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lost-in-beacon-hills · 5 months

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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.

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alavestineneas · 1 year

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Silence

pairing: Clove Kentwell x fem!reader

summary: There has to be more to life than this endless cycle of violence and death. Otherwise, what's the point?

warnings: out of character, violence, mentions of death and torture

word count: 3k

author’s note: It’s completely my take on Clove’s future if she won the Games years before Katniss and lived long enough to see the Second Rebellion. In my head, she would grow to hate the Capitol as much as most victors do. As for the fic, I wrote a more certain ending for this one but was not sure whether it fits here. If you are interested in reading a so-called part 2, let me know. Enjoy!

Silence. The thing that has followed Clove the most since her victory. It was everywhere—exhausting, haunting, and almost inevitable. Her mother calls it peace, but she doesn't seem to understand much of Clove's life. There has to be more to life than this endless cycle of violence and death. Otherwise, what's the point?

Silence is yet again her only companion in an empty office. She has been there countless times but never received a punishment. It is almost interesting; to see how things work from the other side, although her body aches in alarming waiting.

The office feels lifeless, and Clove thinks it has something to do with the lack of decor. It's as if the space is designed to be temporary, as if no one is meant to stay here for long. Clove wonders if this is intentional or simply a byproduct of the job's demands. Either way, it adds to the sense of isolation that she feels. She tries to push these thoughts aside, but her mind keeps drifting back to the emptiness around her. She wonders how long she can keep up this charade of normalcy before it all becomes too much to bear.

The door finally opens, and the man in his usual white uniform enters the room. Clove doesn't stand up, although the protocol says she should. What's the point of formalities?

The man recognizes her. While District 2 has a lot more victors than others, they can still be counted on ten fingers. The soldier's face twists, his mouth curving in a slight O-shape.

''Kentwell?'' he barks.

Clove nods, almost curious about his following actions. Undoubtedly, the whip doesn't discriminate between the golden stars of Panem and commoners. However, they live in separate areas, earn more money, and wear different clothes for a reason. The Capitol's goal is to divide the district from within, diverting their attention from the real threat. She knows that now.

''I'll make a call.''

The man leaves as rapidly as he came, - the door closes behind him with a loud thud. The walls here are paper-thin. Does the Capitol not trust its guard dogs? Although it has its perks, she must admit - Clove can hear the call better than her heartbeat.

''Report.''

''Ma'am, I have case fifty-eight.''

Clove knew exactly what that meant. She braced herself for the inevitable order that would follow.

''And do I need to remind you what to do in such cases?''

''No, ma'am. But I thought it was better to report: we have a victor.''

There was a moment of silence before the female voice spoke again.

''Lessen the whipping.''

''But ma'am, the protocol states that...''

''Roundtree, execute.''

''Yes, ma'am.''

Clove hears the man take hurried steps back to the office but doesn't pay him much attention. Her sentence, while not as harsh as it should be, remains. Clove's stomach turns in dread; this time, she gets what she deserves for not being careful enough.

The party is at its peak when Clove shows up. Her movements are slower than usual; while the wounds are not bleeding anymore, they still ached. The dress stylists gave her barely covered white bandages—if you looked long enough, you could put two plus two together.

The mayor's house is crowded with important people from the district's elite. Those people look idiotic in a pitiful attempt to mimic Capitol's people. It's almost funny how they think they are closer to them than their people here. The real power lies with those who control the resources and manipulate the masses for their own gain. Clove can't help but feel a sense of disgust at how easily these people are fooled into thinking that they are part of something greater, when in reality they are just being used for someone else's benefit.

''Miss Kentwell!''

The mayor's face is a little red, likely from the heat or the amount of alcohol he consumed. The man is near sixty, although Clove is not entirely sure; they say work like this ages people quicker. His face, framed by odd round glasses, expresses nothing but delight. If Clove had to guess, she would assume he doesn't know about her small rebellion yet or doesn't bother remembering it.

''I believe you haven't met Miss Y/L/N before; she isn't a big fan of our smallish dinners. A woman of work, you see.'' The man throws up his hands as if it were a ridiculous idea. ''But what can be better than this, am I right?''

Clove agrees, chuckling into her glass. The mayor seems not to notice her obvious sarcasm, happy to prove his point. The woman beside him, however, doesn't miss it; her piercing eyes are riveted to Clove, examining her.

''What do you say if I get you, ladies, something to drink?''

The mayor breaks the silence settled between them, and Clove opens her mouth to disagree—her glass is half full anyway, but the woman is quicker.

''Sounds wonderful, Fellord.''

If she wasn't curious about the woman before, she definitely is now. Not a lot of people consider themselves good friends with the mayor, and, for sure, not people her age—the woman looks a few years older than Clove.

''I would ask you to dance, Miss Kentwell, but, unfortunately, I am the proud owner of two left feet.''

The woman smiles, and Clove thinks she has heard this voice before. Perhaps she works at the mayor's office.

"Well, that makes two of us, Miss Y/L/N.''

''Oh, call me Y/N. I can't have such a beautiful woman think I am a prune, can I?'''

''That would be a catastrophe indeed.''

Clove likes the woman. She doesn't look as posh as most people here; her dress is much simpler, and her neck doesn't bear the burden of a hundred pearls. She is quite captivating, too. Something about her stance and confidence make Clove's brain a little cloudy.

''Here come the drinks.'' The mayor is yet again near them, holding two stemwares with bubbling liquid. ''Miss Y/L/N, I am afraid I have to steal you; there is a line of people I absolutely need to introduce you to. Miss Kentwell.'' he nods, passing her a glass.

The woman left, leaving nothing but a fling of curiosity in Clove's mind and a pleasant warmth in her body. While taking a woman as a lover wasn't unusual in the Capitol, here it would raise some eyebrows.

Clove's eyes fell on the glass left behind by the woman. It was half-full, the condensation on its surface glistening in the dim light of the room. She couldn't help but wonder who this woman was and what her story might be. Yet Clove has more important things on her mind now. She needed to focus on her mission, gather information, and make connections that would help the rebellion.

It's 4 in the morning when Clove makes her way into the kitchen; nightmares keep her sleepless most nights. The day is already breaking, slowly painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The district is long awake; workers are just now returning from the night shift in the Nut. Clove sees their small, dark figures coming down a broad path. It is too far to make out the faces, although it's not hard to predict how tired and dirty they look.

The Capitol doesn't pay half what their labour is worth—not enough money to feed a grown man, let alone a family. Clove hears the talks in pubs—people are angry, and rightly so. The discontent is growing, but not as quickly as she would like it to.

But Plutarch believes that the time for revolution has come, and Clove can't help but feel a glimmer of hope. She knows that the 75th Games are fast approaching, and with them, the potential for change. Though she also knows that change won't come easily. The Capitol will fight tooth and nail to maintain their power, and it won't be long before they realize what Plutarch is planning.

Clove can only wish that he's right about the people being ready to rise. As she watches the sun set over District 2, she can't help but wonder what the future holds. Will they succeed in overthrowing the Capitol? Only time will tell, but one thing is certain: Clove is ready to fight.

Maybe it's the reason for her sentiments now—she had never felt this way before. Clove had dated in middle school, but it was nothing serious. And since then, she had only had a few hookups—nothing that made her heart race like this. It was almost embarrassing to admit to herself that she was blushing at the thought of someone she barely knew.

Clove sighs, gathering her thoughts. It is time she got going; the revolution won't plan itself.

A few gunshots are heard somewhere nearby. Clove is running for her life through the narrow streets of the slums. She feels her legs burning with heat and a sharp pain aches in her calves. Was disobeying Lime's orders and attending the worker's gathering stupidheat,? Sure. She wishes she had never done it, but it's too late for regrets now.

Clove has run far enough to be out of peacekeepers' reach for now. The fire in her lungs is almost unbearable, and her heart is high on adrenalin. The shouts of the less fortunate are loud and clear; if she closes her eyes, it's like she is back at the arena.

She had escaped death once again, and it was starting to feel like a blessing and a curse all at once. Fate seemed to be playing a cruel game with her. As Clove caught her breath, she knew that she needed to move quickly before anyone came searching for her. The home was the safest place for her right now, and she needed to make it there without being seen.

She straightens up, lifting her eyes off the dusty ground.

Looking right at her are two pairs of eyes.

Peacekeepers.

Caught.

Clove feels the air leave her lungs. Her mind races with regret and fear as she realizes that this is the end. She had always known that being a rebel was a death sentence, but she never thought it would end like this. Clove had been so careful, but now it seemed that all her efforts had been in vain. The peacekeepers stood before her, their eyes cold and unfeeling as they trained their weapons on her.

The gunshot fires faster than she has time to react. The foul ground colours are red with blood, contrasting with a white uniform on the still warm, dead body.

The pair of unfazed, cold eyes sent shivers down her spine. Clove finally recognizes her saviour. Y/N. She is also in a white uniform, slightly tinted with blood. She speaks into her radio calmly: ''Soldier 237 is eliminated. The subject is armed. The perimeter is clear. End of report.'' before turning on her feet and leaving in the opposite direction.

Clove takes a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She looks down at her hands, still shaking from the intense encounter. She is alive.

As Clove starts to wander away, she can't help but feel grateful for her saviour. Why did Y/N shoot her partner and not her? Was it because of one conversation a few months ago? Ridiculous. Her mind races with questions, but Clove knows that she may never get the answers.

They didn't come for her. Clove waited for interrogation or a gun to her head at night—nothing. Lyme was furious with her, of course, but Clove still managed to grab a few pieces of information vital to the planning.

Clove has looked at death's face many times, but she hasn't been so shaken in forever. Perhaps she is getting older, or the impact of betrayal was big enough to darken her mood.

It wasn't even a betrayal to begin with; she has to remind herself that Y/N promised her nothing. Hell, they spoke once or twice, and she was already head over heels. Clove is losing her grip, or maybe she is just tired of not allowing herself to feel anything, but it still hurts more than she would like to admit.

Y/N was an enemy—a serious one. Clove's heart surely knows whom to go for. It would be easier for her to convince herself to hate the woman if she let her partner shoot her. But no, Y/N saved her not once but twice already—she was the voice on the phone. Then she is not just an ordinary soldier; she is someone of higher rank. Someone who can have her dead in a matter of seconds and, for some reason, doesn't.

Clove feels as if her head is ready to explode; the Games have already started. It's only a matter of time before the rebellion begins. Before then, they have to plan a lot. Lyme had gotten the message from District 13: they are ready. Clove isn't sure if she is, but there is no turning back now. The rebellion was coming, and it was only a matter of time before everything exploded into chaos.

The dim light above cast eerie shadows on the blueprints. The silence in the room was suffocating. Their recent mission failed; the rebels lost a lot of their people and weapons. The revolution raged in all parts of Panem; however, the power of authority in District 2 remained strong.

Clove was low. Besides a few wounds gained on their last mission, she lost a few good soldiers. Those past months were nothing but agony; the constant lack of food and medical care destroyed the rebellious spirit better than any propaganda. Clove doesn't want to admit it, but she is scared. Lyme is too, and that kills Clove from within. The only person who seemed to know something is lost too.

Now, at the meeting of commanders, no one speaks a word. They know that they cannot afford to make any mistakes or take unnecessary risks. The faint knock disturbs the silence. The soldiers look at one another at a loss; their team is already here. The knock grows louder, and the commanders exchange wary glances. They know that they must proceed with caution.

Clove stands up from her seat, grabbing the nearest gun. The door creaks open, and while the lighting isn't helping to make out the face, Clove still does—it's Y/N. Years of training kick in. Her fingers wrap tightly around the trigger of the loaded gun, and she feels a rush of adrenaline as she raises it to point directly between the woman's eyes.

''Drop the gun,'' Lyme commands.

Clove isn't sure if she heard the woman right. It's their enemy she is holding at gunpoint—the reason for their losses.

''Lyme, she is a -'' Clove starts.

''I know who she is. She is on our side. Lower the gun.''

Clove hesitates for a moment, unsure of whether to trust Lyme's words or not. But as she looks into Y/N's eyes, she sees a glimmer of distress that she can relate to. With a deep breath, Clove lowers her gun and steps aside to let Y/N in.

The woman rolls her eyes. ''Finally. I don't have all the time in the world.'' She takes a few first-aid kits out of her bag. ''All I could sneak out without drawing too much attention.''

Lyme nods. ''Commanders, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She was recommended by Plutarch as a valuable soldier.''

Y/N looks around. ''Shall we start?''

The meeting lasted for almost four hours and only ended because of Y/N's departure; they couldn't afford to blow up her cover that foolishly. The woman brought many new points to the plan; having someone who knows the system from within made an enormous difference.

And while a lot became clear after the gathering, Clove found herself even more confused. So as the last person left the room, Clove approached Lyme with a furrowed brow.

"You don't trust her," Lyme stated.

''Clearly. The thing is, why do you trust her?''

Lyme looked at her calmly. ''I don't. When the rebellion was in planning, Plutarch introduced me to her. We've worked together since.''

''How do we know she doesn't betray us at any given chance?''

''She didn't before.'' Lyme shrugged. ''Or did you forget the time she saved your ass?''

As Clove sat there, staring at her friend, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her guilt bearing down on her. She knew it was wrong to hide such a vital piece of information, but she was too ashamed to admit her mistakes. It wasn't just the fear of being judged that held her back; it was the fear of losing everything she had worked so hard for.

''Look, I know it's hard, and frankly, that Plutarch man is slimy, to say the least. But it's all we've got.''

Clove nods. Lyme had always been honest with her, and she had no reason to doubt her now. ''Okay. But I'll keep an eye on her.''

The attack was successful, finally. Clove loosens up a little; a light of hope sparkles in the rebels' eyes once again. More people have joined the resistance since Y/N's addition to the commanders' board. The woman is bright, Clove must admit—she is a trained officer after all.

Lyme has them work together most of the time. Y/N renders an account of the peacekeepers' tactic and plans one to counter. It's hard work—if she makes it too easy, she will be under suspicion; if she doesn't, rebels lose people. Clove is there to report recourses and check for mistakes; after hours of work, it's easy to make one.

''That's it,'' Y/N announces, ''Those are the exists, the ones marked with red—the weakest points.''

Clove nods, taking a seat next to her on a tiny piece of wood—an improvised chair and desk. She feels Y/N tiredly stretch next to her. The handwriting is small and uneven, but understandable enough. ''Good,'' she mutters under her breath.

''The Nut won't be easy to take; you have to know that. I have fifteen people making the decisions there; I can't go against their commands.''

''I know.'' Clove feels the ache in her chest growing. Why can't things be easy for once? When Y/N steps out of this forgotten factory, she is a peacekeeper. And if she had the order to kill her, she would.

''The sun is almost up. I have to go.'' Y/N stands up, and Clove feels the cold touch her skin. She wants to say something to make her turn and listen, but she knows deep down that it wouldn't have made a difference. Clove watches the woman look around before disappearing in the morning fog. If only they had more time.

The Nut was invincible, just like Y/N had predicted. They've already tried four times. Nothing. A crushing defeat each time. Their miserable position even earned them guests—the Mockingjay and her famous squad.

Clove listens to their discretions, not too attentively—what do these people know about her home? Was a seventeen-year-old speech supposed to make workers turn their backs on the system they had been under for 75 years?

She shares a look with Y/N; she is also not impressed. As the conversation progresses, Clove finds the situation they are in dreadful—after executing the plan, most of the workers will be dead. She knows her people well; they won't surrender to someone who just bombed them. It's common sense.

''I'll check the weapons for tomorrow.'' Y/N stands up. She is angry.

''Alone? How do we know you won't purposefully ruin them?'' one of the newcomers asks.

Y/N opens her mouth to say something, but Clove is quicker. ''I'll make sure of that.''

The walk to the armoury is silent; Y/N is fuming. She goes over the guns and bullets, the weapons in her hands changing faster than Clove blinks.

''I'll try to save as much as I can," she finally says.

''What?''

''The people. I'll command them to surrender.''

Y/N's words hang in the air, and for a moment, there is silence.

Clove feels a lump form in her throat as she realizes the gravity of what Y/N has just said.

''But they will kill you then.''

''Earlier than you can say cheese," Y/N chuckles. ''But I'm dead anyway.''

''I'm afraid we both are.''

They look at each other for a moment.

''Fuck it then.''

Y/N shortens the distance between them in a few quick steps, her body pressing Clove against the cold wall. The closeness of their bodies sends shivers down Clove's spine. The kiss is hungry, almost heated. Clove feels her cheeks burn, and blood rushes through her veins. It's hard to focus on anything Y/N is doing to her; it feels too good.

''Fuck me.'' Clove's voice is hoarse with desire, and she doesn't immediately realize that the words have left her mouth until she hears a familiar chuckle.

''Right here?'' Y/N raises her eyebrow, her lips a hot, soft, rosy mess.

Clove nods almost too quickly, but she is far from caring; she wants those lips on her body again.

"You don't have to ask twice."

Their lips met again in a passionate embrace. Clove moans softly as Y/N's hands roam over her body, exploring every inch of her skin. The intensity of their desire is almost overwhelming, but she doesn't want it to end. Tomorrow, the world will burn; they have a few hours before then.

Y/N left at dawn, as she had all those times before. Except for this one, Clove couldn't hold her tears for long; small, almost invisible droplets ran down her cheeks when she returned to her troop. Lyme threw her a meaningful glance, and Clove shook her head. She is fine. For the first time, Clove felt at peace with the silence around her.

#thg #hunger games #clove kentwell #district two #wlw #imagine #au #clove kentwell x reade #clove kentwell x y/n #clove kentwell x you #i love women

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clatoera · 1 year

Note

☕️ 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

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raspberry-gloaming · 1 year

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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

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enixamyram · 1 year

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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

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analiza-beta · 1 year

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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

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ilguna · 1 year

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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 <-

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-> Ardor Warmane <-

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

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fromthedarkesthour · 2 years

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She didn't want to live a dull life that would ultimately end in an early demise that would rarely be acknowledge. No, she wanted to live a fun life, one that would help fuel her. She watched her parents start to run on empty a long time ago and she wasn't going to do that. Her life would continue in the career academy and would continue well after. She wasn't planning on getting into the arena, it wasn't her end goal, she just needed to build connections and resources that could get her out of the tradition that her family had fallen into. She had found her people in the academy, found her life in the academy, and she might end up in the arena - but she also might not.

Nickeline Talus is played by Dev - Full Bio

#ftdh #welcome #d2 #district two #district 2 #career #nickeline talus #dev #sadie sink #past characters

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rhysandswingspan · 2 years

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Here is another excerpt from my Clato fic, hope you enjoy:

“She knows how he feels about her angry fits. She knows how he hates that she hurts herself when she gets upset. She nearly laughs at the thought. It doesn't matter which of them gets angry, it's always her that ends up hurt.”

Tagging two Clato blogs I follow to get their opinions!

If anyone who sees this likes it, let me know! I’m trying to decide weather to post it or not.

@askclato

@destroyed-by-clato

#clove #cato #hunger games #the hunger games #district two #clato #fanfic

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irenespring · 3 months

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House MD- Hunger Games District Two Victor AU: Victor!House and his Mentor

Actual fic! I stir from the depths of writer's block.

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Author Notes:

I'm back for sort of some writing! I found @lorata's world and character building for District Two so comprehensive that sometimes when I get attached to a messed up character, I start applying them to their District Two world. I've written posts about who House MD characters' mentor would be, and I was inspired to actually write some scenes.

This one isn't dialogue heavy (shocking for me) but I did think it was necessary to set up the fusion of the House characters and Hunger Games world. It's primarily hurt/comfort.

The timeline of the character victories is very unrealistic (the gamemakers would never let District Two win this much) but oh well, this is a weird AU/crossover fic. The Hunger Games divergence here is what if Cashmere couldn't face what her life would be after her victory? So the 62nd and 63rd Games would go to Two. Also Enobaria's victory in the 62nd with Nero as a mentor is replaced by Lisa (Cuddy) with Nero as a mentor. Later, a "what if one of the District Two tributes listened to their mentors and killed Finnick in the bloodbath of the 65th" for Wilson's victory. Sorry to Finnick and Enobaria, but this is still technically a House AU.

Also Hunger Games tech is weird. The kind of prosthetic I describe I think fits with Capitol technology.

Lorata's District Two holds that volunteers ditch their last names so as unnatural as it is, House is Gregory, Cuddy will be Lisa, and Wilson will be James. I know, I know.

Many thanks to Lorata for their permission to use their characters. And for their work in general. It's absolutely stellar.

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Trigger warnings: references to child abuse, depictions of violence, ableism, dystopian government horribleness

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The story:

The first connection he makes when arriving at the Victor’s Village is with his mentor, Adessa. Good, obedient Victors bond with their mentors in the Capitol, seeing as the mentor is always there. And saved their life, or something. But Gregory is and has always been dedicated to ignoring tradition and making his own rules. Which is why it is super fucking annoying that he found someone whose rules he listens to. At least he was able to maintain his rage for a couple weeks. That’s almost something.

If he were the type of person to say sappy shit like she’s the parent he never had, or that he would be way more tolerant of authority if they were all like her, well, he would say it. But he’s not, so he doesn’t, end of story. Well, not out loud at least.

But he did hate her at first. On account of waking up in the Capitol hospital missing his leg.

He remembers the final fight, Cashmere sticking her poisoned knife into his thigh as he barely managed to dodge, knowing it should have struck something vital. He also remembers when he ran her through with one of his short swords, and she leaned in close with blood staining her teeth, looked at his leg, and whispered that at least he’d have something to remember her by.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that she had planned for him to win, even though he knows she hated him. That maybe the thought of him being the one to kill her was outweighed by the fear of what victory would mean for a girl from District One. Hurting him was the only way she could make it clear that he hadn’t beaten her. They had fought in training after it became clear she didn’t find him funny. During the almost mandatory pack banter, they played up the kind of sexual tension that only works when built on actual loathing tension. They tried to kill each other in the career pack split. She had been fighting for keeps then, he is certain. But he doesn’t know about the finale. One of the first things he let Adessa help him with was the feeling that she, his enemy, had gifted him his life and victory, only hurting his leg as a token of her (lack of) esteem.

Hell of a token, though. After the adrenaline of the fight he felt the pain, the agonizing pain, worse than anything he had felt in his eighteen years of enduring torture. But he made it to the hovercraft walking on both his legs.

He had his leg. He woke up without it.

He hated his mentor for the entire week it took to get back to the district. He endured the doctors talking about the newest prosthetics. He only barely listened to Adessa’s instructions on the proper humility to show to President Snow in order to avoid being summarily executed. He hated it. He hated looking the President in the eye and talking about how happy he was that he would be an ambulatory cripple, and how thankful he was for the Capitol’s mercy. He hated Adessa viciously, blamed her for taking away his choice even now that he had won and should have some fucking control over his life, but he listened because what she said made sense and he wasn’t suicidal.

After they finally got to the Village, it was another week until she was sure he was physically healthy enough for a hike. She took him deep into the forest under the guise of helping the prosthetic map his old neural pathways. When they were far enough she was certain no one or nothing would overhear, she gifted him with the truth.

No coddling, no hiding, no softening the words for the fragile, crippled baby Victor.

She told him what she overheard the doctors talking about. How the muscle in his thigh had died. They could save his leg, but they would have to remove the muscle almost entirely. He wouldn’t be able to walk without a cane, and he would almost certainly be in excruciating pain for the rest of his life. And then one of them had commented on how living with this “challenge” would be such a show of District Two bravery at its finest. The other had waved the comment off, but did say that it would show District Two that it wasn’t invulnerable. It wasn’t immune from the pain of the Games. Wouldn’t want them to get cocky, now that they’ve won twice in a row.

They didn’t know Adessa had overheard. Five minutes later they “briefed her” on the options. She asked them whether removing the leg entirely would lessen the risk of chronic pain. They admitted that it would, almost entirely, but insisted they could save it. She ordered them, as Gregory’s medical proxy, to remove his leg. They talked up their surgery, she insisted on amputation. They invoked the President’s support of the brilliance of the surgical technique, Adessa had held firm, affecting District Two's distrust of new technology.

She then looked Gregory in the eye and explained to him that yes, he would have to do insufferable press about living as an amputee. But it was nothing compared to the nightmares they’d force him through with a visible limp or mobility aid. The realistic-looking prosthetic, and its robotic technology helping him walk, would lessen the image image the Capitol press wanted. If Adessa had chosen the surgery, they would want to see Gregory's scar in every interview. They would only ever describe him in terms of his cane and gait. They would expect him to be soft and welcoming and unobtrusive— because surely an obviously disabled Victory couldn’t be frightening.

And even that was nothing compared to the inescapable pain they would make him endure with a smile and a humble word.

Nothing compared to how much danger he would be in if the President decided District Two was getting uppity, and forced Gregory onto morphling to cope with his pain, with the purpose of getting him addicted— thus showing the district one of their symbols was “weak.” How even then he would still be expected to praise his torturers.

She held eye contact and told him that he had been unconscious, and she had used her decades of experience navigating the Capitol to make a judgment call.

She hadn’t been able to stop her first Victor from falling into the claws of the Capitol, and she wouldn’t let it happen again.

She wanted him to recover and finally live without the constant threat of physical pain. He had to stop himself from widening his eyes when she told him that he deserved a life with as little pain as possible.

So, she made them cut off his leg, she concluded. It seemed to her the only rational thing to do.

And then she did something the Centre had told him no mentor would do. Because mentors made choices for their Victors and took it as their due. She told him if he still thought she had made the wrong decision, she would apologize. She would make it up to him. He should have had control over his body, she had said with a viciousness he knew couldn’t be just about him.

He had stared back at her, shocked, feeling as though the world had been shaken from its axis.

It somehow hadn’t occurred to him that she genuinely cared if he suffered. That she wasn’t just blindly exercising her power, as every authority in his life had done before her. She didn’t want him to hurt. She respected him. She talked to him as someone worthy of the facts. He was a person to her, not just a symbol of her prestige or the district’s strength. He was a person, and she wanted to help him.

He scanned her face, looking for the slightest hint of falsehood, he didn’t find it. Her stare was firm and unwavering. It wasn’t warm, but it was honest.

He wanted to believe her, he wanted to trust her so badly it shocked him. Something in his chest hurt, because he couldn’t shut out the hope that this time it would be different. He should know better, but that knowledge was drowned by the desperate chorus in his mind that maybe, maybe, someone cared.

It allowed him, for one moment, to force himself to take her at her word. To consider the merits of the argument she presented.

In a moment that will definitely have sweeping strings behind in the soapy biopic he’ll make about himself, he realized she had made the right call.

She made the right call. For him. Even though the Capitol didn’t want her to. She put his needs ahead of the Capitol— he’ll maybe leave that part out of the script.

When he makes the movie, he’ll definitely also leave out how his next thought, that repeated in his mind over and over, was that maybe he’d be safe now.

Safe.

He had never, ever, in his life, been safe.

And for some stupid fucking reason this robbed him of his ability to communicate beyond a nod, and produced a shit-ton of tears. He blamed the psych meds then and he blames them now, but still, a shit-ton of tears. So. Many. Fucking. Tears.

But before he could start properly hating himself for showing he wasn’t worthy of her respect with such a weak display, she moved into his line of sight. She carefully placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him time to register it as no threat.

She didn’t crowd him into a suffocating hug. She didn’t force him to speak. She didn’t patronize him with stupid “comforting” nonsense.

She let him cry —loudly and messily, like a small child that had never been forced into an ice-bath and thus didn’t know to shut the fuck up before someone heard— and she let him feel her steady, calm presence behind him. If he moved one of his hands to grasp her hand, just for a second, neither of them needed to talk about it.

When he calmed down, he let his eyes reach hers again, blue meeting brown. And they stayed like that, not speaking but understanding each other, for a long moment. Finally she nodded, and he nodded back, and they exchanged small, barely-there smiles.

“We should continue our walk,” she told him. “The prosthetic does work better the more impulses it receives from the brain. Additionally, it is unseasonably cool today, and therefore we will be less likely to dehydrate on a longer journey, compared to tomorrow’s forecast.”

That made sense. Something making sense grounded him. It let him start thinking clearly. Maybe he’d feel better if his new leg worked more like his old.

He still didn’t want to look at it, but the prosthetic no longer made him want to rip it off his body and beat everyone in the vicinity, especially Adessa, to death.

“That’s a good idea.”

They returned to the village’s main hiking path and continued towards the lake. Gregory hated the walk prior to their conversation. The not-quite-connected prosthetic made him slightly unsteady, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that if/when a tribute burst out of the bushes, he wouldn’t be able to fight. He had felt helpless, like his mere presence would bring someone violent and angry to hurt him in his weakened state. When he had looked at Adessa, he wondered if she was judging him, or if she was enjoying having her power over him cemented in such a physical way. She could do whatever she wanted to him and he couldn’t even run.

After The Talk (as he would forever call it, earning an amused smirk from Adessa) it was different.

He still felt helpless, for fleeting moments. But less so. When he felt the tell-tale squeezing in his chest, he subtly looked over at his mentor, walking a comfortable distance away, but still next to him. This time looking at her was strangely comforting.

It took him a while to place the not-unpleasant feeling that had settled across his mind: he felt less alone.

He felt like maybe he really did have someone that would protect him.

He’s the messed up kind of person that needed to win the damn Hunger Games to get anything good in his life. But at least it worked.

He and his mentor still walk to the lake often, and she keeps him safe.

#house md #the hunger games #lorataverse #we must be killers: tales from district two #district two #gregory house #fanfiction #one shot #hurt/comfort #mentor feelings #adessa #of course the first house fic I write is this highly specific AU #because my productivity can never be on anything a broad audience would want to read #it would break the space time continuum #tw child abuse reference #tw societal ableism #tw violence

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darthnell · 3 years

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There’s always more to the game than merely playing by the rules; that’s why Career districts win the Hunger Games so often. Even for them, however, nothing is ever guaranteed.

truevengeance151.weebly.com

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True Vengeance is (one of) my Hunger Games failed rebellion AU stories (reading the others isn’t necessary to read this one). At this point in time (151 ADD), all of the canon characters are dead, either from natural causes or otherwise; my works feature solely original characters.

This story centers on my character Venatrix Pyke, the daughter of two Victors from District Two. She’s been preparing to volunteer for the Games for the majority of her life, and was intending to enter in the 6th Quarter Quell, but the universe (and the Capitol) had different plans: the Reaping pool for the 150th Hunger Games would be comprised solely of twelve year-olds. Being seventeen at the time, Venatrix couldn’t volunteer; however, her younger sister, Bellara, could and did, against the will of their parents and District Two’s Career Academy.

Needless to say, Bellara Pyke did not win the Games, and Venatrix and her family are left to deal with the fallout. But the Capitol isn’t finished with them yet, and the 151st Games are quickly approaching.

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A heads up to anyone who’s interested in reading: I’m planning for this to be a fairly long story. It’s currently divided into three parts - training, pre-Games, and the Games - the first of which is nearly complete. This story also features a lot of my D2 worldbuilding, which has been super fun to write about c:

The Weebly link up there is to a website/blog that I made for this story, which has some aesthetics, character face claims and tidbits, original art, and all sorts of fun stuff about the story that I’ve compiled so far ! (I should note that the Status Updates tab contains some spoilers for posted chapters) Feel free to check that out if you want; I had a lot of fun working on it !

Thank you for reading, if you so choose ! It’s probably obvious how much I love working on this story at this point lol. Enjoy !

- Nell

#true vengeance 151 #hunger games oc #Hunger Games #hunger games fanfiction #district two #worldbuilding #my writing #writing #fanfiction #original characters #venatrix pyke

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lost-in-beacon-hills · 5 months

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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

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alavestineneas · 1 year

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Forever

pairing: Clove Kentwell x fem!reader

summary: Maybe Clove wasn’t a terrible person. Maybe she was just seventeen. AU, in which Clove wins the Hunger Games.

warnings: typical hunger games violence

When Clove won, people around her were ecstatic - her parents, her mentors, District two and, of course, the Capitol. Sometimes she wonders if she should be too. As soon as President Snow placed a crown on her head, media all over the Panem wanted to know more, tearing her apart with cheap questions. Clove just wanted to rest - she gave them all that they wanted. What's more to say?

"Clove, what are you planning on doing next?" One of the never-ending reporters asks, and she struggles to answer. There was life outside the Games, Clove just was not sure how to spend it now. For a person who won in the arena, she was surprisingly doubtful.

"Are you crazy? Clove, what the fuck!?" The girl in front of her yelled.

Y/N, her main competitor in the Academy since they were ten. She was reaped this year before Clove volunteered and now stood in the room reserved for tributes.

"What, Y/L/N, are you jealous again? Oh, I am so sorry to get victor's crown this year. It seems like you lost to me. Again." Clove spatted. Why was she here? To wish her luck? Ridiculous. They weren't even friends.

"No, Clove, listen. It should have been me going into the arena. This is our last year." the tears stained the girl's face. Why was she crying? Was she that sorry not to get a chance to win?

"And give you all the glory? No, thanks. Now stop crying like a kid. It makes you even more pathetic."

Seeing her cry made Clove feel weird. It was weak, not worthy of a career. Not worthy of Y/N and her stupidly captivating eyes.

"May odds be in your favour, Kentwell. District two will be waiting for you."

Clove rolled her eyes. She did not need pity from anyone, but especially from her. ''They are never in yours, surprisingly.''

She sat near the fire in the arena. It was almost the fifth day here. Clove was covered in dirt, blood and sweat from head to toe. She wanted to go home.

Laughter filled the stillness of the night. It was a boy and girl from District one. Clove couldn't help but think how weird and unnatural their voices sounded. How could that be viewed as desirable by the nation? She knew the only person in Panem whose laugh wasn't annoying. Too bad it was never for Clove.

For anyone but her. Y/N was the golden one at the Academy. She was pretty and lively, making it almost impossible for the people around to hate her. Everyone was either her friend or wanted to be one. Clove was the opposite of that - most of the kids were afraid to even talk to her, except for a few.

"I am not afraid of you because I know who you are, Clove. Just a scared girl with a lot of insecurities trying to prove something. You can foul anyone but not me."

Clove hated how Y/N always seemed to be right. She was scared. She already killed five people and lost her partner to some kind of poisonous bird. And it was only the beginning.

Suddenly, she heard a scream. Clove jumped on her feet and grabbed the nearest knife. The time-out was over.

Almost half a year since her win. Victor's Village was relatively silent at this time. Mentors were either in Capitol or Academy, leaving Clove to herself. She had a house now - a pretty big one. It was awful to look at - she couldn't believe she thought it was worth it.

Clove still sees their faces in her nightmares - they don't tell you about that in Academy. How hard it is to continue living with blood on your hands, the blood of the children who didn't stand a chance against her knives. Some begged her not to kill them, some tried to fight back. It did not matter in the end. She was here, and they were dead. Haunting her for the rest of her life.

Enobaria said it doesn't get better. Clove believes her - now, her mentor has no reason to lie. She was mad at all of them; at her parents, who pushed their only child to almost certain death for a faint promise of glory; at mentors for inciting her to volunteer; at District two citizens who now saw her killing innocent children as one of the greatest things a person can do; at Capitolees who made her retell each day at the arena for their entertainment.

There was only one person who she couldn't bring herself to hate, although it was the most obvious choice. The one that should've been in the Games instead of her. Y/N. One more tricked child that Academy made her hate. She was the most sincere of them, Clove just realised. She was the only one that cried that day. She was the only one to care. Could she know? Clove wasn't sure.

She stood in front of a big wooden door painted dark blue. The weather was quite nice with the still warm sun hitting the tops of the buildings. Clove knocked twice, not sure if it was loud enough for the owners to hear. It was - the door opened with a slight creak, and a middle-aged woman appeared in the door frame.

''Can I help you?'' the woman asked, looking at her impatiently.

''Um, yes. I was looking for Y/N Y/L/N.'' Only now Clove realised how stupid it was to come here. What if it was not her house? What if she doesn't want to see her? What are they going to talk about? What if she got everything messed up?

The woman turned her head and called over her shoulder - ''Darling, the Kentwell girl is here to see you!'' - and turned to face Clove once more. ''Come in.''

''You know, I am sorry, I shouldn't have come, I will-'' Clove started, but the girl on the staircase already noticed her.

''Clove, what a surprise! Come in! The kettle is about to boil.''

There were no chances of retreating now. She was stuck.

Clove looked at the sweets in front of her as Y/N paced around the small kitchen. She hasn't changed a bit - maybe, her hair grew an inch longer. Y/N still looked strong and healthy, something Clove wished she could do. She was sure she looked horrible - Clove broke all mirrors in her own house.

It was then that she noticed a small creature on the windowsill. A pair of golden eyes looked at her almost in curiosity. The cat made its way down and rubbed against Clove's leg. ''You have a cat.'' she stated, stunned.

''Yes. Is it that surprising?" Y/N joked, placing two cups of hot tea on the table. ''You can touch it, you know. He bites, but I guessed you are used to it.''

''I'm good, thank you.'' Clove took shifted a little on the chair. The creature made her uncomfortable. She took a breath in before asking. ''When did you figure it out?'' That the Hunger Games were a dead end, she wanted to say. She couldn't. Not here.

Y/N signed, resting her chin on her hand. ''After Ms. Pitthorn's speech.''

Clove nodded. She remembered the day the mayor's wife made a speech on the Day of Reaping instead of him. Her hands and lower lip trembled like leaves under the Autumn wind when she read. Clove was fifteen, so she did not pay much attention. It turns out Y/N did. ''You were always the smart one.''

Y/N dramatically gasped. ''Is that a compliment I am sensing, Kentwell?''

Clove felt her ears grow red in embarrassment. ''I hate you.''

Silence filled the room. Y/N's smile dropped, and she tried to hide her frown in the cup, sipping now-cold tea. Clove didn't want to hurt her, yet it was all she ever did. It was a price for not allowing herself to believe the truth all those years, and maybe, just maybe, she shouldn't say this now, but she can't live with the aching feeling in her chest. She wants her to know.

''I did not mean it this way. Not now, not all those years. I'' - she takes a deep breath of warm air in, avoiding eyes drawn to her -''I think I have been in love with you since we were ten. It is so selfish and so childish it makes me laugh. At first, I was jealous, so I convinced myself I hated you. But that's the catch - I never really could, you know? To be honest, it was quite the opposite - you were the only thought that kept me going in the arena. I promised myself that if I ever was to make it out alive, I would talk to you. I did not want to die with you thinking someone could mean the words I once said.''

She finally mastered the courage to look at the young girl in front of her. Her unreadable eyes were filled with tears, the same tears Clove saw on the day of her Reaping. She hated to notice that she was the reason both times.

''I didn't know what to call it, the feeling I had for you, not until I saw you at that damn arena. I have loved no one else but you in my life.''

It was enough. Clove kissed her, their lips meeting for the first time, but it felt like they belonged together. Clove couldn't even imagine how many times she wondered what her lips felt like, and now she finally knew. They felt like home.

She pulled away, breathless. Y/N was in her arms with her forehead pressed against Clove's neck, still fresh tears staining checked shirt.

''Don't you dare leave me again.'', Y/N whispers, and Clove swears that she won't. For the first time since her victory, she thinks it was worth it. They deserved their forever.

#hunger games #clove kentwell #au #district two #wlw #imagine #clove kentwell x reader #clove kentwell x you #thg

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