@ivasduarte10 - Tumblr Blog

y'all have to understand that book canon and film canon are sometimes different. for ppl who watch the movies, it wouldnt make sense to have dark skinned with gray eyes 16 year old haymitch and blonde white blue eyed haymitch at 40.

they're gonna cast ppl according to the original cast

y’all have to understand that:

wait i didn't meant it in a condescending or mean way tho 😭 i completely understand what u meant but i also saw some ppl genuinely mad that they didn't cast book accurate haymitch and that's why i said what i said. it's obvious (given their casting history) that they're gonna stick with movie continuity—which is why i also think that 60% of the book is gonna be cut because that's the way they've been working so far

sorry if i sounded condescending, that truly wasn't the point

ahh all good, that’s my bad then. thank you for clarifying! text tone can be a fickle thing <3

i do think there is merit to the anger against their lack of progress in casting but you’re also totally right that this was basically inevitable—they sooo do not have a strong track record there😭

(also i wholeheartedly agree with your prediction of them cutting out a lot !! ironically, i think the reaping scene in particular will be very different, i just can’t see hollywood getting behind it as is)

i'm gonna be so mad if they change the reaping 😭

but i agree with you. again, they don't have a strong record at keeping up with the actual books (like completely ignoring peeta's amputated leg, or trying to sell it as a love triangle).

i have no idea what the hell they're going to do with lou lou's storyline, the AI line is 100% gonna be cut, the line where drusilla says she wishes maysilee wins to get the fate of the pretty tributes is probably going to get cut too.

honeslty, i'm excited for the movie (me pulling up dressed as woody at the mgj premiere) but if they ruin it by cutting the important shit again, i'm gonna be pissed

like if i had money i'd pay for someone to make a series 100% book accurate just so i'd die happy

#its ok love #i get it 😭

they're gonna cast ppl according to the original cast

y’all have to understand that:

sorry if i sounded condescending, that truly wasn't the point

#sunrise on the reaping #the hunger games

they're gonna cast ppl according to the original cast

rosegardeninwinter

“but Katniss wasn’t maternal!” truthers are not prepared for one of the strongest pieces of evidence of Katniss subconsciously desiring children in the series: the way she projects that desire for children onto Peeta

#SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PPL IN THE BACK #also how can u say she isnt maternal when she protects prim #AND RUE?????#and her first instinct when seeing peeta hurt was to take care of him #also haymitch w the geese #like pls cmon #read the books maybe?#anyway #thanks for coming to my ted talk #everlark

starrynightsxo

at this point suzanne collins should just take my money. writing the hunger games trilogy is one thing but a prequel with the main villain of the original as the main character? I was SAT. then, to rob me even more, she writes a book about the mentor of the original games who, most of us, if not all, end up feeling some sort of, if not a certain, likeness towards him which is developed in that book, of course. I'm basically throwing money at her at this point. there's so much scope here and I will be SEATED each and every time I kid you not.

so what's next? because I sure as hell am waiting for it. finnick's games? certified banger. mags' games? forecasted success. annie's games? absoloutely yes. even wiress who has more mention in sotr?? the way suzanne collins gives us a trickle of someone's games, leaving room for her to create a whole new book (or more!) if she pleases is just incredible.

take notes everyone, take notes. I know I am.

"thank you suzanne" we all say in unison 🙂‍↕️

#anyways #pls do take my money #feed me more of ur mind #the hunger games

It’s like when you’re saving up money for concert tickets. Except it’s for a Suzanne Collins themed altar on a bookshelf

thesmileykate

in the first Games, the shift from "oh, I don't care if you see me" when peeta is teasing about being comfortable naked in front of katniss to the soft, whispery "all right" when she kisses him is so... peeta.

because on the one hand, peeta is the kind of boy who finds katniss’s discomfort with overt sexualness funny and wants to egg her on. especially if it might be entertaining for the cameras.

but on the other hand, he’s also the kind of boy who finds genuine connection (and what seems like some sort of desire from his crush) scary. and unfamiliar.

because when he’s joking around, he doesn’t have to think about the reality of his feelings. it’s all a show. all for the cameras. and he’s a practiced performer.

but now that she’s kissed him… now it almost seems real.

it makes this boy, who’s always ready with a comeback, suddenly at a loss for words.

Don't mind me. I'm just crying and imagining being Peeta Mellark.

Growing up being berated and abused. Being the extra mouth to feed. Not the firstborn. Not the best wrestler. Not the daughter. Not perfect. Growing up watching a hunter sing to birds. Watching him hold and love his daughters and his wife. Seeing him take time out of his mining schedule to take his daughter to her first day of school. Growing up watching a girl sing like her father. Growing up watching her her love and protect her sister fiercely. Watching her lose her song. Watching her become the hunter. Become the protector. Watching her step on a stage to protect the sister that meant everything to her. Going into a conversation with your mentor to explore what you can both do to get this girl back to her sister. Weighing the cost of your life and deciding that more will suffer if she doesn't return to her family versus your own family - which would maybe even be better off if you didn't. Deciding to put your heart on a cutting board for the whims of Capitol delight - all to use as propaganda to make this girl important to a fickle crowd. Digging your own grave and laying in the mud, waiting to die. Hoping it was all enough. Hoping she'll win, but knowing that - odds are - you'll die never knowing. Waking up to her gray eyes above you. Looking for you. Pulling you out of the earth. Saving YOU. Risking herself for YOU. Running into danger for YOU. Experiencing the same protection she so readily gives her sister. As if you MATTER. Against all odds, getting out. Surviving. Together. Being willing to die - for her or with her. But SURVIVING. Not together. Not the way you thought. It wasn't real.

Holding her through nightmares, both waking and sleeping - all while knowing she's not yours to hold. That all you'll ever represent to her is her lack of choice. Getting down on one knee to promise everything you ever wanted to give this girl - more propaganda. Your heart is still on that cutting board. Knowing that she wouldn't have chosen you. You're all fences and chains of pearls. But him? He's the woods. He's freedom. He's everything she deserves and nothing you are. Learning that she'll have to walk on that stage again. Knowing that, this time, you'll be the one to raise your hand because you plan to use your life to finish what you started. The games always get their due - and you were meant to die. Too many people rely on this girl. On the money she provides. The food she provides. The medicine her family can afford to provide as long as she lives. And then the hope of the nation - you know it has to be her. You can save so many lives, for the low, low cost of your own. You were made to save her. From the moment you heard her sing. To the bread you took a beating for. To the victory you sacrificed everything for. This is what you can give her that he can't. You can die for her. He gets to live with her. You stand on a stage again, and talk about the future you will never have. The child you will never have, because you will instead die as a child yourself. But maybe one day, it COULD be real for her. If she survives. If you can make sure she makes it home to him. If your words and your sacrifice can make the world can care about her enough to make the world a better, safer place. Sitting on a beach together, holding each other, and realizing - too late - that it was just as real for her as it was for you. Holding that knowledge close to your heart - knowing that it changes nothing. It's your life for hers. That's it. Watching her walk away from you. Knowing, somehow, that you've held her, kissed her for the last time. You won't see her at midnight. Everything goes to shit, you don't know who to trust. You're running desperately to find her. Calling her name to draw people to you - hearing her call out to you, likely to do the same. But, you can't fucking let her. This can't have all been for nothing. You kill a man. In self defense? In vengeance? In desperation? You don't even know anymore. You can't find her. Lightning strikes. You failed. You fucking failed.

You're taken and you know, without a doubt, that you're in the most danger you've ever been in your life. But you also know your job isn't done. You can still spin this. You can still play the game. You can still protect her, even from here. So you do what you know you have to. Say what you have to. Throw everyone and everything under the bus as long as it means plausible deniability for her. You're starved. You're beaten. You watch people you know be tortured, torn apart. You watch a man you knew for years be hacked to pieces. Screaming in a way you can never unhear. You're forced to watch as they are tormented for your benefit. You know this is personal. They want you guilty. They want you afraid. You're tired. You're so fucking tired. You don't know how much more you can take. They put fire in your veins and they show you things you don't want to see. And they feel so fucking real. In quiet moments you sit in your cell and you realize something is wrong. You're remembering things that...don't seem right. You're forgetting the things and the people that matter. What did your father look at 4 in the morning when he turned on the ovens? Which brother slept in which bed? What was your mother's birthday? Was there a little girl on a stool who sang like magic? Green? Orange? Green. You hold onto that. You know it's important. You CAN'T let it go. More fire in your veins. Gray eyes. Teeth tearing into your leg. Poison in a cave. An arrow in your direction. A monster, standing over the remains of your home. Your home? NO. Fight it back. Green. She needs to run. They're coming. You fight through the haze and you warn her, one last time. The blows land. It all goes blissfully dark. You wake up in another white room. They're running around and telling you it's safe now. You're safe now. It's over. But how can it be over if the monsters are still out there. And then, there she is. In front of you. You could end it, here, now. The pain. The death. The monster is right in front of you and you could end it now. You lunge. (STOP. THIS ISN'T RIGHT.)

More restraints. More drugs. More videos. More lies. More doctors. It's not over. You're not safe. One prison for another. You get to bake a cake. It's a wedding cake for, quite possibly, the most gentle person you've ever met. She's marrying a known playboy and you can't help but think this is another cruel propaganda stunt by the "good guys". And you know she deserves better. (But something scratches at the walls of your brain when you think this.) As you frost it you struggle to make sense of the shattered glass pieces of yourself. But something in you knows this. Knows this like breathing. Even so, while your shaking hands struggle to make sense of a recipe you can't remember - you find yourself missing steps. The first test comes out dry and crumbly - and something in you knows you added too much flour. The taste is also...off? You forgot salt, you think. As you try again, something echoes in your head about waste and stupid boys. There's a phantom pain on the back of your head. The next batch is perfect. As you step back and admire your work, adding bits of frosting here and there, because art is never "done" until it has an audience. You're realizing that this is the first time in about a month that you were able to take an image in your brain and make it real. You need to see her. You need to know what's real. And, in the end, she's disappointingly...just a girl. Flawed, imperfect, aggravating, selfish, plain. Honestly, not even really likable, you think - but just a girl. But part of you wants to hurt her. Lash out. Watch her transform. Watch her bleed. Because you KNOW there's something inside her that's ugly. Seductively violent. And you won't be fooled anymore. You may have been conned into making the world like her, using your voice to make her palatable. But no more. You know what you have to do. You need to make everyone see her for what she is. And you need her to know that you see her too. So you lash out at her. You lash out at him - so perfect, tall, and undamaged, family intact. You lash out at yourself. Argue with parts of you that are screaming that she isn’t your enemy. Green? One day, they tell you she’s gone. And a part of you feels like it can breathe again. Like you can maybe even be safe again, whatever that means. Another part of you that you don’t want to explore feels like you just lost the key that would make everything make sense. Like she’s the keeper of the puzzle that is “being Peeta Mellark”, and, if she dies - you’ll never be able to piece yourself back together. So when a woman with cold eyes sits you down and tells you that you’re shipping out, you don’t argue. Whatever you are, whoever you are - you know it starts and ends with her. Where she is, you have to be there. You look at her and try to parse out everything you remember, everything you know, everything you feel towards her. Equal parts desire to recoil and desire to touch. You chafe against your handcuffs instead, welcoming the raw, painful sensation, letting it center you. Keeping you here. Green. …Orange.

She feeds you pieces of yourself that feel…right. You don’t understand why you trust it, from her, but you do. A door inside of you is shifting open and you start to remember dresses, nightmares, lamb stew, and a window with birds outside…someone is singing... Stay with me? Explosions. Blood. Screams. She’s standing over a body with a pool of blood. Legs mangled beyond recognition. Your squad leader? A red-headed peacekeeper? You? Does it matter? She’s everything you knew she was. Fangs and claws and violence. A killer. You need to stop her. You need to save everyone. You nee- You wake up and you watch yourself kill a man. A good man. One who spoke to you. Who treated you with dignity. Like part of his team. A man with a life and loved ones. And you watch yourself on screen, throwing him off of you, into a trap. They were right. You were the mutt. You were the weapon. There is something fundamentally broken in you and now you’re every violent thing you swore you’d never be. Everything the games wanted you to be. Everything your mother taught you to be. So you beg. You beg for the one thing that you know, you absolutely KNOW will save everyone. Save HER. You beg to be put down like the Capitol mutt you are. You beg HIM. Hoping he’ll see sense. Hoping that he’ll put her well-being above whatever insane need to protect you she’s struggling with. Because now you understand, she’s protecting herself by protecting you. She won’t do it. Won’t allow it. But you CAN’T risk her again. And, fuck, you can’t risk the last little bit of yourself that you have to hold onto. Because if you have to wake up to camera footage of her dying with your hands around her throat, or your gun in her skull, then nothing and nobody will ever be able to bring you back again. They don’t listen. Nobody will listen to you and you just want to scream. Katnisssssssss. Katnissssssssssss. KATNISSSSSSSSS. She needs to run. You have to get her out of here. They’re coming for her. You yank at the handcuffs, struggling to hang onto yourself while people keep falling around you. But you have to hang on. You have to, because the alternative is…well there is no alternative. You keep pushing her forward, running along with a steadily dwindling team. Screams echoing inside of you while you watch flesh melting from bones, hear the unmistakable, guttural screams of the voiceless, watch a man have his throat ripped out. And you see him. You see him handing you a piece of rope and teaching you how to silence the screams, you see him picking you up to carry you away from the mist, you see him standing above you - breathless and red-faced as he restarts your heart. And, as quickly as you remembered, he’s gone. And with him goes the last bit of strength you had. You can’t hold back. Katnisssssssss. Katnissssssssssss. KATNISSSSSSSSS. You hear your name somewhere in the distance. But it’s too far away. There are only screams in your head. And suddenly, there’s only gray. Locking onto you and refusing to let go. Her lips press on yours. It’s all sweat, and desperation, and blood - but it’s something else too. Stay with me? And the dam breaks. Your body shakes with the release of every bit of you that was locked away. Every bit of you that knew that you would follow her anywhere. That you would die for her. That you are hers in every way you could be. Is it even a question? There’s only one answer. ”Always.”

So you stay. You stay while she cleans your wrists. You stay while she admits to everything you already knew. No matter what happens, you’ll stay. You follow behind while she scrambles amongst the chaos and devastation of mindless war. Bodies are falling on all sides - both fur lined and armored. There is no longer a distinction between the soldier and the citizen to anyone holding a gun. You watch as they’re both separated by a crumbling road - a death trap. You watch her fail to shoot him, and you think about the pill in your pocket and you find yourself hoping he finds a way to die before he ends up in a cell. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone. She continues onward, through the crowds and you push through, refusing to lose her in the madness, ready to shield her or be the distraction she needs to get away. You won’t let them take her, even if it means they take you again. Rip the last remaining bit of your soul away. Because they can’t, not really. As long as she’s alive - your soul will always be hers. There she is, close to the barricades, she’s so close. The bombs drop. You can’t hear anything but ringing. For once, you don’t even hear the screams haunting your brain - just an eerie silence as the dust clears and you see the blood staining the snow on the ground. But then the screams start again. Louder and louder until you realize that it’s not in your head. The anguish, the dying, the pain - the discordant screams are all real. This is real. You're rushing in to reach her as you see her until you can see her stiffen in recognition at something you can’t see. And then she says something that chills you, right before the world breaks. Just one word. One name. You’re running towards her faster than you ever thought possible. “PRIM!” The second bombs go off. The flames hit you several seconds before you can register the pain. You wrench off your coat, the fibers melting onto the skin of your arms, and drop to the ground. You shove snow onto your face and arms, willing it to numb the pain, even for a moment. The scent of blood in the snow assaults your senses, but you can’t think about that right now, you just need to cool the burns fast. The second you can stand it you lift your head up and look for her. You find her a few feet away from where she was originally standing. She’s on her back and her coat is still burning. You ignore the agony of your own burns as you get up and run over to her. You grab just under her armpits and drag her away from the carnage, slipping in viscera before getting her over to the outskirts of the barricade. You rip the coat off of her and fling it away, trying not to notice that pieces of the clothing beneath, and her skin, come off with it. You pull over snow from a miraculously clean snowbank nearby, You feel the adrenaline wearing off and the true pain settling in, as blood begins to run down from your face and arms. With your last strength, you pull her into your arms, shielding her as much as possible. As your vision starts to blur you hope that you’re found by the right people, whatever that even means right now. You squeeze so tightly, you worry you’re hurting but. But they’ll have to kill you if they want to take her alone. You stay with her. Always.

When you wake up, it’s to new skin and not a new enough world. You sit around a table with too many missing people and discuss what they would have wanted and what happens next. It CAN’T. It just CAN’T. This CANNOT be the legacy of 75 traumatized survivors and 1,725 sacrificed children. You WILL NOT co-sign on this. She says yes. A panicked part of you wonders if you got it wrong. If she WAS everything you they programmed you to think she was. But you push that thought down. No. NO. She’s hurting and damaged. She lost everything she sacrificed for. This isn't her. But it doesn't matter because you can’t go on this path with her. You can't follow her, not this time. Whatever she thinks she may feel right now, this will break her once the first blood spills. So instead, you look to your mentor. The man who picked her, every single time. The man who looked in your face and lied. Who left you for dead more times than you care to count. You look at this man whose life was torn apart by these games - and you beg him to choose you this time. To help you protect her from herself just one last time. PLEASE. You KNOW he can’t want this. You watch them have a conversation through mirrored gray eyes. Your heart sinks. You watch The Mockingjay walk forward. A single arrow pointed at a sick, old man. You feel like you’ve lost her. You feel like she’s lost herself. You watch as this girl, who could shoot a squirrel in the eye every time, takes careful aim and misses. As the crowd begins to riot and surge forward, you look only to her. You don’t know how you know it - you don’t even understand what it is you know - but your legs are moving before you can process it. Because you can’t let her go. You can’t. Stay with me. There’s a trial. One last time, you use your voice to protect this girl who didn’t have enough people to protect her. You shield her with your words. You paint a portrait with colors of neglect, abandonment, grief, trauma, sympathy. They tell you that she’ll be going back home. Stuck in the catacombs of a dead mining town - with nobody but a drunkard to care for her. Without her family. Without her friends. You don’t understand what could be more important in District Two, but even he won’t be with her. You know what you have to do. Stay with me. You do all the treatments. You turn over the keys to your brain and you trust this man and his clipboard. You talk about everything. You cry and scream and test your memory. You test your triggers. You do this for hours a day until you’re weak from the mental expenditure. Months go by. You’re tired, you’re so tired. But you’re also determined. She won’t be alone. And you WON’T be a danger. Not to her. Not to anyone else. You’d rather never see her again if it means you never lay a finger on her in violence. It’s all or nothing. She’s safe with you, or she never sees you again. You won’t let her down. Stay with me.

#oh. my. god.#peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #everlark #the hunger games

You get on a train, headed in a direction you thought you’d never go again. And you fill your hands with dirt and wildflowers, because you’re going to show her that you can do more than destroy things now. You can bring new life. And so can she. You take one look at her and you have to stop yourself from stomping across the green to yell at her “chaperone”. Maybe break a bottle or two, progress be damned. Instead you breathe. You impart a message you hope she'll heed, and you watch her stomp away. Hours later, you hear screaming. You’re already running over when you hear a “stupid cat” and realize that she’s not in danger. Eventually the wails quiet down and you let yourself in. You find her in a crumpled heap in the living room. She’s clean and groomed this time, but clearly spent, face blotchy with tears. As you approach her, you hear a hiss and realize that you have an audience. You reach out to give him a respectful scratch under his chin, and assure him that you’re just going to help get her to bed. He can come upstairs too and watch over her, if he likes. And you can both work together to take care of her from now on. Yellow eyes blink slowly back at you, so you take that as approval and bend to pick her up. Tucked in and safe, with her sentry at the ready, you make your way back to your house. Bread. Squirrels. Geese. Rebuilding. Relearning. Recovering. Backsliding. Flashbacks. Nightmares. Friendship. Loyalty. Love. Love. You love her. But you won’t do this to her again. You’ll never ask her for more than she’s prepared to give. Never again. So you hold her. Through the pain, through the hurt, through the tears, through the nightmares. And that’s enough. Until it isn’t enough for either of you. And as you’re holding her afterwards - absolutely convinced now that nothing ever happened on those trains because NOTHING and NOBODY on this earth could have made you forget something as earth shattering as this - you look at her and you ask her something that terrifies you. You’re pretty sure you know the answer - but you need to hear it from her. You need to know for CERTAIN. Stay with me. ”You love me. Real or not real?” “Real” Always.

angrycommielez

Now I have a headcanon, that Peeta draws Katniss and her family (Asterid, Burdock and Prim) with the plants associated with their names and when he offers it to Katniss, she says it's missing his portrait. You know, because he IS her family. To which Peeta responds he doesn't have a plant/flower name...

So then Katniss draws something quickly and when Peetas sees it, he asks "What's that ?" (cause Katniss isn't as good as him with a pencil) and she answers : "A dandelion".

#stop #im crying #everlark #the hunger games

farfromhome87

Katniss removing Peeta's prosthetic leg and tenderly kissing the skin around the stump is peak Everlark foreplay. Just the vulnerability of it. The caretaking. The loving all the broken pieces of each other. Just, just, just...

wistfulweaverwoman

Y’all are not considering to logistics of this. A thick rubbery sock is worn over the stump to protect it from blisters from the prosthetic. It smells worse than stinky socks in my experience. No way would I kiss that skin without a wash.

rosegardeninwinter

this is the spiritual successor to @endlessnightlock (I think; could also be @mocalmangeal … it’s one of y’all!) reminding me that cute times in the woods will always involve bugs and itchy plants

we shall therefore assume a wash 😆 🧼

farfromhome87

I mean...Katniss had her moment of disgust over his puss filled wounds in the first games. But I feel like after the heart stopping and the oozing sores and the highjacking and the burning flesh, and they somehow survive it and get to the so after...our girl is like... Screw it. Gimme that smelly sock stump. Imma rub my face all over it.

#the hunger games #everlark

Love the idea. But Katniss is also just a girl. A teenage one at that. She would not do this. She'd take care of him. But she would not do this.

totallywoman

grandpa haymitch!!!

my biggest epilogue headcanon is that i 100% believe haymitch decides to quit drinking when he finds out katniss is pregnant (because i REFUSE to accept he doesn’t live to see their kids). i can see him reaching the point in his life where he thinks katniss and peeta don’t need him anymore, and starts letting go of living. i imagine that lenore dove visits him in a dream, her hair gray and faced wrinkled (but as beautiful to him as ever). she tells him that his time with his family is not over and they will need him more than ever.

then, he finds out katniss is pregnant, and everything changes. he finally sees an opportunity to start over. everyone he has ever loved has been hurt by him, but he refuses to burden another soul he loves. he loves katniss and peeta too much to break their trust like that yet again, and already sees himself holding their sweet baby in his arms. he can’t imagine stumbling around, slurring his words in front of someone so precious. it’s simply unthinkable.

he thinks of burdock. his adored daughter having her own child. he makes a silent promise to him to take care of his grand babies, something that was taken away from him.

so one night, soon after katniss and peeta break the news, he dumps all the white liquor down the drain. he ends up miserably sick, but just the thought of that baby or the sight of katniss’ growing belly is enough to keep him from going into town and buying more liquor.

he eventually comes back to life, and is more present in katniss and peeta’s lives than ever. he helps them put together the baby’s room, cares for katniss when she’s not feeling well while peeta’s working, and never comes back from town without something for the baby.

when katniss goes into labor, he spends the entire day pacing back and forth downstairs in the living room. he is so worried about her. the sound of labor pains is almost enough to put back a drink. almost.

when he goes upstairs and meets their baby girl, he breaks down. katniss and peeta have never seen him cry until this moment. all he can see are the two people he loves most in the world, wrapped up into a tiny bundle of dark curls and chubby cheeks. she looks just like katniss, remembering the days where burdock showed her off in the hob. he imagines the future he wanted with lenore dove, how they were going to have their own babies and grandbabies. she would be so proud of him, so happy he got to experience the love of being a father and a grandfather in this world.

as baby girl and her brother grow, haymitch becomes their favorite person. they love to ride on his shoulders, chase around with the geese, and play dress up with him (which is katniss’s favorite thing to watch - he looks ridiculous and can’t help but scowl at her as she laughs at him dressed up in a dress and tiara. he does it anyway, it makes the kids happy).

he eventually teaches the girl how to play piano (because he obviously learned it to honor lenore dove), and brings her a bundle of wildflowers after her first recital. he is there for every birthday, every school performance, every sport event, and every sunday (at the very least) for dinner. he walks with katniss every afternoon to pick them up from school, and carries the boy on his shoulders while he holds the girl’s hand.

he loves her beautiful voice and her kindness toward everyone she meets. he loves his curiosity, his belly laugh, and the mop of blonde curls on the top of his head. he often finds himself ruffling them, just as he would do to sid so long ago.

they remind him of all the innocent souls he loved and lossed. sid, louella, ampert, lou lou; all too innocent for the creulty of the world. the difference is, they are out of the capitol’s reach.

finally, he is not defined by his faults. he is not the rebel tribute who got his family and his girl killed, a victor, a mentor, or a drunk. he is grandpa haymitch. loved to death by two little kids and their parents, just for being him.

lenore dove often visits him in his dreams, telling him she’s so proud of him, and to keep living for her in this world where the sun rises on days full of love, hope, and peace.

I am very unwell about this.

#sunrise on the reaping #the hunger games #mockingjay #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark

effieotto

U know, Suzanne didn’t have to develop Effie’s relationship with Haymitch so deeply in sotr. She didn’t have to say, with all the words, how much Effie trusted him to not hurt her, implying a kind of trust that is beyond explanation, due to their short friendship. She didn’t have to say that Effie took care of him during his entire process in the Capitol —from his own Games, all the way to the 75th edition—, and how grateful he was for her. She didn’t have to make the last thing he saw before leaving to his eminent death being her eyes. She didn’t have to use a broken metaphor of geese’s mate to represent the way he saw his relationship with Lenore Dove, knowing perfectly well Geese don’t, in fact, mate for life; but grief for a long time —like Haymitch was doing— before finding another partner. She could have spared us the lore and just sell her tragic romantic story of Haymitch and a Lenore Dove, with no further explanation about Effie, so we wouldn’t question the epilogue as much as we’re doing now.But she didn’t!

She gave us it all, knowing very well the fandom she was working with. Knowing that ever since the first book was released —a decade ago—, we never stopped coming up with more analysis. That we kept overthinking about the tinniest details from the books, creating a stronger understanding about the characters. Knowing she wouldn’t get away with the incorrect geese metaphor…we would see though it

There is no way you are looking at all of this and saying we got less material for Hayffie than before…

She really said “they are not mine…but i know they are yours and i won’t take them away from you”

ghostinwinterfell

lenore dove resenting maysilee for keeping a canary in a cage, only for the capitol to literally lock haymitch in a gilded cage after his games. he is truly a canary in a coal mine, trying to warn the districts about what really happened to him.

#sunrise on the reaping #the hunger games

That last sentence? Yup was not mentally prepared for it

greenconverses

suzanne collins: *kills a character in her killing kids book series*

me:

#the hunger games #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #sunrise on the reaping #suzanne collins

tell me why i was so mad she killed ampert and maysilee like it was something she could've just like not make happen

teddywidogast

hey guys btw haymitch sent katniss and finnick bread from district 4 when they were grieving mags in catching fire just like mags sent haymitch and maysilee ham hock soup from district 12 when they were grieving.

#sunrise on the reaping #haymitch abernathy #katniss everdeen #the hunger games

“Did you finish sunrise on the reaping?” No it finished me and it is continuing to do so

ohsuestorm

gotta love Suzanne Collins' dedication to dropping a banger every few years, re-traumatizing a whole generation and disappearing back into the abyss without a single word