#the hunger games aesthetic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n · 1 year

Text

just a kid.

Finnick Odair x F!OC

Summary: Cora Turner is unlucky. Very, very unlucky. At age 13, she is thrown into the horrors of the Hunger Games. Her best friend by her side, and a man she loathes more than anything too, how happy with her Hunger Games be? May the Odds be ever in her Favour.

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: Allusion to ED, Blood, Gore, Canon Violence (it's the Hunger Games for crying out loud), Alcoholism

A cold draft blew through my room, brought to the shore by early morning rays. I tugged my blanket tighter around my body, relishing in the last few moments before I had to drag herself out of bed and get going; it was going to be another long day, and there was no use being late. I pulled myself out of the barren cot I called a bed, grabbing a pair of sandy trousers and a long white shirt off the floor and heading into the bathroom. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, being careful not to waste the water. The Capitol only provided a limited supply per month, and it was barely enough, even when I rationed it. I braided my hair quickly – there’s be barely enough time to change before going to the academy, let alone tie my hair. I grabbed my nets and creeped down the stairs just as the sun peaked up over the rooftops, being careful not to wake anyone. Dylan was passed out by the door, shoes barely off his feet, bottle still clutched in his hand. How wonderful. I shifted his leg with my toe, grimacing at the stench of vomit and alcohol that surrounded him and headed down to the docks.

The docks, the home to most of our industry here, were as busy as ever. I walked down to dock G – the furthest from the town centre, bidding the early fishers a good morning as they returned home for the day. They would be here again in the evening, to start fishing again, strategically avoiding the busy and hot afternoons. I came to a small fishing boat, painted white with a stripe of deep forest green through the middle: The Carina. I climbed aboard, setting up for a few hours of trawling. The Carina was an old model, probably first released when my father was a boy, but Mr Trent had kept good care of her – she still worked like a dream. The motor ran smoothly, no loud noises or stuttering. The engine didn’t leak oil like some of the other boats in the Marina. I made a mental reminder to drop some money off by Mr Trent’s house. Mr Trent owned The Carina, but he never came fishing this early, so we struck a deal. In return for early morning use of his boat, I gave him some of the fish I caught and some of the money I earned – a sort of rent.

“Hey, Cora!” I could recognise that voice anywhere. I spun around, deep hazel eyes meeting mine. Kai.

Kai Aguafils was a senior at the academy, and a long-time friend of mine. His mother used to work with my father – both of them repairman at a boat repair shop owned by Christopher Connell – one of the first victors ever. His mother left when she had Kai’s sister – replacing the variety of boat repairs for the solitude of basket weaving. My mother was a basket weaver. They became fast friends, and Kai and I became closer. Now, despite almost everything having changed, we remained fast friends. He took care of me. I couldn’t take that for granted.

Jackson followed from not far behind, throwing his nets in my general direction. I flipped him off, which he laughed at. He gave me a quick side-hug, kissing the top of my head lightly. I smiled. Best brothers anyone could ask for.

Kai pushed The Carina off the beach, where it had been docked, and we set sail. We cruised into the middle of the lake where we were far from alone. We cast out our nets and sat down on the deck, waiting for something to get caught in the nets. We generally finished before going to the academy – we could catch up, clear our minds, before a long gruelling day. It was the last day of the school year; the reaping was tomorrow. We had six weeks off school for the Hunger Games, which we were forced to watch. For most, the holidays were a time for swimming at the beach and playing in the square. But every year, two unlucky children, were forced to go to the Capitol and fight to the death, as a sport. For the Capitol’s enjoyment.

“Excited Cora?” Jackson asked, leaning back. The sunlight glinted of his dark red hair, imitating a bright flame. Jackson was known to be extremely beautiful, especially to all the girls in his year. It didn’t help that he was incredibly strong and good at hand-to-hand combat. He really had model potential. More than those Capitol folks, anyway.

“As I’ll ever be.” I smiled nervously. Kai good-naturedly ruffled my hair. This was my third year going. I was scared and I hated the thought of having to kill 23 other children to go home. Maybe that’s why I loved it so much out here. Here in the middle of the lake, no one could hear us, there were no expectations, no agenda. Just freedom.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Kai said, looking up, “the sunrise.” Jackson and I followed suit. We watched silently as it rose, before getting to work and pulling the fish in. I steered the boat as Kai and Jackson pulled the net in.

“This is your last year, isn’t it Kai?” Kai nodded, pulling one net and Jackson pulled in the other. Kai was 18: this year was his last in the reaping and he was relieved. In our district it was a privilege to represent the district in the Hunger Games. Other Districts thought that District 4, our district, was a Career district, famous for producing winners.

But a fair few of us were poor, myself included. Kai had to take out Tesserae, to feed his entire family and I almost to take out some myself. I generally had to survive on the meals I scrape by, or school meals, but Jackson was not so lucky. Tesserae was a ploy to make the less able more likely to fight in the games. Tesserae was a yearly allowance of grains, rices, and hygiene necessities. The price was that, for every person that you took out a Tesserae for, you had an extra ticket with your name on it put in the ballot. That meant that, at the age of 18, with 4 family members to feed, Kai had his name in the ballot 35 times. His chances of being picked were exponentially higher than mine.

We sailed back to land, before splitting the fish between the three of us. I got the most as I was going to sell. The 3 of us went our separate ways, and I scurried off to market to sell before academy.

First, I went to Dee, a young woman who owned the best soup kitchen in town. She had a soft spot for salmon, a rare delicacy in the market, most being shipped off to the Capitol. I knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” I heard her yell, her voice loud from behind the closed door.

“Just me.” I hear her heels tapping on the floor, and the door opens to show her suspicious face.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite young fisherwoman in town. What do you have for me today?”

“2 salmon and a few mackerel.” She opens her mouth in shock, before quickly catching herself and shutting her mouth.

“Really! Well, how much are you offering for?” She asked. This was usual for Dee: she would ask a price, before gambling lower.

“220.”

“Ha!” She laughed. “I’m afraid not, dearie. 22 a fish is too much. How about 100?”

“So little for our efforts? Come on, Dee! We all need to eat.” Dee started to loosen up.

“Fine. What’s your price?”

“200.”

“120.” Dee retorted.

“Last Price: 180.” Dee smiled and handed over the money. I waved her goodbye, and she went back to cooking with 2 salmon and 8 mackerel in hand.

Next stop was Alex.

Alex was an old man, known for being particularly well-endowed in his money. He was the nephew of a victor, and was a member of the district council, meaning he grew up with luxuries and was a fan of expensive foods - he loved lobster. However, lobster was not the easiest to find, especially since most was shipped off to the Capitol. Good thing you didn’t exactly work for the Capitol yet, because Alex would always consider a good price. I guess today was a lucky day.

Alex opened the door, slowly. His back was giving out on him, medicines and treatment too laborious to keep up with, especially since he was alone.

“Hello Cora. How are you today?” He greeted me kindly, as always.

“I’m good, as always. And you?” He smiled.

“Good, good. What do you have for me today?”

“2 lobster.” His eyes widened, before he settled on an indifferent smirk.

“How about 160, eh?” I smiled, just like Alex to set down a price. Always ridiculously low, so low that only a fool would accept.

“You and I both know that is an insult to the lobsters. At least, 280.”

“185.” He asked, patiently. He knew my game but was always willing to play it.

“265.”

“Final Offer: 245.” He said, and I reached out my hand. He handed the money to me and I gave him the lobsters. He smiled and bid me adieu. He closed his back door, muttering to himself about extortion. I laughed. One more place to go.

It had just turned 7 o'clock when I reached the bakery; Olivia and Liam were just opening up when I arrived. “Hey,” I breathed, walking in, the scent of fresh bread making my mouth water with a single whiff. They both turned to look at me, greeting me with a wave as I dropped my nets by the front door. Olivia pulled me into a tight hug, her flour-stained apron smearing my shirt. Liam ruffled my hair, and asked me how my morning had been.

“I have 12 haddock, if you want them.” I said to Liam. He smiled.

“How much are you asking for them?” He asked, a caricatural suspicious look on his face. Olivia and I laughed.

“80.” He looked at me, inquiringly.

“Only?”

“Half free.” I say, “in return for dinner last night.” He smiled. Olivia and Liam had offered me dinner every night since they found out I had been considering taking the Tesserae. They had argued with me then, telling me it wasn’t necessary – that they could provide for me.

“Let us take care of you, Cora. It’s the least we could do,” Olivia ran her fingers through her curly black hair, frustrated. I was sat in their dining room, both of them stood in front of me.

The cold season had hit me hard. With fewer and fewer fish to sell, and more hours being taken up with training for combat exams, there was barely any time, or money, to put food on the table. Liam had caught me sneaking into the town hall, the Tesserae slip in hand. He’d grabbed me by the scruff of my collar and dragged me back to his house, where he had evidently vented his frustrations to Olivia.

“I don’t see why you need to help me. It’s ok, I don’t care.” I whispered, my voice near failing me. I’d never seen them angry before, despite all the time, I’d lived with them after the funeral. I had found a new place – a boarding house near the western marina. It wasn’t much, especially compared to our old cottage, but it would do. It was mine.

“I DO! I CARE!” Olivia yells, her voice breaking with emotion. “I care! I don’t want to see you get hurt. Not again.” I stand up to hug her, melting into her tight embrace. Her heart beats hard against my chest, and I hug her tighter, willing myself not to cry.

“Please Cora. Let us help you.” Liam says, wrapping his arms around both of us. “Don’t take out the Tesserae. Just this one thing. Please.”

I had been swayed and thus this arrangement began. If I couldn’t cook or feed myself, I’d find myself at Liam and Olivia’s house for dinner.

“You are welcome to dinner tonight too,” he said, “if you want to come.” We exchanged our goods, and I bid Liam goodbye, just as the bells began to ring. 7:30. I needed to get going. I quickly gave them both hugs and was out the door in a flash.

I ran back to the boarding house, running up the stairs and fiddling with my keys. Most people were up now, trudging through their days at a tortoise-like pace, where I was scrambling to not be late.

I pulled on my Academy commissioned uniform – a pair of tight navy-blue leggings tucked into polished combat boots, grey socks invisible underneath. A grey tank-top with a dark navy and white coat overtop. There were badges that denote your year group, sortings, and successes, all pinned to the left side of the coat. You wore it with pride – these were the only clothes that you could afford to keep immaculately clean.

I grabbed my school bag, before dashing out the door, remembering to double and triple check the locks. I didn’t want Marcus making his way in through the door again.

The day at the academy was a long one, what with people thinking about the reaping tomorrow; they were excited at the prospect of being reaped. Not me. I knew the true brutality of the games. At lunch, I made my way over to the boys, sitting in the back, as usual. We ate listening to Kai reminisce about the school. After today, Kai would be an adult, no longer worrying about the Hunger Games, instead worrying about taxes, job offers, marriage and his own children. Deep down, I knew that even I would miss this place when I grew up. But as of now, I couldn’t wait to get out.

I walked alone to my last period of the day: hand-to-hand combat. The most boring lesson of them all. I was placed up against a girl named Irene, who wanted more than anything else to be reaped. Irene was a girl of status – her father was the mayor of District 4. He was a tall, slender man, with a taut face that always looked like he was eating one of those lemon candies that Snickity’s sold before they shut down. He was a strict man, having had 2 sons who never got reaped. It was a matter of great shame to him, and Irene wanted nothing more than to impress her father.

Irene took a preparatory stance in front of me, just as coach blew his whistle. Let the fighting commence. Irene looked at me determinedly. Her silky black hair was pulled up into a tight bun, her jacket tossed to the side. She ran towards me, ready to tackle. I took a defensive stance, and we collided. All hour, she made efforts to throw me over her shoulder. They were all unsuccessful. I got in some good defensive practice and some throws. Same old, same old. At the end of the lesson, everyone wished each other luck for the reaping tomorrow. Irene’s excitement was uncontainable; we all wished her extra luck.

I walked home alone: Kai had already left to go out with his friends from the academy before the reaping tomorrow and Jackson had a detention, probably because he was caught snogging the coach’s daughter. Again. I walked through the marketplace – still as busy as it had been this morning – bag slung over my shoulder. I watched as people bartered for their daily necessities, before turning and walking through the city square – where the reaping would be held – all the way to Victor’s Village.

Victor’s Village was an upstate area of District 4 where all the Victors of the Hunger Games lived. District 4’s Victor’s Village was on the opposite side of the academy, overlooking the sea. They built the houses as Victors won, so there were only 5 currently here. Only one of them was empty. I looked at it melancholically, before hurrying on past. I came to the last house, House 70. I knocked on the door of the last house in a pattern. 2, 2. The syllables of my name: Cora Turner. I heard knocking from inside. ‘Come in.’ I opened the door.

The Victors’ Houses were always extravagant. There was moulding on the stairs; the one in this house replicated flapper style from the olden times. There were pearl decorations on the wall, all the architecture within the house was inspired by the Art Deco movement; black, white and gold, intricate architectural gems. I had seen inside many of the Victors’ houses and yet Annie’s always seemed to be my favourite.

Annie, herself was sat on her couch, curled under a blanket, unmoving but awake. I went and sat across from her, before standing up again and picking up all the things scattered around on the floor. There were blankets, pieces of paper, clothes, pillows and even utensils laying around. I put everything away: blankets in the cupboards, paper in the bin, pillows on the sofas, utensils in the kitchen. I went back into the living room; Annie sat still on the sofa; her soft eyes fixated on the waves outside her window.

I stood up to open the windows, allowing the sound of waves crashing on the shore and smell of sea salt to drift into the house. The new sensory input draws Annie out of her catatonic state, and she looks me in the eyes briefly before casting her eyes away. Annie never made eye contact with me for more than a few moments. She grabbed my hand and pointed towards the kitchen, signing for food. She was hungry.

I helped her up, and we walked into the kitchen together. I initiated small talk while pulling out ingredients for her dinner. I began chopping some onions and peppers for the stew as I asked her about her day. Annie’s days hardly varied, but I never wanted her to feel left out. She idly wandered around the kitchen, ignoring my every question. I was used to it.

Annie was a gentle and kind girl before she left – a pacifist. But the games changed her as they do everyone. She couldn’t bear to be in her own head, she couldn’t come to terms with the things she had seen. Knowing what she’d lived through, no one could blame her. So, she shut down, stopped living, and started just surviving. She barely spoke to anyone, never left her house unless she had to, and yet she held out for some reason.

A reason I would never know. But I did not care to press about it.

I made her a pot of stew, a recipe I learnt from my mother. It was one of her favourites, and often I made her some if she had a new shipment of ingredients. Victors’, among other privileges, received the freshest and best produce and finery from all of Panem. A small apology from the Capitol for putting them through hell, I supposed. I set up the table for her as she went to bathe. If there was one thing Annie enjoyed, it was bathing. I had this running theory that she loved the water – it was the one place she felt truly unburdened – as if the water carried the weight that she usually had wrapped like a noose around her neck. I laid one bowl and a glass for her. I served the stew as she came down in a clean dress.

I sat with her as she ate, making sure that she wasn’t starving herself. Annie had gotten into a bad habit after her Victory tour: having no energy to cook or eat, she began to wither away. Annie had been my friend before she had gone into the games, so I took it upon myself to ensure that she got better. Slowly but surely, she would eat in the company of others, and then even alone. I glanced at the clock – anxious to not be late for training. It was almost 5. Annie finished her meal, washing her plate and leaving it to dry, before returning to her position on the couch.

“Bye, Annie. I’ll be back tomorrow, ok?” I waved from the door.

“Bye Cora.” I heard her whisper almost silently. My face broke into a grin as I shut the door. I ran to the training hall, where Kai and Jackson were waiting for me. They smirked when they saw me, Kai shaking his head, almost laughing as he let us in. We began to stretch.

“So, how is Annie?” Both of the boys cared for Annie too, but they had almost no free time on their hands to visit.

“She’s good. She said something today.” Something so trivial, but it was an improvement.

“That’s great!” Jackson exclaimed. Annie’s non-verbal nature didn’t bother anyone but the Capitol, but it was always nice to know she was still comfortable enough to break through from time to time.

Kai turned his business hat on, “Cora, what did you do today in Combat?” The guys liked to help me practise my new skills. I was good at combat and intricate knife work because I was small, but things like long distance and sparring I wasn’t so good at.

“Just recapping.” I pulled my jumper off: the heat in the gym was unbearable.

“What do you want to do, then?” We eventually decided on some hand-to-hand practice. We had made a simple game to practise hand to hand combat. Our first rule was that there should be no blows to the face and if we tapped the other person 2 times, we forfeited the round. Otherwise, 5 minutes was the max time. The scoring system worked as such: 1 point for a draw, 2 points for a win and 0 points for a loss. Jackson and I went first. At 1 minute, Jack and I were in a stalemate, we tapped out simultaneously, meaning we both got 1 point. This went on for half an hour. By the end, Kai had won, beating me by 4 points and Jackson by 6.

We then moved on to combat with weapons. Kai took out his pack of wooden sticks. They were carved to look like swords, daggers, spears, even tridents. I grabbed two small ones, Kai took the spear, and Jackson took the sword. I took a defensive stance. Let’s begin.

I woke up to the sound of waves crashing up against the rocks. My street was up on a cliffside, overlooking the lake that stretched beyond. The only way around it was the Capitol trains, that only Tributes rode. Today was the day, the dreaded day. Today was the day of the reaping. I pulled myself out of bed, thankful that I wasn’t going fishing today.

After training, yesterday, I had dinner with Olivia and Liam. We talked about sales within the district, and I found out that a shipment of their sea bread had been taken to the Capitol, prior to the beginning of this year’s Hunger Games. I told them about the last day of school for this year. We also talked about the shop, and Annie, and fishing, and Mr Trent’s wife, who had just given birth to a son. Before, I knew it, Liam was walking me home and saying goodnight to me at my doorstep.

I pulled on an old knit jumper and some shorts, before deciding to go out to the market. It was a nice sunny day, beautifully masking the horrors that the day would undoubtedly hold. It was very rare that I would go to the market without anything to sell, but today was unusual anyway. The day of the reaping was national holiday, so most of the district was still asleep. It was on days like this that you could really appreciate the beauty of District 4. The sun shining on the beautiful waters, not once revealing the treasures that lied within. Simple swaying grass that covered the dark rocks of the cliffs, each crack telling its own story. The sandy beaches, home to birds and boats alike, each their own person, if you got to know them.

As I got to the market, an eerie feeling drifted through the city centre. None of the shops were open, everyone being given the day off: everyone was asleep, except me. I walked around for a bit, closing my eyes to imagine the sounds of the busy marketplace, the scent of the freshly made food in the morning, the light shining through the windows of the market square. The marketplace was always the liveliest place every other day of the year. But today, they would clear out the marketplace to make space for people to watch the reaping. Those being reaped had to wait in the city centre, but there were far too many people to fit into the city square alone. Instead, they set up screens here and people watched from the comfort of this place.

I walked back to the docks, only to see Kai and Jackson chatting with a girl near the docks. She waved them goodbye and walked away, just as I arrived. I raised my eyebrow, Jackson swatting my shoulder in response. Kai and I laughed as Jackson looked longingly at her. We walked down to the cove and sat down on the rocks.

“So, how are you guys feeling?” Kai looked at us.

“It’s fine, just another year, am I right?” Jackson replied.

I wanted to agree with him, but my upper lip trembled, revealing my fear. I was nervous. This was my third time, but it was still scary. I hoped to all the gods that I wouldn’t be chosen. I was too young to make it back alive. I knew that.

No one my age had ever made it out of the games alive: the youngest was Finnick Odair, the winner of the 65th Hunger Games, who won at the age of 14.

“I’m scared,” I whispered. Kai pulled me in to a tight embrace, and the tears that I had kept stored away, slipped from my eyes and onto Kai’s shirt. Jackson came and joined us. For a few minutes we stayed like that – all of us feeling safe and whole, tightly wrapped in each other’s embrace. We pulled away after a while, still sitting close to one another. The clocktower at the city centre struck 10, and we hurried to get ready for the reaping.

Jackson dragged me back to his house. One of the many things that gave Jackson’s mum joy was dressing me up every reaping. I had been to the ceremony with her many times - over the years though, the dresses got progressively simpler, a fact which I loved. As I walked through their door, I was greeted with the scent of flowers; vases of flowers were scattered all around the room. From the door at the back, bustled a large woman - Jackson’s mum, Marie.

She pulled me into a warm embrace and – talking all the way - ushered me into the bathroom: a tub of warm water was waiting for me. She had laid out a towel and some fancy soaps and creams. She smiled at my confusion, before she shut the door, allowing me some privacy. I washed myself, scrubbing the salt and sand off me. I then wrapped myself in one of the threadbare towels that she had. I walked out into Marie’s bedroom.

“So, what colour do you want to wear?” Marie came out carrying 2 dresses, one was a beautiful cream, the other was duck egg. I fell in love with the duck egg dress immediately. She noticed my eyes light up at the sight of that dress. “The duck egg it is then.” These dresses had once belonged to her, but she never wore them anymore.

I slipped it over my head, and instantly felt like a mermaid. I twirled around to show Marie and she smiled joyously. I was the daughter that she always wanted and didn’t have. Jackson had a sister, but since his parents no longer lived together, Elsie hadn’t been home in years.

Jackson ruffled my hair as soon as I walked out of his mother’s room, earning a high-pitched screech from his mum. We all burst out laughing, before Jackosn and I headed out half an hour later - Marie would soon follow us, as it was mandatory to attend the reaping, but she needed to get ready. We arrived at the city square which had been cleared of all the stalls and rows of tables had been put around the centre. At them, sat Capitol-appointed peacekeepers, waiting to check us in. It was the Capitol’s way of keeping tabs on the children that attended the reaping. There were severe consequences if you didn’t.

I lined up on the girls’ side, behind a tall girl with dark brown hair – the one the boys were talking to earlier. I knew her, she was in Jackson’s class; her name was Amira. She told them her name and then they took a smear of blood from her to check her DNA matched a previous sample. I always wondered what would happen if something went wrong at one of these tables - like, for some reason, if someone pretended to be someone else. Would the peacekeepers shoot them, right there? Publicly flog them? Things like that had never happened in this district before, but I had heard rumours from the academy of it happening in other districts.

A few seconds later, Amira moved to find her spot in the lines of kids waiting to be reaped. I walked up to the desk. A young male peacekeeper sat there, looking bored out of his mind. He acknowledged my presence with a nod, before beginning.

“Name?” The peacekeeper monotonous voice rung in my ears.

“Cora. Cora Turner.” He checked something, before nodding. he turned back to me and grabbed my finger, carelessly pricking it and swatching my blood on the piece of paper. Someone from the back of the line shoved their way forward, pushing me out of the way. I rolled my eyes. The eagerness. I found my place at the front of the crowd with the rest of the girls my age, looking up at the stage.

Thus, the living hell that was this year’s reaping began. I was very close to the front, despite not being in my first year, and could see the victors lining up on stage. The 4 of them walked up solemnly, faces set in stone.

Closest to the edge of the stage was Annie. She had won her games three years ago and had never been the same since. She’d been dressed up at the request of the Capitol, no doubt, her frail figure swaddled in clothing she probably hated. Her face was painted extravagantly – she looked like a mermaid.

Next to her, gripping her hand tightly, was Arnold. Arnold was a man in his early-50s and wasted his days drowning his emotions in alcohol. Most days of the year, if you wanted Arnold, you just had to offer some free alcohol. But not today. Today was one of the only days, Arnold kept sober.

Mags, his mentor, stood next to him. Mags was one of the oldest victors alive, having won the 11th Hunger Games, almost 62 years ago. She was the quiet type though, never overselling herself, never trying to make herself visible, as opposed to the man next to her.

Finnick Odair, front and centre. The Capitol’s sweetheart. Finnick had won his games at 14, and according to many revelled in this fact. He was a peacock showy and vain. He was the only one who dared to crack a grin. I looked at him in disgust, the Capitol’s little plaything. Still got it in his head that these games were glory for the district’s, not just a muse for a Capitol.

Usually, all the victors tried to hide away from their glory, dressing down and keeping their head low. But on Reaping Day, all the Victors dressed up, showed face, smiled and clapped along with the rest: they needed to have good outward figures because they wanted to remain in a good relationship with members of the Capitol.

The Capitol loved District 4, simply because of our victors. All of them were charming and charismatic, and over time, the Capitol had fallen harder and harder in love. Especially with Finnick.

My heart panged at one missing face. Christopher, one of the kindest Victors, had passed away recently. His face was always a welcome sight on the Reaping stage, even if he was always tucked away into the corner. He had been the oldest victor alive prior to his passing – he had won the 2nd annual Hunger Games, at the age of 17. The entire District had mourned him when he passed away earlier this year.

All around me, the sound of distinct chatter drifted through the air. My eyes were fixed on Finnick, who stood almost in the centre of the stage, Annie to his left. He leaned down to whisper something in her ear quietly. She giggled. Odd. Annie never spoke to anyone, let alone cracked a smile. I smiled involuntarily.

The mayor and other District officials filed in and sat down in their seats at the podium, and the national anthem began to play, eliciting silence across the crowds.

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. The sound of clacking heels rang ominously around the city square. Even above the chatter that filled the great space, everyone could hear her steps clearly. The heels of the one and the only, Genevieve Bravador. Genevieve was District 4’s Capitol Escort. A very official job. I hated the sight of her; her powdery white skin and her stupidly dyed hair made her look more of an outsider than anything. She had a distinct Capitol accent when she spoke, something that everyone mocked at every opportunity. Obviously, Genevieve never changed. The only thing that seemed to change was the colour scheme she went with. This year it was baby blue. It looked as if she had frostbite and was on the verge of death. Somehow, she managed to pull it off.

Genevieve stared off into the crowd, hoping to catch their attention. No one gave it to her. I looked back at the tributes. Finnick and Annie were looking at me, but as I soon as I looked back, they turned away. Odd. They were definitely talking about me. I made the decision to ask Annie about it later. Genevieve tapped on the microphone and then cleared her throat into it, gathering everyone’s attention.

“Welcome, welcome.” Her singsong voice filled the empty space, “welcome, welcome. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour.” She looks around at us, pausing for effect. “Now, before we begin, we have a special video. Brought to you all the way from the Capitol, the history of Panem."

A video began behind her, talking all about the districts’ rebellion, and how the Capitol overcame them. I tuned out 10 seconds in. I couldn’t care less about the history of the Hunger Games. No one that had lived in the peak of the rebellion was still alive now. We knew the history of our country; yet every reaping they show us the video. As if we are going to forget that easily.

I had watched the video before; everyone had. They showed it to us at the beginning of every school year, meaning I had at least watched it 5 times, forgetting even the number of times I had been to the reaping. On top of that, I had been to so many Capitol-sponsored events, which increased this number even more. At the mere age of 13, I could probably recite it.

It was the same old, same old. The then-13 Districts of Panem rebelled against the Capitol, but the rebellion was unsuccessful, so the Capitol remained in charge. District 13 was obliterated, and the Hunger Games were celebrated every year to remind people never to rebel again.

The video ended to no reaction from the crowd. No one cared about the formalities of the reaping. People wanted to know who to place their bets on, which families were free for another year, and which would hide away and cry for the rest of the evening. Genevieve broke me out of my thought, "Now the time has come to reap our tributes.” She smiled gesturing the girls’ bowl. “Ladies first.” Genevieve reached into the glass globe, her hand swirling around. In my head, all I could hear was my conscience telling me that any one of those pieces of paper could have my name on it. I shook the feeling off; my name was one in thousands. The chances of it being me were as low as possible, but still in my heart of hearts, I had a feeling. Genevieve kept rifling until she picked one.

Slowly, she dragged out the piece of paper, the seconds feeling like years. She ripped open the seal delicately, holding it in front of her face as she leaned into speak: “Cora Turner.”

Pin-drop silence. My heart of hearts was right.

#hunger games finnick #finnick x y/n #finnick x annie #finnick odair #hunger games #the hunger games #the hunger games aesthetic #thg #mockingjay #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #oc #fanfiction #original fanfiction

118 notes · View notes