drphill22

[drphill22]

This is a small short for a possible fic pls let me know if you would like more!

Also, a small edit Livia is Plutarch’s aunt and winner of the 8th game.

A Lesson in Survival

The train slowed as it approached District 9, the rhythmic hum of the tracks fading into an uneasy stillness. Outside the window, the landscape was flat and endless, golden fields stretching toward the horizon. It looked peaceful at a glance. But Plutarch knew better.

Livia stood near the window, watching as the district came into view. She was calm, composed as always, but there was something different in the way she held herself. Her fingers rested lightly on the glass, her gaze fixed—not on the platform where the officials waited, but beyond, toward the heart of the district itself.

“Your first time outside the Capitol,” she said, still looking out.

Plutarch nodded, shifting beside her. He was thirteen now, old enough to observe but still too young to fully understand the weight of what he was seeing. Livia had brought him along under the pretense of ‘education.’ He had a feeling it was more than that.

“I was born here,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Though born might be the wrong word. I was left here.”

Plutarch frowned. “Left?”

She finally turned to him, something sharp in her eyes. “My mother died having me. I never knew who my father was. Maybe he died in the war. Maybe he was just gone before that. It didn’t matter.”

She stepped away from the window, adjusting the gloves on her hands, smoothing them over her fingers as she spoke. It was a practiced motion—one that Plutarch had learned meant she was calculating what, exactly, to say next.

“There were no orphanages, no shelters like in the Capitol. People only took in children when they had something to gain.” A mirthless smile touched her lips. “No one had anything to gain from me.”

Plutarch wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Livia didn’t seem to expect a response.with the silence she soon picked up

“I learned quickly,” she continued. “How to steal without getting caught. How to sleep with one eye open and harsh conditions .How to run when I needed to, and how to stay quiet when I didn’t.” Her expression didn’t change, but there was a weight to her voice now, something that made Plutarch press his hands together to keep from fidgeting with his collar .

“I was four the first time I saw someone starve to death,” she added. “By age six, I stopped feeling sorry for them.”Her face fixed on the train windows

Plutarch swallowed.

“You want to know why I survived the Games?” Livia asked, leaning closer. To my face “Because I was already fighting long before I was reaped. The arena was just another battlefield.” She soon sat back up fixing her posture turning back to the window .

The train gave a small jolt as it came to a full stop. Outside, the officials were waiting to escort her into the district square, where the victors were paraded and praised. Livia sighed, rolling her shoulders as if slipping into a role.

But before she stepped out, she looked back at Plutarch.

“You should see it for yourself,” she said. “Step outside. Walk these streets. Look at the people.”

Plutarch hesitated. “…Why?”

Livia’s eyes locked onto his.

“So you understand what it really means to be nothing.”

[drphill22]

Pls let me know if you would like more of this series

A Lesson in Survival pt 2

Livia didn’t wait for his response. She simply turned and exited the train, her presence immediately commanding attention the moment she stepped onto the platform.with an simper smile began to wave .

Plutarch lingered for a moment, staring at the trains platform before losing her to the guards quickly walked after her.

Then, slowly, he catches up .

The moment Plutarch stepped off the train, the weight of the air hit him. Looking out into the fields that bordered the small street It was thicker here—heavier—something that he couldn’t quite place at first. It wasn’t just the bright sweltering heat hitting his pale face bringing his hands to cover his eyes from the radiant heat .wasn’t even just the dust in the air or the smell of the fields; it was the oppression that seemed to hang over everything, an invisible pressure that he hadn’t felt in the Capitol.

Livia had said it was nothing, but as he looked around, he could see it. The people. The way they moved through the streets, eyes averted, shoulders hunched as if every step was a fight. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

The district had no vibrancy. It wasn’t as if it was poor—it was worse. It was empty. The colors were muted, the buildings old and decaying. There was a hollow quality to everything, like the life had been sucked out. He passed a few children who looked no older than seven or eight, their faces streaked with dirt, their clothes torn and worn thin. There was no laughter. No play. Only silence that hung between them, a silence that told him all the stories he didn’t know yet.

Livia walked ahead of him, her posture straight and unyielding, as if she were walking through a garden and not a district that had clearly been forgotten by the Capitol.

They came to a small square where a group of workers were gathered, some carrying bundles of grain, others standing idle as their supervisors barked orders. The air here felt thick, tight, as if the whole place were holding its breath.

Plutarch caught the eyes of one of the workers—a young man, no older than him—and saw the weariness in his gaze. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion; it was the look of someone who had long since stopped believing things could get better.

Livia had told him once that people in the districts learned to survive, and Plutarch thought he understood that. But now, standing here, surrounded by the faces of people who had been ground down by the Capitol’s machine, he felt the full weight of her words.

He thought of how he’d always been taught that the Capitol was the center of civilization, of progress. How he had been raised to believe that the Capitol brought order and prosperity. But looking at the workers now, he could see the cracks in that ideology. There was no prosperity here. No order. Just survival.

Survival. That was all they knew.

He turned his gaze back to Livia, who was already heading toward the platform where the victor’s ceremony was being held. She was calm, as always, but her eyes were hard—watching everything, measuring everything. She wasn’t just here as a victor. She was here to remember.

He looked around one more time, taking in the hopelessness in the eyes of the people, and something shifted in him. A subtle understanding.

Livia had survived because she had learned to see the world as it really was. To see people not as they were presented to her, but as they truly were. He had spent his life inside the Capitol bubble, sheltered by the grandeur and luxury, but here, in District 9, he could see the cost.

The Capitol did not bring order. It maintained order, but at a terrible price.

Plutarch took a deep breath, feeling the grit in his lungs, and for the first time, he felt something stir deep inside him. It wasn’t just anger, or sympathy—it was something far more dangerous.

It was understanding.

He was beginning to see the world through Livia’s eyes, to understand why she had become the person she was.

Survival, he realized, wasn’t just about living—it was about adapting. And Livia had adapted to the Capitol in ways most people couldn’t even imagine.

But now, for the first time, he could see that she had adapted to something much darker than just the Capitol.

Walking back He looked up to see Livia waiting for him by the platform, her expression unreadable, as always. She had taught him how to see people—how to see the truth beneath the surface—and now, he could feel it in his bones.

He was no longer a child who had only seen the Capitol’s gleaming halls.

He was beginning to understand the Capitol’s true power—and the price it exacted.

Livia had shown him that the Capitol’s game wasn’t about winning. It was about surviving. And Plutarch knew now that, like her, he would have to learn how to play that game.

But he would never look at the Capitol the same way again.

[drphill22]

Pls let me know if you would like more of this series

A Lesson in Survival pt 2

Livia didn’t wait for his response. She simply turned and exited the train, her presence immediately commanding attention the moment she stepped onto the platform.with an simper smile began to wave .

Plutarch lingered for a moment, staring at the trains platform before losing her to the guards quickly walked after her.

Then, slowly, he catches up .

The moment Plutarch stepped off the train, the weight of the air hit him. Looking out into the fields that bordered the small street It was thicker here—heavier—something that he couldn’t quite place at first. It wasn’t just the bright sweltering heat hitting his pale face bringing his hands to cover his eyes from the radiant heat .wasn’t even just the dust in the air or the smell of the fields; it was the oppression that seemed to hang over everything, an invisible pressure that he hadn’t felt in the Capitol.

Livia had said it was nothing, but as he looked around, he could see it. The people. The way they moved through the streets, eyes averted, shoulders hunched as if every step was a fight. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

The district had no vibrancy. It wasn’t as if it was poor—it was worse. It was empty. The colors were muted, the buildings old and decaying. There was a hollow quality to everything, like the life had been sucked out. He passed a few children who looked no older than seven or eight, their faces streaked with dirt, their clothes torn and worn thin. There was no laughter. No play. Only silence that hung between them, a silence that told him all the stories he didn’t know yet.

Livia walked ahead of him, her posture straight and unyielding, as if she were walking through a garden and not a district that had clearly been forgotten by the Capitol.

They came to a small square where a group of workers were gathered, some carrying bundles of grain, others standing idle as their supervisors barked orders. The air here felt thick, tight, as if the whole place were holding its breath.

Plutarch caught the eyes of one of the workers—a young man, no older than him—and saw the weariness in his gaze. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion; it was the look of someone who had long since stopped believing things could get better.

Livia had told him once that people in the districts learned to survive, and Plutarch thought he understood that. But now, standing here, surrounded by the faces of people who had been ground down by the Capitol’s machine, he felt the full weight of her words.

He thought of how he’d always been taught that the Capitol was the center of civilization, of progress. How he had been raised to believe that the Capitol brought order and prosperity. But looking at the workers now, he could see the cracks in that ideology. There was no prosperity here. No order. Just survival.

Survival. That was all they knew.

He turned his gaze back to Livia, who was already heading toward the platform where the victor’s ceremony was being held. She was calm, as always, but her eyes were hard—watching everything, measuring everything. She wasn’t just here as a victor. She was here to remember.

He looked around one more time, taking in the hopelessness in the eyes of the people, and something shifted in him. A subtle understanding.

Livia had survived because she had learned to see the world as it really was. To see people not as they were presented to her, but as they truly were. He had spent his life inside the Capitol bubble, sheltered by the grandeur and luxury, but here, in District 9, he could see the cost.

The Capitol did not bring order. It maintained order, but at a terrible price.

Plutarch took a deep breath, feeling the grit in his lungs, and for the first time, he felt something stir deep inside him. It wasn’t just anger, or sympathy—it was something far more dangerous.

It was understanding.

He was beginning to see the world through Livia’s eyes, to understand why she had become the person she was.

Survival, he realized, wasn’t just about living—it was about adapting. And Livia had adapted to the Capitol in ways most people couldn’t even imagine.

But now, for the first time, he could see that she had adapted to something much darker than just the Capitol.

Walking back He looked up to see Livia waiting for him by the platform, her expression unreadable, as always. She had taught him how to see people—how to see the truth beneath the surface—and now, he could feel it in his bones.

He was no longer a child who had only seen the Capitol’s gleaming halls.

He was beginning to understand the Capitol’s true power—and the price it exacted.

Livia had shown him that the Capitol’s game wasn’t about winning. It was about surviving. And Plutarch knew now that, like her, he would have to learn how to play that game.

But he would never look at the Capitol the same way again.

[drphill22]

Pls let me know if you would like more of this series

A Lesson in Survival pt 2

Livia didn’t wait for his response. She simply turned and exited the train, her presence immediately commanding attention the moment she stepped onto the platform.with an simper smile began to wave .

Plutarch lingered for a moment, staring at the trains platform before losing her to the guards quickly walked after her.

Then, slowly, he catches up .

The moment Plutarch stepped off the train, the weight of the air hit him. Looking out into the fields that bordered the small street It was thicker here—heavier—something that he couldn’t quite place at first. It wasn’t just the bright sweltering heat hitting his pale face bringing his hands to cover his eyes from the radiant heat .wasn’t even just the dust in the air or the smell of the fields; it was the oppression that seemed to hang over everything, an invisible pressure that he hadn’t felt in the Capitol.

Livia had said it was nothing, but as he looked around, he could see it. The people. The way they moved through the streets, eyes averted, shoulders hunched as if every step was a fight. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

The district had no vibrancy. It wasn’t as if it was poor—it was worse. It was empty. The colors were muted, the buildings old and decaying. There was a hollow quality to everything, like the life had been sucked out. He passed a few children who looked no older than seven or eight, their faces streaked with dirt, their clothes torn and worn thin. There was no laughter. No play. Only silence that hung between them, a silence that told him all the stories he didn’t know yet.

Livia walked ahead of him, her posture straight and unyielding, as if she were walking through a garden and not a district that had clearly been forgotten by the Capitol.

They came to a small square where a group of workers were gathered, some carrying bundles of grain, others standing idle as their supervisors barked orders. The air here felt thick, tight, as if the whole place were holding its breath.

Plutarch caught the eyes of one of the workers—a young man, no older than him—and saw the weariness in his gaze. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion; it was the look of someone who had long since stopped believing things could get better.

Livia had told him once that people in the districts learned to survive, and Plutarch thought he understood that. But now, standing here, surrounded by the faces of people who had been ground down by the Capitol’s machine, he felt the full weight of her words.

He thought of how he’d always been taught that the Capitol was the center of civilization, of progress. How he had been raised to believe that the Capitol brought order and prosperity. But looking at the workers now, he could see the cracks in that ideology. There was no prosperity here. No order. Just survival.

Survival. That was all they knew.

He turned his gaze back to Livia, who was already heading toward the platform where the victor’s ceremony was being held. She was calm, as always, but her eyes were hard—watching everything, measuring everything. She wasn’t just here as a victor. She was here to remember.

He looked around one more time, taking in the hopelessness in the eyes of the people, and something shifted in him. A subtle understanding.

Livia had survived because she had learned to see the world as it really was. To see people not as they were presented to her, but as they truly were. He had spent his life inside the Capitol bubble, sheltered by the grandeur and luxury, but here, in District 9, he could see the cost.

The Capitol did not bring order. It maintained order, but at a terrible price.

Plutarch took a deep breath, feeling the grit in his lungs, and for the first time, he felt something stir deep inside him. It wasn’t just anger, or sympathy—it was something far more dangerous.

It was understanding.

He was beginning to see the world through Livia’s eyes, to understand why she had become the person she was.

Survival, he realized, wasn’t just about living—it was about adapting. And Livia had adapted to the Capitol in ways most people couldn’t even imagine.

But now, for the first time, he could see that she had adapted to something much darker than just the Capitol.

Walking back He looked up to see Livia waiting for him by the platform, her expression unreadable, as always. She had taught him how to see people—how to see the truth beneath the surface—and now, he could feel it in his bones.

He was no longer a child who had only seen the Capitol’s gleaming halls.

He was beginning to understand the Capitol’s true power—and the price it exacted.

Livia had shown him that the Capitol’s game wasn’t about winning. It was about surviving. And Plutarch knew now that, like her, he would have to learn how to play that game.

But he would never look at the Capitol the same way again.

[drphill22]

This is a small short for a possible fic pls let me know if you would like more!

Also, a small edit Livia is Plutarch’s aunt and winner of the 8th game.

A Lesson in Survival

The train slowed as it approached District 9, the rhythmic hum of the tracks fading into an uneasy stillness. Outside the window, the landscape was flat and endless, golden fields stretching toward the horizon. It looked peaceful at a glance. But Plutarch knew better.

Livia stood near the window, watching as the district came into view. She was calm, composed as always, but there was something different in the way she held herself. Her fingers rested lightly on the glass, her gaze fixed—not on the platform where the officials waited, but beyond, toward the heart of the district itself.

“Your first time outside the Capitol,” she said, still looking out.

Plutarch nodded, shifting beside her. He was thirteen now, old enough to observe but still too young to fully understand the weight of what he was seeing. Livia had brought him along under the pretense of ‘education.’ He had a feeling it was more than that.

“I was born here,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Though born might be the wrong word. I was left here.”

Plutarch frowned. “Left?”

She finally turned to him, something sharp in her eyes. “My mother died having me. I never knew who my father was. Maybe he died in the war. Maybe he was just gone before that. It didn’t matter.”

She stepped away from the window, adjusting the gloves on her hands, smoothing them over her fingers as she spoke. It was a practiced motion—one that Plutarch had learned meant she was calculating what, exactly, to say next.

“There were no orphanages, no shelters like in the Capitol. People only took in children when they had something to gain.” A mirthless smile touched her lips. “No one had anything to gain from me.”

Plutarch wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Livia didn’t seem to expect a response.with the silence she soon picked up

“I learned quickly,” she continued. “How to steal without getting caught. How to sleep with one eye open and harsh conditions .How to run when I needed to, and how to stay quiet when I didn’t.” Her expression didn’t change, but there was a weight to her voice now, something that made Plutarch press his hands together to keep from fidgeting with his collar .

“I was four the first time I saw someone starve to death,” she added. “By age six, I stopped feeling sorry for them.”Her face fixed on the train windows

Plutarch swallowed.

“You want to know why I survived the Games?” Livia asked, leaning closer. To my face “Because I was already fighting long before I was reaped. The arena was just another battlefield.” She soon sat back up fixing her posture turning back to the window .

The train gave a small jolt as it came to a full stop. Outside, the officials were waiting to escort her into the district square, where the victors were paraded and praised. Livia sighed, rolling her shoulders as if slipping into a role.

But before she stepped out, she looked back at Plutarch.

“You should see it for yourself,” she said. “Step outside. Walk these streets. Look at the people.”

Plutarch hesitated. “…Why?”

Livia’s eyes locked onto his.

“So you understand what it really means to be nothing.”

[drphill22]

Should I continue this fic ?

This is a small short for a possible fic pls let me know if you would like more!

Also, a small edit Livia is Plutarch’s aunt and winner of the 8th game.

A Lesson in Survival

The train slowed as it approached District 9, the rhythmic hum of the tracks fading into an uneasy stillness. Outside the window, the landscape was flat and endless, golden fields stretching toward the horizon. It looked peaceful at a glance. But Plutarch knew better.

Livia stood near the window, watching as the district came into view. She was calm, composed as always, but there was something different in the way she held herself. Her fingers rested lightly on the glass, her gaze fixed—not on the platform where the officials waited, but beyond, toward the heart of the district itself.

“Your first time outside the Capitol,” she said, still looking out.

Plutarch nodded, shifting beside her. He was thirteen now, old enough to observe but still too young to fully understand the weight of what he was seeing. Livia had brought him along under the pretense of ‘education.’ He had a feeling it was more than that.

“I was born here,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Though born might be the wrong word. I was left here.”

Plutarch frowned. “Left?”

She finally turned to him, something sharp in her eyes. “My mother died having me. I never knew who my father was. Maybe he died in the war. Maybe he was just gone before that. It didn’t matter.”

She stepped away from the window, adjusting the gloves on her hands, smoothing them over her fingers as she spoke. It was a practiced motion—one that Plutarch had learned meant she was calculating what, exactly, to say next.

“There were no orphanages, no shelters like in the Capitol. People only took in children when they had something to gain.” A mirthless smile touched her lips. “No one had anything to gain from me.”

Plutarch wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Livia didn’t seem to expect a response.with the silence she soon picked up

“I learned quickly,” she continued. “How to steal without getting caught. How to sleep with one eye open and harsh conditions .How to run when I needed to, and how to stay quiet when I didn’t.” Her expression didn’t change, but there was a weight to her voice now, something that made Plutarch press his hands together to keep from fidgeting with his collar .

“I was four the first time I saw someone starve to death,” she added. “By age six, I stopped feeling sorry for them.”Her face fixed on the train windows

Plutarch swallowed.

“You want to know why I survived the Games?” Livia asked, leaning closer. To my face “Because I was already fighting long before I was reaped. The arena was just another battlefield.” She soon sat back up fixing her posture turning back to the window .

The train gave a small jolt as it came to a full stop. Outside, the officials were waiting to escort her into the district square, where the victors were paraded and praised. Livia sighed, rolling her shoulders as if slipping into a role.

But before she stepped out, she looked back at Plutarch.

“You should see it for yourself,” she said. “Step outside. Walk these streets. Look at the people.”

Plutarch hesitated. “…Why?”

Livia’s eyes locked onto his.

“So you understand what it really means to be nothing.”

[drphill22]

This is a small short for a possible fic pls let me know if you would like more!

Also, a small edit Livia is Plutarch’s aunt and winner of the 8th game.

A Lesson in Survival

The train slowed as it approached District 9, the rhythmic hum of the tracks fading into an uneasy stillness. Outside the window, the landscape was flat and endless, golden fields stretching toward the horizon. It looked peaceful at a glance. But Plutarch knew better.

Livia stood near the window, watching as the district came into view. She was calm, composed as always, but there was something different in the way she held herself. Her fingers rested lightly on the glass, her gaze fixed—not on the platform where the officials waited, but beyond, toward the heart of the district itself.

“Your first time outside the Capitol,” she said, still looking out.

Plutarch nodded, shifting beside her. He was thirteen now, old enough to observe but still too young to fully understand the weight of what he was seeing. Livia had brought him along under the pretense of ‘education.’ He had a feeling it was more than that.

“I was born here,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Though born might be the wrong word. I was left here.”

Plutarch frowned. “Left?”

She finally turned to him, something sharp in her eyes. “My mother died having me. I never knew who my father was. Maybe he died in the war. Maybe he was just gone before that. It didn’t matter.”

She stepped away from the window, adjusting the gloves on her hands, smoothing them over her fingers as she spoke. It was a practiced motion—one that Plutarch had learned meant she was calculating what, exactly, to say next.

“There were no orphanages, no shelters like in the Capitol. People only took in children when they had something to gain.” A mirthless smile touched her lips. “No one had anything to gain from me.”

Plutarch wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Livia didn’t seem to expect a response.with the silence she soon picked up

“I learned quickly,” she continued. “How to steal without getting caught. How to sleep with one eye open and harsh conditions .How to run when I needed to, and how to stay quiet when I didn’t.” Her expression didn’t change, but there was a weight to her voice now, something that made Plutarch press his hands together to keep from fidgeting with his collar .

“I was four the first time I saw someone starve to death,” she added. “By age six, I stopped feeling sorry for them.”Her face fixed on the train windows

Plutarch swallowed.

“You want to know why I survived the Games?” Livia asked, leaning closer. To my face “Because I was already fighting long before I was reaped. The arena was just another battlefield.” She soon sat back up fixing her posture turning back to the window .

The train gave a small jolt as it came to a full stop. Outside, the officials were waiting to escort her into the district square, where the victors were paraded and praised. Livia sighed, rolling her shoulders as if slipping into a role.

But before she stepped out, she looked back at Plutarch.

“You should see it for yourself,” she said. “Step outside. Walk these streets. Look at the people.”

Plutarch hesitated. “…Why?”

Livia’s eyes locked onto his.

“So you understand what it really means to be nothing.”

[drphill22]

Livia Heavensbee: Legacy of the 8th Games

In a world built on blood and sacrifice, Livia Heavensbee, the first female victor of the Hunger Games, stands as both a symbol of Capitol power and a woman haunted by her past. Orphaned by the war and thrust into the brutal arena at the age of 16,Livia fought not only for her survival but for her humanity. But winning the Games didn’t bring freedom—it forced her deeper into the Capitol’s grip, where she became a pawn in their twisted political game.

Bitter from the loss of her family, the death of her son in the 25th Quarter Quell, and the collapse of her own ideals, Livia sets out on a secretive, dangerous mission: to tear down the Capitol from within. As she navigates the Capitol��s corrupt system, she builds a hidden legacy—one that spans beyond her Games victory, one that aims to protect the oppressed and ensure that no life, victor or tribute, Capitol citizen or District dweller, is forgotten.

With the help of her nephew, Plutarch Heavensbee, and other hidden allies like Beetee, Livia’s rebellion takes shape, sparking a revolution long before Katniss Everdeen rises to lead it. But the Capitol’s reach is long, and Livia’s mission to dismantle their power comes at a personal cost. As the Capitol closes in, Livia’s defiance only grows, and she vows that even in death, no blood will be wasted in the fight for a better future.

Would anyone be interested in reading a Plutarch Fan made origin story pls let me know !

[drphill22]

Hello , this would be my first fic would anyone be interested in reading

A new beginning-

In the aftermath of the Games and Snow’s downfall, Haymitch Abernathy is left to pick up the pieces of his broken life. Though the war is over, the scars remain. Haunted by the memory of his lost love, Lenore, he struggles to find peace, living in a world that has changed but left him in the past. When he meets a woman from another district—someone who, like him, has survived tragedy and loss—he finds a connection unlike any other.

Her family, too, paid the price of the Capitol’s cruelty. They lost three members to the Games after being forced to put their names in the lottery for food. As a young girl, she witnessed her older sister’s name being called and, despite wanting to volunteer to save her, was forced to watch her sister’s fate unfold. By Katniss’s Games, she was alone, caring for her family’s memory while tending to the needs of her community.

Their bond grows slowly, a healing process built on shared experiences of pain, survival, and the hope for something more. But when she opens up to Haymitch about her past, letting all the pain she’s kept inside flood out, he realizes they both carry burdens heavier than anyone could know. For Haymitch, this marks a turning point. Can love still exist for him, even if it isn’t the love he once had? Can he offer her the comfort she’s longed for, just as she has quietly offered him hers?

Honestly thought of this after reading the book cause Haymitch deserved better !

[drphill22]

Hello , this would be my first fic would anyone be interested in reading

A new beginning-

In the aftermath of the Games and Snow’s downfall, Haymitch Abernathy is left to pick up the pieces of his broken life. Though the war is over, the scars remain. Haunted by the memory of his lost love, Lenore, he struggles to find peace, living in a world that has changed but left him in the past. When he meets a woman from another district—someone who, like him, has survived tragedy and loss—he finds a connection unlike any other.

Her family, too, paid the price of the Capitol’s cruelty. They lost three members to the Games after being forced to put their names in the lottery for food. As a young girl, she witnessed her older sister’s name being called and, despite wanting to volunteer to save her, was forced to watch her sister’s fate unfold. By Katniss’s Games, she was alone, caring for her family’s memory while tending to the needs of her community.

Their bond grows slowly, a healing process built on shared experiences of pain, survival, and the hope for something more. But when she opens up to Haymitch about her past, letting all the pain she’s kept inside flood out, he realizes they both carry burdens heavier than anyone could know. For Haymitch, this marks a turning point. Can love still exist for him, even if it isn’t the love he once had? Can he offer her the comfort she’s longed for, just as she has quietly offered him hers?

Honestly thought of this after reading the book cause Haymitch deserved better !

[drphill22]

Unpopular opinion ratatouille is not the best Pixar film .