Told you not to tell him
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This started out as a request for a bookcomb of Finnick acting like Peeta and Katniss’ big brother and instead became a two part post of Finnick and Katniss being chaotic best friends 😂😂🤣🤣🤣. This is just their Catching Fire moments. I’ll post the Mockingjay version soon.
Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands — showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.
He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta’s jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I’ve gotten through my shock, I understand what he’s trying to do.
[…] Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back.
Finnick, who bounded off initially, stops when he realizes we’re having problems. But this is not a thing you can fight, only evade. He shouts encouragement, trying to move us along, and the sound of his voice acts as a guide, though little more.
I feel him lurch forward and realize Finnick has come back for us and is hauling Peeta along. I wedge my shoulder, which still seems under my control, under Peeta’s arm and do my best to keep up with Finnick’s rapid pace. We put about ten yards between us and the fog when Finnick stops.
“It’s no good. I’ll have to carry him. Can you take Mags?” he asks me.
I have moved out a bit farther into the shallows, floating alternately on my belly and back. If the seawater healed Peeta and me, it seems to be transforming Finnick altogether. He begins to move slowly, just testing his limbs, and gradually begins to swim. But it’s not like me swimming, the rhythmic strokes, the even pace. It’s like watching some strange sea animal coming back to life. He dives and surfaces, spraying water out of his mouth, rolls over and over in some bizarre corkscrew motion that makes me dizzy even to watch. And then, when he’s been underwater so long I feel certain he’s drowned, his head pops up right next to me and I start.
“Don’t do that,” I say.
“What? Come up or stay under?” he says.
“Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave,” I say.
I glance over at Peeta, at Finnick, and see they’re both scratching at their damaged faces. Yes, even Finnick’s beauty has been marred by this night.
“Don’t scratch,” I say, wanting badly to scratch myself. But I know it’s the advice my mother would give. “You’ll only bring infection.”
My stomach begins to growl at the smell of food and I reach for one. The sight of my fingernails, caked with blood, stops me. I’ve been scratching my skin raw in my sleep.
“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection,” says Finnick.
I plunk down on the sand next to Finnick and screw the lid off the tube. […] A sound of pleasure slips out of my mouth as the stuff eradicates my itching. It also stains my scabby skin a ghastly gray-green. As I start on the second leg I toss the tube to Finnick, who eyes me doubtfully.
“It’s like you’re decomposing,” says Finnick. But I guess the itching wins out, because after a minute Finnick begins to treat his own skin, too. Really, the combination of the scabs and the ointment looks hideous. I can’t help enjoying his distress.
“Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?” I say.
“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” he asks.
“Just avoid mirrors. You’ll forget about it,” I say.
“Not if I keep looking at you,” he says.
We slather ourselves down, even taking turns rubbing the ointment into each other’s backs where the undershirts don’t protect our skin. “I’m going to wake Peeta,” I say.
“No, wait,” says Finnick. “Let’s do it together. Put our faces right in front of his.”
Well, there’s so little opportunity for fun left in my life, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches from his nose, and give him a shake. “Peeta. Peeta, wake up,” I say in a soft, singsong voice.
His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we’ve stabbed him. “Aa!”
Finnick and I fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off. Every time we try to stop, we look at Peeta’s attempt to maintain a disdainful expression and it sets us off again. By the time we pull ourselves together, I’m thinking that maybe Finnick Odair is all right. At least not as vain or self-important as I’d thought.
Finnick catches my arm before I can run. “No. It’s not him.” He starts pulling me downhill, toward the beach. “We’re getting out of here!” But Gale’s voice is so full of pain I can’t help struggling to reach it. “It’s not him, Katniss! It’s a mutt!” Finnick shouts at me. “Come on!” He moves me along, half dragging, half carrying me, until I can process what he said.
It’s the first crack of the lightning storm — the bolt hitting the tree at midnight — that brings us to our senses. It rouses Finnick as well. He sits up with a sharp cry. I see his fingers digging into the sand as he reassures himself that whatever nightmare he inhabited wasn’t real.
“I can’t sleep anymore,” he says. “One of you should rest.” Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we’re wrapped around each other. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.”
I turn and wave to Finnick. “Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!”
The three of us scour all the scabs from our bodies, helping with the others’ backs, and come out the same pink as the sky. We apply another round of medicine because the skin seems too delicate for the sunlight, but it doesn’t look half as bad on smooth skin and will be good camouflage in the jungle.
Peeta’s just pried open an oyster when I hear him give a laugh. “Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls,” he says earnestly to Finnick.
“No, it doesn’t,” says Finnick dismissively.
I duck behind a curtain of vines, concealing myself just in time. Finnick flies by me, his skin shadowy with medicine, leaping through the undergrowth like a deer. He soon reaches the site of my attack, must see the blood. “Johanna! Katniss!” he calls.
Technically, I am unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm that fingernails can do, especially if the target is unprepared. I lunge across the table and rake mine down Haymitch’s face, causing blood to flow and damage to one eye. Then we are both screaming terrible, terrible things at each other, and Finnick is trying to drag me out, and I know it’s all Haymitch can do not to rip me apart.
“Katniss. Katniss, I’m sorry.” Finnick’s voice comes from the bed next to me and slips into my consciousness. Perhaps because we’re in the same kind of pain. “I wanted to go back for him and Johanna, but I couldn’t move.”
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Squid game is what the hunger games movies could have been.
I will not elaborate.
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it's been a while since i haven't made some hunger games lockscreens, so here you go!
please like/reblog if you save!
more hunger games lockscreens here!
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I unironically love the character names in the Hunger Games series.
Haymitch, Peeta, Hazelle, Leevy, Maysilee, Finnick and Greasy Sae look bizarre when you first see them written down, but then if you think about how they look and/or sound it's pretty clear that they're meant to be modern names, only modern names that have changed spelling and pronounciation over time— as you would have expected them to have done so over how ever many hundreds of years it's been since our modern day.
(Remember, though The Hunger Games themselves have only been going on for 75 years, the universe they're in is canonically post-apocalyptic— the reason nobody ever mentions what's happening in the rest of the world is that everywhere except America was destroyed in a nuclear war. We're not given much of an indication how long it's been since then.)
Peeta is Peter, Haymitch is Hamish, and Hazelle is Hazel, Maysilee is Maisie— the changes in pronunciation are slight (Peeta and Peter are already virtually identical in my accent), and the spelling has changed to match.
Leevy is either a corruption of Lily, or more likely I suspect 'Livvy', a common nickname for Olivia; Finnick is probably from Finnegan (shorten in to 'Finneg' and then say it over and over very fast); Sae could be short for Sarah, or Sally or even Susan— it's not uncommon for nicknames to become real names in their own right (look at Harry or Molly as examples).
I also love the trend of having District 1 parents give their kids names relating to the luxury items their district produces— Glimmer, Marvel, Gloss, Cashmere, Velvereen (presumably a corruption of 'velveteen'), Facet— because those things are all a) objectively pretty/nice (like naming a kid 'Diamond' or 'Star' today) and presumably status symbols in their district.
Meanwhile District 3 does the same thing, but all the pronunciations are corrupted. You've got technical names to do with the manufacture of electronics— Wiress (wireless), Circ (circuit)— but you've also got what I'm pretty sure are meant to be corruptions of modern brand names— Beetee (BT), Teslee (Tesla).
To me this kind of suggests that District 3 is less conscious of this influence than District 1. Like, parents in 1 are more likely to deliberately think "I'll name my kid Glimmer, because things that glimmer are pretty" whereas 3 as a culture might have genuinely forgotten that those names used to mean something, in the same way that most of us don't think much about how the name 'Arthur' comes from the old word for 'Bear'.
And of course, then you've got the Capitol leaning hard into those ancient Roman vibes with names like Fulvia, Plutarch, Seneca, Tigris… but still using the European/American personal name+family name format, which the Romans didn't really do. Like it's very clear that this is a future society fetishising the classical era, rather than an actual resurgence of Roman culture.
It's just such a cool world-building detail. So many dystopian novels just go for modern names (and there's nothing wrong with that, especially if you're only looking a couple of hundred years into the future) but thinking about how names might have evolved over the centuries and the different naming traditions that might have developed in different areas really adds a whole new dimension to the culture of Panem.
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reminds me of this post in here that explained the differences of the west and east's idea of revolution and how the usa especially has undermined a lot the ability of their people to unionize and fight oppressive structures through its mainstream media cuz it brainwashes them into putting the individual fight on the pedestal. the superhero's archetype.
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imma tell my kids that this was the hunger games
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Whenever the met gala rolls around I can’t help but think about the capitol people in the hunger games
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Because I am so Hilarious I literally "ruined" these parts of the hunger games for myself
I will always think of these anytime I watch these parts.
It's basically cracking up at a serious moment thanks to my humor and Disney
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Hmmm I should probably wait another day to post part two of Finnick being there for Everlark / being their friend but I don’t wanna sooo. Here it is 🤗
I see my mother lead in a group of mobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. I cross to him and say, “Hey, Finnick.” He doesn’t seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. “Finnick! How are you doing?”
“Katniss,” he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see a familiar face, I think.
Finnick, who’s been wandering around the set for a few hours, comes up behind me and says with a hint of his old humor, “They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”
Just as the elevator arrives, Finnick appears in a state of agitation. “Katniss, they won’t let me go! I told them I’m fine, but they won’t even let me ride in the hovercraft!”
I take in Finnick — his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes — and know any plea on my part will be useless. Even I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him. So I smack my hand on my forehead and say, “Oh, I forgot. It’s this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He’s designed a new trident for you.”
At the word trident, it’s as if the old Finnick surfaces. “Really? What’s it do?”
“I don’t know. But if it’s anything like my bow and arrows, you’re going to love it,” I say. “You’ll need to train with it, though.”
“Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there,” he says.
“Finnick?” I say. “Maybe some pants?”
He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this”— he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose —“distracting?”
I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because it makes Boggs look so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.
“I’m only human, Odair.” I get in before the elevator doors close.
At dinner, Finnick brings his tray to my bed so we can watch the newest propo together on television. He was assigned quarters on my old floor, but he has so many mental relapses, he still basically lives in the hospital.
Finnick presses the button on the remote that kills the power. In a minute, people will be here to do damage control on Peeta’s condition and the words that came out of his mouth. I will need to repudiate them. But the truth is, I don’t trust the rebels or Plutarch or Coin. I’m not confident that they tell me the truth. I won’t be able to conceal this. Footsteps are approaching.
Finnick grips me hard by the arms. “We didn’t see it.”
“What?” I ask.
“We didn’t see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?” he asks. I nod. “Finish your dinner.”
“This is what they’re doing to you with Annie, isn’t it?” I ask.
“Well, they didn’t arrest her because they thought she’d be a wealth of rebel information,” he says. “They know I’d never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection.”
“Oh, Finnick. I’m so sorry,” I say.
“No, I’m sorry. That I didn’t warn you somehow,” he tells me.
Suddenly, a memory surfaces. I’m strapped to my bed, mad with rage and grief after the rescue. Finnick is trying to console me about Peeta. “They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you.”
“You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they’d use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow,” I say.
“I shouldn’t have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn’t warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should’ve shut up about how Snow operates.”
Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, “How do you bear it?”
Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.” Something in my expression stops him. “Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”
Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.
“The more you can distract yourself, the better,” he says. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine.”
The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes--angry yet unfocused--that frightens me the most.
"He's worse," I whisper. Finnick grasps my hand, to give me an anchor, and I try to hang on.
“You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?”
“Can we have a coffee?” asks Finnick.
Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet.
Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. “Want a sugar cube?” he asks in his old seductive voice. That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. “Here, it improves the taste,” he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup.
Haymitch’s footsteps are still echoing in the outer hall when I fumble my way through the slit in the dividing curtain to find Finnick sprawled out on his stomach, his hands twisted in his pillowcase. Although it’s cowardly — cruel even — to rouse him from the shadowy, muted drug land to stark reality, I go ahead and do it because I can’t stand to face this by myself.
As I explain our situation, his initial agitation mysteriously ebbs. “Don’t you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s . . . it’s more than we could hope for!”
Well, that’s a sunny view of our situation. And yet there’s something calming about the idea that this torment could come to an end.
I want to run, but Finnick’s acting so strange, as if he’s lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead him like a small child.
"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.
I'm unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I'm inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.
Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick's fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. "Ladies and gentlemen..."
His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"
I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered. Before eyebrows are raised, objections are uttered, two and two are put together, and the solution is that I should be kept as far away from the Capitol as possible. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person you want on your squad.
"I don't even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch," I say.
"Yeah, we're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have," Finnick adds cockily.
"Do not think that fact escapes me," he says with an impatient wave. "Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish."
Boggs told Peeta to sleep out in full view where the rest of us could keep an eye on him. He isn't sleeping, though. Instead, he sits with his bag pulled up to his chest, clumsily trying to make knots in a short length of rope. I know it well. It's the one Finnick lent me that night in the bunker. Seeing it in his hands, it's like Finnick's echoing what Haymitch just said, that I've cast off Peeta.
He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. "The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."
The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.
Finnick's voice rises from a bundle in the shadows. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does.”
Masks go on. Finnick adjusts Peeta's mask over his lifeless face.
"I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta.
"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him.
"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"
“It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick.
I shout a warning to the others to stay with me. I plan for us to skirt around the corner and then detonate the Meat Grinder, but another unmarked pod lies in wait.
It happens silently. I would miss it entirely if Finnick didn't pull me to a stop. "Katniss!"
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Reasons The Hunger Games Works and None of the Knock-Offs Do:
I just reread The Hunger Games Trilogy, and I have some thoughts about why they work so well and so many others just don’t.
Katniss Is Lucky: At every turn Katniss gets lucky. This isn’t a “anyone could have done this but no one’s tried before” or “main characters is special in some way” story. If Katniss’s name had been called instead of Prim’s, she probably wouldn’t have won. If anyone other then Peeta had been called she wouldn’t have won. If Cinna had picked any other year to become a stylist she wouldn’t have won. If her father hadn’t been a hunter she wouldn’t have won. If Madge didn’t give her the pin (how Rue decided to trust her) she wouldn’t have won. I can’t really explain why this is so important to me, but it is. Katniss isn’t special or super powered. She’s lucky.
Katniss Is A Symbol and 13 Has an Army: Katniss is not a rebel leader. There isn’t a group of ragtag teenagers who follow her and take on a corrupt government all on their own. She’s a symbol to inspire the people in the districts to fight, but no one ever puts her in charge of an army. Why should they? She’s a 17 year old, traumatized, child. The only time we do see Katniss lead is at the end of Mockingjay, and then it’s a group of about ten people, most of who end up dead and the mission doesn’t succeed. More importantly, 13 beats the capital because they have a fully functioning, highly trained, military ready to go.
These Are CHILDREN: Yes, every young adult story focuses on a teenager, but so many of these stories seem to forge they’re talking about teenagers. They act as if they are twenty somethings, or in the society set up you are considered an adult at 16. The Hunger Games hammers you over the head with the fact that these are kids. Katniss goes to school. I do not know a single hunger games rip off where the main character goes to completely normal every day school.
The Death’s Aren’t Shock Value: Yes, Prim’s death is shocking. It’s heartbreaking. I knew it was coming and still cried. That’s not why it’s there though. The point is how far Coin is willing to go to make sure Katniss is on her side. Everyone else’s deaths also have a point. Finnick and the others on Katniss’s team show the sacrifice people are willing to make for the cause and for Katniss. Cinna to show Katniss what happens when she resists. Rue is the cruelty of the game. Madge, the cruelness of the capital.
The Goal Is Clear: Mazerunner comes to mind with this one. What was the actual goal after the first book? Hell if I know. In The Hunger Games series there’s no fancy plan or convoluted thing they need to do. The plan is simple. Hunger Games and Catching Fire: “Don’t die”. Mockingjay there’s a lot of background stuff happening, but for Katniss the goal is always one thing: kill Snow. Everything she does is a straightforward line to that goal for almost the entire book.
Gale and Peeta: Both Gale and Peeta are totally realistic and reasonable love interests for Katniss. Neither of them are always nice or always perfect, but it easy to see why Katniss struggles to balance the two of them. There is no clear choice between the two. More importantly, the choice is representative of a larger concept. Katniss herself makes the comparison, saying Gale is rage and Peeta is calm. It’s not just between two guys, it’s between two ways of life and what Katniss needs in her life.
She Picks Peeta: I can not stress enough how important this is. In any of the knock offs I guarantee you that she would have picked Gale. Or, more accurately what would have happened is they would have switched Gale and Peeta’s personalities. Peeta would have been the angry, tortured, mysterious guy, and Gale would have been the kind, artistic, best friend. In this case, she would have still picked Peeta, but the whole point would have been lost. For all intents and purposes it would have been picking Gale. But no. Katniss picks Peeta. She picks calm and peace rather then giving in to Gale’s anger.
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Female characters in media: Covered in blood, dirt, grime, tying their hair back in a ponytail before getting ready to fuck someone up in battle
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ya know in hunger games: catching fire with the clock that has a new danger every hour?
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Me: I have so many books to read and shows to watch
Also me: I have to reread this saga and rewatch this show because why not
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Seeing how this Josh battle was a huge success, I elect that we do one every year, but with different names. We shall call it
The Hunger Names
What if we make all of the Kyle’s duke it out next year
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Las Vegas mayor volunteers her citizens as tribute
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More peeta and katniss, because I love them so
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