USApotterfan
December 2011
I love the time travel head canon that you awesome people have created.
I vote for Kurt being the sperm donor for Harmony.
Only Hummelberry spawn could belt out a tune like that.
LOOK HOW CUTE
Waaaiiiitt King Midas?
So now Greek mythology exists in Storybrooke, on top of all the fairy tales? That’s kind of cool…
We’re all mature until somebody brings out the bubble-wrap.
le pop pop
Tonight is my last day of doing college apps.
I’m trying to look on the bright side of the fact that I have a fair amount left to write. xD
He was the male tribute from District 7 in the 34th Hunger Games.
Eighteen-years-old, broad-shouldered, and, in all respects, a man drafted into a game full of children. If there was fear or apprehension on his face after his name was drawn from the reaping ball, it was masked by the full beard he had worn since he was sixteen.
Bearded men was a tradition in Seven, born out of the practical needs to protect oneself against the bitter winters and treated as a right of passage. While the Capitol declared an arbitrary age (19) the mark of manhood, boys in Seven were considered fully adult once they began to grow hair on their faces.
Enormous, even by lumberjack standards, as soon the boy had taken the stage, the Capitol took notice. He stood a head above his mentor, a vicious Victor from the 22nd Games; and his partner, a thin, sickly girl of fourteen, barely came up to his chest.
That night, gambling parlors from the shining Capitol streets to the seedy warehouse known as The Hob in District 12, declared the boy the odds on favorite to win it all.
The frenzy only intensified during the tribute parade.
His stylist had dressed him in nothing but a small pair of shorts made of fur, and forced him to hold a large, heavy axe to ensure that his sizable muscles were flexed for the duration of the event.
He wore a scowl, clearly visible now as they had shaved him clean.
During his interview, he sat for his entire three minutes in complete silence, arms crossed, while Caesar Flickerman tried in vain to coax some kind of conversation out of him.
It drove the Capitol wild.
By all betting standpoints, he was almost a statistical certainty. He had the physical power, the sex appeal, and, most of all, a mysterious aura that had captured the attention of the Capitol sponsors. He was also the only eighteen-year-old up against competitors who were not only far below him in age, but also in strength and intelligence. It was as close to a sure bet as the Games could be.
In the first day alone, he had gathered an incredible range of supplies from the Cornucopia (including a medieval looking battle axe), made camp next to the only source of fresh water in the Arena, and had single-handedly been responsible for the deaths of six tributes.
On day two, he took out three more competitors.
On day three, another two.
By day four, it was down to him and the Careers- a group of four from Districts 1 and 2 who had decided to band together to take him out. The Capitol cameras focused in on the Careers’ strategy session while the boy from Seven went about his morning routine of eating, drinking, and washing.
No one in the control booths noticed when the flash of horrific realization crossed the boy’s face.
He had been washing, splashing the lake water up over his body, his face when it happened. As he rubbed the dirt and sweat and blood from his cheeks, he stopped, his hands on his cheeks, which were still smooth as they had been the day of Capitol Parade.
It was in that moment that he realized that even if he was the Victor, he would never be able to reclaim what they had taken from him.
They had stolen his manhood, and it was more than realization that the beard that would never grow back.
It was the sudden understanding that men, and he had been a man for two years now, did not take the lives of children.
Did not think themselves strong for defeating the weak and defenseless.
He had failed himself and his District.
No one in the Capitol understood how the boy from Seven, who had been so cunning, so ruthless, had failed to hear the Careers approaching. They never figured out why the hands that had wielded an axe with deadly strength could not muster the strength to snap a fifteen-year-old girl’s neck.
They also never realized that the tears that fell from the boy’s eyes in his final minutes were not from the physical pain of nearly three dozen stab wound, but, instead, were a final act of attrition.
Submitted by Jedishywalker
All of these submissions are so quality, but I especially like this one.
