volunteering or after the academy through their future salaries. Cato knows that no one is actually able to pay it off; he will volunteer as soon as possible. YN will go; they agreed to go in different years.

That's how it always was with them—they walked to the academy and home together, trained, and learned together. Cato helped Grandpa in the shop, and YN often looked after his brothers. It was the endless stream of jokes from everyone around—you never saw one without the other, not even on the rating board. That was until year nine.

''I decided I'm not going to sit with you at lunch,'' Cato tells the girl walking beside him on the dusty road.

YN doesn't answer right away; she watches her feet instead. ''Let me guess—you will be with the mayor's son and his pack?''

''As a matter of fact, yes. They are my friends, and they invited me to sit with them.'' It annoys him the tone she is using.

''They are not your friends, Cato. They only do that, so you will volunteer for them when the time comes.'' YN is angry; her hands on the straps of the backpack are tightly clenched.

''So what? I'm going to volunteer anyway, so why not sit with them? There is nothing to do here, and they are always hanging out at movies or something.''

''Oh, so that's what it is about.'' YN stops, turning to him. ''You want to be one of them now.''

''Of course, I fucking do!'' Cato exclaims. ''We are dirt poor, YN. I don't want to live all my life in this shithole.''

YN's face changes; her eyes look at him as if for the first time. ''This is home, Cato. This is where we belong.''

''I don't. And I will find a way out of here, and you can stay in this mud as much as you like, but I will not let you drag me down with you.''

She slaps him. The hit is heavy; they are both trained to take blows, but it stings him more than it should. Cato watches as YN leaves, her quick steps echoing on the empty street in the morning fog. He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price.

-

YN can live without him as much as he does, she tells herself. She didn't decide to ruin the friendship, so she won't be the one to apologize, no matter how long the silence lasts. If he thinks that she will run back to him after four months of not talking, he is wrong. YN is fine; she still has two friends at the academy, she still has her grandpa and the beautiful sun above her head. It smiles at her every time she walks home alone, filling in the small gap in her chest with its golden rays. Her new companion.

What she doesn't expect is a group of people in front of the shop; they shout and argue, running around with ice and water in their hands. YN runs too; something happens. Fear rises in her stomach and travels to her throat when she sees the white coat of the doctor standing near the counter, a concerned expression on his face. ''I'm sorry,'' he tells her. YN clutches her bag, trying so hard not to cry as the crowd of familiar faces surrounds her.

He fell while trying to reach for the shelf, and a customer found him unconscious on the floor. Grandpa broke seven bones in his body and damaged his head. They are taking him to the hospital for, god knows, how long. The doctor places a hand on her shoulder; the cost of surgery is covered by the state, but she needs money for the medicine. They don't have any.

YN spends an hour crying into her pillow before pulling herself together—she is alone. It's not some stupid game they play—they pretend to win for years in the generated arenas in some big green boxes—it's life. The most brutal arena of all. So, she does what any fifteen-year-old would do—she washes her face with ice-cold water and grabs the keys from the shop. She has to speak with a few people.

-

The door to Hadley's home is never locked; nobody closes it in their neighbourhood, but YN still knocks out of respect. Cato opens it; she is surprised he is here and not with his new friends. He wants to say something, but YN has no time for him.

''Is your dad home?'' YN asks, trying to look over his shoulder.

Cato nods. ''Come in. Mom, it's YN.'' He shouts, closing the door behind her.

''Ah, YN. How is Grandpa Marc?'' She is cooking something—a big pot boiling with the best smell one could imagine.

The woman's concerned face stirs something in YN, so she fights the urge to cry and swallows her tears instead. ''Alive

''Come sit with us; we were just preparing to eat.''

YN wants nothing more than a plate of something warm, but she declines. She came here not to lessen the portion of someone; nobody here has money to make extra food. ''Thank you, but I need to speak with Mister Janus.''

''Spill it.'' Mr. Janus nods, standing up from the couch.

''Can we speak outside?'' YN asks, feeling a pair of blue eyes on her.

''Of course,'' Mister Janus shares a look with his wife before stepping outside. ''What happened, kid?''

YN takes some air inside her lungs. ''Is there a place for me at the factory for the night shifts?'' The man opens his mouth to argue, but YN is quicker. ''I know I am young, but I am strong from all the training, and I know a lot of useful things. I can reach where most men can't, and I will do anything you ask me to, I promise.''

Mister Janus sighed. ''I know you are good, but what about the academy? Night shift is six to six; you won't have time to get enough sleep and do the homework.''

''I quit the academy.''

''What?'' Mister Janus's face changes. ''YN, why? It's the only chance for you to survive.''

''Work is the only way for me to survive. Poverty and an empty stomach will kill me much faster than some games. I need the job, Mister Janus, please. If you don't give it to me, I will look for it elsewhere.''

The man thinks, his forehead creased with worry. ''Fine, kid. But be careful—get enough rest and don't push yourself too hard. We are here to help if you need us to.''

''Thank you, thank you so much!'' YN smiles, a few tears escaping her eyes. She hugs the man tightly, a glimmer of hope finally appearing. ''Thank you, Mister Janus; I will not let you down!''

Mistes Janus smiles back, patting her back. ''Go before it gets too dark; I'll see you tomorrow at five thirty.''

He watches as YN turns the corner of the street before returning to the warmth of his house. How much do these kids have to endure in this world?

-

YN didn't push herself too hard; she simply did what she was supposed to do. At six, she returned to the shop after the shift at the factory—butcher's opened at eight—so she had two hours to wash the dirt and sweat away with the old basin and a little warm water from the kettle and to master something edible on the stove. When that was done, she would dissect the meat and check the dates on milk bottles; the soon-gone bad would go to the sale section, and the new ones took their place. Then, the doors of the butcher's opened—people still needed to eat, and YN wasn't about to let them starve because of her own ''tiredness.''

The heaviest flow was in the morning, with the shop becoming quieter in the afternoon—that's when she took most of her sleep in, resting her head on the wooden counter and closing her eyes for a second. Oftentimes, customers would find her like this—they gently shook her shoulder and woke her up before ordering. Each time, YN felt shame creep to her cheeks, but each time, no one said a word to her; they just smiled, thanked her, and left the shop with a big brown bag in her hands.

That's how the rest of the year passed, with it becoming slightly easier when Grandpa was finally discharged from the hospital. His right arm didn't move like it used to, and it was hard for him to walk, but it was still better to have someone home to return to. Besides, he insisted on still serving the customers, so YN had an opportunity to sleep in her own bed for a few hours before a new portion of cut meat was delivered.

That's what she thought about standing in the main square in a crowd of children—how much meat she needed to cut before her shift. Grandpa was also here; some man had to hold him up so he wouldn't fall from being on his legs for too long, but he could at least enjoy the fresh air, which YN was grateful about.

The reaping was going quickly; the girl named was from the academy, so they didn't have to go through all that volunteering. YN didn't know her personally, but she saw her a couple of times; she was good with knives. As for the boys, it didn't go as smoothly—some poor eleven-year-old's name was called out, and he burst out crying on the spot.

''I volunteer!'' the voice boomed through the street, and YN turned with everyone to see who it was, although, in her head, she knew the answer.

Cato. He walked to the stage calmly, his legs conquering the steps in no time. He looked determined and happy, but YN knew better—that's what they taught them to present. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Killers. She hears distant cries from the crowd behind her—it's probably Miss Hadley. YN clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together until her head rings. It isn't the time for her to break.

-

Cato can't bear to watch his mother's puffy face as she clenches her arms around him, whispering something like a prayer into his chest. His father is silent, a lonely tear escaping his eye as he holds Cato's youngest brother closer. The twins are also here; both of them are at the academy, so they have a faint idea of what he is doing. They tell him he will win because of how big he is, and that will be very easy. Cato smiles at them reassuringly—if only it were that easy.

''Dad,'' he nods in the direction of his crying mother.

''Come on, darling, you will upset him before the games,'' his father tells her, carefully pulling her way and placing a hand on Cato's shoulder. ''Stay strong, my boy. We will all be rooting for you every second you are in that arena; don't forget that.''

''Thank you, dad. Boys,'' he watches as twins show each other away, trying to get to bed first. He hugs them both; he has two hands for a reason. ''Behave and don't bother mom too much, or I'll have to kick your ass once I get back,'' he whispers into their heads.

The youngest one waves goodbye, blowing him a kiss. Cato smiles, watching his family leave the room. He wants to remember this moment forever, to put it in his pocket, and to never let it go. He knows why he is doing this—for them to have a better chance at life, for his father to finally have a day off, and for his mom to have new pots she secretly gazed at when she thought he wasn't looking.

''Hadley. Seven minutes.'' The peacekeeper announces, opening the door once more, even though Cato doesn't expect anyone else. Well, he hoped she would come—he really wanted her to—but he believed she never would. YN is not the type. Still, she is here. Closing the door behind her, in a simple blue jumpsuit and a nice scarf around her head.

''Hi,'' she nods. ''I came to say goodbye.''

Cato's heart skips a beat—those words hit harder than seeing himself on the big screens, with a tribute written under them. Soon, he may be dead; she will watch him on her small TV in the living room.

YN speaks quickly, almost in a rush. ''I know we don't speak anymore, but I know how you fight—you are capable of winning more than everyone else out there. Please, just don't think too much about what you are doing; just do it, okay?''

''Yeah, I'll try.'' He finds it weird that she doesn't want him to think, but Cato doesn't question why—she does know him better than anyone, having been training for a lot of years side by side.

''You have to return; your family needs you.''

''Don't worry too much about them; we already got the money for my volunteering from the mayor. They will be fine; dad can still work, and twins could help out. You have enough on your shoulders as it is. How is Grandpa Marc?''

''Better. He can't move like he used to and still needs help with walking and eating, but other than that, it's good. Although he is devastated that I didn't let him handle the meat, you should've seen how he tried to sneak a few knives at night.''

Cato's lips turn into a smile. ''That does sound like him.''

''Oh, I almost forgot. Here,'' YN rumbles in her pockets before taking a few pieces of candy out. ''We thought you should have a few.''

''You are kidding me? Lucky-talkies? I haven't had one in ages!''

YN laughs at his excitement, carefully placing the sweets in his hand. ''I know. They are as hard as they used to be; don't chip your tooth; it'll look bad at the promotion.''

Cato chuckles, pocketing the candy before his mentors have a chance to take it away. ''Thanks, YN. For everything.''

''I'll give you as much as you want if you don't die in there. Just try to stay alive, okay?''

''Easier said than done. But I'll try.''

YN smiles. Their time is up. The peacekeeper opens the door for her, his gun tangling dangerously around his neck. She doesn't turn around as she exits; her walk is steady. Cato thinks that he caught her shoulders shaking, but it could be just a twist of his tired brain.

-

The days after that are agony. YN doesn't know if it was her tiredness that finally caught her in a narrow corner or the grim reality of her life—it was definitely both. Even her favourite silent friend didn't cheer her up like it used to—the sun shone almost violently, burning her skin and leaving her body dizzy. The rotten cycle was now worsened by the non-stopping playing of what seemed to be a thousand screens, with stomach-curling screams echoing from time to time. They were everywhere—at the shop and their small flat above it, on the main square she passed each day, and, what was worse, they were at the factory, where she couldn't pretend to watch even for a second.

The work she does is heavy—carving the stones on the machinery bigger than her; her muscles were constantly aching, begging for a break. The suit she wore was too tight and too hot, and the annoying voice of the announcer blared through the speakers, stealing the air in her lungs. YN wanted nothing but to make it stop—for the world to go silent and still, even if just for a moment. But wonders didn't happen with people like her, so she continued to work, pushing herself through her gritted teeth.

''Welcome, welcome to what seems to be the last day in this beautiful arena!'' The blue-haired man spoke, his accent making YN's head hurt even more. ''To remind our dear viewers all across the Panem, here is a small recap from my colleague and sometimes friend, Claudius.''

''Thank you, Caesar. We are left with only three tributes on day eighteen—the first, of course, being Cato from District 2. His strategy has proved efficient so far; no doubt, he is one of the best contestants we've seen in a long time. And then, much to my surprise, a pair of tributes from District 12 are still in the games—their love story truly captivated the audience. Let's see what this day, or should we say night, brings us today and who will have the odds in their favour in the end.''

YN doesn't react to their comments; it feels wrong to compare herself to the kids out there, being selfish enough to think she deserves a break. She should be counting her lucky stars; it isn't her there, going through the bodies of the competitors one by one. Cato received body armour from the sponsors; that was good. He also lost his district partner; YN remembers her now; she was in his ''new'' friend group. She feels sorry for the girl; her death was awful, and her screaming Cato's name will forever be engraved in YN's memory.

''Aha, here he is! Our gladiator from District 2—he is running from—what's that?—wolves! Look at that speed—he surely is a good runner!''

YN turns her attention to the giant screen—surely enough, Cato is running from some monstrous creatures. He is bloodied; his skin is covered in bruises. YN prays it all will stop soon and he will get home safe. He doesn't even flinch when the arrow shot by twelve hits his chest; he just keeps running towards the Cornucopia.

''Please,'' YN whispers. He can't die, not when he has survived for so long.

''Look at them—all of the tributes managed to get on the Cornucopia just in time! Oh, here is a clever move from Cato's side: having Peeta in a headlock is a classic move. Now, he is sort of a ''human shield''. Brilliant!''

"Go on, shoot.'' Cato's voice booms through the speakers, sending shivers down YN's back. She missed hearing his voice, but it didn't even sound like him anymore. Like a stranger talking from the inside of what looked like her friend. '' And we both go down, and you win. Go on. I'm dead, anyway! I always was, right? I didn't know that until now. Isn't that what they want, huh?''

What the fuck was he doing? YN's mind raced—why won't he just kill him and get it over with? She doesn't notice how her hands begin to shake and how everyone else in the room seems to be eyeing her.

''No! I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my district. Not that it matters."

''Kill him! For fuck's sake, just kill him!'' YN stands up, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice echoes—she didn't mean to say it out loud.

''No talking!'' The peacekeeper in front of her shouts, his hand steady on the gun.

YN turns to face him slowly. Who was he to tell her to shut up when it was her friend who was dying right before her eyes? She feels her hands clench into fists; she will be able to take him down in a fight, maybe even kill him. YN was willing to try, at least.

''She won't talk no more,'' one of the older men in the group mutters, his voice bitter. ''Sit down, child.''

YN wants to argue, wants to scream or run until the bullet catches up to her, but she doesn't. What use would her dead body be to her grandpa? So she sits down, biting her cheek until her mouth fills with a familiar iron taste. Everything she wants to say, she tastes in her throat instead.

''Wait, can we zoom in on here?'' One of the announcers asks. ''Here, yes, what exactly are they staring at? It fell from Cato's pocket, right?''

'''Well, Claudius, it looks like a candy wrap to me. The real question is: why does Cato have one in the first place? He didn't strike me as a big sweets fan. ''

''Well, whatever it is, it seems to have changed his mind—look at how masterfully he throws Peeta down, like a feather! Oh, and now he is lurching for the girl on fire!''

A loud snap is heard through the speakers, and the girl falls, lifeless. YN covers her face with her hands, the dirt from them leaving a mark on her sweaty face. A choir of relieved exhales rings through the room.

''Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have our 75th victor!''

- 

It's hard, the first thing Cato realizes. Being here, breathing in the air that feels like spikes inside his lungs—everything was supposed to be easy, but it's so far from that. They have a nice house now; it has a room for each of his brothers, and even twins don't have to share anymore. His dad doesn't work; it's not fitting for victor's family to do so, so he takes up gardening instead. If a few years ago Cato heard that his father would ramble about how badly roses had grown on this soil, he would've checked himself into a mental asylum.

He isn't very loved in the Capitol, but his mentors said it was for the best. Cato believes them, but it stings a little. He wanted glory but got disgusted instead. It was not a fair trade, but at least his debt is paid, as is his brothers'. Money could buy a lot of things, just like he predicted, but it couldn't buy him peace. Cato has nothing ahead of him; he can't study like his peers do, can't work, can't live, and pretend it didn't happen. It very much did—when he closes his eyes, he can still smell the blood on his hands.

That's why he is here instead of Victor's village, eating ice cream on the empty main square in the warm evening. It's funny to think how he wanted to try it, collecting the money his father let him have for almost a year before ordering his first chocolate scoop. It was the tastiest thing he had ever eaten; now, it tasted just like every other one.

He hears the nearing footsteps—the people are returning from the day shift in the factories. Cato nods to a few of them—old neighbours, parents of classmates, or dad's friends. The men are all different—short and tall, ginger, blond and brunette—but they all bear the same expression that Capitoleers called ''a district 2 glare'' once. Cato used to get angry when he heard it, but now his face is no different—the word is a heavy thing to endure.

His eyes drift to the only person looking up and not on the road ahead—of course, it's YN. She thinks about something only she and the sun know, her steps mirroring those of the people ahead. One of the men notices him watching; he gently shoves her shoulder, whispering something in her ear before pointing in the direction of his seat. Suddenly, Cato wants to hide the ice cream in his hand and run away, but he doesn't.

''Enjoying your victory, Mister Hadley?'' Her voice is loud and filled with teasing, and a few men snicker at them.

Cato isn't angry; he deserves it, quite frankly. ''Always was known for the sweet tooth,'' he shrugs. ''As a matter of fact, are you free any time soon?'' He asks when the crowd is far enough away.

YN raises an eyebrow at him. ''Why is that? You know I work.''

''I was hoping you and your grandpa could come by sometime. Mom is awfully lonely, and the boys would love to see you, too.''

She nods. ''I am free on Sunday, but Grandpa is still a little shy about eating in front of people.''

''I'll ask mom to cook a soup then—it's better?'' He would cook the damn soup himself if it meant seeing her for longer than five minutes. If it meant not being alone in that house, that reeked of the arena.

''Yes, I think we can do that. What about 12? We could be a little late with all that walking.''

''Thank you; it's perfect.''

YN smiles at him. For the first time since he won, someone smiled at him. Cato smiles back, although he is sure it comes out more as a grin. YN doesn't notice or pretends to do so.

- 

''Oh, come in! Janus, come right down; the guests are here!''

YN and her grandpa are greeted with Miss Hadley's voice, her warm hands wrapping first around her, and then the older man. YN smiles; she missed just sitting down for a meal without having to worry about how much money she was going to need for the next one. The boys have grown. They shout, each trying to be the first to show her their own rooms and the cool things they have. YN tries not to get lost in the maze of toys, balls, books, and a thousand other different things, while Grandpa talks with Mr. Janus.

When the boys start to embark on what feels like a fifth circle around the house, Miss Hadley puts an end to it. ''That's enough! YN, darling, come sit here—what would you like to eat?''

The table is full of different things. There are so many that they could eat for a few weeks and be full. YN doesn't think she saw that many vegetables and fruits in her life. She asks for what everyone is having and is happy to have her plate full. Grandpa also seems to be enjoying himself; he insists on wearing his best shirt for the occasion and now listens attentively to what the twins have to say. They make a good team, YN thinks—twins finally found free ears that are not yet tired of them, and there is nothing that Grandpa loves more than a good story.

When the dinner is over, YN speaks, talking to Miss Hadley beside her. ''Thank you for the invitation; your house is just lovely.''

''Cato made us clean every corner of it before you came—I didn't even have time to play outside!'' The youngest boy whines, pouting slightly.

YN chuckles as she watches colour gather at Cato's ears, his eyes glued to the dish in front of him. ''Well, it was definitely worth it—I had the most marvelous time with you here. And the food was delicious! But I am afraid we have to go; Grandpa should walk when it's still light outside.''

''We will take you home,'' Cato announces, nodding to the twins to put on their shoes. They do so happily, grabbing them and their jackets before Grandpa has a chance to stand up and stick to his side like glue.

The evening is pleasant; the wind is quite chilly, but Cato doesn't mind. The only sound on the street is twins arguing over who will help Grandpa Marc with his cane for the next two minutes.

''Thank you for coming,'' he says, looking at the woman walking beside him.

''Of course. We had a good time, - I hope you did too. How's life been? We haven't talked in a while.''

''Good,'' Cato lies. ''And yours?''

''Better. Since your dad quit, I got the day shift; it pays better, and I can finally get rid of those horrible dark circles.''

Cato nods. ''I've been thinking a lot about our past these days, especially our childhood. It feels like a lifetime ago.''

''Things change,'' YN shrugs. ''We've grown and become different people since then. I would've never imagined working at the factory, but here I am. And you win the games—that was your dream.''

''Don't you miss it? How easy were things back then?''

YN smiles. ''They never were easy, I think; we just couldn't understand them properly. Besides, not much changed, if you think about it.''

''Maybe not for you.''

''Why?'' YN turns to look at him.

Cato swallows. ''YN, they made me different. The games, all those kills—they changed me.''

''You did what you had to survive. It doesn't matter now that you are here.''

''You think I don't notice how people tiptoe around me now? How can Mom stand to look at me for more than a minute? How do boys try to avoid me at all costs? And dad—he doesn't even speak to me! ''

YN is silent. Cato curses in his mind—he shouldn't have said that. He takes a deep breath. ''I'm sorry. It just feels weird. It's like I don't have a home to return to and can't get into a new one. Just hanging there, mid-air.''

''When Grandpa was in the hospital, that's how it felt. I was too young to be alone, but there was no choice but to watch as everything I once loved fell into ruins. I was supposed to be going to movies, partying, and sneaking out, not juggling the bills from medication and the shop. But life decided otherwise. So, I built my own home within myself—one that nothing could tear down or take away.''

''I don't think there is anything left to build on. I'm not like you; everything anyone sees when they look at me is a monster .''

''I don't.'' YN stops. ''I see the boy who brought me a pretty big book with pictures so I could give the change correctly; I see a man who volunteered for his family to have a chance at a better life. I see you, real you, not the role mentors or Capitol made you play. Just Cato.''

''Can I hug you?'' His voice is barely above a whisper.

YN doesn't answer - she just takes a step closer into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder.

''I'm sorry; I am so sorry for everything I've done," Cato mutters, his hands trembling as he holds onto YN tightly. ''I should've said it sooner. ''

''It doesn't matter now. We survived this; we are still here, you and I.''

Cato nods; his tears mix with hers, pooling in patches on his shirt. They are different—children who were forced to grow up too early in a world that wasn't for them. ''I think I never lost it—my home. It was always here, with you, on this street. Isn't it funny? All those years of searching, only to return here, where we truly belong?''

''The butcher's, you mean? If you wanted more candy, you could've just asked,'' YN smiles, whipping away her red eyes.

-

''Fucking finally,'' an aged voice mutters from behind the corner.

''Grandpa Marc!'' the twins turn to him, surprised.

The old man just smiles, his wrinkled face appearing younger with joy. ''Don't tell YN I said that. She'll never let me live it down."

The twins giggle, their happy laughter echoing on the street. A few moments later, Grandpa Marc joins in, his breathy laugh adding to the chorus. It's not the first time the street leading to the butcher's was woken up by sounds of joy, and he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

#imagine #hunger games #character x you #cato hunger games #cato hadley #cato x reader #cato hadley x reader #cato hadley fanfiction #the hunger games #district two #childhood friends to lovers #au #love this pookie so much #careers #thg cato

[ilguna]

District Two, Vampire.

terrifying during the night, the vampires reside in district two. drinking blood of others makes them more powerful. depending on the intake, it lasts only a couple hours. the more they drink, the more strength they gain.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

-> Amara Jouvempes <-

—

-> Ardor Warmane <-

—

#ilguna #district two #2022 halloween #thg #the hunger games #happy Halloween ;)

[irenespring]

House MD Characters and Their Mentors

Oh look it's more of this very niche character analysis. This time I'm looking at which of @lorata's District Two Victors would be good mentors for House characters. House fans reading this: you would really like Lorata's writing. Only limited Hunger Games knowledge required (basically you need to know the premise); lots of messed up people making the best of things, found family shenanigans, emotional angst, and queerness.

Anyway, time for mentors!

James Wilson: Devon. The essence of a Devon tribute. Really wants to make the world better. Fairly messed up and depressed, but does genuinely care about the district, and even the kid he volunteers for. The one bit of really key information we are provided about Devon's tributes is that Devon's dreamers burn bright, but flame out as the reality of the Games shatters their world view. This reminds me a lot of how House says that "Wilson thinks that if he cares enough he'll never have to die" contrasted with Wilson's feelings of betrayal and devastation that he, a oncologist who gave his life to treating cancer, is dying of cancer. He served the Capitol, believed everything the Center told him, and the truth of the Games ---the pain and the guilt and the injustice of it all--- is a sudden betrayal that completely unbalances him. The only way he wins is through temporary Arena madness, the kind of desperation that caused him to double his dose of chemo in a last ditch effort to survive and make the world make sense again during canon. Devon's main challenge post-Arena is helping him rebuild his shattered sense of self: Wilson thought he was a good person, but you can only win the Hunger Games by being vicious. Devon, as someone who had a similar break, is the best choice to help him form a cohesive identity. Devon can see him for who he actually is, all of it, and still say he cares. Devon can cite his own struggles with accepting care without "enough work" in return to get Victor!Wilson to step back from compulsively ignoring his needs to "earn" affection. Devon can pull him out of spirals about how his mental state is worse than his brother's now and show him how there is a way forward. The Victory Tour almost kills him, all those people hate him even though he only ever did what was asked of him and what he thought was right. Along with Devon, there is probably only one other person who could help him embrace that he does not need to be perfect or liked by everyone, which brings us to...

Gregory House: Adessa. I went through multiple avenues with this one. First I thought Callista, because viciousness and unapologetic attitude. Then I thought Lyme, because abusive childhood, resentment of the rules, and attachment issues. So we had option A and option B...and we somehow landed around option L. I dismissed Callista because of the reasons I thought Lyme. I moved away from Lyme because she works best with tributes who want to open up but can't until after they win. Claudius wants a family, Misha wants affection, etc. House wouldn't want to open up--- he would want respect, validation, and someone to make everything make sense. The reasons Adessa wasn't a good fit for Nero would make her a great fit for Victor!House. Nero wanted to be told Adessa loves him, but House wouldn't trust any obvious display of affection---instead perceiving his mentor's care for him through nonverbal actions she takes: exactly what Adessa expected to be true of Nero. Adessa can make recovery and all the chaotic, swirling feelings fit within a reasonable framework. She can answer his questions and treat him like someone with a rational mind. She knows that if he opens up, he probably doesn't want to be touched. She understands why he doesn't want the cuddly relationship that Victor!Wilson would have with Devon. She wouldn't pressure him to talk about feelings before he was ready and would give him space when he was ready. She understands his intellectual curiosity. She's probably the only one who could get him to invest in therapy. He wouldn't go based on "I've been there" talks or "I care about you" talks, he would go because "after a significant trauma the logical course of action is to seek medical care, so that one can be assigned medications to regulate neurotransmitters, and to remove unwanted chaos so one can better focus on more important matters." Oh, and also if John House every showed up to take credit for shaping his son into a Victor, Adessa has a briefcase full of knives and decades of fantasizing about taking revenge on behalf of her Victors. They would find his body in pieces...probably. If Adessa was feeling nice and wanted Blythe to have closure.

Devon is terrified when Adessa requests a meeting with him. Misha asks him what he did like fifty times and he doesn't know. He almost calls his mentor, but doesn't because he's a mentor too now, dammit and Adessa totally shouldn't scare him anymore. When he shows up she opens with: "Our Victors appear to have significant romantic attraction to each other. Shall we hasten their union via jointly planned manipulation, culminating in an arranged one-on-one meal over candlelight, perhaps involving the exchange of flowers?"

Lisa Cuddy: Nero. This one is hard. Cuddy is a lot more difficult to analyze than House and Wilson even though I actually prefer her over House (Wilson is my favorite, he just has so many problems, weird habits, and hidden depression). She has a lot of contradictions. She's manipulative, but empathetic. She genuinely advocates for the rules, but allows for crazy ass things to take place. She seems to argue for the rules because she has to, but is inherently drawn to the more chaotic, vigilante tendencies of House. She puts on a show of obeying regulations set by those above her, but seeks power so that she can facilitate what she thinks is right (she repeatedly says she's the only one who would employ House). This is reflective of a Nero tribute. She doesn't know why she is drawn to violence and competition of the Centre, but she is. She completes her kill tests with the highest scores in her year, but she mainly only feels guilty for not feeling guilty. She doesn't have a rationalization for why she is like this the way someone with House's history has. She should want to join the Peacekeepers or be a medic. But the more time passes in the Centre, the more she wants to win the Hunger Games. She goes into the Games a year early, the youngest District Two volunteer in history, and even though she knows the killing is wrong she still wants to win because why shouldn't it be her? She's better at this than the others. However, the inner conflict causes problems post-Games, as the criticisms from other districts actually hurt her, because she agrees. She knows there's something wrong, she fears she might secretly be evil. Nero, with a lifetime of dealing with conflicted, crazy tributes, knows how to reassure her that even if that something is actually wrong, she still has people who love her.

Bonus! Ducklings:

Foreman: Brutus. He's just here to do his job. He knows he's better than his Centre rivals, so his job is the Games. Trying to make it right or wrong will only drive you crazy.

Chase: Lyme. Daddy issues, alcoholism in the family history, wants the authority to like him. Lots of weird hidden triggers.

Cameron: Emory. Wants to be a decent person, just kept going in the Centre because she figured no one would pick her and she owed it to her district to keep trying. She had a baby Victor crush on House and Adessa had to take Emory aside and be like "the baby is making my Victor uncomfortable, tell her to calm down."

Thirteen: Misha. Rules are for suckers, enjoy your life while you have it, desperately try to find meaning in the world while pretending you don't give a shit.

Kutner: Lyme. Wants to find a place to belong, shoves his emotional issues down because he thinks nobody cares. Thinks outside the box, but still responds well around authority he respects.

Taub: I have no fucking idea. Seriously, the more I try to think about this the more I have no thoughts, head empty. Maybe Odin? Odin has a "do what you're supposed to do no matter what, no matter the cost" ideology that would cause a mentor mismatch like Adessa and Nero but at least that mismatch is something.

Anyway if one (1) person requests a Victors!House/Wilson I will write scenes so you have been warned.

#house md #gregory house #james wilson #lisa cuddy #the ducklings #the hunger games #district two #lorataverse #we must be killers: tales from District Two #mentor meme #character analysis #like really niche character analysis #a longwinded piece of character analysis that will make no sense to anyone? me? you must be mistaken #but anyway I have Thoughts and I'm making it everyone else's problem

[analiza-beta]

Callista the Butcher, Victor of the Forty-First Hunger Games. From We Must Be Killers by @lorata

(Because I am trying to write her pre-victory and it is like pulling teeth, she refuses to cooperate. So art to make me feel sane lol)

TW for blood.

#we must be killers: tales from district two #lorata #callista #district two #the hunger games #my art