#and yet his name is burdock...

[mariigoldzz]

Asterid is lucky af imagine having a hot archer bf who sings like an angel, hangs out in the forest + easily connects to animals like he's a mf Disney Princess, brings you gifts from said forest, treats his daughters like queens, and loves you unconditionally. I'd ditch whatever privileged life I had for him, too.

[evermarch]

when i think of everlark, i think of a jewish concept called beshert. it’s a yiddish word that’s pretty hard to describe in english. there isn’t a one-to-one translation. it’s not only about romantic love, but (at least nowadays) it’s most often used in that context. sometimes people define it as “fate,” but i think that’s an oversimplification. what it really means is destiny, but understood through the framework of the choices we make. in other words, “this would've happened anyway.”

people describe their partner as “my beshert,” and in many ways that language boils down to “soulmate.” but beshert is less a guarantee that something will happen, that "fate'" will push people together or to make specific choices, and more that people making certain choices will lead to an outcome becoming inevitable. your soulmate is not your soulmate because an unascertainable force has guided you to each other, but because of all of the decisions big and small which shape you into people who are meant for each other.

and that, to me, is the story of katniss and peeta. their story is one of a lack of choice, and yet their love is defined not by the choices of the people around them, but by the choices they make.

that lack of choice becomes central to katniss and peeta before either of them are so much as a concept in their parents’ minds. yet, the simple fact that their parents made choices when they had no choices to make is what put their children in the same place at the same time. peeta is only possible because burdock saved otho’s life. katniss is only possible because asterid defied a future that otherwise seemed inevitable—a life with a boy from town, almost certainly otho himself. why otho chose to marry who he did, why burdock had the wherewithal to protect otho, why asterid had the courage to refuse her upbringing, we can only guess. we are left wondering: but for these actions, from a kick in the leg to fleeing home for love, would the eldest daughter of older parents and the youngest son of three boys have been in the position to choose each other at all?

there are generations of everdeens and marches and mellarks and bairds whose decisions big and small brought everlark to the brink of each other. but not one of those innumerable actions would mean anything had peeta not chosen to heed his father’s words on the first day of school. had the girl with two braids in a faded red dress not chosen to sing in music class. had katniss not run into the feast to save the life of the boy with the bread. had the sick, starving, bleeding loverboy not taken the palmful of berries from the girl on fire.

there’s plenty of luck, there, too. peeta points it out himself in the cave. but what is luck compared to choice? was it luck that cinna was there on time to make the choice to link them by their glowing hands? or that snow was full of enough resentment to fuel his choice to, even insincerely, allow the introduction of the two-victor rule? what of thresh’s integrity guiding his split-second choice to, against all reason, spare katniss’ life? or seneca crane’s short-sightedness, so uncharacteristic of a gamemaker, enabling his choice to allow them both to live? where does choice end, and luck begin? are they truly distinguishable?

prim’s reaping would not go awry if katniss did not volunteer, true. but if haymitch didn’t stumble forward, drawing the cameras before teetering off the stage, would effie be frazzled enough to pluck the first card off the top of the slips? a woman so committed to ritual, to protocol, known for her predictable words and consistent idiosyncrasies, shirks her process of reaching deep into the bowl. would she otherwise pull one of peeta’s other four slips? one of gale’s 40? or some other boy altogether? any are possible. none are probable. but the fact of the matter is that she does pull peeta’s name after this unsettling sequence of situations, and it is impossible to know whether that is a matter of luck or choice or neither or both.

so where, then, does that leave the boy with the bread, who is a whiz with fires, and the girl on fire, who owes her life to bread? who come from a place where the ritual binding two lovers for life is toasting bread over a fire? whose story together began with two burnt loaves? what, ultimately, makes them each other’s beshert?

the answer lies in the dandelion in the spring. the dandelion is their resilience of character against all odds. the manifestation of every choice they make when they otherwise have none. peeta, taking a beating to give up bread his family could not afford to spare, and learning that he could wield his kindness as defiance of a place where he himself saw nothing of the sort. katniss, in the midst of weakness of body and mind, finding the strength to grow both inside and outside the fence, to save herself and those who cannot help but depend on her. together, they discover the strength in their kindness, and so they discover themselves.

and that is what would have happened anyway. because in any universe exists a boy who grows kind from a lack of love at home, who needs strength to keep his kindness from turning him too soft. in any universe exists a girl who grows strong from supporting her family, and needs kindness to keep her strength from turning her too hard. someone who can tame a fire. someone who sees life in a loaf of bread.

neither choice nor destiny can claim such an inevitability in the absence of one another. and they, ultimately, are nothing without the love that binds them together. that is beshert.

[district-thirteen-intern]

So I'm almost halfway into Sunrise on the Reaping and I'm shocked. I wanted to love this book. I planned to love this book. There was never even a thought in my mind that I wouldn't. I re-read the entire trilogy in anticipation, and finally made myself read Ballad (which I was skeptical about for certain reasons but actually enjoyed very much), and I saved up to buy this thing. I came prepared.

But oof, it's rough.

I won't say there isn't anything good about it at all. I like the narration style. I like that in the beginning, we got a lot more lore on District 12; on how the Hob looks and on the families and their backgrounds and their personalities. And I love Maysilee Donner's character, and to a lesser extent, Wyatt's. But why is Lenore Dove who isn't even there getting so much more screen time than these absolute icons? They're the highlights of my reading experience right now but they're sprinkled in like seasoning instead of being an ingredient in the actual dish.

And then there's Haymitch himself.

Who is this man?

I get that he's young and not-traumatized but there's none of that dry wit and cynicism that I love. Instead, his personality is 78% Lenore Dove.

Sir. Be serious.

Speaking of Lenore Dove: if I hear her name one more time, I might snap. We’re halfway through the book and I still don’t feel anything for her. I’m clearly supposed to, but the emotional connection is just not there. Haymitch cares more about her than his actual family. He's not even thought once about his mother or little brother in quite a few chapters (who I also don't feel much of a connection with) but Lenore Dove is on every other page. His character is set up to love all these people so much and I think that's supoosed to make the tragedy at the end hit much harder, but I just don't care for any of these people right now.

Also���why is everyone and their mother showing up? Mags, Wiress, Beetee, Plutarch, Burdock, Astrid, and I know Effie will be in there somewhere too, like… did anyone stay home?? It’s giving crossover episode energy and not in a good way.

And now my biggest frustration at the moment: Haymitch isn't stupid— or at least, he shouldn't be this stupid. But this boy hears that Betee's child was reaped and will now be killed for sure because Betee pulled a minor act of rebellion and he still thinks "let's blow up this arena" There are moments of hesitation but they're about self-doubt and not a fear of consequences. He hasn't yet stopped to think what happens to his family if the arena doesn't break, or even if it does. Is he naive enough to believe there will be no retaliation despite being told so? Where is self-preservation? What happened to critical-thinking? You just watched Louella die, and Snow brought in LouLou as a warning and this is what you agree to immediately after? And Betee getting a sixteen year old boy in on the plan— at least he must know what will happen to Haymitch's family if he goes through with this but he doesn't even warn him.

Wow.

Just wow.

I'm choosing to trust in Suzanne Collins to somehow make this better, but I feel like I'm being asked to invest in relationships I don't care about, and root for a Haymitch I don't recognize, and I don't like it.

[onlybeeewrites]

What are the Odds (2/ )

Pairing: light Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader, Haymitch Abernathy x Lenore Dove (mentioned/referred), very light Wyatt Callow x Fem!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR SUNRISE ON THE REAPING!, light violence, mentions of death

What are the Odds series: Previous

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. This was all one terrible nightmare. And soon you’d wake up next to Burdock. With your Ma’s cooking in the air while she hummed, Pa sitting in his chair by the fire. and everything would be okay.

But a part of you knew this was a nightmare you’d never wake up from. This was a living nightmare featuring you and your friends. Your peers. Innocents that had done nothing wrong, being punished for those who simply wanted to be free.

The still shock clung to you like the coal dust that stained your home. It sunk into your skin, into your lungs, into your bones. You felt it in the weight pressing down on your chest, in the ringing in your ears that muffled everything else.

The world had moved on without you, the anthem playing, people speaking, names being read. But you were stuck. Frozen in the moment your name had been pulled from that bowl. But you refused to allow the Capital to see it.

Your schooled features were all you allowed them to see. The inner thoughts and panic were all your own. A silent weight that sunk deeper and deeper.

Though you were still trying to process it. Who could truly blame you? Out of all the kids in District 12, they had picked you.

District 12 was not that large. Twice as many tributes, twice as many names, twice the deaths. The odds had been worse this year, you knew that. You should have been prepared for the possibility. And yet—

You had never actually believed it would be you.

Or Haymitch. Or Louella. Or Wyatt.

People you knew. People you had laughed with, fought with, lived with. People you grew up with? How were you supposed to survive? How were you supposed to get home?

How awful. How absolutely awful this whole thing was.

You barely heard the conversation as Drusella, who remained you of a canary, wrapped up the hole thing. The square started to empty, though it seemed they were all hesitant to go. As if it would be the last time they saw the four of you—which you supposed it was.

That was until a sharp voice cut through the haze of your mind, causing you to snap back to the present.

“You.”

The man—Plutarch, you think—pointed at Louella first. Then he hesitated, scanning the rest of you before his gaze settled between Wyatt, Haymitch, and you.

“And you,” he finally decided, his finger landing on Haymitch.

Your escort took a pause, then with a flick of his wrist. Dismissive. Like none of you were even people to her. Just names. Just bodies to be moved. Animals to corral.

“Fine. Make sure they’re on the car for the train in five minutes.” She said as she pulled out a cigarette and left the stage, heading out behind the Justice Building.

Then, everything moved too fast.

The Peacekeepers pulled Louella and Haymitch away first, leading them toward the crowd, toward whatever sick Capitol production they were staging. Maybe they wanted a shot of their tearful goodbyes. Maybe they were filming a show of strength, proving how easily they could take your people and turn them into sacrifices.

But you didn’t care about that.

Because the second rough hands clamped around your arms, the second cold metal cuffs snapped around your wrists, it hit you.

They weren’t going to let you say goodbye.

“No, wait,” you gasped, jerking back, your pulse spiking. The panic ran through you like ice water. The Peacekeepers barely reacted, just kept marching forward, starting to pull you along like dead weight.

The cuffs bit into your skin as you twisted against them. “Let me come! Let me say goodbye! It’s the least you can do!”

They didn’t slow. If anything, they moved faster.

“No, please—please!”

Your feet dragged against the dirt, the heels of your boots skidding as you fought against their grip. But they were stronger. Larger.

No matter how hard you dug in, they kept moving. Through the entrance of the Justice Building. Past the halls lined with closed doors—doors that should have been open, should have had your family behind them. But you wouldn’t get that. No final words, no last embrace.

Only this. An unforgiving last glance at your family in the crowd from the stage.

Only the cold hands forcing you forward, out into the back of the building where a black truck sat waiting idle for the four of you.

“Please, just let me—”

“Shut it.”

The first warning.

You twisted harder, your heart slamming against your ribs. Your wrists throbbed where the cuffs cut into your skin, but you barely noticed. All you could think was no, no, no, I can’t leave like this. Not like this.

“I just—please—I just need a minute! Just—“

“I said shut it.”

The second warning.

Then came the pain.

The stun baton cracked against your ribs, and your whole body lit up with agony. Electricity surged through your nerves, burning from the inside out.

Your legs collapsed before you even registered what had happened. The breath was punched from your lungs, your muscles locking up as you hit the gravel beneath you.

Your head spun. The world flickered in and out of focus for a moment.

And still, they didn’t stop. They didn’t give you a moment to pull yourself back together.

Hands yanked you up again, too rough, too fast. The cuffs dug deeper as they forced you forward, your body struggling to keep up. Your limbs felt useless, trembling, weak. The only thing keeping you upright was the strong grip that caught your arm before you could fall again.

Wyatt.

He was cuffed too, his face tight with but showing no emotion. But he didn’t fight them, though. Didn’t waste his breath. He just held on, his grip steady, solid, anchoring you in place as the Peacekeepers shoved you both toward the truck.

He helped you inside, guiding you when your legs refused to work, your mind still lost in the haze of pain.

Then the doors slammed shut behind you.

Darkness.

No goodbyes. No last words.

Not for you, at least.

Not to your Ma or Pa. Not to Lenore Dove, who used to sing with you by the old fence line. Not to Burdock—your brother, your blood. The person who had been by your side through everything.

Your heart broke and you squeezed your eyes shut. Your head leaning back against the cool metal of the truck.

For the first time since they called your name, the fear finally, truly sank in. You allowed it to. Better now without the cameras. Better to do it now until every moment from here on out is recorded and shown on screen.

The truck’s interior was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a small, barred window near the ceiling. The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of rust and oil. You sat on the cold metal bench, wrists bound in front of you, the sting from the stun baton still resonating through your ribs. Wyatt sat beside you, his own hands cuffed, his expression unreadable as he stared at the floor.

But it was company. You’d known Wyatt from school. Knew that he was different than the rest of his brother’s, or even his father. The way his brain worked was fascinating. But now? Now he was a welcome comfort of company as you both faced the same death sentence.

Minutes passed in oppressive silence, each second stretching longer than the last. The weight of what had just transpired pressed heavily upon you, making it hard to breathe. Your mind raced, replaying the events over and over, searching for some way this could all be undone.

The truck’s rear doors swung open abruptly, the sudden influx of light causing you to squint. Two Peacekeepers stood silhouetted against the brightness, their grips firm on Louella’s arms as they hoisted her into the vehicle. She stumbled slightly, her eyes wide and glassy, a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. The doors clanged shut behind her, plunging the three of you back into semi-darkness.

Louella took a shaky breath, her gaze darting between you and Wyatt, before landing back on you. “Are you both… okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded numbly, not trusting your voice to remain steady. Wyatt offered a curt nod as well, his jaw clenched tightly. But didn’t respond.

You weren’t alright. None of you were. You were all going to be dead this time by next week. How were you supposed to comfort Louella? Were you supposed to lie and make a promise you couldn’t keep?

Another agonizing minute crawled by. Then another one before the doors opened once more. This time, it was Haymitch. He was ushered in more roughly than Louella had been, but the tension in his posture was evident. His eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of something passing through them before he settled onto the bench opposite you.

The four of you sat in silence, the weight of your collective fate hanging heavily in the confined space. The truck’s engine roared to life, and with a jolt, you began moving, the vibrations rattling through the metal floor beneath your feet.

As the vehicle rumbled over the uneven roads of District 12, you couldn’t help but think of the families left behind, the goodbyes that were stolen from you. The image of your parents’ faces, etched with worry and grief, flashed before your eyes. Burdock’s teasing smirk, now a distant memory, felt like a cruel reminder of the life you were being torn away from.

The journey to the train was brief. The truck came to a halt, and the doors were opened once more. Bright daylight flooded in, revealing the imposing structure of the train station. The Peacekeepers gestured for you to exit, their expressions impassive.

One by one, you stepped out, the cuffs around your wrists a constant reminder of your captivity. The train before you was sleek and opulent, a stark contrast to the grim reality you faced. Its polished exterior gleamed under the sun, a symbol of the Capitol’s excess and control.

Though the next few parts were a bit of blur. All you remembered was being shoved forward onto the train platform and then into the train.

The next thing you had known was the four of you were sitting in chairs. Wyatt was next to you, Louella across, and Haymitch was diagonal.

Your mind kind of shut out for a moment as Drusilla rambled on in annoyance at the four of you. She had mentioned something about mentors.

Since District 12 had no live mentors, they would be assigned one from one of the other districts. Spares for the outliers. You remembered the last victor though. She wasn’t spoken about often. But you knew enough to know that whatever actually happened, wasn’t something they your family spoke about often.

It was a grief that moved on. But no one forgot her name. Not you. Not Lenore Dove. Or your uncles. You knew exactly where the missing covey girl was.

But one thing was for certain.

The four of you would be completely on your own.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The train hummed beneath you, steady and ceaseless, a lullaby for the damned. You lay on the upper bunk of your shared room, facing the wall. Your knees drawn to your chest beneath the Capitol-issued blanket. The room was dim, lit only by the soft green glow of a control panel near the door.

Louella’s breathing was slow and even beneath you, curled up on the lower bunk, her arm draped over the edge like a doll left behind. Across the room, Wyatt was sprawled on his back in the bunk opposite, one foot hanging off, rather loud snores occasionally catching in his throat.

“That’s going to get him killed,” you think to yourself. In the arena. If Wyatt snored like that? He would be dead quicker than given the chance.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time your eyes closed, they were filled with images of home—of Burdock calling after you in the square, of Ma’s quiet smile, of the reaping stage, of Woodbine’s body hitting the ground, the gunshots, the crying.

Your fingers twisted the ring on your middle finger. The small copper thing was smooth from wear, the edges dulled by years of being fidgeted with. It had belonged to your grandmother. You’d taken to spinning it around your fingers when you were little, back when bad dreams were your biggest fear.

Now, it was a tether, something to remind you that you were still here, still real. Something to keep you grounded.

Across the room, you noticed the faint shift of movement from the corner of your eye.

Haymitch.

He was sitting up in his bunk, elbow resting on his knee, turning something over in his hand. The light caught the object just right, flickering softly against the polished metal. You squinted, blinking past the shadows.

The flint striker.

Lenore Dove’s present.

Your breath caught slightly. You didn’t know why it surprised you to see it, but it did. Maybe because your cousin had been so excited to give it to him.

“Pretty with a purpose,” she had said to you when she told you of the idea. She had been so excited. She was so in love with him. A love like that was something you were so jealous of. Though you were unsure if it was because of the genuine love that they had for each other, or if it was because who Lenore Dove was in love with.

Haymitch looked up, catching you watching. He didn’t flinch or tuck it away, just held your gaze for a long moment in the dark.

You whispered first.

“She gave it to you,”

His voice was rough, low, barely above a breath. “Yeah, this morning. Before the Reaping,”

You smiled faintly, shifting to lie on your side, one arm tucked beneath your cheek as you whispered back, “I’m glad. She wouldn’t stop talking about it. It came out really pretty,”

He gave a quiet huff, something like a half-laugh, barely audible. “Yeah?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah she came up with it months ago. Working out the design with Tam Amber. Watched over his shoulder and everything when making it,” you say though the memory was hard. How excited your cousin was when she had thought of the perfect gift for her guy.

Haymitch let out a soft hum as his thumb ran over the smooth surface again. As if hearing what you said made it even more dear to him; if that were even possible.

Silence settled again, soft and strange—not heavy, not uncomfortable. Just… quiet. The kind that only people who’ve lost the same thing could sit in. He had always understood you, just as he understood Burdock.

You traced the edge of your ring again, absently. “I thought I’d be more scared than this.”

Haymitch glanced over at you, his face unreadable in the dark. “You are scared,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re just not showing it. You’ve always done that. Even when we were kids. Putting on a brave face. But once you’re alone…then you’ll allow yourself to feel,”

You nodded a little, almost hating how well he knew you. Your tells. Your habits. Straight down to knowing how you’d handle situations like this. “You know me too much, Hay,”

He looked down at the striker again, turned it once more in his hand. “Yeah I know. Makes two of us though,”

You swallowed. You hadn’t expected that to matter as much as it did. But something in your chest unknotted, just a little.

The train hit a slight curve, the walls groaning softly. Louella shifted below you, mumbling something in her sleep. Wyatt rolled over.

“Do you think we’ll…” you started, then stopped.

“Live?” Haymitch finished, blunt and quiet.

You nodded.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I’m not going down easy. There are twice the amount of tributes. Twice the careers. The odds aren’t exactly looking great for us,”

You watched him for a second longer, then whispered, “I know. But we have to at least try, right? Or at least try and get Louella home..”

His thumb flicked over the striker, “Yeah. One of you girls,”

“Louella,” you corrected.

But Haymitch’s grey eyes flickered to yours again, “No. One of you girls. Your family needs you too, sweetheart. I know Ma and Sid will be taken care of when you get back.”

And there it was. That irritatingly sweet nickname he always called you. It started out as a condescending nickname a year or two ago. Everyone kept saying how sweet you were. How you were so willing to spare your own food to those who were hungry. To help out along the Seam, whether with laundry, or cleaning, or medicine.

But to Haymitch you were a menace. Which is why he couldn’t believe it when he heard someone referring to you as the sweetest girl in the District.

Though as you both grew older, it kind of stuck. And still, it gave you butterflies every time he called you that. You wondered if he’ll ever stop, not that you would want him to. But what did Lenore Dove think of it? Did she care?

“They have Burdock. And Burdock has Asterid. Sure, they’d grieve. But they’d move on. They’ll help your Ma and Sid. And eventually Burdie and Asterid will have some kids. The Everdeen will be alright without me, Hay.”

“You say that now. But you’re more depended on than you realize. They’ll grieve you harder than you’ll ever know. I know that for a damn fact,”

“Just promise you’ll look out for Louella. At least I can hunt. But she’s…” your voice trailed off softly as you couldn’t put it into words. You couldn’t say how she was a frail girl. A poor girl, from the poorest District in Panem. A twelve-year old with no experience even holding a weapon.

You could defend yourself. But Louella needed someone to keep an eye on her. And you would make sure to do just that. Louella needed to be the one who got home. She had no much ahead of her.

Haymitch stared at you for a moment, the flint striker between his fingers, “Fine.” He finally had said, “As long as you don’t try to be some hero and pull some self-sacrificing bullshit,” he then tucked the striker back under the collar of his shirt, arms behind his head.

“Alright.”

You turned back toward the wall, ring still on your middle finger, twisting softly.

Neither of you said another word, but sleep came a little bit easier after that.

[maysileeewrites]

SotR spoilers!

So, after finishing SotR I can't help but want to give Haymitch a happy (or rather happier) ending.

I know this idea's completely self-indulgent, but I was thinking about him ending up in an arranged marriage with another District Twelve victor (rather basic idea, I know). But I want to do this in a way that honors his love for Lenore Dove, whilst still not disregarding his growing feelings for reader.

And so I'm imaging a slowburn, where he slowly and rather begrudgingly starts to let his walls down around reader, and slowly but surely starts to fall for her. She sees him for who he really is, really sees him and he slowly starts to tell her more and more about his past. But when reader gets pregnant, and maybe suggests the names Dove or Louella if it's a girl, he just completely shuts her out, because he hasn't told her about that particular part of his past yet. (Reader knows that he was in love once, but until that point, he wasn't willing to share more with her.)

Angsty shenanigans ensue, but in the end Haymitch ends up telling reader everything about Lenore Dove and what really happened to him, while also confessing his growing feelings for reader. Maybe a bit of fluff and smut, and then they're talking about names for their child again and reader once again suggests Dove, stressing that she knows how much Haymitch will always love Lenore Dove and how she'll always be an important part of him. Haymitch then confesses his love for reader (and maybe also has a vision of Lenore Dove that tell's him that it's alright, she just wants him to be happy.)

Idk, is this too cheesy, too corny?

(Also, I'm thinking about making reader like the younger sibling of Asterid or maybe a distant cousin or something, so that Haymitch will also get to reconcile with Burdock and Blair.)

So uh, would anyone be interested in reading that?? (also sorry for that incredibly long plot summary, I feel like I just made a trailer that already reveals everything that's going to happen 😭)

UPDATE: I made a little something

[am-i-interrupting]

Worth Keeping | Haymitch x Everdeen!Reader

Prologue

Summary: For the first five years of mentoring, Haymitch was not numb but indifferent to these new tributes, on their way towards death. This year, he's forced to change that approach when his childhood friend's little sibling is called at the reaping.

Haymitch Abernathy was a constant in your life.

He'd been there for as long as you could remember. All the way back into those fuzzy, not enough to be memories but pictures in your mind.

He was friends with your brother, Burdock.

Burdock was older than you by three years and Haymitch was less than a year older than him. The two boys had been linked at their hips from at least four years old, if not earlier.

They were rather like you and your childhood friend, Louella McCoy. You couldn't recall when you'd become friends with Louella. You'd just always had been.

She held your hand tight on the day of the 50th reaping for the annual Hunger Games. It was her second time being eligible and your first. You were more nervous than her but the warmth in her hand kept you more steady than you otherwise would have been.

Burdock told you, reassured you, as you left your home in clothes too formal for your tastes, that you had nothing to worry about. You would be fine, he'd said.

Your name was only in there once.

And you had been fine. Sort of. Kind of. In a way, you supposed but that day would change everything forever.

Louella would be reaped. You'd get sprayed with blood as Woodbine Chance got shot in the back of the head. Haymitch would be forced to take his place, all while simply trying to protect your cousin; his girlfriend.

Burdock would lead you home, a hand on your shoulder. He'd clean the blood off your face. Then he would pull the itchy wool dress you wore off your body and replace it with more comfortable clothes.

You disappeared for several days after that. As soon as he left you alone, you grabbed a bow and a couple of arrows and gone off into the woods.

When you came back, it was getting late in the evening. Nightfall was beginning to come.

You heard your cousin's tune box. Immediately you sought out it's angry and mournful tone. You found Lenore Dove playing on the very stage which you'd been when two of the most important people in your world were taken from you.

“The law locks up the man or woman

Who steals the goose from off the common

But leaves the greater villain loose

Who steals the common from off the goose"

You placed the couple of squirrel which you'd tied to your belt down beside the steps to the stage.

People began to creep towards the stage. A small crowd had started to form and you didn't know how long it would be until the peace keepers would come. The logical part in your brain supplying you that much.

Yet, you didn't care about the peace keepers.

You sat on the top step. You pounded your hand against the wood planks. Lenore Dove's head snapped towards you. The hollowness beneath the stage caused something which sort of resembled the sound of a drum. She smiled at you and continued.

Yours was the first voice to join her.

"The law demands that we atone

When we take things we do not own

But leaves the lords and ladies fine

Who take things that are yours and mine"

Your voice was the last voice to still linger with Lenore Dove's as she continued to sing, even being taken by the so called peace keepers.

"Are you, are you coming to the tree?

Wear a necklace of rope

Side by side with me"

You picked up the squirrels and finished out the song, walking in the opposite direction of that which she was being dragged.

"Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight

In the hanging tree"

You got to a small, modest house in the seam.

Three doors down was the McCoy house but that wasn't where you went.

The McCoy family was a large one. They would. .

They would be alright.

It was the Abernathy residence which you walked into. You pushed open the door. It creaked ever so slightly. The house was silent except for your footsteps.

That was the only way in which you broke the silence. Even when a second pair of footsteps joined your own.

A call of your name, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You held up the squirrels in reply.

You knew your way to the kitchen. You'd become well versed in how to skin and prep all assortments of animals. You worked silently.

Sid joined you eventually. He prepared himself a cup of water. Then he hauled himself onto the countertop. His legs curled against his torso as his arms wrapped around them.

Your hands were covered in blood. You knew that your hair was filled with tangles and knots and leaves and branches. You weren't exactly a pretty sight. Dirt was lodged beneath your nails. That and pollen coated your clothes.

It didn't matter though.

Sid ate. You got water for Mrs. Abernathy. She barely drank it. You did neither.

"What did he score?" you asked. “Lenore Dove seemed pretty upset about it.”

"A one," Willamae answered.

"What about Louella?"

"A three."

All that ran in your mind was the cynical thought, accompanied by dry and pained laughter, that you were going to lose them both.

That day started the routine. You would stay with the Abernathys during the day and go out to hunt at night as the games grew closer and closer.

You left any left over game at your own residence to let them know you were alive. You had a lot of leftover game, things for them to sell or eat. You spent most of the night gone, very little of it sleeping.

On one night, you found yourself shaken awake where you slept on the couch. In the dark you could only see the silhouette of a small figure but you knew who it was.

"What is it, Sid?"

"Can you sleep in my room with me?" he asked.

"It's too quiet without Haymitch."

You nodded as you pulled yourself up. You let him cling onto your arm as he led you to the brothers® shared room.

He didn't let go, causing you to sit on the edge of the bed with him. You ran your fingers through his light brown hair, catching in tangles which you carefully undid.

You recounted what your brother would do you sought out his room instead of your parents.

Fitting for this occasion, as it led to the grave.

"Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, soft green pillow

Lay down your head and close your eyes

And when the open, the sun will rise"

The interviews, they gave way to so much. So much information, packed in these little short clips, the capital gave without knowing they gave it.

That was not Louella McCoy.

Not the one you knew. Whether they'd done something to her specifically or replaced her, you couldn't tell. Neither mattered.

Louella McCoy was already dead either way.

At least you wouldn't have to grieve when you saw this body go down in the arena. At least you had that much.

A decency or a curse, you didn't know.

You let Willamae grip your hand so tight it turned white when the countdown began. You gripped back just as tight. On her other side she hand her arm around Sid, a hand in his hair.

You gave an exhale when Haymitch managed to grab a pack and sprint away from the oncoming bloodbath. You didn't know if it came from relief or what exactly, but it came from you either way.

You'd only watched the games once before. It was the year your parents decided that you were old enough to start mentally preparing for the fate you may face. Quickly, you had decided that you had enough bloodshed in your life as a hunter. You couldn't bare to watch any more.

That left you ill prepared for the bloodshed, even though you knew it was to come. You felt your stomach turn inside out, flipping itself. It took only an instant for half of these children to be gone, most only a few years older than you and even some your own age.

You had to swallow down vomit that rose up in your throat when you saw Wyatt Callow (of whom you had little to no relation with other than town hearsay) get stabbed with a sword, all while protecting the girl who looked like your Louella.

She ran off into the woods. Maysilee Donner soon on her tail.

They didn't show much of Haymitch. The only thing which allowed anyone in the house any source of comfort was that when the canon went off, they showed the tribute who'd died.

You were wrong though.

You bolted up and ran out the house when the girl who looked like Louella died. In a patch of flowers meant for healing.

You expelled the little food you'd been able to force down. Looking down the street, you saw one of her sisters doing the same.

Ima McCoy leaned her body against the exterior of her home. Her breathing a heaving and wheezing thing. You could hear her, even three houses down.

Not conscious of what you were doing, you walked forward towards her.

She startled when you grabbed her hand. Her eyes were bloodshot and tears streamed down her face. You were sure you looked no better.

You reached up to wrap your arm around her neck and pull her down. Her free arm went around your torso. Her hand clenched a tight grip on your shirt.

Together, the two of sobbed. Comforted only by the fact that you were not alone in your pain.

That night, you didn't sleep at all.

You knocked on the McCoy door, knowing it would open. You didn't say a word as you handed half of your bounty of the night to Carson. It was far more than enough for him, his parents, and his siblings. He didn't say a word as he took it.

The games went on for several more days. You weren't surprised to see Haymitch pair up with Maysilee Donner. Maybe in other circumstances but in these? No.

You were surprised to see her vocal cords torn out by pink birds.

Your shoulders shook and your eyes burned. You covered Sid's with your hand. He didn't question or object.

That last day not one of the three of you slept. All watching as Haymitch and a girl from district six slept in a tree together. The single career left was nowhere to be found.

That girl's head would end up off and thrown to the side. Sid's eyes would be covered again but by his ma. She would hold him close. A grip so hard it would leave you bruised was on your hands. The girl from district one would have her eyes gouged out and Haymitch's intestines would be held by his own hands.

Willamae let out a sob at the sight. Hot tears rolled down your eyes.

"Is he alive?" Sid asked, his hands going to his mother's.

He pulled her hand away when neither of you could form an answer. Just in time to see Haymitch collapse, the girl's head be impaled by her own axe, and Haymitch shaking in the ground as he went into shock but still alive.

Willamae collapsed on herself.

"He's okay?" Sid asked.

"He's alive." you said. You reached across his mother and grabbed his hand. "He's alive."

Sid and Willamae would not be. Not for much longer.

You continued to stay at the Abernathy residence.

The feeling less like a haunted house now. A bit more lively. Although, without Haymitch's return, it was still tense.

You were lucky, people would say. You were lucky you just so happened to be out of the house when it happened but you knew better.

There had been a noise and you would forever feel guilt for not waking the two.

You saw the people who set the house aflame begin to run. You called out for help as you tried to get the water to pump. The fire spread unnaturally quick.

You were not excited when you saw Haymitch, slowly succumbing to sleep as he was held by Burdock and Blair. All you felt in that moment was a sadness so deep in your soul it caused you to fall to your knees.

Blair nodded your way. Burdock left Haymitch in his arms as he took you in his own.

You could muster no other words other than

"Why?"

" don't know was all he said each time.

A day later were five graves were dug into the ground for six people. Jethro Callow; lost to his own pride. Willamae and Sid Abernathy; lost to a fire but not one another. Maysilee Donner and Wyatt Callow; lost in the games. Louella McCoy; lost to something you didn't know.

Her casket emitted a smell, stronger than that of any of the others.

“You’re headed for Heaven

The sweet old hereafter"

You grabbed Burdock's hand. You joined him with the melody. The birds paused their own song for this one. A solemn understanding.

"And l've got one foot in the door

But before I can fly up

I've loose ends to tie up

Right here, in the old therebefore

“I'II be along

When I've finished my song

When I've shut down the band

When I've played out my hand

When I've paid all my debts

When I have no regrets

Right here, in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore"

When the song and funerals came to a close, you entered your proper home. You went straight to Burdock's wardrobe and grabbed a shirt and pants, a pair of shoes as well.

Haymitch looked far too much like someone from the capital in clothes like what he wore. It unsettled you and you were sure him as well.

He wasn't at the McCoy's house, which you admittedly expected. To Victor's Village you went then to see the sole resident. A knot tightened in your stomach as you walked that way.

Nearly there you saw Blair. “Oh, you have clothes." he said. You nodded.

Never before had you experienced air conditioning but it gave a small hum as it went through the house along with the lights.

You let Blair take the clothing and give to Haymitch. He then departed once again to go collect more sleep syrup for Haymitch.

Haymitch flinched when you ran up and hugged him. Then his arms slowly engulfed you. You squeezed him as tightly as you could. Almost as if squeezing him hard enough would cause the pain he'd suffered to overflow and leave him.

The next day your cousin, Lenore Dove, died. They would say she got sick but it was no accident.

Haymitch started drinking.

He successfully pushed many away from him, even Burdock and Asterid after he hit her with a rock. You let him think he'd succeeded in pushing you away as well but you still stood by him when he would wander drunken into town.

"Come on, Haymitch." you would say when you were sixteen and he was twenty. "Get up."

He groaned as you tried to haul him upright. He drank more when the reaping drew closer. From July to August he was incoherent every year. You couldn't blame him and you weren't mad.

People would ask you why you never gave up on Haymitch Abernathy and the answers you have never satisfied.

You'd known him all your life. Everyone knew everyone.

You were his friend. Well, he certainly wasn't yours. Not anymore. He was no one's friend but his bottle's.

You couldn't stand to see him like this. Then just leave him alone and you wouldn't have to.

You were one of the few who knew.

You didn't know all of it, not even most of it, but you knew. You knew he was never supposed to be in those games. You knew that Louella McCoy, his sweetheart, was not who entered that arena.

Whether her body was alive didn't matter. You knew that Willamae and Sid were scheduled to die when he would see it. You knew Lenore Dove did not sick. You knew every year he was forced to relive it all by being dragged up to the capital.

You loved Haymitch Abernathy and you always had. You couldn't imagine you never would.

You kicked him regardless.

“Get up! I will drag you if I have to! Don’t think I won’t!”

[revilloutionaire]

SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS

“I first saw the girl at the Hob when she was just a baby. Burdock was so proud of her, he toted her around everywhere. After he died in that mine explosion, she started coming alone, trading the odd squirrel or rabbit. Tough and smart, her hair in two braids then, reminding me for all the world of Louella McCoy, my sweetheart of old. And after she volunteered for the Games, that nickname couldn’t help but slip out. I didn’t want to let them in, her and Peeta, but the walls of a person’s heart are not impregnable, not if they have ever known love. That’s what Lenore Dove says, anyway.”

When we first meet Haymitch, we can instantly tell that he has made a habit of distancing himself from tributes. That he has nobody left he loves, so he pushes away anybody else that tries to come into his life. But now we know how full of love Haymitch was. How deeply he loved Lenore Dove, how deeply he loved his mother and Sid, his friends, even Hattie. Everything Haymitch did was out of love. He was reaped because he tried to protect the girl he loved. As he was reaped, he did his best to protect his sweetheart, 13-year-old Louella McCoy he grew up with. He tried to distance himself from the other tributes, but eventually he couldn’t help but love them too.

He couldn’t help but call Ampert “Buddy.” He couldn’t help but call all of the district 6 tributes his doves, and mourn all of their deaths, no matter how little he actually knew them. How Louella was replaced, and how he wanted to hate her replacement, but gave her the name Lou Lou and protected her like their own. Haymitch was the one who initiated the hug of all four tributes from 12. He was distrustful of Wyatt, and grew to mourn him like a brother. He carried Lou Lou like his life depended on holding onto her. How he hated Maysilee Donner, and thought of her as the most stuck-up girl in 12. He called her Sis. He grew to love her like the sister he never had. She died as his sister.

All of the love that Haymitch didn’t need to give, and yet he loved so endlessly and so whole-heartedly. And with every person he loved, he lost them, and lost a part of himself. No wonder he didn’t want to let Katniss and Peeta into his heart. He had already tried so hard to push away Burdock, who relentlessly tried to care for him in his despair.

Then, in comes Katniss Everdeen. She carried with her a piece of every person Haymitch tried to push away. She was Asterid, Burdock, the Seam children he grew up with, all in one person. He didn’t want to let her in. He couldn’t have.

And yet, Haymitch couldn’t help but call her sweetheart.

Because Katniss was a woven tapestry of every person he had ever loved. She was his best friend’s daughter. She carried Lenore Dove’s songs. Louella’s skin and hair. Wyatt’s protectiveness. Maysilee’s fight, Maysilee’s resistance, Maysilee’s pride, Maysilee’s pin. And in the arena, she painted the best poster Haymitch and Maysilee could’ve ever hoped for- Rue, surrounded by flowers, her passing in dignity and not as another number in the games. And refusing the Capitol their winner by eating the berries with Peeta.

It’s no surprise that Katniss and Peeta broke down Haymitch’s walls. Haymitch had the flint striker, the spark. And Katniss was the fire that caught 25 years later.

[joysmercer]

(here is the place) where I love you

(post-canon; katniss and clerk carmine)

I stop there sometimes, at the lake, when my arms give out but I haven't yet caught enough game for the week. It's cooler there, because of the water, and I wrap my father's hunting jacket tightly around me, munching on a few berries or one of Peeta's cheese buns. But just as I'm unwrapping my lunch today, a flash of grey on the opposite shore distracts me from my hunger. Wolf?

I slowly walk around the perimeter of the lake until a reach it. It's not an animal at all, as it turns out, but a gravestone, about as tall as my waist. The edges of the stone are decorated with swirling vines and flowers. I kneel down to read the three names etched onto it in careful cursive.

The first is one I don't recognize—a woman's, by the sound of it—but my breath hitches when I read the ones that follow: my father's, and below, in a slightly different hand, Prim's. At the base of the stone is a quote, a modified lyric of one of a familiar tune:

Deep in the meadow / here is the place, where we loved you.

I choke back tears as my father's voice fills my head, and then, my own, singing Rue to sleep.

"Burdock loved this lake," A gruff voice mutters behind me. I whip around and find an old man with scruffy beard a cane in one hand standing a few feet away. He looks vaguely familiar, though I can't place the face.

"He was my father," I supply, unsure of how else to respond.

The man laughs. "Aye. I could've guessed just from the jacket you wear, but your name is the farthest thing from unfamiliar, these days," the man says, a twinkle in his eye. "Everyone in Panem knows."

I nod. The Girl on Fire, the Girl who Killed the President, and everything in between. "And you are?" I ask, mostly out of politeness.

"Clerk." The man doesn't go any further but simply stares at me, eyebrow raised, as if willing me to fill in the rest, and suddenly I realize where I'd seen him.

"You played at Finnick and Annie's wedding!" I exclaim. The fiddler. He'd seemed lonely, even then, and I'd assumed he'd stayed at 13 – most of us who came back had something to tie us here.

"This has been my home longer than anyone else remembers, child," he says, answering the question unprompted. "I didn't want to die in a foreign land."

And, all of a sudden, it clicks. A vague memory of one of Haymitch's stories, the woods, longer than anyone else remembers. "You're Covey," I say. "Clerk…Carmine?"

"I am." Clerk Carmine smiles. "I hope you didn't mind me leaving that here," he says, gesturing to the gravestone. I'd almost forgotten. "Tam Amber, he started it for Burdock's ma, and it felt right to—" He pauses. "Actually, would you like to see them? The others?"

It takes me a minute to respond, my mind still preoccupied with the mention of my father, his mother, Tam Amber. "Yes. Yes, of course," I say, my mouth moving on it's own accord.

Clerk Carmine leads me slowly through the woods, his cane methodically tapping on the forest floor like the beats of a drum. I imagine my father walking this same path as a teenager, perhaps whistling a tune to make the mockingjays in the leaves sing. Haymitch himself had done so once, too, though he never could bring himself to again.

Finally, we arrive at a beautiful grove, hidden far away from the lake. I'd never thought to venture this far out before. Before me are four beautifully-decorated headstones, each with a lines of poetry—or is it song?—rather than names, carved in similar print to the one decorating my family's. But that's where the similarities end: the stones are all different shapes, sizes, and colors, and it occurs to me that, perhaps, their selection itself was a ceremony of sorts, that each person was given a slab that captured them better than any portrait ever could. Clerk Carmine gestures for me to sit next to him.

"Lucy Gray," he starts, nodding to the far right. Snake-like vines almost entirely cover her grave, save for the area surrounding her name-poem, and fresh daisies are placed on top. "She was a lot like you, you know." He gives me that look again, like he expects me to immediately understand what he's trying to say. "Sharp as a tack, voice like a bird." He sighs. "A Victor, too, like yourself."

I gasp. I had no idea.

Clerk Carmine notices my surprise and laughs hollowly. "Oh, yes, he tried very hard to kill her, but somehow, she lived on in memory, all of ours…and his." He doesn't mention who he is, but somehow I know, instinctively, anyway, and I suddenly feel a rush of affection for this girl I never knew who apparently managed to defy Snow, even in death.

Clerk Carmine then gestures to the stone on the far left of the row, a clean, white one that sparkles where the sunlight hits it. "Maude Ivory, Lucy Gray's cousin. Though we were all family." And then the one next to hers, speckled, somehow, with purple. "Lenore Dove, her daughter, but this you know."

I do know. It took a while, because getting Haymitch to open up about anything is as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack, but one night, I found him writing pages and pages in our Book, and Peeta and I learned of her—and our parents' childhoods, as a result—that way.

I ask Clerk Carmine what happened between them, if he knew. Haymitch's memories start at age ten end with his Games, for the most part, and so much has changed since then, my head spins sometimes, thinking about it.

There isn't much to say, as it turns out. My parents got married after the 52nd Games, and the remaining Covey gifted them our house as a wedding present—my grandmother had been Covey-descended through her mother (who had left her with her father), and apparently she and Maude Ivory had been thick as thieves as teenagers, which was how my father came to spend so much time with Lenore Dove. As for the time before my parents, "it's almost too long a story for words," Clerk Carmine tells me, and I'm forced to leave it at that—though I make a mental note to bring him my Book and see if he will write like Haymitch did.

The last stone, in the middle of the row, is Tam Amber's. It, too, stands out from the others, a deep, strong clay. Him, too, I know—knew, in fact, as he was the Goat Man I'd bought Lady from. He passed just before the third Quell.

In the pocket of my father's jacket, my fist closes around my mockingjay pin. Tam Amber was the one who had made it all those years ago. I bring it out and show Clerk Carmine, then carefully kneel by the red gravestone to bury it. "It started here, and should stay here," I explain. He nods, and that's when I notice the tears in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to keep you," I say, suddenly feeling like I was intruding on something very private, which I am. "I have to head back to the cabin—eat, then more hunting to do."

I try to back away quietly, but Clerk Carmine motions for me to wait. I watch him struggle to his feet—he refuses my arm when I hold it out—and grab his cane again.

"I'll come with you," he says. "After the girls…Barb, Tam and I…we had to get out, you know. Only ever ventured back here to tend to the graves." He looks at me. "But thank you, for giving me a reason to return."

I didn't do anything, I think, but I shrug in acknowledgement anyway.

This time, it is I who leads him back to the lake, and we share a quiet lunch by the memorial he carved for my family—our family.

[lilylife2010]

Sunrise on the Reaping Analysis (Spoiler Alert)

Thanks to Suzanne Collins we finally have the backstory to our favorite Hunger Games mentor in the newly released prequel novel, Sunrise on the Reaping, not to mention additional trauma to add to our psyches. The brash, tortured and alcohol-dependent former survivor of The 50th Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy, faces insurmountable odds when he is “reaped” into the 2nd quarter quell. As per usual I warn there are spoilers ahead and if you have yet to read the novel I advise you to leave this post and don’t come back until you have. With that...let’s get started.

Haymitch Abernathy has long been one of my favorite characters from The Hunger Games series, partially due to the enigma of his personal tragedy. Previously, we only had a summarized version of his televised Games to go off of when, in preparation for their own, Katniss and Peeta watched the clips to gain knowledge on how a quarter quell proceeds. We also got a tidbit of information out of Haymitch when he mentions the Capital executing his family and girlfriend. Other than that all we know about Haymitch and his personal traumas, is he drinks a lot (like a lot), he sleeps with a knife, and he appears to have no one he loves or cares for until Peeta and Katniss come along.

In true Suzanne Collins fashion, we soon discovered Haymitch’s story was far more twisted and tragic than we first thought. Not only was Haymitch selected by a chance of poor luck in a botched reaping, but the televised Games, in which Katniss and Peeta observed Haymitch survive the 2nd quarter quell, was more or less a steaming, hot pot of bullshit. 

Sunrise on the Reaping also gives us some information on the Covey clan and what their status is at this point in the timeline as well as some background info on Katniss’ parents. We learn that Maude Ivory has passed away and that the Covey’s made a gravesite for their members deep in the woods. It’s unclear how Maude Ivory died and it is still unclear if Lucy Gray is actually confirmed dead (did the Covey find her body or did they just assume she passed over time?), though I like to think her fate is still a mystery in lieu of the poem. Personally, I like the idea of Lucy Gray being a ghostly presence haunting Snow and the Capital for their crimes and not knowing her fate gives her that mysterious, ethereal power.

Katniss’ parents are finally named, Burdock and Astrid, as well as confirmed to be Covey (at least Burdock is), although we still do not know through whom. My guess is still Maude Ivory, but I am not as positive as I once was. Regardless, it was great seeing a bit of Katniss’ history and where she comes from. Despite Burdock only ever being mentioned in the original series (and never by name), his absence in Katniss’ life, and the impact his death had on her and her family, allows him to feel very much like a character who once lived and breathed, so it was nice to see him living and breathing.

Lenore Dove is also introduced as a new member of the Covey clan, and Haymitch’s lost love, alongside his hardworking mother who reminds me of Hazel Hawthorne (Gale’s mother) and his younger brother Sid. Their tragic demise is what ultimately drives Haymitch deep into the bottom of a liquor bottle. This loss, coupled with the trauma of the Hunger Games and the subsequent isolation from the citizens of District 12, lead us to the Haymitch we know and love. And don’t forget, his pain multiplied each year as he mentored tribute after tribute for the next 23 years, only to have to return to his district each time in the company of children’s coffins.

Another character, while not necessarily new but expounded upon, is that of Maysilee Donner. She just may be the breakout star of the novel. This fan favorite showed us a different style of rebellion than we have seen before. With her lovely outfits, her many jewels, and her refusal to eat with her hands, Maysilee refuses to allow herself to act like the beast or animal the Capital treats her as. Throughout her stay in the Capital and her dwindling days in the arena she held onto her humanity with both hands and told anyone who tried to take it from her to kindly, f**k off. This is not to say that she wasn’t lethal or that she went into the Games utterly prepared to die. But rather she simply said that if she must die, she would do it with dignity. She had a kind of resilience and authenticity to her that could be biting at times yet a gentleness and selflessness in the way she handled the tokens of her fellow tributes that plainly showed how important holding onto your identity was to her. Like Peeta, she wasn’t going to play the game on anyone’s terms but her own, and she wanted to hold on to who she was.

Of the characters introduced and re-introduced in this novel, Plutarch Heavensbee continues to be the most mysterious character in my opinion. I would actually be highly interested in seeing another prequel novel centered around Plutarch. There is so much we don’t know about him. How and why did he become disillusioned with the Capital? How did he come to know of District 13’s survival? When did he become a Gamemaker? In what ways since Haymitch’s games (and perhaps before) has he attempted to aid the rebellion? How prominent are the anti-Capital citizens within the Capital walls? Seriously, there is so much we could learn from a novel centered around Plutarch that could amplify the theme of building up to the revolution in the original series. If Katniss was the fire that was catching, Haymitch the flint striker that helped ignite it, and Lucy Gray the song that inspired the flame, then Plutarch was the one who aired it across live television until the entire nation caught fire.

One thing the prequel novels have done best is show the audience how flammable the nation was long before Katniss’ birth. The districts have sparked before and even those in the Capital have attempted to fan the flames, but either the spark doesn’t quite catch or the fanning was too much for too little. Rebellions build over time, and oftentimes they need a combination of strategy and sheer luck. 

Therefore, it makes sense that when Katniss comes along not only does she have an unprecedented amount of good luck, but those who’ve been in the shadows trying to build the rebellion have perfected their strategies over time. Fate or not, Katniss could never have succeeded if not for the seeds that were planted from the inception of the Games. These stories eerily parallel the events of WWI and WWII. With a large part of the events leading to the beginning of the second world war having been planted at the end of the first. And the murder of innocent tributes in the Games parallels the genocide of innocent people due to a corrupt dictator with lofty and evil ideas about race and class and a civilization that grows silent or even buys into the propaganda.

This is why The Hunger Games series is not only so relevant to our society today but also blatantly terrifying as it is a reflection of our history. People often comment on how our society isn’t too far from being a civilization capable of creating such an atrocious event, but our history already proves we are more than capable of it. The Holocaust, slavery, the Roman gladiator sports. Our world has a terrible inclination to allow tyrants to rise while turning a blind eye to the oppression of the backbones they build their civilization on.

On the flip side, these books also show that our world can be saved by the greatest attributes humanity possesses. Compassion, love, courage, mercy, sacrifice. When people are subjected to horrifying injustices it is easy to want to cower or hide. It’s simpler to hate or choose vengeance or seek survival for yourself and the ones you love. Especially when you lose time and time again. Haymitch’s story is an example of this.

Initially, he is very much like Katniss and even Peeta. He shares Katniss’ spark, her protectiveness of the weak, and an independence striving to break free from the bondage of the Capital. He is not easily controlled and he wants to hold the Capital accountable for the deaths of his fellow tributes. In addition to these attributes, Haymitch is also shrewd and calculating like Peeta, with an ability to empathize with those who are different from him, and a talent for manipulating words or actions with ease to suit a specific purpose. It’s a beautiful way of showing that by saving Katniss and Peeta in a way Haymitch was saving himself, because he didn’t just lose his girlfriend and family, he lost who he was only to find it again in these two tributes. Haymitch’s story arc in this novel serves as a cautionary tale for Katniss, but his arc in the The Hunger Games trilogy is his redemption.

If you read this far you are absolute aces! Feel free to comment or share your thoughts. I love hearing others POV on these stories, especially as my circle of friends are lame and aren't into this series. 😑 Hope you enjoyed, thank you!

[tiniinbookland]

first muddled sunrise on the reaping thoughts while the tear tracks on my face still dry :) (spoilers ahead)

both giggling and also crying about Haymitch saying he doesn't like drinking. god my heart already cried for him there

Lenore Dove being confirmed covey and having og covey present is good! idc what anyone says, i think them being alive and still making music is exactly what you need for resistance - see the hanging tree song obviously. also Clerk Carmine secretly having a boyfriend, ouh my darlings :(

I'm pretty neutral towards Katniss's dad being Haymitch's (best) friend for now, but i do very much appreciate seeing what a guy he was, even though or especially because it makes Katniss's loss so much worse. and her mother's too, considering it's even acknowledged that merchant people don't usually marry miners. and yet she did. i've seen a post about Haymitch being friends with both of them but i wouldn't say he is. is he really friends with the merchants' kids? i think he simply knows them and has his opinions that do or don't get rattled. if we take into account that a) district 12 is supposed to be the smallest, b) they all go to the same school and c) Burdock essentially has the hots for her already, it makes sense that Haymitch knows her to a degree. besides, we see him befriend the tributes later as well, so he appears to be an absolutely likeable young guy which is such a devastating contrast to the man we know he'll become. but anyway

it's so very dear to me that Suzanne Collins continues to take expectations and throw them out the window. even knowing the Captiol tempered with the footage, i don't think it was expected that they started before the games even began. not hearing the main character's name being drawn when we know he'll be in the games is so baffling, i think i might have screamed. and it absolutely fuels the sense of impending doom from knowing what the Capitol can do and knowing what Haymitch's loved ones will see in their future

Maysilee is even more of a shining star than expected. she's so cool actually. i was rooting and clapping my hands for her beating up the fuck ass capitol lady and throwing off the servants and all. chef's kiss, she's incredible. later on as well, caring for the kids and helping them with their tokens and just being so not what Haymitch expects of her. we already knew she's wicked smart from Katniss's assessment of the footage in Catching Fire, but getting in proven tenfold is just so so good

so interesting to see that in the 40 years that have passed since tbosbs, things are still nowhere near as they are by the time Katniss and Peeta's games come around. from the train to the housing to the stylists and training facilities. i expected it to be way more orchestrated already, especially because there are "only" 24 years to to till the hunger games we know, but i suppose it eggs on the idea that they doubled down again on certain aspects now that these absolutely catastrophical games happened

absolutely yelled as the Louelle Clone showed up. no words. absolutely baffling and immediately gruesome once you realise.

i also pretty much yelled about every character we already knew showing up. first of all, i am not immune to fan service. i am a fan and i like being appealed to i guess. but anyway. i liked their roles even though for some I'm not fully sure we needed specifically them for this. but alas, i enjoyed seeing the beginnings of Wiress's state of mind, with her songs and smarts and all. she's so dear to me. and Mags too of course and i suppose it makes sense for her to branch out into different districts considering she's won ages ago and has a) gotten a lot of other district 4 tributes to win and b) remembers enough from the old times to have the natural will to do stuff. as for Plutarch, i didn't expect him and didnt consider him being a movie/tv director at all even though it makes so much sense.

also i just know all the Hayffie girlies (/neutral) are screaming and i did too

while reading the games themselves i kept trying to compare what happens to the footage Katniss and Peeta watched (obviously not knowing we'd get it later lmao) and the difference between knowing the footage has been edited to portray a certain narrative and actually seeing it is so jarring. it was very good i think and i do like that the goal Haymitch is trying to reach isnt the actual reason he ends up where he ends up (at least not directly). reassessing in the middle and having to come up with something else is always a good storytelling point.

also, the fucking squirrels were brutal. what do you mean they cleaned off everything but the bones. absolutely jarring

i suppose we've all tried guessing how exactly Haymitch's loved ones die, whether he finds their corpses in his new house and whatnot, but killing his mother and brother (his brother!! god i loved him so dearly this poor little kid, i cried in chapter 2 already) in a fire? burning alive has got to be one of the most gruesome deaths and it's an absolute evil punishment. feels terrible to say chapeau at that but like. it tortures the direct victims and it also adds another layer for Haymitch because he knows they suffered. but then again, fire is catching, and Snow will reap what he sowed. circles and all that. i did absolutely start crying when Katniss's dad started singing the old therebefore. that was not okay

about one page before Lenore Dove died, i had the shocking thought that she'd be Haymitch's first tribute to mentor because why else would she have been alive still? and it would've been such a terrible punishment because she would never have made it. and then she died from a gumdrop and i screamed. oh well.

and then i read the first two sentences of the epilogue and could barely read the rest through my tears and through my sobs. i didn't expect to go this far into the future. i barely expected Peeta and Katniss to be mentioned at all. but it gave me the same sort of feeling as the epilogue in Mockingjay gives me. and that's enough to make me tear up again just writing about it

so anyway, i really liked it. liked seeing who Haymitch is, his journey to who he becomes. of being pushed around, being insecure, being angry and wanting change, failing, becoming disheartened, of being a used and broken. and well, the politics of it all, but we know Suzanne knows her stuff

i might track on more thoughts later and I'm unfortunately also swayed by reading other posts as well so like. take this with a grain of salt, i literally just finished the book and came straight here

[stupidpersonhere]

SPOILERS FOR SUNRISE ON THE REAPING!!!

I find it so interesting how the Rebels keep doing this maneuvers, desperately outwitting the Capitol and yet still playing directly in their palms. Maysilee, mocking the Capitol people tearing people down to put herself up, lovely Lenore wanting to tear Maysilee a new one for degrading one of her culture images (as justified as it is, she could have simply asked and maybe Maysilee would have appreciated it more, like Haymitch did when prompted) Ampert who puts the lines between Careers and Newcomers despite being on the same circumstances, Haymitch concoing the Near Beer mock name erasing completely the horrendous reality that the Careers, as horrible as they can be, are just children fed propaganda who just want to go home. Didn't the Capitol still spray them with insecticides the same?

Plutard does this, saying what they are being so notorious and intriguing because they don't try to appeal and be like Capital people - heck he even explicitly states some want to bring their mixed family out of the districts into the Capitol whick might be the reason why War attire is being brought back in fashion.

Like. Even Capitol people do this! Effie who scuffs and is disappointed with her great-grand-aunt who dirtied the Trincket name, Vitus who is ashamed one of his ancestors (don't remember what relation) was a rebellion sympathizer and mocking the fact the odd habit of never throwing things out, mocking a traumatic behavior coming from living in a turmoils time whensupplies were scarce.

Yes, Snow outwitted them but only by using what was already there. No matter how many people are within, how many fingers are on the pie the Rebellion failed because they were too disjointed to act properly, too blind to see the imagery lines laid down could be tore down, not enough attempts bringing the gap.

Which makes the marriage between Burdock and Asterid so special and symbolic. It's literally the ultimate union someone can make and maybe it was not enough. Maybe it didn't save anyone yet it laid the foundation for a bright new future and sometimes that's enough.

I'm only halfway through yet. Suzanne Collins, your magnificent brain.

[all-is-on]

This is not the first part of this series, there is a kind of actual first chapter, that I decided to call a prologue so I highly suggest you read that first!

Prologue!!!

__________________________________________________

The trek from your house to town square doesn’t take long, but that doesn't mean there isn't enough time for you and Burdock to get into a small argument about who would win in a fight, between the two of you. Your family reaches the town's square, you and Burdock turn to bid your parents farewell, as you both must go check in for the reaping.

You begin spinning the small rose ring around your thumb anxiously as Burdock finishes hugging Ma and moving on to hug Pa, “It is going to be alright, I promise you.” Ma whispers as you envelope her in a large hug. “I hope so”  you say back trying to believe it yourself. You move to hug Pa and he whispers something along the same line to you as well, at that you separate from them and wave goodbye as you and Burdock move to stand in the relatively short line to be checked in.

 You reach out to grasp Burdock’s hand, something you haven't done since you were both children, but he immediately grasps your hand right back and gives a small squeeze. No words are spoken between the two of you as you continue to move forward in the line, just shared glances and hand squeezes reassuring everything is going to be alright. After a short few minutes it is your turn, you tell them your name, they prick your finger, and you place your bloody fingerprint on the pristine white sheet as Burdock does the same beside you. You are both gestured to move along and finally it is time to bid farewell to Burdock as well. Again uncharacteristically, you throw your arms around Burdock, he laughs and returns your hug, “don't go getting all soft on me now, you’ll ruin both of our tough images.” You laugh and smile as you release him, “oh shut up,” you say shoving him towards the pens where the fourteen to sixteen year old boys stand. “I will see you in a half an hour,” he tries to reassure you, still sensing your worries, “and then maybe we can go into the woods and convince Haymitch it would be fun to throw mine and his new knives at unsuspecting trees” You laugh again and turn towards the same pen on the other side of the small walkway marked for girls and shout back to him “You have fun convincing him of that.”

You hear his laughter ring through the square as you move through the not yet large crowd of girls all standing together, you look at all the familiar faces of girls trying to find someone you would be willing to talk to or just stand near right now. You spot Lenore Dove slip into the back corner of the pen closest to the walkway. You begin to maneuver through the crowd towards her, she offers a smile that isn't as bright as it would be on any other day but is still dazzling.

 “Hey L.D,” you say, not quite offering her a smile and choosing to spend the rest of the reaping at her side. “Hey Cuzzie” ‘Cuzzie’ a nickname she has been calling you since you two were little, coming from anyone else it would sound weird and unnatural, but coming for her it’s endearing. People continue to come flooding into the pens you gravitate closer to Lenore Dove’s side, you look over to the boy’s pens to see your brother standing next to Haymitch, they seem to be joking about something, you smile seeing how happy and almost carefree they look. You study Haymitch’s face, you wonder if he has had a nice birthday so far, you hope after all this you do end up getting to throw knives in the woods with him and Burdock.

Just then, the athem blasts in over the load speakers, you cover your ears for the first few lines wondering how over the years they still haven’t gotten the memo to turn down the volume. You pretend with the rest of the crowd as you mumble along to the lyrics you are supposed to all be singing, but it doesnt matter, no one ever pays that much attention to what district twelve is doing anyway. The mayor takes the stage and does her bit that is required she do every year and then there she is Drusilla Sickle, you wonder how she manages to look worse everytime you see her. She is a reminder of the reaping in your eyes. Everytime you see her face it makes your stomach drop knowing she is about to send two of your peers to their deaths with no care in the world about their outcomes.

Everyone has gone silent knowing what is to come, she cuts straight to the chase saying, “Ladies first,” as she reaches in the large glass bowls, she pulls a singular piece of paper and continues “And the lucky girl is…” She pauses for dramatic effect, you roll your eyes, “Louella McCoy.” You take a sharp breath in not realizing that you were holding it waiting for your name to be said but finally you can breathe. You feel bad for the relief that floods through you in hearing her name. You watch as the small, barely thirteen year old, makes her way up to the stage. As she reaches the stage Drusilla continues.

You had almost forgot that this was The Quarter Quell, that there was to be another female tribute. “And this year ladies second as well!” She attempts to make a joke to all of your misfortune, you fight the urge to roll your eyes once more, “Joining Louella will be...” She reaches in to the girls bowl one last time pulling out another small slip of paper.

_________________________

It takes you a minute for your brain to process what has just come out of her yellow tinted lips, your name, she has said your name. You look to your left to see Lenore Dove’s face has gone pale, she turns to you with wide eyes and throws her arms around you, “I’m so sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry.” You can barely hear her it sounds as if she is underwater, or maybe you are? Your legs move all on their own as her arms fall from your shoulders and back down to her sides, you walk up to the stage and stand next to Louella.

She somehow looks brave, you think of what your face looks like and can’t find it in you to care. You look out over the crowd and search for your parent’s faces, Ma has buried herself into Pa’s side as he looks up at you with a strong face, but you can see the pain in his eyes from all the way up here. You turn to look for Burdock’s face as you distantly hear Drusilla call out the first boy’s name Wyatt Callow. You pay him no mind as you look into Burdock’s eyes, almost the same as yours, you can’t help but think of all the years you’ve had together running through the woods, calling each other stupid names, you have been together your whole lives, known nothing else. Your eyes don’t leave his as Wyatt Callow walks up to the stage, but they do leave his to look over to the boy standing next to him. 

Haymitch Abernathy, the boy you have had feelings for every since you were eight years old. You just look at him trying to memorize his face as if it will be the last happy memory you have. He meets your eyes for just a second and you think that maybe everything is going to be alright. A second name is called, you just barely hear it as your senses are starting to come back to you, “Woodbine Chance!” You take a breath realizing it’s only going to be you in the arena, no Haymitch and no Burdock, their luck had been better then yours. You look at the two of them and smile not thinking of your own fate, when out of the corner of your eye you see Wdodbine Chance sprinting away from the pens, and a second later you see his brains splattered all over the town’s square.

__________________________________________________

Thank you so much for reading this and hopefully the prologue, again let me know if you like it, if there any grammatical mistakes or whatever, I would love to know. I should be releasing the next part in a day or two so see you then!!

Also I know still no interactions with the boy yet boooooooo, but he is actually in this chapter so tiny bit of progress lol

NEXT PART!!

[imasradiantasthesun]

haven’t even fully finished sotr yet (haven’t picked it up in a few days lol whoops) but god trying to reconcile all this new worldbuilding info with previously established headcanons is so difficult 😭

n e ways i’m making the executive decision that in holding bright-verse lenore dove is the daughter of barb azure; LD’s mother died in childbirth, BA would’ve been ~42-45 when LD was born, and 40+ yo pregnancies are considered high risk soooo… also while we know that barb azure is sapphic, doesn’t mean she can’t have kids, if anything that could help explain the mystery of who lenore dove’s biological father is bc maybe BA wasn’t planning on having him in the picture in the first place (and/or she’s bi)

i’m also sticking with gordon jet as mr everdeen’s first name. sorry suzanne, burdock is a great d12 name but that boy is more than just distantly covey, maude ivory is his mother i have Decided. besides, gordon jet/burdock is lenore dove’s cousin on his mom’s side in canon anyway…

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

Future Scene from Mothwing's Secrets

"So?" Hawkfrost's voice broke her out of her thoughts and Mothwing turned, setting the burdock down gently onto the wooden plate. "How's it going, new Medicine Cat Apprentice?"

"Amazing!" Mothwing beamed. "Oh Hawkfrost, I've never felt so... Free! Working with herbs and learning all these things feels so much better than warrior training did." She reached over to start bundling some moss together, her claws were extended but her paw was working gently to make sure the moss wouldn't tear.

Hawkfrost sat down, purring softly and puffing out his chest. His large forepaws were digging into the soft earth of the den in excitement. "I knew you'd love it." He remarked. "All thanks yours truly. You're welcome, Moth."

Mothwing stopped. Her paws now resting on the half-formed ball of moss. "W... What do you mean?" She looked into his icy blue eyes, full of pride. 

"Well, it was obvious Mudfur wasn't going to take you on without a sign." He explained, chucking to himself. "So I just..." He pinched two toes together. "Boop! Popped a moth wing clean off a nice moth and placed it near the den!" He pulled his paw back, as if reenacting what he had done with childish glee.

"You what?"

Hawkfrost tilted his head and Mothwing felt as if the ground had flooded under her feet, a deep chill spreading through her bones. "What? I was helping you. It was already dead-"

"You faked the sign?" 

Hawkfrost stared at her as if she'd asked him to fly. "Well... Yeah. 'Starclan' wasn't going to, so I had to take matters on myself."

Her jaw hung open in shock. All of that special connection to Starclan... Was it a lie? Was it just pretty dreams after all? If any cat could fake a sign, then... "Why?" She asked, a lump rising in her throat. "Why would you do that!?"

Hawkfrost glared at her, his eyes like chips of hard ice. "In case you haven't noticed, Moth, we're not like the others."

"What do you mean by that?" Mothwing snarled, her fur beginning to bristle. This couldn't be true, she was wanted by Starclan... Wasn't she? The golden tabby molly hissed at her brother. "What does that have to do with a fake Omen, Hawkfrost?"

"Look at us, Moth!" Hawkfrost jumped to his feet, a desperate growl in his throat. "Because do you know what they see when THEY look at us?! Starclan is NEVER going to approve of us! We are the children of Tigerstar and an ex-kittypet!"

Horror filled her gut and Mothwing took a step back, both siblings tabby stripes reflecting in the water pool the Medicine Den housed. "I thought you loved our mom." She murmured. "I thought you were proud."

"I do and I am!" Said Hawkfrost, his meow getting hoarse but louder. "I love mom! I love her so, so much... But that doesn't change the FACT THAT WE...!" He trailed off, swallowing harshly and panting slightly.

About to burst with rage, Mothwing stepped forward, her claws shredding the moss she'd had into tiny, unusable scraps. "Go on. Finish that sentence. I dare you."

Her brother's quiet mew sounded as he looked down at the scratched earth. "It's not our fault." He murmured. "But... It still can't be helped. I can't change where we came from... I can't make Starclan speak, but I can still help you."

Mothwing swallowed, and hissed softly. 'You really wanna talk about Starclan's approval? What a joke. You've already proven that any cat can make an omen if they're clever enough.' She glared at her brother, and hissed again, louder.

"Do me a favour, Hawkfrost. Don't ever 'help' me again. Better yet, just leave me alone."

Her brother reeled back, his gaze full of hurt that quickly turned to anger. "Fine. Mothwing." He spat her name as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "I sincerely hope you enjoy your new position."

He turned, padding out of the Medicine Den with his pelt bristling, his dark tabby fur turning blood-red in the light of the sunset, not even bothering to look over his shoulder to growl at her.

"You earned it.”

[mrhyde-mrseek]

SCIENCE MOST SINISTER: VOLUME II - PART EIGHT

(I know I sound like a broken record at this point but I am SO sorry for the hiatus! I didn’t mean for it to go on this long, I was slammed with both life and writer’s block at the same time BUT NOW WE’RE BACK YIPPEE!)

The first order of business once they had all stepped off the train was to figure out where everyone’s sleeping quarters would be. Kemp offered to house those of them who, for obvious reasons, could not book a room—Griffin (reluctantly), Sherlock, Watson, and Jekyll—in his manor, while the rest of the House and the Society headed into town to find an inn.

According to Kemp, Port Burdock had only one inn. His directions led the Society, Victor, the Time Traveller, and Gwen to a surprisingly large yet ramshackle building roughly a mile from the docks. The paint on the window frames was chipped, and the snow-covered shingles looked as grey and weather-worn as all the other buildings they had passed.

The sign that hung above the door creaked in the wind; the paint was faded and the metal rusted over, but the name was legible enough: The Albatross. Whether it was meant to be a blessing or a curse, Mycroft could not say for certain.

The lobby inside was just as bleak as the outside. The walls were devoid of any decoration except for a couple faded photographs of the docks, which seemed to have been hung as a halfhearted attempt to brighten the place up. The windows were covered in a layer of dust, as were the rickety chairs, tables, and the railing of the staircase leading to the upper floors.

Behind the front desk slouched a short, round old woman with an expression of utter boredom on her face. Upon hearing the door open, her eyes flicked up almost reflexively. She then did a double take once she realized that eight people had indeed walked into the inn on purpose, and hastily straightened up.

“Eight rooms, please,” Mycroft said, walking up to the desk. The innkeeper nodded, her glazed eyes scanning the money halfheartedly to make sure it was the proper sum, then handed him a ring of keys.

Passing out the keys and dropping their luggage off in their respective rooms took less than five minutes. Finding Kemp’s house took even less time. The manor loomed over the port from its place atop a steep hill, visible even from the docks. Kemp, Mycroft knew, was not fond of visitors unless strictly necessary, and even less so of the residents of Port Burdock, whom the scientist had described to Mycroft as “superstitious half-wits.” His disdain for the townsfolk was made even more evident by the fact that the only path up to his house was rather overgrown.

The eight stragglers were admitted inside by the footman and led into the dining room, where they found the rest of the Society and the House gathered around the dining table.

As Mycroft took the empty chair next to Sherlock, there came a thud and a curse. Behind him, Kemp was struggling to maneuver a massive evidence board through the door. Edmund immediately leapt up to help him. Griffin snickered, then yelped as the Time Traveller kicked him under the table.

Once he and Edmund finally managed to drag the board into the room, Kemp turned towards the table. “This is the culmination of every piece of information we have been able to find regarding Thomas Marvel’s murder,” he said, gesturing to the web of newspaper clippings, documents, and photographs pinned to the board and connected by lengths of red string. “Most of the credit for obtaining it should be given to Mycroft and Utterson; I doubt we would have been able to obtain half as much had a lawyer and a government official not been part of the Society.” He nodded at the respective men. Mycroft mentally grimaced. Field work had never been his forte, but after joining the Society, he hadn’t been given much of a choice.

“Before his death, Marvel was the owner of an inn called The Invisible Man. With Griffin’s involvement no longer a possibility, we have narrowed our list down to four suspects.” Kemp pointed to a photograph of a dark-haired young woman. “Millie Cutter was the inn’s maid. From what we know, she is currently employed as a laundress and is working from her own home.”

Next, he moved to a photograph of an elderly woman with a round face and bright eyes. “Ivanya Lovrić was the inn’s head cook. She now works in The Albatross’s kitchens. I don’t suppose any of you may have seen her when you booked your rooms?” He received only shakes of the head from the Society, the Time Traveller, Gwen, and Victor in response. He sighed. “Never mind.”

He then pointed to a photograph of a dark-skinned man with a glare so cold it could freeze Hell. “Ezekiel Roman operated the inn’s front desk. I have no idea what his current occupation is, because from what I understand, he is extremely solitary and does not enjoy interacting with strangers. I have, however, heard rumors that he may have picked up work at the docks.”

The last photograph he indicated was one of an unusually pale man with sharp features, light eyes, and a mop of blonde hair. “Barnabas Croft was the inn’s barmaid. Unfortunately, his current whereabouts are unknown, but I don’t doubt that asking about town would turn up information.” He accented that last bit with a disdainful eye roll.

Utterson took the following silence as his signal to stand. “I believe dividing and conquering is the best way to go about this,” he declared. “Mycroft, Watson, and I will interrogate Mr. Roman, seeing as he will be the most difficult to interrogate. Poole, Gwen, and the Time Traveller will interrogate Miss Cutter. Jekyll, Edmund, and Victor will interrogate Ms. Lovrić. Kemp and Walton will go around town and try to ascertain Mr. Croft’s location. Sherlock and Griffin, meanwhile, will investigate Marvel’s inn itself and search for evidence pertaining to both the murder and the identity of this new invisible man. We shall meet back here once everyone has returned.”

And with that, the investigation had begun.

[roznnreads]

She Likes a Boy

Maysilee Donner x Mrs. Mellark

Summary: In working at her fathers sweet shop she meets the various members of district 12 but one girl keeps catching her eye

a/n: Yes I made Mrs Mellark a Cartwright, what of it, it's not like district 12 has many families named in the series and since she is still without a name after sunrise on the reaping what can you do. And yes I am pushing the Maysilee Donner lesbian agenda. I am right if you think otherwise you are wrong.

wc: 964

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ding 

The bell above the door rings as Maysilee looks up at the would be customer, Julie Cartwritght, if Maysilee was the most stuck up person in town, Julie would be battling it out for runner up, her family ran the shoe shop a few buildings down and she always flaunted that her shoes were perfectly shined, not brand new but when you mother and father have access to shoe shine you could make your second hand shoes look brand new. 

This poor girl, well she’s not from the seam but instead pining desperately over Otho Mellark, one of their classmates, man is built like a brick, nothing could knock him off his guard, yet Otho was also desperately pining over someone, not Julie but Asterid March, another town girl, who in turn was dating Burdock Everdeen, a seam boy, destined for the coal mines, It was an awful game of telephone which all were destined to call with no answer on the other line. It didn’t matter what Maysilee said to Asterid that their romance was doomed to fail, romance between seam and town were always steeped in tragedy, Asterid stood strong in her conviction that she and Burdock were different, that they would be happy together forever, and who was Maysilee to stand in the way of true love.

“No, Don’t order, let me guess… Lemon Drops,” Maysilee said

“You know me too well,” replied Julie

“It's hard not to we are practically neighbors and your in here like every other week,”

“Well this week I would like Lemon Drops and whatever Otho likes,” 

“Whatever Otho likes, what's your scheme,”

“Oh, you know, it’ll be a gift,”

“Don’t you think a baker's son would be tired of sweet treats, with all the cake decorating he does” “You know as well as I that the Mellarks don’t eat what they sell,”

“Fine, how many grams of mint imperials do you want,”

“Aren’t those a little basic?”

“Bring it up with him, it's not my favourite sweet,”

“Right,” she said, “So what is yours?”

“My what?” Maysilee says

“Your favourite sweets” She said in a sickly sweet tone laced with annoyance

“Cinnamon Taffy”, I say and Julie smiles

“I haven’t heard of that one before”

“Well its new, not on the shelves yet, I’m trialing it, but boy is it delicious” “I’ll keep that in mind when they're in the jars, see you at school Maysilee” she said as she waved and left the shop. The bell rang again signalling her exit.

Maysilee sighed and placed her head on the cool counter, this will be the death of her

~

Ding

Another day, another shift after school,  another customer, always more sweets to sell, I sigh, facing the wall of candy jars turning around and I see Asterid, 

“Hey, hows life treating you”

“Same old, pa’s making me still work here”

“Well only you could make up brilliant stuff like this,” Asterid said pointing at the jar of mint and lemon flavored hard candy shaped like ribbons. 

“One day I’m going to leave this place and never come back,” Maysilee laughed

“The Candy store?”

“Sure, the candy store,”

“And where will you go”

“I don’t know, maybe down the street, the woods, who knows, certainly not me”

Ding

Looking past Asterid, I see Julie, enter the store

“Oh, is this a bad time, I’ll come back later,” Julie said, and turned on her heel and re opened the door and fled down the street.

Ding

“Well that was weird,” Maysilee questioned

“Yes strange, I’ll take 50 grams of licorice and 50 grams of that fudge you make so well,” said Asterid “Coming right up” Maysilee says getting a little striped bag of sweets together, handing it to Asterid, As she turns to leave she says

“Maybe she’ll comeback”

“Oh shove off” Maysilee laughs

It takes 2 weeks before Julie could even look at her at school, a further week for her to speak to her. Maysilee didn’t know what she did to her, what she did wrong.

A month after that weird experience at the sweet store did Julie walk in, like nothing was wrong she pranced into the store.

“What can I get you” said Maysilee apprehensively

“I want to apologise, I shouldn’t have avoided you for so long”

“Ok?”

“So do you have those Cinnamon Taffy treats you mentioned you liked?”

Confused Maysilee said “Ya, just got on the shelves a few days ago, yu want some?”

“Of course, I’d love try, how about 100 grams”

“100 grams!” Maysilee nearly screamed “are you serious”

“Yes, I saved up my money, I can spend it how I want” said Julie matter of factly 

“But on sweets?”

“Why not, here” she said and slid her cash across the counter, “take it,” she smiled

“Ok, let me ring that up for you” said Maysilee smiling back

Handing Julie the bad of taffy, she took one out of the bag, taking a bite and making a satisfied noise, 

“I told you they were good,”

“And I believe you now,” Julie said taking another out of the bag, leaving the rest on the counter, “here so you can have some fresh treats, for after the reaping”

“Oh don’t remind me, here’s this, take the bag come back here after the reaping and we can both have some, to celebrate another year safe,” said Maysilee

“Ok, good plan, at least next year the odds will be better, only 2 of us not 4 like today,” laughed Julie

“If I get reaped next year its your fault,” Maysilee jokes

“See you later, I have to get all primed up and nice for the capitol” 

“Don’t say things like that, I am serious”

Ding

Maybe things are looking up for Maysilee