#;mcnstreous

[marvclled-blog]

@mcnstreous​

“...Cato...”

    && he cocked his head as the other man came in, having just stepped out of the shower. It was not that rare to sight the other in their quarters - he supposed the other tribute was getting it on with Glimmer, or something like it. He never asked. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

“...good morning...”

[marvclled-blog]

@mcnstreous

‘... two minutes earlier and there would have been a knife in your throat. Right... there...”

        & he made a frame out of his thumb and finger, peering through it. Such a pretty sight it was, the other in that light. He could just imagine a trickle of blood running into his collar.

[saintelmcsfire-blog]

@mcnstreous

This victory tour - he had turned 16 just when it began - was stuff of nightmares. Finnick Odair, winner of the 65th Hunger Games, had been pushed towards the front of the stage in District 1, remembering vividly how he had jammed his trident into the head of the district’s girl, saw her family standing up on the stage, and swallowed.

you’re alive, his mind told him, that’s what matters you’re alivealoneactuallyhalfwaydead

His voice trembled when he spoke, and afterwards he was pulled back by his mentor, Madge hovering over him and calming him, grounding him, leading him away - except for it wasn’t away, because when he was alone in his room that night and he flipped over the light because he didn’t want more darkness there he was.

The boy.

A career like Finnick, he could see this, with the same eyes that the fisherman’s son had killed once already.

lordmakeitquickrevengeisalwayssweet