May 23
IT KNOWS !!
My Noah & Devon Miis just had a baby and this is the firdt name they come up with what😭😭😭
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Singapore
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from Canada
seen from South Korea
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Palestinian Territories
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
IT KNOWS !!
My Noah & Devon Miis just had a baby and this is the firdt name they come up with what😭😭😭
I go back and forth between my interests,,,
Like a goddamn tennis game
I am insufferable lmao
• • • A while back already I had seen similar edits done and idk I've just thought about it again because it lives in the woods can never really leave my mind nor heart lol and so I just did my own version ! :) hope you like it !
Once upon a time there was a writer and her dog....
Reading Alan Garner in a bluebell wood. When I was a child, this was the life I wanted to grow up into.
Devon Woods, England
via russel_wispernips
The 62nd Hunger Games (2)
And here's chapter 2! I made it shorter than the first one so you won't get bored...
If I get, I don't know... 5 notes, I think I could write chapter 3.
I hope you like it!
PS. If you want to read the original in Spanish, go here. (but I haven't uploaded this chapter yet)
Chapter 1
Summary: These are the Sixty Second Hunger Games. What could be worst than being chosen in your last Reaping day? For a career: nothing. But for a boy from District 8, leaving his family, his girlfriend, his home... will change everything.
The 62nd Hunger Games
Kill or be killed
Winning, fame and fortune
Loosing, certain death
May the odds be ever in your favour!
Chapter 2:
The stage isn’t a very pleasant place to be, less if you have to stand on it.
I look among the crowd, trying to find a familiar face, but I can’t find Camille, Allie or even my parents. Silence, it’s uncomfortable and disgusting, and I can feel every part of my body shivering when a gust of wind hits my face.
“Your age, dear?”
“Eig-eighteen.” I stutter, and I remember that not only Mischief’s yellow eyes are focused on my, also her sister’s and whole District 8’s are staring at me.
Sideways, I look at my left and I find the dark haired girl who’s next to Mirey. Her arms are folded behind her back and her eyes are closed. What would she be thinking right now? I suppose she’s still shocked, because they’ve just called her 5 minutes ago.
Anyway, I’ve ever seen her. Not even at school.
When I try to concentrate on finding my family, Mirey says something, but I don’t pay attention because… I found Camille. She runs away from her area, looking for someone. Maybe one of her friends, maybe her own family… but no, she hugs my sister. She kneels in front of her and cleans her tears.
My mother I covering her mouth with her skeletal hands, and my father is massaging her shoulders, trying to relax her.
I should be there. I should be smiling because they didn’t choose me.
But I am here.
“Anyway, our tributes of District 8 are…” starts Mischief, taking my hand and lifting it like if I was a victorious career tribute. “… Devon Woods!”
“And Michelle Lifeson!” finishes Mirey, raising the girl’s hand.
Partner. Ally. Victim… I don’t know how to call her, actually.
“Now, shake hands…” whispers Mirey, as if we were children.
I straight my back and shake hands with Michelle Lifeson, looking straight into her ayes: her hand’s sweating. She avoids me and let go. Then, rubs both hands.
“And may the odds be ever in your favor!” The ridiculous twins exclaim at the same time. A couple of peace keepers escort as to the giant oak door that will lead us to the Justice Building.
The building has only got 2 floors; when we get in, I am surprise that its inside isn’t decorated with luxury fabrics. It only has heavy curtains that block the light.
Hardly ever, while I am being escorted down the hallway to the room where I’ll farewell my family, I stare at some sadistic and ruthless paintings, which show rebels being murdered by peacekeepers, orphan children crying in front of our small hospital… or roses. They are everywhere. Those damn roses anywhere you can imagine.
I don’t understand why whole District 8 is so fascinated about these flowers.
At some point, the peacekeepers stop us and tell us that we must split up at this fork in the hallway. Mischief takes Michelle with her to the left, leaving me Mirey. Of course, we go to the right.
“It was going to be your last year, right?” she asks, looking at me with her fake blue eyes that reflect… sadness? She caresses my face and I raise an eyebrow. “I am really sorry.”
Mirey walks away and the peacekeeper, that has been following us since we got into the building, looks at me.
“I am staying here, so you shouldn’t attempt to do anything stupid.” he says. In other words: something stupid means escaping.
I breathe deeply and turn the door’s knob. The peacekeeper closes the door for me.
This room is so dully and melancholy as the building itself: there are gray curtains (a bit slighter than the other ones I’ve seen) that cover a pair of rounded windows, wood floors and yellow walls, but they’re so dirty that they look as gray as the curtains.
Speaking about them, I innocently try to move the curtains with the idea of let light get in here, but they’re so old that fall, causing a huge dust cloud around me.
My coughing is uncontrollable, until I realize that the windows haven’t got glasses… Which means I could easily jump throw one of them and run away…
But I don’t want them to kill me. Not yet.
Actually, I don’t want to die in any way until… 40 years from now, perhaps?
I turn back and sit on an ancient green sofa.
Suddenly, the door opens and a little girl gets in, confused.
“Allie?” I whisper, and she runs to me, tears streaming down her face. “It’s okay…” I hug her but she keeps crying, like the time she saw how a wolf almost killed me a few months ago, putting her arms around my neck and pressing her face against my chest. “Everything’s going to be okay, Allie. I promise…”
“I-I don’t… I don’t want to you to leave me” she says, and I swallow. She’s four, but talks like a 14-year-old girl. Her extremely like blue eyes make me shiver: the pain they show… I don’t want to leave her, but I must or they’ll kill her. I know that. They’ll kill our whole family.
“Remember what happened when the wolf attacked me, near the fence?” I ask her. She nods. “? You were with me, and he was getting closer to you and I protected you, remember?” Allie looks down and nods.
“I cried. I wasn’t brave” she whispers and I care her light brown hair. “I cried” She repeats.
“That doesn’t matter, Allie” I say, half smiling. “You were brave then because you threw him a rock,” she looks at me again. “and you have to be brave for both of us now. Maybe I won’t be here, but I’ll be there” I say, pointing at her heart. She hugs me again.
The peacekeeper opens the door.
“The time is over.” He says, but Allie doesn’t want to let me go. “IT’S OVER!” he yells, taking Allie away from me.
“Win!” she screams before the door closes.
I hope I could…
END OF CHAPTER 2
The 62nd Hunger Games
Here's my fanfiction, and I spent days translating this first chapter.
I hope you like it!
PS. If you want to read the original in Spanish, go here.
Summary: These are the Sixty Second Hunger Games. What could be worst than being chosen in your last Reaping day? For a career: nothing. But for a boy from District 8, leaving his family, his girlfriend, his home... will change everything.
The 62nd Hunger Games
Kill or be killed
Winning, fame and fortune
Loosing, certain death
May the odds be ever in your favour!
Chapter 1:
“Devon!” she yells from the kitchen, “Help me with your sister!”
One last blow and the new wood fence is ready. It surrounds our poor home, and it will work as protection of the wild wolves that started crossing the ‘electrified’ fence at midnight. Everybody can hear them, walking slowly near our houses, but the government doesn’t do anything about it. And of course they never will.
“Good morning!” I look from afar, and my elderly neighbour greets me from her house’s door. I wave back at her. She’s a really strength woman: she’s 60 years old, and she keeps working in the fabric factory.
When she gets into her home, I look around: the sun shines up in the blue sky and a few birds are singing and flying around the district. It’s a beautiful day, but its circumstances aren’t. Today isn’t a very likely.
It’s Reaping day.
I hide my mace (and knives) in a hole in a wall. People from District 8 aren’t allowed to have such tools, so they’re likely to cut my throat out if the peacekeepers find out them… I climb the stairs, and the squeaking of the door forces my mother to turn to me.
“I called you 15 minutes ago” she says.
“I had to h-“
“Those damn stuff… “She whispers, interrupting myself, while braiding my sister’s hair. “All those knives! Why do you want them, Devon? They won’t only cause you problems, they’ll get us all in trouble too, “she looks at me with her dark, accusing eyes.
I try to not focus on her comments: she knows I am the only one who’s brave enough to drive away all the wild animals from our area. She knows it, but she isn’t interested. Also, knowing how to use a knife and other instruments, could give me chances to win the Games, but we are many people in this district, which means there aren’t many chances to get sorted. Anyway, I have to stress the fact that… this is my last Reaping.
“You are ready, sweetie, “says my mum, and my little sister takes a small leap from the chair where she was stood. Allie is four, four innocent years old. She’s small and a bit introverted, but a very sweet girl. She doesn’t like being with someone other than us (our parents and me). On a typical day, her long brown hair falls over her shoulders, highlighting her sky-coloured eyes.
Her little eyes light up when she sees me.
I keel on the floor and she comes running to me, radiating happiness. Her tiny pink dress, waving, makes her look even younger than she is. When Allie comes to me, she hugs me as if she hadn’t seen me in weeks.
“Mummy braided my hair and gave me this new dress “she says, smiling and crushing the tables of her dress with her tiny hands. “I think I am ready to go to the Square!”
“You are still too young, Allie” I caress her cheek, and she smiles broadly.
Innocence is not something you can fins easily in these days, and is far more difficult to dins in a place as bleak as the area where we live. We call it “the Needle”: I always assumed it was because of the fact that everyone who lives here is specialized in sewing, and also all the houses were built in rows among a narrow dirt road.
And that’s why Allie gives a touch of happiness to our home and all the ones around us. Her innocence makes many of our neighbours to treat her with affection, as they can get a smile with a simple question like ‘Why don’t we have holidays?’ Of course some laugh because only Capitol citizens can enjoy holidays, but it’s forbidden to us to discuss such things at all the districts.
“When will you change your clothes?” she asks, excitedly: I heard my father, last night, telling her about today, about my least Reaping day, and that we were going to celebrate having wild turkey as dinner.
“Right now. Do you want to join me?”
“Of course!”
“Fine, go to our room and get me my blue shirt, would you?” she nods and goes to our room, jumping. I’m about to go after her when my mother grabs my arm, stopping me.
Since three years ago, I have been having this kind of rivalry with her, mainly because she doesn’t approve my idea of hiding my tools, either my opportunity to travel to District 2 and train to become a peacekeeper. A couple of years ago, a Capitol’s man saw me ordering the rows of the posts in the Main Square (where we sell out own handmade goods) and he told me that, if I want to become a peacekeeper, he could get me a permission to travel: but I would have to wait until being 18.
It is a unique opportunity! I could even give my sister the chance of not having to ask for Tesseraes, not as I did: I have my name, at least, 40 times in the crystal bowl.
“I suggest you to throw all your tools after returning home. Immediately”
“Why?” We discussed this many times before. I’m sick. Sick of her disapproval. “I got them by myself, and nobody had ever found them, or is going to.” She turns around, sighing. “That’s what I want to be. I was born to be a peacekeeper. You said it yourself ‘you are a great organizer!’. Also, I’ll do better than working in the factory…”
“You don’t understand, do you? We have been making fabrics for generations.”
“Nobody wants to work there! Name me one person, just one, who likes working under those conditions!” I raised my voice, and she has never likes that. I pass a hand over my face, trying to calm myself. I breathe deep. “We work for the damn Capitol, and they give us nothing in return. I have at least 40 ballots.”
“Devon, everybody hates peacekeepers. And you’ll be working for them.” She puts a hand on my shoulder and sighs again. As always, she tries to convince me because she wants me to change my mind. She looks straight into my deep blue eyes with her slaughtered lamb’s ones. I look away. “Why do you want to leave us? To go to a district so far?”
“You don’t understand me. You never did… and you never will.”
“I only want the best for you, Devon…”
I drew her hand and look at her with abhorrence.
“You want the best for you.”
With quick steps, I walk into my room. Allie is still rummaging through the drawers, pulling out and folding them again. I lean against the door frame until finally, she finds my blue shirt. I guess she had fun looking for it…
“You and mum. Were you fighting again?” she turns and looks at me, her face shows disappointment. Tends the shirt on the bed and focus her eyes on me, again.
“Of course not” I reply, smiling sideways. She shrugs, sighing.
I get into the bathroom. I take my clothes off and try to dress. When I try to wear my pants, I slip and hit my leg against the door hinge. I fall, cursing of course, and now I have a purple bruise in my knee. I try to get up again, but I lose my balance, falling down again, hitting my head against the floor.
Frustrated, get up successfully, so I finish getting dressed and try to comb my uncontrollably hair.
When I left the bathroom, Allie is waiting for me, sitting at the foot of the bed, playing with her braid. And she takes me by surprise, wondering me…
“What will happen to me if… if I get sorted?” she looks at me with her little lamb eyes.
I kneel before her and smile.
“Allie Woods: you are just four years old. Your name will never be in into that awful bowl until you turn twelve. And I promise that, in the right time, I’ll do even the unthinkable to get your name away from the ‘ridiculous twins’. Got it?” she nods, and we both sigh. I look at her and smile, hugging her before leaving. “See you later, okay?”
Allie smiles and I enter into the kitchen, where my father has already awakened (people don’t work today). He’s sitting, with his elbows on the table, while drinking some water.
“It’s the last one, buddy, and then you’ll be free to do whatever you want.”
“What I want?” I ask, with a mocking tune. “What if I don’t want to work there?” I cross my arms and look at him, waiting for his reprimand.
“You are old enough to listen to your conscience, not your mother’s.” He winks at me and drinks from his glass, again. I think my face glows with happiness. Finally he agrees with me! “Don’t you dare tell your mother about this talk.”
“What were we talking about?” We laugh together, like in those old times when I was a child. He stops and then tries to fix the collar of my shirt, with a warm smile.
“I am proud of you, son.” He hugs me, and gropes my back. We separate. “Good look” he says.
And that’s the way people goodbye in our district.
We are numerous, so it’s almost impossible to get sorted: that’s the reason why goodbyes are so simple and, most of the time, not even a bit sentimental. For example, my mother has never said goodbye to me before going to the Square. She never did because she finds more interesting things to do.
Anyway, I am not complaining or anything.
I turn the knob of the door and go outside, looking at my new fence like a proud father. Distracted as usual, I climb down the wooden stairs, until I bump with someone, falling to the grass. It looks like it’s my ‘absolute stupidity’ day.
I spit the grass that got into my mouth. I clean it with my hand and see a girl.
Tall and thin as sewing thread. Straight hair like her eyes’ colour: hazel. His features clearly show her anger, specially her accusing eyes, but she reaches out to help me.
She’s Camille Miller.
Being just eighteen years old, she’s one of the most beautiful girls from our district, and her lilac dress stresses her beauty. She lives some blocks away from my house, in the Needle. Her mother has a very good hand at sewing, so she always has nice and good quality clothes. Camille is my confidant, my friend… my girlfriend.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, shaking my clothes.
“You were supposed to pick me up to go to the Square. I don’t know if you remember that… “She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. Her “menacing” look always makes me laugh. “What are you laughing at? Have you got any idea about that time is it?”
“Early… I suppose?”
“We have to be there in half an hour, and it’s an hour away from here on foot. I don’t know if you understand what I’m saying.” I look at her, surprised. Why is time so quickly? It was barely 8 am when I fell in the bathroom… Maybe, when I hit my head, I stayed unconscious for an hour but… “What are you waiting for? Are we leaving or not?”
Laughing out loud, I put myself behind her and I start pushing her.
“Come on! Run! Run!”
We flew into the dirt road that goes directly to the Market’s Square (also known as Textile or Main Square). From it, we can see all the children from the Needle, saying goodbye to their families at their doors: terror in their faces, because it’s obvious that today is their first Reaping.
As you start getting older, you start getting used of it and you start adopting this date as a minor, typical one where you just have to dress pretty neat.
Anyway, it’s always been very moving to see all those kids getting out of their home with tears filling their eyes.
At some point, I find myself, running alone. I stop and turn around, looking for Camille, who stopped one hundred metres back. She looks agitated and she’s trying to normalize her breathing. I run a few meters to her, and I realize we’re right in front of the school, and several small children are leaving, dressing their finery, to go to the Reaping.
“Weren’t you hurry?”
“I don’t have wild deer legs, you know. “She replies, inhaling deeply and staining her back. “We met here for the first time, remember?” she says, pointing to the playground with her head.
“Yes. I still remember your short hair. You looked like a boy…” She smiles aside and I laugh. Camille approaches me with some kind of ‘superiority’ air. “Are you going to tell me that story again?”
“Of course! It’s our cabala! We have been doing this every year and we haven’t been chosen. Of course the answer is YES!”
We start walking again, with quick but not as tiring as the old one, while she tells her ‘great achievement’ where she saved me from being hit by some older boys.
Actually, we were six. I never talked to her before that, but I knew who she was.
Turns out that, one day at recess, some kids who were nine years old, started bothering me for the simple fact that I lives in the poorest area of District 8, while they lived with their parents in the City.
When they started insulting my father, I just hit them and we started a fight. It was three against me, so it wasn’t a really ‘fair’ fight.
Out of nowhere, Camille appeared beside me, yelling them to let me alone. I remember lying in the floor and watched her arguing with them: she was determined to help me. What is funny is that it was winter, so she was wearing a big coat that reached her ankles (what made her look tinier than she already was).
“Get off, Miller.” Said one of them, pushing her away.
“Mutts! Why don’t you fight with someone of your size?” Camille pushed them back. Then, she started beating them and they fled.
Since that they we became friends. Years passed and we became confidents of our deepest secrets, but the most important thing is that we respected each other.
Well, then we reached this last stage were we realized the feelings we have to the other. As always, there are those who say I’m not the one for her, who’s honest and sincere, while I refuse to work at the factory and I don’t look like the ‘ideal’ guy.
But the truth is that she isn’t as perfect as her role of ‘good girl’ pretends to be: she’s grumpy, stubborn and self-centred when she wants to. She could kill you to prove she’s right, and do the unthinkable to get some action because she’s adventurous and brave. I think those imperfections are what make her look maybe more… perfect for my eyes.
In a blink of an eye, we’re about fifty yards away from the Market Square. One can clearly distinguish the hundreds of children waiting to go to their respective areas, and all the adults watching them.
Holding hands, we made our way through the crowd until we reached the area where we must separate. Surprisingly, Camille kisses my cheek before running to her place.
Smiling weakly, I position myself between some youths in the 18th male area.
“Out last Reaping, mate” whispers a redhead next to me. The rest listen to him and start whispering to each other, but I turn around and I identify my family among all the people from District 8.
“Yes… The last one.” I reply, looking straight to my sister.
The voices turn off simultaneously in the instant when Mayor Cotton opens the huge doors of the Justice Building, which communicate the stone stairs of the stage. He approaches to the microphone and recites an endless speech about the Hunger Games, the reasons of its existence, why you should be grateful to President Snow… the same crap of every year.
When he finishes, two young women, who aren’t more than 25 years old, take the stage.
They are Mischief and Mirey, District 8’s escorts… also known as the ‘ridiculous twins’.
For some strange reason, that I don’t even know and don’t care about, the President gave them the job of selecting the tributes in our district seven years ago.
They both are equal physically: thin and stylish, thin faces and moves as delicate as their blond hair. What differentiates them is their clothing and eyes: Mischief uses to wear orange (she’s wearing a jacket and a skirt that match) and red shoes and her eyes are light yellow; while Mirey prefers blue (she’s wearing a short dress) and high heels, and her eyes are dark blue as the deep ocean (like mine, but hers are artificial).
They approach to the microphone, quickly.
“Welcome!” they exclaim simultaneously, “Welcome to today’s Reaping day. Isn’t it a beautiful day to choose tributes to our generous nation of Panem?”
As usual, no one answers.
“The time has come…” starts Mischief.
“… to select…” continues Mirey.
“… a courageous girl…”
“… and a honest boy…”
“… For the honour of representing…”
“… their beloved District 8…”
“In the Sixty Second Annual Hunger Games!” they exclaim together, wide smiling.
They spend several minutes smiling, waiting for a cheering, but that only happens in District 1. They look at each other and decide to go to the first crystal bowl, but Mischief stops and returns and takes the microphone.
“We forgot…” says smiling, “May the odds be ever in your favour!”
They look at each other, put their hand on the bowl and…
“Michelle Lifeson!”
Not Camille, is another girl. Thank God it’s another girl, and not her, whose face appears on the big screen: she’s surprised and doesn’t understand what’s going on. I guess her mind hasn’t realized her name has been select from another thousand girls.
Anyway, her surprise is moving to me. She walks through the other girls to stage, but no one wishes her luck.
“Up, sweetheart” Says Mirey, with a really sweet smile, inviting her to climb the last steps. “Don’t worry… We don’t bite”.
Michelle Lifeson doubts for a second. She turns to the crowd, I guess looking for a relative or a look that gives her confidence. She looks at the woman with curve sky-blue lashes again; they approach the microphone together.
“How old are you, dear?” Mischief asks, taking her pale hand. She stutters something in an incredibly low voice. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”
I think all the people who live in District 8 agrees that the twins are extremely friendly. They are from the Capitol, but that doesn’t mean they’ll treat us as inferior to them: they treat all these frightened teenagers gently, trying to soften the shock of the moment.
Finally, Michelle Lifeson says something.
“Seventeen. I am seventeen.” She swallows after saying that, but she’s still scared and her skinny knees tremble, despite her light green eyes try to show that she isn’t at all.
The poor girl is dying up there. Why don’t they choose the male tribute so all this can finish and I could go home?
Just in that moment, the twins tell the girl to stay in her place.
“Now, it’s time to select the gentleman who will go to the Capitol with you “Says Mischif, stressing happiness.
I look down and smile aside: Camille hasn’t been chosen, and it looks like I won’t either. This is it. That’s all. I’ll return home quickly, I’ll run to the hole from the front wall to hide my knives and tools in a safer place so my mother won’t know they exist anymore. Then, I’ll live a happy and peaceful life.
When I look up, smiling, I watch the screen… and it’s showing my face all over the Square, transforming happiness in surprise in the right moment when the escorts say…
Devon Woods!
END OF CHAPTER 1
First look at my fancast for Devon, character from the 62nd Hunger Games
Leo DiCaprio (brunette and HUGE eyebrows) as Devon Woods.