#notion mag

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

honestly i think they assumed that anyone who tried to keep the silmarils from them would either be (a) working for morgoth or (b) a morgoth-tier bastard in their own right whether fëanor included the valar in that category is left as an exercise for the reader. they’re at the very beginning of history, the world does not have the experience yet to see how easily this might go south, i can see how they just. wouldn’t think any decent person would stand in their way

Friendly reminder that literally nobody forced Fëanor and his sons to swear an Oath that they would become mass murderers if this didn’t happen or that didn’t happen. They chose of their own free will to make the most violent possible vow. This is why I can’t stand defensive takes from stans that are like “the Oath MADE them do it” because who MADE them swear such an Oath in the first place? Nothing and nobody!!!!

[lovebugism]

Hi! Could I pls request a Steve x shy!reader drabble? Maybe they’re a bit of a bookworm and they have a meet cute at a library or bookstore or something ☺️ I love your fics, and I hope you’re having a good day! 💛

i've been working on this wip for ages but i loved this request too much not to finish! thanks for being patient with me anon!

summary: steve hopeless romantic harrington meets shy!reader at a bookstore and fluffy awkwardness ensues (meet cute, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff, 2.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Five hours go by like minutes, tucked away in the back of the library — your own little corner of the world. 

Because all your spare cash went to groceries and good food (and the newest Margaret Atwood novel just dropped), you hide in the back of the bookstore and get lost in the nostalgic earthy scent of the thick pages you’ve been waiting ages to read. 

You sit between the dystopian and gothic fiction aisles, back propped against the former with your knees folded to your chest, and speed-read as much as you can before closing.

The in-store café offers complimentary coffee and bagels. It’s lukewarm and a little cardboard-y, but it’s fuel nonetheless. You only get up once to use the bathroom and stretch your stiff limbs. Other than that very brief break, you’re relatively unbothered — until page 196, anyway.

“Where are the porno mags?” a male voice wonders from a few aisles down. It’s not the first voice you’ve heard all day, but it’s certainly the closest.

A feminine voice follows, nearer now. “There’s no porn, dingus. I was just saying that so you’d drive me here.”

“…That’s so fucked up.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“No, actually. I won’t. This might be the end of our friendship, now that I think about it.”

Their conversation draws closer and closer to you in time with their nearing footsteps. You figure they must be looking for a different section — certainly not the one you’ve had to yourself all day — but then they turn the corner of the aisle and stop short when they find you sitting there.

“Oh,” a pretty girl hums as she stares down at you, rouge mouth forming a softly pouted ‘o’ shape. 

Her hair is a sandy color, like a beach, and it’s chopped at her shoulders. She wears a pair of slacks and suspenders over an oversized button-up. She looks like a character from a book you wish you could write. 

She smiles down at you, a tad bit awkwardly. “Hello…”

“Shit— ” you curse, scrambling to get your legs out of the aisle. Your face burns as you bring your knees back to your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” she shrugs and walks on by you. 

A pretty boy follows.

His hair is a really specific shade of brown — like chocolate syrup mixed with honey. It’s pushed back over his forehead, messy with intention. A few strands hang over his thick brows like they’re meant to be there. He’s got a layer of scruff on his chiseled jaw that’s a shade lighter than his actual hair. 

His wide eyes are a similar chocolate-syrup-honey color.

He’s almost annoyingly pretty. The kind of pretty that seems unfair.

“Don’t apologize to her,” the pretty boy jokes with a lopsided smile. “She’s a total bully.”

The pretty girl interjects. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. And stop bothering her, dingus— she’s obviously trying to read.”

You breathe out an awkward laugh through your nose. 

You don’t want them to think you’re actually annoyed, but you don’t have the words to tell them that. You have no idea what to say to them, actually. They’re obviously far cooler than you are, and the notion almost threatens you.

The pretty boy doesn’t follow his pretty friend. He lets her roam the aisle, obviously in search of something, and leans against the gothic fiction section across from you.

“So, uh… What are you reading?” he asks.

You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, lest the words get stuck in your throat and make you sound like Kermit the Frog. You flash him the dystopic, renaissance painting-esque cover with a tightlipped smile.

“Handmaid’s Tale,” he reads with a squint, then nods. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s not,” the pretty girl scoffs. She thumbs through her own copy of the book that she plucked from the shelf. “It’s the one I was telling you about on the way over.”

The pretty boy’s face screws up in disgust. “Oh. The one with gross men?”

“The one with the gross men.”

He turns back to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I take it back. Not fun.”

You smile wordlessly in response.

“He’s Steve, by the way,” the pretty girl says to you, nodding to the pretty boy. “I figured if he’s gonna keep weirdly hovering over you, you should probably know his name—”

“I’m not hovering!”

“—You can call him dingus if you want. I’m Robin.”

“Hi,” you greet, quiet and mousy.

“Do you come around here often?” the boy — Steve — wonders, bushy brows pinched and burly arms crossed over his chest. “I feel like I’ve seen you before—”

“Ugh. Stop flirting with her.”

“I’m asking a question!”

You purse your lips to the side in attempts to hide your smile and your gaze back to your book. 

They argue like a married couple. You wonder how long they’ve been together — six months or six years?

“Sorry about him. He’s not usually this annoying,” Robin quips with a playful twinkle in her deep ocean eye. She slams the book closed with a ringed handand walks back towards you. She pushes Steve ahead and away from you in the process. “Alright, I got the goods. Let’s go before they close.”

Your eyes widen as you look down at your wrist. 

Ten minutes until eight o’clock. 

You turn to the book once more and find that you’re about a hundred pages shy from the end of it. You tend to read like a maniac if you’re focused enough, but there’s no way you’re finishing it before closing.

“Shit…”

“You okay?” Steve asks, still lingering at the very end of the aisle, though Robin has already left for check-out.

You rise and straighten out your clothes — the very un-special sweatshirt and baggy jeans duo you’d changed into after work. It’s not unlike the navy blue henley and similarly colored denim he’s got on, but you don’t look nearly as pretty as he does.

“Yeah,” you shrug, not quite meeting his gaze as you return the book that feels like it only fits in your hands. “I just— I didn’t realize how late it was.”

You don’t expect to see Steve looking so concerned when you turn back to him. His brows are furrowed, honey eyes glinting in question. “You’re not getting it? You looked like you were almost done.”

“Oh, I don’t— I can’t…” you stammer then trail off, fidgeting awkwardly ahead of him. 

You don’t want this pretty boy’s first impression of you to be that you’re completely and utterly broke. Even if this is the last you ever see of him, you’ll only be remembered as that one girl from the bookstore who couldn’t buy herself anything. 

“I figured I could just come buy tomorrow and finish it…”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was… it was nice meeting you, then.”

“You, too,” you murmur with a tightlipped smile, eager to get away from a moment you don’t feel very deserving of. 

Out of every girl this pretty boy could’ve chosen, why did it have to be the one in the very back of the bookstore who was too poor to get anything other than a free coffee and bagel? 

You chuck both in the bin as you head towards the exit.

The sun has almost finished setting when you leave — mostly disappeared over the skyline, but painting the sky a deep lavender shade unique to the twilight hour. You stand at the crosswalk — the man on the speaker shouting “wait!” at your side — as you anticipate the orange hand across the street to turn into a white stick figure.

“I told you she’d still be here,” a familiar voice sounds from a few paces behind you, mostly drowned out by the sounds of passing cars. A louder “hey!” follows. You only think the voice might be calling for you until it comes closer. 

“Hey!” It comes again, louder now.

You look over your shoulder and find Steve from the Bookstore striding towards you. 

Both happy and confused to see him, your wavering smile is paired with a pair of furrowed brows. “Hey…”

“Sorry, you just— you left this.”

When your eyes manage to flit away from his sculpted face — which you just noticed looks eerily similar to Michelangelo’s David — you find that he’s holding a book in his hands. Handmaid’s Tale. The same copy you were reading, dog-eared just like you left it.

Your contorted features never falter. “I didn’t…” you trail off with the shake of your head, laughing softly. “I didn’t buy that.”

“No, I know,” Steve shrugs with a crooked grin. “I did.”

You think he might be implying he bought it for you, but then you realize that’s crazy, because why would he do that for you? That’s the sort of thing that happens to girls in Brontë novels, not to you.

“Youdid?” you echo like an idiot because it’s all you can think to say.

“Yeah. ‘Cause, you know, you looked pretty interested in it and everything…”

“But you didn’t have to… You didn’t have to buy it for me—”

“It’s not a big deal. Seriously. I mean, it’ll save you the extra trip down here tomorrow, right?”

You meet his confident grin with a trembling one. “I can’t take it…”

“Well, if you don’t take it, that means I have to keep it, and—”

“He’s pretty much illiterate,” Robin calls from a little ways behind him.

She’s waiting by a pretty maroon car. It looks like a luxury model of some kind, shiny like it’s fresh off the lot. She leans against it like it’s hers, but Steve’s got the keys in his hand — the one not holding the book he bought for you.

“…I was gonna say I haven’t read anything since junior year of high school, but sure,” he concedes with a shrug. His eyes sparkle down at you— or maybe it’s just the street lamps flickering on. Either way, you feel your stomach whirling. He waves the book at you. “Take it. You’ll actually read it.”

“But…” you trail off, eyes flickering over to Robin. You step closer to Steve and lean in like you’re about to tell him a secret. “Won’t your girlfriend be upset?”

“Girlfriend?” the boy repeats with pinched brows. He goes soft with realization a second later, then starts to laugh. “No. Robin, she’s— No. She’s not really my type.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer with wide eyes. 

If cool, pretty girls aren’t his type, then there’s no way in hell you are. 

Slightly comforted by his assurances, when he motions the book to you again, you take it. 

“Well, thank you, Steve. That’s… That’s really nice.”

He shrugs again. “’S no big deal. Really.”

“But I feel a little bad,” you confess quietly, peeking at him from beneath your lashes while you fidget with the book in your anxious hands. “I feel like I should give you something in return, or, I don’t know, like—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve assures with the shake of his head. He swipes a hand through the chocolate-honey locks and flashes you a smile that borders on shy. “But if you wanted to go out for coffee or something sometime, then I’d be willing to call it even.”

Your cheeks burn. You don’t know if you’re breathing anymore, or if you even can. A quiet smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you nod. “Coffee sounds good,” you answer sheepishly.

“Cool,” Steve replies coolly, like he isn’t totally beaming down at you. “Then, just… call me whenever you’re free.”

“Oh, I don’t— I don’t have your number.”

His sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as he walks backwards to his car. He just nods at you, smiling gently as he argues, “Yeah, you do.”

Your brows furrow in confusion — because you most certainly don’t. He was a stranger to you a little more than ten minutes ago. You have no reason to have his number. 

Realization settles over you like pinpricks down your spine, butterflies in your belly. 

You open the front cover of the book and find several numbers written down at the very bottom of the cover page.

Call me when you finish, the note reads in half-legible chicken scratch. I’m not really a book guy, but I could probably hear you talk about them all day.

He signs off with his name, number, and a sloppy smiley face. 

You don’t realize you’re beaming until you already are. 

When you look back up at Steve, you find him standing at the open driver’s side door, already smiling back at you.

[burdenandacrop]

hi mags!! super happy to see you back! could you write something about sitting in schlatt’s lap?

˗ˏˋ ❝ could get used to this. ❞ ˎˊ˗

hii, thank you so much !! glad to be back, thank you for your patience with this submission :>

summary : up late and bored out of your mind, to bring back some adrenaline in your system. you choose to annoy schlatt who was already fed up with his night.

⋮ ⌗ ┆established relationship, dry humping, dirty talk, fem reader.

schlatt's face was stuck with the same 'i hate everything' look as he scrolled through his phone. it was very obvious he wasn't taking some comments too well to the heart, he usually just brushed it off; but something was different about tonight. you rolled over to him and peered your eyes to his screen, seeing how he was going through a reddit thread. your brain picking up on how many times the words 'asshole' and 'piece of shit' were prominent in the thread. seems like he did something that really pissed off the field of fans, you just rolled onto your back to not look to suspicious. "actual fucking idiots." he muttered under his breath as you could see his fingers typing away a third message to post in the thread. here he goes. it would be futile to try and convince him to not do such a thing, especially when he was like this.

some part of you wanted to at least attempt though, if your presence could keep him from looking like an angry hate-filled man on reddit; that'd be enough. you sigh and sit yourself up on the pillow, crossing your arms and eyeing him. he could feel your eyes on him and sighed, dropping the phone screen onto his chest and turning his head to you. god he really did look pissed, it was surprising considering he never got like this. not actually pissed. you drum your fingers along your forearm and sigh, "it's stupid to let them get to you like that, you know that right?" you state, it probably wasn't exactly the right thing to say in such a moment; but it needed to be said. you could see the anger on his face was never ending. "it's cause i was fucking 'mean' to panda." he admits, biting down on the inside of his cheek with nasally sigh. you couldn't stand to see him get so angry like this, but it might've been leaning from something else. it had to have been.

"none of those people affect how you actually are." you say as you softly shake your head, your words reeling in some needed common sense to schlatt's mind. when he got into fits like this, which weren't too often, his brain just loved to cut off any ties to critical thinking. just the same loop of 'these people are stupid and i need them to know i find them fucking stupid' over and over. leaving him with no defenses, that is, until you come into the picture to humbly remind him he has a good cognitive function. "over something so fucking small too." he sharply states as he rolls his jaw in irritation, letting out a deep sigh and closing his eyes. seems like he was calming down. he threw his phone to the ground and crossed his arms against his chest. never mind. you shook your head at his behavior that was now just seemingly overly childish. you had a thought though.

you scoot your body up and trail your hands to his arms, letting your hands travel up and down. the notion making schlatt open only his left eye to peek at whatever you were doing, letting out a deep gruff from his throat before tightly shutting his eyes again. maybe he thought if he closed his eyes for long enough, he'd forget about all the stupidity. just maybe. you scoff at his little attempt of acting like he didn't care, eventually having enough of this little character of his. propping your body up and climbing on top of him, as he felt you settle on his lap his eyes shot wide open. he looked at you with crooked brows, interested but none the less confused at the sudden action. you lean your upper half closer down to him, accidentally causing a small amount of friction to occur from the two of your sweatpants meshing with one another. "just keep your phone on the floor." you plead, and with that statement he just nodded slowly. his softened face looking as though he was in a deep trance.

you could see the hostility leaving his eyes, now being replaced by something much different. you stifle out a chuckle before trailing your fingertips along his chest, feeling every curve under the touch. you noticed how his heart rate was a bit faster, well faster than normally, smiling gently at the fact. seems like you still had that effect on him, nice. as your hands roamed along his chest, you exhaled deeply and let your head hang low as you looked down at him. "i want you to repeat after me." you bluntly state, the tone immediately making schlatt firmly nod. you smile and bring his hands to your waist, placing them exactly how you wanted them to be. he squeezed your sides a little before relaxing his muscles, "whatevers on that phone, it doesn't matter." you slowly mutter, a glint of anger returning back to schlatt's face but he nonetheless pushed it away. "whatevers on the phone- doesn't matter." he repeats, swallowing a lump in his throat afterwards.

you slowly nod at his words, pleased that he was actually willing to make an attempt. you move his hands slowly up before they're barely cusping the edge of your ribcage. your shirt raising a little in the process, causing him to focus on your lower parts. the reddit post was beginning to look more and more like an imaginary tale. you gently giggled as you saw how his eyes were traveling on your body, he was genuinely like a adolescent when it came to things like this. no matter how long he'd actually been doing it. "what's on the phone?" you ask after the long line of silence, he just relaxes his head against the pillow and chuckles. letting his hands get a good grip on the edges of your breasts. "you're like a stress ball, you know that?" he snickers out quietly, licking his teeth as he lingered his eyes on the curve of your shirt. you sigh and tilt your head at him, his head focusing back to the question you asked. "there's nothing important on the phone." he states, clearing his throat and settling deeper into the sheets.

you gently nod, pleased with his progress. "you got better things to focus on." you mutter out while letting your hands roam up and down on his chest, the slow motions of it making schlatt tense up slightly. you could even feel how his chest twitched when you pressed a little too hard. "yeah, i know. lookin' at it." he gruffly replied, you could practically hear the neediness in his voice grow. you giggle at this little remark and lean yourself over him, gently bucking your hips enough to press a bit of friction between the two of you. the little movement making him take in a sharp inhale and stare in your eyes with a look that screamed 'seriously?' your hands ran through his hair as you were mere inches from him. "too much?" you ask with a sly smile, letting your fingers run behind his ear. he could feel himself nearly letting go of any restraint with the feeling of your fingers tracing along his edges. "mm-mm." he groaned out, his lips tightly closed as he attempted to compose himself. it was just too easy.

the gentle touch of your hands, how thin the material of your sweatpants were, how he could see your underwear peeking out from the waistband. it was not hard to see he was enjoying this rather than arguing with mad men on reddit over a stupid joke. his hands reached to gently squeeze your chest, feeling the offensive under wire from your bra. "someone's needy." you chuckle out, only making him a bit more irritated. his grip became harsher, tugging at the cup and seething from his nose. "i'm sorry- i just-" he stammered out, his grip not lessening in the slightest. his hips gently rolled up to better meet with your core, he was practically begging for any type of movement. due to the thin material from your sweats, you could feel how his dick pulsated from underneath you. "need this. need you." he stammered out once again, his breaths coming out more quicker as he continued to roll himself against you. the friction helping you in the case as well, causing you to let out little whimpers. the sound only encouraging him more.

the second he heard your noises getting progressively louder, he leaned himself up and latched his hands onto your waist instead. quickly pulling your hips onto his lap, roughly grinding against you as he pulled you into a deep kiss. the second his lips found yours, he was lowly groaning from the satisfaction. your hips involuntarily moved with his, hitting the right spot over and over. you could feel every twitch from underneath you, wrapping your hands around his shoulders to bring yourself closer. he let out another groan as he felt your chest squish against his, instantly moving his left hand from your waist to roughly grip at your breast. you wince out softly into his kiss, only pushing him to go further. he pulled his lips off of yours and lowly chuckled, his lips fallen agape as he roamed his eyes all over your form. "i need to get mad more often if this is the fuckin pay-off." he groaned out, his hand moving from your breast so he could stabilize his hands back to your hips.

you roll your eyes and shake your head with a smile, "maybe just don't let internet trolls get to you." you roughly reply, kissing the tip of his nose and pulling back with a softer expression on your face. "yeah yeah." he says with a snarky tone, letting his hands relax along your thighs. "now let me delete those comments." he adds on, looking to his phone on the floor. you crawl off his lap and sigh, "whatever works." your little comment making him crook his neck to look at you as he reached to grab his phone. "smartass." he mumbled under his breath with a grin.

author's note : i love these oneshots so Bad. i apologize for it being short-ish, but i hope you like it anon ! <3 also another note, yes, this is based on when schlatt blasted people on reddit a year ago. i ponder about it often.

[transmutationisms]

this is probably shaped by my limited frame of reference, but im really fascinated by witnessing the real-time development of adhd as a diagnosis. people attribute so many symptoms to it now or maybe they always did? i was wondering if you have any thoughts on what is the use of adhd specifically as a category within psychiatry. I'm esl so sorry for any confusing wording

no you're right imo; diagnostic categories are always somewhat in flux ofc but ADHD is one that has seen a particularly pronounced shift in the last couple decades. obviously this is multifactorial but my observation goes something along these lines:

'hyperactivity' has been dx'd in children since about the 1950s (also when Ritalin hit the market) but the ADHD dx doesn't really take off until the 90s (also when Adderall, a 2nd-gen reformulation of the 'obesity' drug Obetrol, hit the market). so, it's not all that surprising that 20 years later you see increased patient awareness of the diagnosis, increased popular interest in it, and shifting / expanding ideas of what it means and what ADHD 'is'. it's a relatively young dx.

part of the reason it's young is because it's basically a 'biopsychiatric' dx, meaning it diagnoses certain behaviours as being a 'brain problem' rather than having social causes or context. in practice this is complicated because psychs do use pharmacological approaches in conjunction with psychodynamic ones all the time; nevertheless, the central promise of DSM ADHD and its pharmaceutical treatments has consistently been that the ADHD subject has a physiological, neurological disorder / dysfunction / aberration, and that the drug treatments on the market fix it. that none of this is actually empirically supported is conceptually inconvenient and entrenched by the research process.

the biopsychiatric narrative is worth paying attention to because the context here is one in which it has become commonly accepted that behavioural 'disorders' and affective distress of various kinds can be, basically, either of pure biological origin, or else Your Fault. in the case of childhood hyperactivity, Your Fault historically also included Your Mother's Fault; part of the reason many mothers embraced Ritalin in the 50s and 60s was because the proffered pharmaceutical narrative explicitly challenged the idea that these mothers had done something 'wrong' to result in their (mostly) sons exhibiting disruptive and hyperactive behaviour.

this dichotomy of biology vs personal failing is very overtly present in quite a bit of discourse around ADHD today. if it's my brain being 'wrong' or different, then it's not something I've done wrong but a disease with a simple chemical fix. in this context I don't think it's surprising at all that a lot of popular and patient conceptions of ADHD have seen a considerable widening over the past few decades. often people like to blame this on pharmaceutical companies, and it's true that industry benefits from these discourses and frequently invests in them (eg, via instruments like ADDitude mag). however, that's a pretty simplistic explanation on its own and doesn't really account for the ways in which patients and potential patients also find this diagnostic category personally useful, for reasons ranging from identity-formation to the desire to access prescription amphetamines. ADHD increasingly shows up as a biologised explanation for behaviours ranging from 'eating too many sweets' to 'postural sway' and so on. you can see in such examples how invoking the idea of an aberrant ADHD brain is both reassuring to people who have been made to feel ashamed of certain behaviours, and provides a sense of shared identity and community with others.

all of this is to say: I don't find it surprising at all when I see a relative broadening of notions of ADHD, almost always expressed in biological terms (the 'ADHD brain' operates differently, 'seeks dopamine', causes this or that). ADHD is in some ways a particularly blatant distillation of this general trend in popular psychiatric discourses, for reasons relating to expectations about childhood and child behaviour, and the historical and present relationship between the ADHD label and the regulation of amphetamines. but much of what's happening with ADHD in terms of popular discourses about it can also be seen with many, many other psychiatric diagnoses, to varying extents and in various ways.

my experience writing about ADHD on this website leads me to close by explicitly stating the following: I do not think any ADHD behaviours / symptoms are people's 'fault' or an individual failing; I do not think using drugs for any reason is morally bad or needs to be justified; the fact that I do not think ADHD is a 'brain disease' does not mean I think people are 'making it up' or exaggerating wrt any difficulties they experience personally, professionally, emotionally, &c.

[thegreatmelodrama]

Propaganda and implicit submission are without a doubt two main themes explored within Sunrise on The Reaping. However, undergirding those themes is a motif(s) that is present throughout all of the books in the series: what we owe to each other. Such is tied with the notions of empathy and what it means to be a human being (and perhaps even the idea of special obligations, but that’s for another post). Such is, perhaps, more relevant than ever—especially in the U.S. We are at a point where it has become increasingly common to hear people say “you don’t owe anyone anything” (obviously there’s nuance here). Moreover, we live in a time (and perhaps for some always have) where empathy is considered radical. A capitalistic society thrives on the idea of “every man for himself” and within the world Hunger Games, the capitalistic authoritarian regime the same is true: the danger is in community.

We see this motif appear in Sunrise on The Reaping at various points in the story. In part I, we see Lenore Dove attempt to help Woodbine Chance’s Ma keep possession over her son’s body to prevent a peacekeeper from taking it. This wasn’t just driven by the desire to “paint a poster”, but by sheer empathy and belief that Mrs. Chance was owed a chance to properly say goodbye to her son and that Woodbine himself was owed autonomy even in death—that he was not property which the Capitol could take. That Lenore Dove could be hurt is what prompted Haymitch to intervene. His actions, deemed rebellious and radical, landed him in the Hunger Games. Rebellion can be understood in two ways (at least within this context): intentional acts and/or acts (sometimes spur of the moment) driven by a fundamental empathy. This empathy stems from an understanding of the intrinsic value of human life and belief that by virtue of being a human being we are equals. This entails the question of what owe one another: mutual respect and empathy (I won’t speak more on what else we might owe, but these two to a certain extent are agreed upon in various strands of philosophy).

We see this again in the days leading up to the games and within the arena itself. For example, Haymitch’s alliance with Louella and his desire to give Louella autonomy in death by trying to stall the Capitol taking her body. Empathy fuels the desire and intentional act to make Snow own the death of Louella. Furthermore, empathy and the idea of what we owe to each other is what makes Haymitch, Wyatt, Maysilee, Wiress, and Mags look out for Lou Lou. This girl isn’t Louella, and so one might think that they have every reason not to look out for this body double and ear piece to the Capitol. However, they don’t look at her and only see the “mutt” (although it took a few hours to get over their judgements). They see the little girl from District 11 who has been taken from her home and her family, starved, and stripped of her autonomy by the Capitol. In the arena, Haymitch looks out for Lou Lou, sharing his food and supplies with her, even though one might think he has no reason or obligation too. He does so anyway because he, rightly, sees the humanity in her. We see it in the way that Mags asks Haymitch, Maysilee, and Wyatt what they want, and how each of them, but especially Haymitch, seeks to uphold and respect that in the arena.

We see empathy and mutual respect within the formation of the Newcomers and Maysilee helping with people’s tokens. We see it in the way that Haymitch makes a promise to Beetee to ensure that Ampert does not suffer in death, even though he can’t fulfill this promise. He did not have to make such a promise beyond keeping Ampert alive to carry out the plan to break the arena—once again bringing to the fore the notion of what we owe to each other.

We see it with Maysilee and Haymitch helping their fellow allies. We see it in the way Haymitch seeks to protect and look out for Wellie. Of course there’s other considerations such as the belief that they won’t make it so they might as well help others to do so. There’s also the instance of Haymitch dropping the chocolate ball to Silka as she lay crying at the base of the tree. There are many more, but this is enough to show that this motif is prevalent throughout the entirety of the story and in fact undergirds the main themes the story explores.

Obviously there are complexities and nuance when you add in considerations of coercion, the complexities of living under a totalitarian regime, proportional violence, etc. However, the book shows that even in a system that is constantly trying to drill “every man for himself” and implicit submission, that the notion that we do in fact owe something to one another can transcend. That it defies exactly what the Capitol and Snow are trying to instill (division), is what makes it a radical act even when it shouldn’t be.

Again this question of what we owe to one another is nuanced and complex, especially when we apply it in real life. There are considerations to be made of special obligations, mutual respect, dynamics of oppressor and oppressed, what we are capable of, privileges, etc. What I am hoping to point out is that empathy and human dignity play a key role within this book and the others. It plays a fundamental element of human agency, and highlights a message within the story that no act is really too small.

[magnuspanoptes]

i don't know if this needs to be said but people often overlook the second part of his, "why does a man seek to destroy the world?"—"for immortality and power" when talking about jonah's motivations. sure, he calls death 'the last and greatest terror' but everything else we hear from him points towards a lifelong desire of wanting to be in control, which is why in 92 he unnecessarily begins his confession with "i have done everything because i wished to". and i think that distinction between the fear of death and the need for control is important because people bring up his reasoning of 'what i considered an inevitable transformation' when talking about why he did all that. and it may have begun as such, but he and gertrude also figured out that the rituals were too flawed to work anyway. when he hires jon as head archivist that sense of urgency is just not there, it was no longer a proper 'race' to conduct your own ritual, he did not have to immediately end the world.

what i'm saying is that he caused the apocalypse because he was never going to be happy with the world as it was. because the horror in the magnus archives universe operates on one basic tenet - that your life can be destroyed at any time, through absolutely no fault of your own.

MAG 106 - "A Matter of Perspective" // MAG 118 - "Stranger and Stranger" // MAG 160 - "The Eye Opens" // MAG 117 - "Testament"

the "dark and horrible reality" of the world, and in turn the specific existential dread that grips him is that of chance. to be told that you did nothing blameworthy inspires a specific feeling of powerlessness—that if you didn't do anything wrong, there is nothing you can do, no personal behaviour you can correct to stop it from happening again. and he understands this quite well, it's in the way whenever he really wants to twist the knife he tells them it was luck, but that doesn't comfort you does it!

which is why the use of "freedom" here is very telling. in their universe you are always going to be a victim of the cruel caprice of gods, that in itself is a blow against all notions of personal agency and control. how can you be truly free when malevolent cosmic forces govern the world and can ruin your life without warning at any time? and 160 is above all, an attempt at escaping the grasp of the fears entirely. it's not just about death, it's about wanting to be in charge so no threat can touch him again and in their world you can only achieve that by causing the apocalypse. he will be free (or, at least the closest thing to being free in their world) and it will be at the expense of the entire world.

[rei-ismyname]

Let's talk R-LDS

R-LDS or Resurrection-Linked Degenerative Sickness was alluded to in X-Men #4 and the Infinity Comics before being named in X-Men #7. We're told that Magneto has it and it's directly caused by Krakoan resurrection/The Five, kinda.

Here's Beast doing some alluding.

In the panels above, we learn that Hank McCoy is the only one working on the problem - the problem being Magneto's loss of his powers and his body breaking down rapidly - his very chromosomes unraveling. He seems quite sure that it could happen to 'any of us' though the lack of quarantine suggests it's not contagious.

The next bit of information we receive is from Magneto and Scott in conversation, reflecting on The Iron Night. They took down a wild sentinel that was attacking the town and Mags lost control over his powers immediately after, requiring Scott to knock him out for safety's sake. Scott is no scientist, and while Magneto is a genius polymath autodidact (with plenty of experience in genetics) it's not a character trait that's seen focus lately. Thus, I'm assuming they're discussing it as amateurs and as patient zero in Magneto's case.

Magneto confidently names the condition for the first time as well as using an acronym for it, suggesting it's confirmed to exist, he's had a positive diagnosis, and they're using the term enough to require shorthand. He even spells out the subtext for us - it was a hidden flaw in Krakoan resurrection. I'll come back to that notion. Scott says 'we don't know that for sure,' implying that R-LDS is just a theory or speculation, which Mags doesn't directly refute. Instead he lays out the worst case scenario. They can't both be right here, so what's the deal? Magneto's symptoms are obviously confirmed, but how did they get from there to here?

If Magneto is the first and only person affected by his condition, why are he and Beast so sure about its providence and everyone being in danger? How could they possibly link it to Krakoan resurrection? I'm no scientist but I do know that there's only so much you can conclude from a single data point. Magneto was indeed only resurrected by the Five once, but he died again after that on Arakko (X-Men Red #7). The body he's in came out of a portal from Overspace in Adam Brashear's underwater base (Resurrection of Magneto #3.) His body suffering a condition borne of something that happened to a different body doesn't make sense. Considering he's the only person to return to life that way AND the only one allegedly with R-LDS, that would be the place to start for Beast's sciencing.

There he is, good as new.

Word of God

In a recent AIPT interview, Tom Brevoort removed any ambiguity and just straight up confirmed it. With the caveat that his recent X-history knowledge seems pretty poor, he is the de jure ultimate authority on the matter. I don't agree with that, and not just because I don't respect him as a creator. This habit of on-panel ambiguity and editorialising in interviews is vexing.

It's especially vexing when he contradicts himself. He counterpoints his own information with some of what I just pointed out, but the fact that they've made a list of who was and wasn't resurrected suggests R-LDS is a plot point they're committed to. I have to wonder why he bothered giving a detailed answer to this question if it's 'yes,' then 'maybe', then 'it will definitely be a thing you'll see as we progress.' Saying all of that and then ending with 'we know very little so far' really makes me wonder what he's thinking. Tom Brevoort could have given his usual cagey answer about not wanting to spoil anything, but he didn't here. I'm saving most of my Brevoort-specific criticism for a separate piece, but this glib and irreverent tone is typical of his commentary - even managing a light jab at Jordan D White.

Frankly, I think it's a graceless and cynical development. There are so many character beats, mistakes, and conflicts to use from the First Krakoan Age that choosing to create R-LDS feels like a shot at the core of hopefulness and creativity that blew our socks off in 2019.

HoxPoX

House of X/Powers of X was hopeful and magical. After a decade plus of endless misery and genocides, dull stories and bizarre characterisation, for once mutants got a W. The ability to use mutants working together to right the horrendous wrongs they'd suffered was central to that - the power of community and cooperation. What they built wasn't perfect but The Five was something they got right.

What would possess someone to take the cornerstone of the greatest X-Men story of all time (don't @ me) and try to tear it down? Remember, when the dust settled we ended up in Moira X life 10E. In 10A, the original Krakoan experiment, the mutants won! They thrived and protected what was theirs against Dominions. It took a literal apex AI God existing outside of space and time directly opposing them to fail. Enigma, on the back foot, sent Omega Sentinel through time to start ORCHIS years early and ensure Krakoa's collapse. Am I to believe 'no, sorry. That was a dead end?'

Haven't we been here before?

We've had mutants suffer from the Legacy Virus and M-Pox already, and I might even be missing other examples of nebulous diseases that threatened to wipe out all mutants. Obviously it's the prerogative of the X-Office to use whatever plot points they want, but do we really have to do this again? There are plenty of ways to sideline Magneto as a combatant that don't require repackaging old storylines. We've even had Hank McCoy decades behind the curve desperately trying to catch up before - in All-New All-Different X-Men.

Small World

Defenders-era Hank McCoy might be the worst possible 616 scientist to tackle this problem. He's literally decades behind the science curve and doesn't have the experience in dealing with anything like this. He's not the same guy that worked on M-Pox or the Legacy Virus. He never set foot on Krakoa and has never met any of the Five. We don't know how much data was recorded or kept from The Five but Beast may not have access to it.

Why isn't he talking to Cecilia Reyes, Forge, Jean Grey, Reed Richards, Doctor Strange, Adam Brashear, Healer, Doctor Nemesis? Even doctor dickhead that extorted Storm has the ability to instantly diagnose anyone. It makes the world feel tiny, and when you're following an era of interconnectedness that's just so disappointing. Portraying him as supremely concerned about 'all of us being ticking time bombs' rings hollow if he's working on it solo. Hank McCoy has always had a sense of arrogance where his scientific ability is concerned but not to this degree. Look at the guy! He's hating the stress he's under.

Sins of Sinister and the White Hot Room

I have to wonder if the implications of linking Magneto's illness to The Five's resurrection have been fully considered. The Sins of Sinister timeline ran for a millennium with the Five resurrecting on an industrial scale. Rasputin IV would have noticed, or the Quiet Council. The mutants left behind in the White Hot Room in RotPox spent 15 years bringing back ALL the dead mutants. That's 16 million, minimum. 15 years is less than a thousand but it's still longer than the First Krakoan Age, several times over. Nobody noticed anything? Elixir, member of the Five and Omega biokinetic, with his unlimited mastery of DNA didn't notice anything? Destiny didn't see mutants falling apart? Sounds dubious as hell to me.

Towards the end of the era many humans were resurrected too. 5% of the Five's work was set aside for bringing back poor children etc through the Phoenix Foundation. Steve Rogers was resurrected into his current body on Judgement Day. I am extremely skeptical that this has been considered, and in Steve's case whether the X-Office can even use him.

Conclusion

Magneto's physical degradation has been swift. Here he is in Uncanny X-Men #700, implied to be at most 6 months before X-Men #1. I think I've demonstrated that the concept is nonsensical and to reiterate, I think it's a terrible narrative choice. If I'm being generous, it'll be interesting to see if they can explain R-LDS in a way that makes sense - if they can do something new and interesting with a tired concept. There's only been one issue since it was introduced, so perhaps I'm jumping the gun on breaking it down. Let's check back in 6 months.

What do you think of R-LDS? Do you think my reasoning is sound? As always, I'd love to hear what other fans think.

[preciousannie]

If Only I Knew

Prologue

Pairings: Neuvillette x Female Reader

Genre: Transmigration, Isekai, Historian AU!

Content Warnings: None

Word count: 1,684 words

Summary: In a mysterious historical world, you have experienced numerous lives, each ending in tragedy, before finally transmigrating into the body of a female heroine doomed to a grim fate. This time, however, you have the chance to alter the course of destiny.

Your journey intertwines with the enigmatic Duke of Sovereigns, a man feared for his cold heart and rumored to be the cause of your impending demise. As you navigate this complex relationship, unexpected choices challenge your preconceived notions about him. You sense that he might not just be a fictional character—could he be another soul who has also transmigrated into this world?

Caught between a desire for revenge and a longing for connection, you wrestle with conflicting emotions. In a tale of fate and free will, will you have the courage to change your tragic destiny and uncover the true nature of the duke’s existence?

Prologue I Act 1 I Act 2 I Act 3

Silver-white lights peeked through your eyelids, trying to conceal your vision. As you squinted, you slowly awakened from what felt like a deep slumber. The angelic harmonies of chirping birds filled your ears, lifting your spirits. Unconsciously, your hand lifted to rub your eyes and help ground you in reality.

Without much thought, you instinctively began to observe your surroundings. Everything looked exquisite. The brick walls that enclosed you were a creamy white, with subtle hints of aging visible in the cracks, yet they appeared to be well-maintained. Shelves and cabinets were adorned with gold linings that glistened in the morning light, and their outer designs were both intricate and elegant. Each piece of furniture was paired with a color scheme of turquoise, royal blue, or white.

As you became aware of the unfamiliar landscape around you, your focus turned inward. The mattress beneath you felt slightly stiff yet plush, unlike your own familiar bed. While your lower body looked like your own, you noticed that you were dressed in linen fabric—material you were certain you had never owned or would have chosen for sleeping.

Your legs surged with adrenaline, and before you knew it, you were standing in front of a large, elongated mirror that reached almost to the ceiling, its frame adorned in gold. Reflected back at you was your face, though your figure appeared smaller. The body you inhabited was dressed in a beige underdress.

Shock and confusion cannot begin to describe your feelings. Who is this person before you? No, who am I? How? What? Where? Yet all these questions remain unanswered.

Suddenly, someone burst through the door of the room where you were sitting, gasping for air. Instinctively, you placed your hand on your left chest as you jolted in surprise from the sudden disruption. You stared at the girl in front of you, her hands still gripping the doorknob, as she tried to regain her composure, waiting for the words that would tumble from her lips.

“Margaret! For heaven’s sake, why are you still not dressed? The duke is about to awaken! You’ll get reprimanded!” she whispered urgently as she entered the room, closing the door behind her.

Margaret?

The girl had one hand on her hip sassily while the other mimed the question of why you weren't moving along as if it was expected. "Hello? Heaven to Earth, Margaret! Get along now—"

"I'm sorry, who are you..?"

She scoffed at your remark; it even seemed like she was a little disappointed, as part of her assumed it was a joke.

"Nice try, Mag, but you still have to perform your duties." She stood with her arms crossed and her hips angled, clearly displaying her frustration. Noticing the confusion on your face and your hesitant body language, which made you feel stiff and unable to move, she let out a groan. Her eyes rolled in exasperation, and her shoulders slumped in resignation.

She quickly moved to collect various items from the dresser, appearing to know the exact location of each one. This made you assume that the occupant of the single mattress on the other side of the 80-square-foot room was likely her.

"You must've hit your head in your sleep or something. Come on, Mag, I'm Rosa! Your closest friend, roommate, and co-worker at the House of Sovereigns," she sighed.

"Listen, we can't spare another second here dilly-dallying Mag, get dressed and head to the gathering to greet the duke, alright?" Before you even had a chance to voice your reply, she closed the door behind her as she left.

You looked at the articles of clothing placed in your arms: a woolen dress dyed a vibrant royal blue, a beige linen headscarf, a sleeveless surcoat, an apron, and a leather belt. Drawing on your knowledge of the historical fantasy books you often enjoy, you concluded that these were likely servant's attire. Additionally, the richness of the dress suggested something about the financial state of this estate; the vibrant dye would not typically be accessible to commoners. This indicated that the head of the house was likely very wealthy.

Without a second thought, you got dressed to the best of your ability. After taking a final look at your outfit, you thought to yourself, "That's the best I can do." You shrugged and quickly moved to the door, putting on a nearby pair of leather shoes that fit, and then you headed out.

Your eyes scanned the ladies arranged in a single file facing you, mirroring them from your position at the other end. Their attire was identical, their stances uniform, and their expressions and demeanor were professional and composed. Unconsciously, you mimicked their actions as you observed them. Rosa, standing beside you in the same line, noticed your peculiar behavior. Just as she was about to speak, her words were abruptly interrupted by the distant sound of footsteps descending the well-polished wooden stairs. You turned your head to look in that direction, but felt a tug on your right arm that redirected your attention back to its source. Noticing Rosa’s frown and her disapproving gaze, you decided to stiffen yourself, aligning your composure with everyone else's.

The only sound that filled the room was the sound of recurring footsteps echoing on a wooden landing. They were heavy, suggesting they belonged to someone of solid build, yet they also had a gentle quality, as if each step was taken with discipline and grace. A figure stood between two lines of uniformed servants as the footsteps descended and eventually came to a halt.

"Good morning, Monsieur Neuvillette," every servant and butler in the main hall said in unison. They stacked their hands on top of each other, resting them on their stomachs, and bowed their upper bodies forward at a 90-degree angle as a sign of respect.

Neuvillette?

As in the Neuvillette? The character from the book series "Perspicuous Judgement"? The one who ends up betrothing Lady Elizabeth, your favorite tragic heroine character? As a form of continuity to your line of thoughts, your head flicks to the man in question who stands at the center of the room.

His posture was dignified, with his hands placed behind his back and his head held high. Luscious silvery-white hair, interspersed with strands of blue, cascaded down his back, neatly fastened with a bow adorned with gold ornamentation. Two ornate gold hair clips secured his hair above his left ear, one of which featured a feather-like blue attachment. He wore a white shirt with ruffled cuffs, complemented by a white jabot at the collar, secured in the center by an ornate gold brooch. The brooch featured an iridescent teardrop design that faded to blue at the edges, creating a darker blue effect around his neck. His hands were covered by black gloves, each embellished with gold rivets at the knuckles. Over the shirt, he donned a long navy-blue jacket adorned with indigo patterns and gold details, including fleur-de-lis-shaped closures on the folded cuffs. The sides of the jacket transitioned into a brighter teal. Attached to the jacket was a dark blue capelet featuring wide-notch lapels, embellished with gold and blue details as well as teal designs. His navy-colored pants were complemented by thigh-high black spats that displayed golden details, and he wore black shoes decorated with gold embellishments.

It must be him; he appeared exactly as described in the book. But what does that mean? "Am I dreaming? Perhaps I’ve manifested this in my dreams after binge-reading the series so many times," you thought. A nudge on your right arm broke your train of thought, and you found yourself staring at the man's face. His eyebrows were slightly raised, and he gazed back at you with a mix of intrigue and confusion about your behavior. A surge of electric waves coursed through your body as you snapped back to reality. Frantically, you bowed your head and tried to blend in with the others. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, not knowing how long you had been staring at him, lost in thought. He cleared his throat, attempting to dispel the awkwardness that lingered in the air before speaking.

"Good morning, everyone. I am pleased to announce my engagement to Lady Elizabeth Thorne, the daughter of the Earl of Thorne from the House of Thornes. We have decided to celebrate this union in two weeks, specifically on the 21st. Preparations will begin today."

In response to the duke's words, a chorus of acknowledgments filled the room, but all that registered in your mind was the stark realization of your sunken reality. This doesn't feel like a dream; you can sense everything around you. Your instincts suggest that it isn't a form of lucid dreaming either. So, if it’s not, could this be another cliché case of transmigration into a story? What are you supposed to do in this situation? What happens if this character dies? You currently inhabit the character Margaret, who is not a focal point in the series, leaving you unable to speculate on her fate. Furthermore, do your actions influence the choices and direction of the story, or do they not? All these questions remain unanswered.

As the gathering concluded and everyone went their separate ways to fulfill their obligations, Rosa took your wrist and pulled you to a secluded spot in the manor. She carefully checked the area to ensure there was no one nearby who could overhear your conversation before she began to speak.

"Alright, Mag, spill it. What's gotten into you? You're behaving very strangely today," a hint of genuine concern lacing her words.

"Honestly, I can't give you an answer either. It feels as if my memory has magically disappeared overnight; I can't remember anything from before today." You lied, hoping to gather more information about Margaret to help you navigate the confusing situation you found yourself in. If anyone could provide you with useful insights, it would be Rosa. Although it was a risky move, she seemed to be the only one you could trust right now. Besides, what other options do you have?

Author's note: Trying to make this a series but I'm not sure, anyways hope you enjoyed this little premise. Have a great day or night wherever you are as always <33

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Matt Gertz at MMFA:

President Donald Trump’s second administration hasn’t yet hit the 100-day mark, but Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth is already being routinely described as “embattled.” On Friday, Hegseth fired three of the top aides he had brought with him to the Pentagon amid an investigation into unauthorized leaks. Sunday brought two new body blows: News that Hegseth had shared details about U.S. strikes in Yemen in a second unsecured Signal chat — this one including his wife, brother, and personal lawyer — and a scathing op-ed from a former top Pentagon spokesperson who accused Hegseth of creating “total chaos” at the department.  It’s unnerving to see the management of the world’s most powerful military described as “a run of chaos that is unmatched in the recent history of the Defense Department,” or to read reports about how the internal dysfunction is leading some officials “to wonder how the Pentagon would function in a national security crisis.” Trump, however, is standing by Hegseth — apparently the only reporting that can get high-level figures removed in this administration is that of conspiracy theorist Laura Loomer. Hegseth’s disastrous run at the Pentagon is entirely predictable, the natural result of elevating a co-host of Fox & Friends’ weekend edition to sixth in the line of succession because the president liked his Fox News hits.

Hegseth lacked anything resembling the traditional qualifications to lead the Defense Department. Other recent picks have leaned on their experience at the top levels of the military, the Pentagon bureaucracy, or congressional oversight of the department, but Hegseth had none of these — he led a platoon in the Army National Guard and oversaw small right-wing veterans organizations before joining Fox as a contributor in 2014. His elevation might nonetheless be explicable if he had unique personal virtues or strong outside-the-box ideas for how to manage the Pentagon, but he’s been dogged by reports of public drunkenness, sexual assault, and financial mismanagement, while his vision for the military seems to begin and end with the notion that it had become excessively “woke.”  What Hegseth had in spades was the one attribute Trump seems to value above all others — years of expressing sycophantic public support for the president on Fox. For Trump, a Fox obsessive who stocked both of his administrations with familiar faces from the network’s green rooms, that was enough. 

Trump reportedly considered Hegseth to lead the Department of Veterans Affairs in his first term but ultimately retained him as an outside adviser — one whose counsel he took in offering clemency to several accused and convicted war criminals the Fox host boosted. But for his second time in the Oval Office, Trump tapped Hegseth to run the DOD. Asking a Fox & Friends weekend host to oversee a massive bureaucracy with millions of military and civilian employees and a budget in the hundreds of billions is obviously stupid, and Hegseth’s nomination appeared to be in jeopardy amid a series of damning reports. But Trump’s MAGA media supporters decided to lay down a marker, threatening Republican senators with primary challenges if they did not support Hegseth’s confirmation, and he ultimately squeaked through as Vice President JD Vance voted to break the Senate’s 50-50 tie. Hegseth’s actions in office quickly vindicated his critics and forced his defenders to scramble on his behalf. March’s revelation that Hegseth had shared detailed information about imminent U.S. military strikes over a commercial messaging app led to days of strained explanations from his former Fox colleagues and others in the MAGA media. 

[...] Hegseth isn’t the only right-wing media star turned top Trump appointee to struggle in the administration’s early days, and we should expect more such stories in the days to come. The president has prioritized hiring people who are adept at throwing red meat to the MAGA base.

The elevation of DUI Hire and former Fox and Friends Weekend host Pete Hegseth to lead the Department of Defense is turning out like what I (and many other sane people) see: a colossal disaster. Honestly, he’s likely gone and heading back to the right-wing media apparatus somewhere by the end of this year.

[adora-reads]

The Hunger Games re-read pt.2!!!

This is the part 2 of my The Hunger Games re-read, here is the first part, where are some of my comments of the first book in the series.

Today January 20th, marks the day where I finished Catching Fire, and here is my impressions and opinions of my third time reading it!

I remember the first time I read it being a bit disappointed about the beginning of the book, bc of the timeskip and too much Gale;

Now I can apreciate it, even thought I still think there's too much Gale in it;

I really like the confrontation in between Snow and Katniss in the beginning of the book, I think it really gives the reader a certain notion of how powerful and cruel he can be;

I also like how we have a short period of calm, where we can see how Katniss new life is;

And in her new routine is part of the reason why I find Gale annoying in the first part of the book, he's just too busy being jealous of the whole star crossed lovers thing that he fails in being there for Katniss, wich is something that she needed;

Also, I it makes me sad seeing Katniss struggle in finding what to do with herself after years of just surviving and focusing only in keeping her family alive;

We didn't get much of Madge, but I really wish we got to see her and Katniss going into the woods together;

But one of the things that I like about Collins is how she does not show everything;

I like the victory tour everlark! Very cute, but I just have to say that Peeta is a much better person than me, bc if the person I've been in love since I was four told me it wasn't real and then let me out of a very important conversation they had with the DICTATOR of our country the next time they would be hearing about me would be in the news;

Talking about Peeta I can't help but wonder why his family didn't move in with him;

One thing that I think about a lot is how Snow decided to make district 12 suffer, how he wants to hurt Katniss and make her afraid by making life in 12 even more miserable;

But all this cruelty only made Katniss more of a rebel;

and also, it's so interesting to see how Katniss has this distant notion that she is a symbol to the revolution,but fully believes that she would be better as a matir, how she believes that someone like Peeta should be the lider, the faze of a revolution;

in my opinion this is due to her underestimating the effect she has on people, and also her feelings about Peeta, given that she believes that he's much better than anyone, really;

On a funnier note, is kind of funny to see Katiniss even more in love with Peeta(the eyelashes scene for me is something else), she's is so in love and so deep in denial at the same time oh my God can't;

her reaction when he dies for a few minutes?!

her dreams after making out with him at the beach?!

and kind of unserious but I laugh everytime I think of Finnick waking up to two teenagers making out after he just had the worst two days of his life;

And even if i already know what's coming, Peeta droping the baby bomb is always iconic, I love everytime Peeta decides to put his gaslight habilites to use;

Also, I love Mags with all my heart, I really wish we got to see her more of her, unfortunately, i don't think we will see much of her in Sunrise of a Reaping :(;

I love Finnick, he's so funny, every time he had to remind Katniss she was pregnant I left out a little laugh;

unpopular opinion, but I kind of hate how a good amount of the fandom views him and treats him;

I adore Jo, and really like how me and good portion of the fandom decided that she is a lesbian;

I can't help but feel bad about Haymitch's friends who died in the arena, about all the tributes who died in the arena;

It might be an indicator that I'm dumb, but I never really understood much of what Beete says;

The final chapter breaks my heart, Katniss can never comeback to her home, bc the Capitol destroyed it, and they have one of the most important people in her life, and there's nothing she can do;

And before I forget, I think it's really interesting to see how Effie changes in this book;

she goes from being excited, making sure with everytingh goes right and staying in their schedules to being unable to say something positive;

[puckleberryfinnie]

covey!reader in the quarter quell (the performance ratings!!)

hey guys!! I’m finally backk <33 I’m soso sorry for the long wait for this, hopefully someone still wants this!! school and life got really intense there for a sec but I think I’m in the clear now so be prepared for lots more to come!!

summary: reader is now forced to go through with the rating system prior to the games, and with some new found anger, she shows off her skills in a very special way

ships: finnick odair x reader, johanna mason x reader

this is honestly not very good writing (especially the dialogue), but i still hope some for you still enjoy my yapping anyway!! anyways, hope you enjoy!!

The week leading up to the performance ratings was an eerie time for every tribute. Yes, people were preparing like they had in their games prior- but no one really wanted to. You, especially, found yourself talking to the likes of Katniss and Peeta more than spending time flinging around a sword, or learning how to properly start a fire. But when Mags, the sweet lady from Finnick’s district, approached you, you felt willing to learn some sort of skill from her-- even if it was just tying a knot.

There was no real dialogue during your conversation, but it was important nonetheless. She’d been in the games right after Lucy- you’d remembered that. You could tell she knew something-- wanted to say it too, something important. The look he gave you, shiny eyes staring into yours. She motioned to your face, a light motion. It took you a second to understand her notions, but then… She wanted you to sing. Of course! Lucy had been every girl’s idol, you knew that for certain. The girls would listen to her sing, mesmerized by such a voice as hers. Not only a year later that voice was taken from them- unexpectedly, when she’d gone missing. It would be no surprise that Mags had heard Lucy sing.

“Oh… sure, Mags. You might know this one-- it’s something she used to sing.”

Mags gave you a light smile, gesturing for you to start. You normally would be standing on the Covey’s rickety old stage, guitar in hand. But despite that you swallowed, briefly looking around before starting to sing quietly. You felt Mag's cold hand grab yours, increasing your comfort.

You're headed for heaven, the sweet old hereafter

And I'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 there-before

You continued singing, the lyrics slipping easily from your tongue. You smiled, the feeling of performing coming back to you after so long of silence. These games had momentarily taken your will to sing, and now that you’d started you didn’t want to stop- like a bird flying for the first time.

When I'm pure like a dove

When I've learned how to love

Right here, in the old there-before

When nothing is left anymore

You smiled at Mags, finding an endearing look on her face- a small tear dropping from her wrinkled face. To your side were the lovebirds- one Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, sitting on a bench facing you with an awed expression on their faces. Johanna Mason stood behind them, a smile and raised eyebrows towards you adorning her features. She started walking towards you, passing the recent winners before coming to a stop in front of you.

“I knew you could sing, Songbird- but wow. You certainly are a showgirl in my eyes.”

An arm was wrapped around you from your left. “Mine too. You were phenomenal, darling. What song was that?”

Johanna rolled her eyes from in front of you, crossing her arms in the process. “Don’t you have something’ better to do, Odair?”

Finnick let out a laugh, almost a giggle, leaning his head on your shoulder. “What, didya think you were Y/N’s only fan? That’s not really possible, with the talent she’s got.”

You smiled at both of them, unaware of the arising tension. A stare off match was now occurring, though out of your view point (Finnick’s head being placed almost directly on top of you). “Thank you guys, I appreciate it. Mags wanted to hear something, and I missed the rush of performing, if I’m honest.”

Finnick smirked, something scandalous becoming his next bright idea. “You know you can also get an adrenaline rush if you-”

Attention tributes-- please begin to prepare yourself for the performance rating process. Similar to prior years, you will be placed in order of district. The male tribute will start, followed by the female tribute of the same district. Note that these scores will give you more opportunities to gain help from outside sources- please keep that in mind during your scheduled time. Good luck.

Suddenly flung out of your performing-induced daze, you sighed, shaking your head. The others, too, seemed to be awoken from any prior confort they’d been feeling. Now, all they felt was the dread they’d felt those years before. What hope they’d had before, if any, had vanished at the prospects of the ratings.

Everyone was then, in a mannerly order, district by district, taken to a confined room, steel walls surrounding. Benches had been placed for the tributes' comfort, but most of everyone who was able found themselves pacing, awaiting their turn in the larger room directly attached to the ones they found themselves in. You, however, stood quietly in the left corner of the space, farthest from the door. Johanna, who’d been pacing like the others, noticed you, and walked over before slumping against a wall near you. She stared, her eyes tracing your face. She gave you a look. A sympathetic one, letting you know she knew how you felt. She didn’t say anything, though. She simply grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers. While the movement itself was quick and rushed, the feeling was soft and sweet. Neither of you said anything, caught in your own thoughts. It was enough to have someone to be with for the time being. Enough to have someone who knew what you were going through. The two of you continued to hold hands, occasionally brushing a thumb across the other's skin for some sort of momentary comfort.

Every once and a while the doors to said room would open, and the next tribute would enter. You watched as Finnick’s name got called, winking your way before entering. Shortly after, it was Johanna’s turn. She looked over at you, giving you a somber smile, slightly swaying your attached hands. You smiled, giving her hand a squeeze, before letting go. It was a sweet moment. With a sweet girl. There was no doubt that you felt nervous about this new feeling. But there was no time for that. The comforts of crushes and romance were stripped away at the prospects of The Games. But it was nice to enjoy this while you could. No matter what happened, you knew. You knew that there would only be one victor. Last year, with Katniss and Peeta, it had been an exception. One that had left the Capital with a mess to clean up. Meaning, in all reality, it would never happen again. Meaning that whatever could grow between you and a tribute wouldn’t. You hated the games for that. It took away your chance to live. You hated Snow more than anything. He’d been the cause, and that was one thing you knew for certain. No matter how the games started, Snow continued it. He fought to bring them something of mass entertainment, so sure of himself. And dear Lucy Gray. She was gone because of him, too. The amount of pain he’d caused for so many years was unimaginable. There were so many people dead under his account. The Covey were never a violent type of people in any respect. But when it came down to it, they were a stubborn group. They would do anything if they put their minds to it. They’d insist on change till they got it. So, in some respects, their stubbornness could be so much worse than some violence in the eye of a challenge.

With your partner's turn ending, you arose from your spot, making your way to the open door. With a breath, you put on that charming smile of yours, entering the examination room. The glass room above held many familiar faces. That main one, however, being Snow.

“I’m supposed to be showing you guys a skill… right? Like demonstrating it for you?” You knew the answer, of course, with the many weapons adorning the room. You looked around, finding axes, swords, spears, and much more. “Too bad there’s no guitar… that’d really show my skills, right?” You looked up at that box, that same smile still on your face, never wavering. “Well… I guess that doesn't really matter, does it? Acapella would do nicely in such a big room like this one. This one’s been sung without any of those instruments before, too, so it’ll be no problem, really!”

“Ms. L/N I suggest you move along with whatever you’re planning. You are on a time constraint, after all,” commented Snow from above. While his voice largely held a tone of annoyance to it, there was also a hint of something else. A warning, maybe.

“Why of course, Mr. Snow! I’ll get a move on with it right away. Wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time.” You said, your smile slightly wavering before gaining its same previous shine. You gave yourself the briefest of moments before looking directly at Snow, starting to sing.

And I'll 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 there-before

When nothing is left anymore

This was your talent. Your skill. Back home, this is what kept your family alive. With this being brought up earlier, with Mags, it was the perfect song to sing. Perfect because it was your relatives. Perfect because it had been her song of rebellion. Perfect because Snow knew it by heart, and remembered, too, who it had been. It was showing, too. His face was redder than normal, and his face pulled into a deeper frown.

And I'll catch you up

When I've emptied my cup

When I've worn-out my friends

When I've burned out both ends

When I've cried all my tears

When I've conquered my fears

Right here, in the old there-before

When nothing is left anymore

You bowed, like you normally did when the song finished. “Thank you for your time.” You smiled up towards your small audience and left without another word. As you left on the opposite side you’d entered, you saw Peeta on the other side. He had a smile on his face. He nodded towards you before you exited through the door. Upon exiting, you noticed the multitude of faces looking up towards you. Many had smiles, for doing what you did. For standing up. It wasn’t much, but it meant something to the people who had little left to hope for. You found your way to Johanna, Finnick following behind you.

“Well, Covey girl. I’m not sure how much the singing will do for you in the area, but I know I liked it.” Finnick said with his usual smirk adorning his face.

“Honestly, Odair. Think about it. It’ll help more than you think.” She gave him a look that you didn’t quite understand. There seemed to be some sort of understanding between the two, despite their constant bickering.

Finnick crossed his arms around his chest, looking towards you. “Hm. I guess you have a point. Y/N, if you promised to sing me some lullabies in the arena every night, I’d promise to keep you safe. I mean, I’d do that for you anyway, but it’d be an added benefit for sure.” He laughed to himself, before walking away. “Think about it, Covey!” he yelled out.

“Really, Songbird, it does mean more. It was really powerful. Just look at everyone else in here. They needed something to break the routine like that.”

“Thank you Johanna. It meant more to me too…”

ahhh ok so I hope you liked it pookie!! it was mostly just me yapping on, but I hope you got the general idea of it!!

ps: I’m open to any requests (check my most loved post for ideas <33) so if anyone wants to send anything feel free to do so!! thanks ❤️❤️

tag list (my beloveds 😍):

@randomgurl2326

@marvelescvpe

@h-kitty-world

love ya!!

[thewardenisonthecase]

ok so i said before that i think whatever the devouring storm is and whatever it did to the qunari might be related to the fade/veil due to that one guy saying green clouds = devouring storm

and the fade is connected to magic, so i do wonder if maybe whatever happened is also the reason why the qunari are even more scared of magic? bc i was thinking like. the quanri have mags but they are so terrified of magic, they act as if they didnt have mages, to the point where one of the reasons the exalted marches were they way they were is that while the antaam was really strong, mainland thedas had a shitton of mages to fight.

and like. the qunari seem to be scared of magic in a way that is even BEYOND how the chantry and andrastians are scared of magic, so if whatever happened to the qunari was related to the fade, i think it would make sense if it led to them have such a reaction to magic and mages as a whole? like damn, the arvaarad attacks hawke ON SIGHT if they say they're a mage.

and maybe im going insane but i remember reading on the wiki that there's this notion that qunari aren't connected to the fade or they don't dream like humans and elves do, which is not true as sten immediatly recognizes that he's in a dream, but it would be interesting if its a situation of. we're so terrified of magic and want 0 associsation with it we're gonna start saying among our own people we arent connected to the fade or smthg.

edit: there IS smthg on the wiki about it

[wolven91]

Easedropping

Nick opened the door to the train's empty cabin and settled himself into the seat. He had a brief moment where he allowed himself to hope that he'd get the cabin to himself for the journey, but one look out the window at the packed platform dispelled that notion as soon as it appeared.

The mag-lift train would set off shortly and after an evening's travel would be on the opposite side of the planet along with thousands of others.

The cabin could comfortably house four passengers, but that was for four of the alien passengers, the big ones. With Nick being a human, he'd actually have ample room for himself as humans were not the largest species out here. The man could have stretched out of the padded seat that he was in and never touched the walls.

With a wince, he removed one of translators from his ear and placed it onto the table in front of himself. Nick's ear was aching, he must have put it in at a weird angle or something. Leaving it out would rest his lobe and he'd just put it back in as and when.

That's when the cabin door slid open to reveal a black and white furred taurian with a thick gold ring through the end of her muzzle, her horns barely fit in the doorway.

"Ey! We got three spaces in 'ere!" The bull-like taurian called back down the corridor outside the cabin.

"Hey can we- oh, you ain't going to understand me." The taurian started before trailing off while glancing at the unused translator on the table. Nick could understand her however as his second translator in his other ear was working perfectly fine, albeit hidden from her view. The taurian was joined by her compatriots moments later.

A black furred felinoid and a similarly black furred ursidain's face appeared on either side of the taurian's shoulders, all of them curious as to their friend's find.

"Jackpot!" Bellowed the ursidain gleefully and shoved past the hesitating taurian, who was sent stumbling into the cabin. The giant she-bear sat heavily on the same bench as Nick causing him to be bodily lifted off the cushion briefly as the ursidain displaced. He landed and found himself sliding towards the Ursidain as she warped the bench with her far greater mass. When he touched against the side of her thigh, it gave easily, her black fur rolling against him. It was warm to the touch and was not missed by her either. Thankfully, she didn't make the wrong assumption and pointedly ignored him.

Re-seating himself, Nick watched as the Felinoid with pitch black fur that rippled with a glossy sheen, settled herself opposite the human with the table between them and finally, the taurian, with a shrug, settled into the remaining seat before closing the door behind her.

"I hope you don't mind us sharing." The felinoid mentioned lightly, but the ursidain broke in with a chuckle.

"Ah, he can't understand ya, even some of your words are even out of his hearing range without that thing in." The bear-like alien explained to the cat-like alien.

Nick did consider correcting them, but instead simply remained quiet. If they asked him a direct question, he'd respond. Otherwise, he'd settle himself into a long session of people watching while pretending to look out the window. He didn't miss the fact that the felinoid had 'accidently' started resting her foot against his leg after crossing her legs.

"Aw look at him. By The Feast, I love humans." Rumbled the ursidain's voice from above and to his side.

"Got to admit, there's something about them I like too." Replied the taurian, nodding in Nick's peripheral vision.

The felinoid made an 'mmm' noise as she continued to stare at the human. Nick tried to avoid letting on he could see out of the corner of his eye how she was completely focused on him. He kept his face completely still.

"It's how small they are for me. Actually, a bunch of folk I know of feel the same. Humans just look cute and small. They need protecting!" Claimed the black mountain to his left, she was quite animated, her thick arms, as wide as Nick's torso swept through the air with ease as she spoke.

"Naah! They're sexy!" Countered the taurian as a retort. "Look at him! Dressed all provocatively. No horns and no headband to cover it?! Goddess." He felt another set of eyes staring at him now.

Nick was almost certain the side of his head was about to start smoking under the intensity of their combined focus.

"And! They're really weird." Nick briefly frowned at the taurian's claim, but smoothed his features with, quite frankly, incredible skill, he if did say so himself. "They're all the opposite way round. Their males act like females! And, and! I heard! They like sex and what we look like, just as strongly as we feel it." Claimed the bull excitedly.

Ah, Nick understood now. Taurians had a gender-norm flip when compared to humans. The males and females were satisfied with their stereotypical roles but found humans to be quite fascinating as a human of their opposite gender, suddenly, (stereotypically) enjoyed the same things they did. The males had a maze of protocols and rules surrounding them, whereas the females had the libido of a high school jock.

It had been described by a fellow human who had spent time in taurian space that the female taurians often acted like, quote, 'lads lads lads' and were quite oblivious to what was 'proper' when interacting with the males of their race as the males were far more 'prim and proper'.

"Mm, I honestly don't mind. Apparently, humans like us anyway. Did you know they worshipped us?" The felinoid stated, finally breaking off her stare to glance at the other two occupants of the cabin.

"What?!" "Rubbish!" Came the two replies.

"Oh it's quite true. Even in their ancient times, they had entire murals built to give homage to our visage." Said the Panther-esk feline, as she brushed the curve of her claws against her fur and inspected them closely.

"Even to the point of its destruction, on Sol-3 they kept and loved feral versions of ourself right up until the end" Cats?! This one believed that cats counted as worship towards the felinoid race? Well it come cases... honestly... he could see how they could take the wrong message away.

Nick didn't enjoy hearing about Earth, it was still a bit raw for him, but he couldn't ask them to stop now. But he needn't have worried, the panther continued, pressing on.

"What I find fun, is that most humans believe most felinoids they meet are female."

Nick resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows. It was true, he'd never seen a male felinoid before, the ship full of them that turned up at his station was entirely female... right?

"They don't realise that our genders are just very similar to one another. A surprise for a human to learn if they hadn't asked beforehand!" The panther chuckled. "Apparently the adventurous ones can be quite shocked."

"Haha, yeah like they... wait.. you're female right?" Asked the ursidain.

"No, I'm male? By the seven truths; you're joking right?"

The pregnant silence was tortuous as Nick resist the urge to burst out laughing. He had to bite his tongue hard enough until he was sure it would bleed.

"My god you're as bad as they are!" Accused the felinoid with an outstretched finger.

The cabin fell into silence again. After a few minutes, the panther spoke once more.

"I'd let this one believe whatever he wanted. I've spent the last ten minutes trying to press my leg against his so I can feel his warmth..." She, Nick correct himself, He was speaking to the window now, but the felinoid was still addressing his companions.

"If he'd let me curl up next to him, I'd do whatever it took. Tucking and all."

The taurian chuckled.

"Some of them are quite open. We're going to be all sleeping in here... maybe you can try and say you're freezing? Ham it up, do a bit of a shiver?" The scheming black and white alien suggested, hatching a scheme.

The panther alien scratched at his chin as he considered.

"As long as I'm my demure self, he might be for it."

"I'll just say we all spoon together! I wanna' hug him and squeeze 'im." Declared the black bear. "I'll just make out we're all cold!"

The taurian looked frustrated.

"Two points. One, he'll be lost to your tits and two, what about me?! I want a turn! I'm fine not spooning, that's not my thing, but it means I'm left out!" She crossed her arms over her muscled chest and glared at the door in a huff. With a glance, Nick felt she was inches away from kicking the door in a huff. Nick noted the other two were looking at each other and having a conversation with their eyebrows in silence.

It wrapped up with the felinoid nudging his head towards the door.

"Well.. what if we 'go for food'? It'll give you an hour or two to work him over?" Suggested the ursidain, 'subtly' tilting her head.

"How? Just drop to my knees and suggest he lower his pants? Make kissy faces? His translator is out! Oh yeah; that'll work." The taurian huffed, rolling her eyes.

"Do you want the chance or not?" Demanded the felinoid.

A moment ticked by.

"Yes."

A few moments more and the ursidain's knee was slapped by the felinoid as he got up and moved out of the cabin, gracefully moving despite the rocking of the moving train. The black furred mountain was less graceful, wobbling and stomping when her balance was found wanting.

The door closed and Nick was left alone with the black and white cow, who idly toyed with the ring the glittered in the setting sunlight.

The man looked round 'idly' and as naturally as he could. When he had her attention, Nick gave a tight lipped, but hopefully warm smile to her.

Nick had to admit she was attractive, he probably wouldn't have said no if she had approached him, but he wasn't sure how to react to such a candid conversation.

"Say.. you-.. ah.. you still don't understand me." She started then stopped, the wind visibly taken out of her sails and looking outright dejected.

"And why wouldn't I?" Asked Nick with a ghost of a smirk on his face.

The human worried for a moment whether he'd given her a heart attack as he refitted the spare translator into his ear.

"You.. did.. I mean, we... err.." The large and imposing lady spluttered.

It was adorable.

"Don't worry, it's different to hear things with no filter, but I wasn't insulted... not really." He tried to assure her, folding away the table now it was unneeded.

"So... about why I stayed behind...?" She asked, with a hopeful tone that was painfully obvious. These female Taurians really were like oblivious young men, full of nerves and hormones with no idea how to use what they had.

"Well we've only got just over an hour and a half... how do these beds unfold?" Nick asked carefully, thankfully for her, so was he.

[croszukis]

discussing Nick's Lady Byng votes — The Basu & Godin Notebook Awards Season (June 13, 2025)

full transcript below:

AB: What's notable about Nick is, and this has been the case for a long time, going back to his junior days when he was heavily targeted. In Owen Sound, in Guelph, he had a target on his back at all times. Every team that he played against knew that if you can get him off his game, your chances of winning increase.

The man does not have a retaliatory bone in his body. Like, he does not... the notion of retaliating does not exist in his brain. He knows that's wasted energy, he knows that doesn't help you win. He knows it serves no purpose. That you're in all likelihood to, and everyone actually does know this but they're not able to control the impulse, but that you're more likely to get called on the retaliation than the actual initial foul.

This has always been true in hockey, everyone's always said it forever. But in the moment it's hard to think that way. Nick Suzuki has always thought that way. He is the king of turning the other cheek and not letting any of that stuff distract him. So that's another element of his calm demeanor, that you were referring to, that shows itself and would apply to the Lady Byng in the sense that if you give Suzuki a whack you're not likely to get a whack back.

[...]

MAG: But what's interesting is that Suzuki was the captain... when I spoke to the guys in the room about the way that his leadership expressed itself, especially on the ice, there's a lot of a calming effect when guys get carried away.

Like the way he.. his relationship with the officials is where I guess he gets some of those Lady Byng points at least in the eyes of his own teammates. Because we saw this year, the Canadiens as a team were complaining a lot towards the officials. A lot. I think too much for my taste.

AB: Yeah the coach did a fair bit.

MAG: He did. But through all that, Nick Suzuki was a guy who would very rarely carry on about that and would be the one maybe to calm things down and say okay let's move on, let's turn the page, refocus and we accept what's going on and we return to battle.

[oonalovesastarionssimpleplan]

Can we celebrate Sceleritas Fel for a moment for being a Friedrich Nietzsche fan :D

“Wer mit Ungeheuern kämpft, mag zusehn, daß er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird. Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein.”

― Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (15 October 1844 – 25 August 1900) was a widely influential German philosopher. 

Nietzsche's work spans philosophical polemics, poetry, cultural criticism, and fiction while displaying a fondness for aphorism and irony. Prominent elements of his philosophy include his radical critique of truth in favour of perspectivism; a genealogical critique of religion and Christian morality and a related theory of master–slave morality; the aesthetic affirmation of life in response to both the "death of God" and the profound crisis of nihilism; the notion of Apollonian and Dionysian forces; and a characterisation of the human subject as the expression of competing wills, collectively understood as the will to power.

-Wikipedia

[gudvina]

Katniss not knowing Mags and Wiress were Haymitch's mentors is still one of the most obvious failed retcons of SOTR.

That not being public knowledge, or not being hinted by either of the characters is not only a huge problem in the narrative, but also a problem on the way this ties with the main theme of the book. I am going to reiterate that there is no reason Haymitch, Finnick or even Beetee wouldn't mention that to Katniss, if it wasn't something she could have discerned from the edited tape, in Mockingjay. They don't need to do propaganda with Katniss, and keeping the lie has no use especially when Katniss is unstable and NEEDS to be told the truth, given the way Coin's rule was trying to spin her into their agendas.

There is also the issue that it not being public knowledge makes no sense, because there are many things that would be missing for D12's districts that wouldn't be missing in the others. Interviews of the mentors? The initial parts of the Games?

Another issue: how didn't any Capitol ever mention that? Especially during the 75th edition's reaping, how was it not mentioned that Haymitch being possibly reaped in the Games could have put him in the position to fight, for the first time in the Games' history, against his mentors (arguably one of the most interesting plots, had it happened).

Propaganda has to be done in a reasonable way, in a gradual, subtle enough way to be convincing. Suzanne Collins in this book plays too much with the notion that Capitol are stupid, yet even that is lazy writing because there is no way they're all dimwits who don't remember something they saw 3 hours prior.

It just bugs me so much.