#&(Haymitch)

[eddathegreat]

Oh shit I didn't even hear about this

holy crap its march happy haymitch-book-comes-out-this-month month to everyone who celebrates

[varganardi]

Haytlas reuniting in Capitol after one year apart... ❤️

MY SHAYLAAAAAS ���💕💕💕

I'm crying over this WONDERFUL commission I got from @meikodenn 🥺 Thank you so much!! ❤️🥹

Taglist 💕

@mashedpotatosinacup @jokerislandgirl32 @tireddovahkiin 

@wuffverine @stoneshipper @mister-ancunin

@sheepie-self-ships @scarecrowbf @emmamagorobisgirlfriend 

@sunflawyer @literally-just-there @lances-wife

DM or inbox to be added/removed! 💕

[vasilissadragomir]

i know haymitch’s narration seems the most likely, but i think there’s a chance the new book could be from a gamemaker’s perspective, or at least a capitolite involved in the games. perhaps plutarch, who we know suzanne loves, or even caesar, if she wanted to be REALLY on the nose about media manipulation. we know suzanne has SO much experience in media production, and if the focus of the book is the dissemination of propaganda and misinformation, it makes sense to tell the story from the viewpoint of someone engaging with that aspect of the games.

a narrative consideration is that we only got the capitol cut of haymitch’s games, so there’s a decent amount he or other people did that wasn’t seen. snow forcing the gamemakers to navigate that minefield could be a FASCINATING view into a story that we already have quite a lot of detail about. especially if haymitch was snow’s first real in-game test of his authority. if haymitch was the first one to bring spectacle vs punishment to the forefront, it’d be a great way to avoid rehashing the details we already have of his story and providing an entirely different angle for us to understand the way the games work.

[patheticcgirl43]

lenore dove...lenore, the poem by edgar allan poe, about the death of a young woman, described as "the queenliest dead that ever died so young"...and dove...also a colour...warm gray. she's covey...

[worldwithinworld]

Since we all have the time of Haymitch's games on our minds, I thought now would be a good time to bring up again my longstanding theory that Katniss's mother was disowned by her parents but not primarily (or even at all) because she married someone from the Seam. I think it's because she and Katniss's father were involved in rebellious activities.

Here are my clues:

She was Maysilee's friend. She got her canary after she died, inheriting the symbol of a warning in the form of a songbird.

Haymitch's victory frightened Show. If the Capitol's control was strong at the time, Haymitch's forcefield trick would have been just good tv. The fact that Snow came down so hard on Snow suggests there were threats of rebellion before Haymitch even went into the arena.

When Gale is whipped, Haymitch says they used to take people who got whipped to Katniss's mother. Specifically, he says, "She's the one we took them to," which seems to imply it was just her, not her whole family.

After treating Gale, she briefly speaks to Haymitch about "before." They understand each other so easily with just a few words despite us seeing hardly any interaction between them before. It feels like they have more of a shared history than what Katniss knows.

Speaking of what Katniss knows, she considers this interaction and wonders what they are talking about but decides she's too upset to ask right then. She never thinks about asking again, but the whole thing suggests that there is a lot more to the story of D12 in Haymitch and her parents' youth.

Katniss remembers her mom getting angry at her dad for teaching her "The Hanging Tree." Little Katniss had cried because her mom yelling was so out of the norm. Katniss assumes that her mom didn't like her little girl learning such a dark song, but we know better. Her dad sang a rebels' song, and her mom got scared of him teaching it to her daughter.

I think both of Katniss's parents were involved in rebellion to some degree when they were young. The Capitol came down hard on Haymitch and his whole district to snuff it out. It scared Katniss's maternal grandparents who maybe told her to cut ties with her Seam boy or else, or maybe they just cut her off for her own deeds irrespective of her romantic interest.

[cairaleighexe]

Snow made me wear it

[PATREON REQUEST OF THE MONTH]

[itsajollyjester]

I think about Haymitch raising his geese. About how geese are known for being mean and nasty About how often their hissing and bitting is to protect their young

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment Prologue

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 5.2K (sorry)

Masterlist | Prologue (II)

“Y/N L/N!” Your heart dropped and your blood ran with ice. No, no. You were 18 fucking years old for god’s sake. You were so close to being out. Six years of reapings and even more slips with your name, because you had to take out tesserae, had finally caught up with you.

You realized the girls around you were backing up, leaving you to stand in the middle with nowhere to hide. You had always felt bad for the kids being singled out like this but now you realized just how isolating it already was. You looked up to the stage, your face already projected onto the screen. Just below that, your district escort, Salvia Vala, was beckoning for you to come up on the stage. You were already so close you could see the flaws in her caked on makeup and artificial… everything.

Realizing that just standing there would neither give you a better chance nor keep you from going into the games, you made your way to the stairs. As you were pulled towards the center of the stage, you tried desperately not to look at the people of your district. You were a bit of a loner in 12 so you weren’t avoiding the gazes of those who cared about you, you were avoiding the pity in the eyes of the people who never bothered to help you.

Next was the boys’ reaping. “Alder Oakly,” Salvia called out. You didn’t look at the boy until he was facing you on the stage, trying to give him the slightest bit of dignity. You shook his hand when prompted, observing him. He was clean, unlike the people you knew in the Seam. He probably came from the wealthier part of 12 but he was still pale like a lot of 12. His dark hair had the slightest bit of coal dust, also very common in 12 despite his wealthier status. His clothing was pristine in contrast to your best dress which was covered in coal dust and faded with age.

You were quickly ushered into the district capital building, into a nicely decorated room. One of the few buildings the Capitol had actually built in the districts so when they had to grace the poorest district with their presence, they wouldn’t immediately go running for the hills.

You sat quietly. This was supposed to be the room people said their goodbyes to you in. But there was no one to wish you luck or mourn you when you died. So you sat with your thoughts. Your head was simultaneously empty and racing with thoughts. Across the hall, you could hear sobs of presumably Alder’s mother. Maybe his girlfriend. You had no idea. You were kind of relieved no one came to see you. At least you knew you wouldn’t cause any pain to anyone when you were gone.

You were then jolted from your thoughts by the door opening. You recognized Haymitch Abernathy, the victor of the 50th Hunger Games. Apparently, he was supposed to attend the reapings but, after being so drunk one time, he fell off the stage and they had stopped requiring him to be there. You had seen him a few times at the Hobb buying alcohol but other than that, the only things you knew about him were rumors. That he had won the “wrong” way and the Capitol had killed his family for it.

He made his way into the room, only stumbling slightly until he slumped on the chair. As he sat he took a moment to observe her. Rather than a tear-stained face or eyes wide with fear, she just stared at him quizzically. Clearly taken off guard by his presence. Her eyes were filled with curiosity, giving her a look of innocence he knew the Capitol would love.

You were unsure what to say as he took a deep swig from his flask. “Okay,” he slurred out, his tone as if he were correcting you, “I don’t normally do this but I’ve seen you around the Hobb, and that Al kid has more than enough support.” You still didn’t know what was going on, given that he was the only living Victor in 12 you thought he was supposed to prepare you together. “My advice? Start drinking now. You wanna start?” he asked, holding out the flask to you.

You took it hesitantly, still unsure how to react to the situation. You took a whiff first, your nose burning. But seeing as you had nothing better to do, you pressed it to your lips, tipping it back tentatively. There was a surprising amount in there based on how inebriated he already was so you got a full swig. You immediately began coughing, hating the burn that seemed to course through your body as you swallowed.

Haymitch chuckled a little. “What? You never have whisky?” You only shook your head. “Seriously?” he stopped laughing. “I thought they said you were 18. I’d understand if you were 12 or even 14 but 18 years and you never got drunk?” He looked shocked. Despite alcohol being technically illegal it was probably the most popular thing sold on the black market.

“It was either buy food or liquor,” you explained. “And when it came to stealing, it was either risk getting caught stealing food or liquor.” Haymitch hummed before pulling a roll wrapped in a napkin out of his jacket pocket, holding it out to you. You shook your head no, “Can’t even think about eating.” For the first time in god knows how long you didn’t feel the lingering hunger.

“My real advice? Eat. You’ll need it to keep you going in the games.”

At that you laughed. “You think I can win? The starving girl, from 12, with no prospects, winning the fucking hunger games? I don’t know, maybe someone like that hunter girl could win but I have no skills.”

“Can you hold a knife? Can you point it at someone? You’ve got skills,” Haymitch shrugged.

You rolled your eyes. “You and I both know it’s more than that. It’s about survival, sponsors, fighting skills, the ability to actually take a life.”

“Don’t assume what I know. I actually went to the games. I know what it’s like. You don’t.”

“Yet,” you added. “Maybe I‘ll never know. They have bombs in the arena, right? If you step off the platform early? Instant death has to be better than getting hacked apart by a career,” you mused.

Haymitch was horrified by the calm she exuded while talking about how she was planning to kill herself.

Haymitch shook his head. “If you jump off that platform you just give them what they want. Submission. Fight to survive. Be the first female victor from 12 in 57 years.”

“Why do you even care?” you asked, sick of being told what to do. “I know you’ve never exactly been mentor of the year. Why are you going out of your way to talk to me? Convincing me to try?”

Haymitch opened and closed his mouth a few times at a loss for words. He then just sighed, downing another swig of whiskey before standing up. “I’ll see you on the train.”

~

You sat on the train, staring down at your empty plate. The train car was full of food you never dreamed you’d get the opportunity to eat. But you still couldn’t bear the idea of actually eating. Then, the door opened and Alder came in. He sat down and immediately began serving himself, digging in. “You can eat?” you asked. “I haven’t been able to stomach the idea of eating since…”

“I wasn’t able to either, at first, until dinner last night. I forced myself to take a bite and ever since then I’ve had an appetite,” he explained. You turned your attention back to the food, contemplating his words. Reaching for a muffin, you pulled a little off, popping it in your mouth. “Have you met our mentor yet? He came to dinner and asked about you. When he realized we weren’t both here he just grabbed some food and left.”

“Uh, no,” you lied, taking another bite of the muffin. It was nothing like you had ever had before. It was sweet and filling but also light and airy. “He’s a drunk. Only here because he had to be.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” a voice cut in from the door. You didn’t even turn around, just waited for him to walk into your eyeline. “I’m here for the desserts,” he picked up a pastry as he sat down, “and refreshments,” he held up a glass of brown liquor.

“So what do we do? How do we survive?” Alder asked.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. “All you wealthier kids are all the same. ‘How do I survive? How do I win?’ You know who wins? The kids who have struggled. Who’ve provided for themselves and their families,” he ranted, looking at you over the rim of his glass.

You watched Alder visibly deflate. Clearly he wasn’t ready to die. “You’ve had kids from all over 12, right? Where are they now?” you asked. You knew it was wrong but you were already sick of this drunk’s disparity in attitudes.

Haymitch just pursed his lips, getting up and taking his drink and plate with him.

“Why’d you say that?” Alder asked angrily. “He’s our best shot at getting out of that arena.”

“I said it because he was being a dick. Besides, he’s lost every tribute in the past 17 years. That’s 34 kids he’s had the opportunity to save but he was probably too busy drinking.”

“I mean… it’s not entirely his fault. There are factors out of his control.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Get off his dick, he’s not gonna give you anything more just because you’re kissing his ass.” Standing up, you left Alder alone, heading towards your room on the train. Maybe you could get at least some more sleep. But as you made your way there, Haymitch appeared in the hall, looking stern.

“You have something you wanna say?” he asked, expecting an apology.

“Not really,” you dismissed, trying to walk past him. But he reached out, grabbing your bicep in a surprisingly strong grip for someone so drunk all the time.

“What is your problem?”

“You’re the one with the fucking problem!” you practically yelled. “Why’d you have to scare someone who actually wants to fight? Why are you so insistent on wasting your time with me?”

Haymitch once again opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. He finally clenched his jaw before shaking his head, changing the topic. “You need sponsors if ‘the starving girl from 12’ is gonna win.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “I’m not playing their fucking game. I’m not going to win.”

Now Haymitch rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “Don’t you get it? By winning you defy them. They are trying their hardest to kill you. Win,” he was now practically pleading. “If you’re so eager to kill yourself now, why didn’t you just give up a long time ago? I’ve seen you around 12, I know you’re resilient and if you really wanted to die, you would’ve frozen or starved to death by now.”

You were so taken aback by his words all you could do was tug yourself away from his grasp but he held firm. “Let go of me,” you demanded.

“Promise me you’ll try to get sponsors and actually try to win.”

You stared at him, finding sincerity in his eyes. “Fine,” you agreed.

He nodded, satisfied, before letting you go.

~

The first thing the Capitol did to you was wax and scrub your entire body. This was probably the cleanest you had ever been but the lingering sting all over your body was not worth it. You had overheard a few stylists whispering about being short on time. Apparently your train had arrived late. So you only got a few brief minutes to revel in being clean because soon you were dressed in a black, tarp skirt that barely covered you, and a sheer bandeau top before being powdered with black dust, clearly meant to be coal dust.

You coughed repeatedly as they dumped a bucket of it over your head. They had told you repeatedly to stop moving but you couldn’t help it.

“Ah, isn’t this the most beautiful outfit you’ve ever worn in your life?” a cheery voice came from the doorway. “It’s a fashionable take on the drab coveralls you people in 12 wear.” You opened your eyes, hoping more dust wouldn’t fall into them. You finally caught a glimpse of who you presumed your stylist was. She had a big mess of green curls and everything else about her was as outrageous as her hair. “I’m Vodka, I’ll be your personal stylist while you’re here,” she smiled brightly.

You tried to force a smile but another powder of dust over your face stopped you. “Hold still,” the woman reprimanded you.

When they finally deemed you “covered” enough you were sent out to the chariots. You walked in hesitantly, not finding Alder there yet. Heading over to the very last chariot you could feel the gazes on you but you just kept walking, trying to cover yourself as much as possible. You weren’t the only one subject to the leering gaze of teenage boys, the girl from 4 was only wearing a net.

Soon enough Alder joined you and you were off, being pulled down the chariot line. Alder and all the other tributes were smiling and waving but you just stared ahead, refusing to acknowledge anyone even when Alder tried to make you smile and wave.

Once you were finally back inside, out of public view, you spotted Haymitch. He clapped for you and Alder as he approached. You noticed the way he kept his gaze firmly locked on your face. When he did look away from your face it was firmly above your chest line. “Al, good job. See that Y/N? He’s gonna get sponsors while you starve out in the arena because he’s likeable.”

“I’m not a huge fan of smiling at the people ogling at me but I’ll keep that in mind,” you answered sarcastically. You headed for the elevator, arms covering yourself, avoiding the gazes of the smirking boys as you passed. Upon reaching the elevator, the District 10 tributes and mentors joined you along with Haymitch and Alder finally catching up. Once the metal doors opened, you stepped inside, trying to ignore all of their presences. You held yourself tighter noticing the gazes of the District 10 people. Haymitch must have noticed it too because he stepped away from the wall of the elevator, placing a gentle hand on your hip to push you back so he could step in front of you. You just stared at Haymitch quizzically, touched by his simple reaction, even though you knew he couldn’t see you.

Eventually, District 10 got off the elevator and you were able to leave the tense elevator too. Alder immediately headed to his room, you following behind. But while he continued on, you stopped before disappearing into the hallway. Turning, you found Haymitch already at the bar cart. “Uh thanks,” you said weakly. “For um…”

He just waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” He then turned his attention to his glass, “Didn’t like the way they were looking at you anyways,” he mumbled mostly to himself.

“Sorry, what?” you asked, unable to make out his words from across the room.

“Nothing,” Haymitch brushed off again. “It was nothing. Get some sleep. You start training tomorrow.” Unconvinced but knowing you wouldn’t get what you were asking for you just nodded, turning to head to bed.

~

The next morning you stood lined up with all the other tributes. You noticed everyone was sending each other glares and eager smiles. Well… the careers were. That was sort of the nice thing about being a career. They have built in friends for the days they spend in existential dread and isolation in the Capitol. Until they all turn their backs on one another and go on a murder spree, slaughtering their fellow children.

You noticed they spared the occasional glance at Alder along with some of the other tributes. Whether they were determining their fellow allies or their first victims, you weren’t sure but you were just glad they weren’t looking at you now that you had all your clothes on.

“In two weeks, 23 of you will be dead,” the head instructor announced, catching everyone’s attention. “One of you will be alive. Who that is will depend on how well you pay attention for the next four days. Particularly to what I’m about to say. First, no fighting with the other tributes. You’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena. My advice is, don’t ignore the survival skills. Everyone wants to grab a sword but most of you will die from natural causes. About three of you will die from infection, and about five from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife. You’ll begin with combat training, then survival. After today, you’ll be free to practice whatever skills for the remaining three days before your individual evaluations.”

Being the girl from 12, you were the last to practice everything. You learned quickly that while the careers may laugh at those who failed whatever the exercise was, they dismissed them. You could faintly hear their mumbles as a non-career tribute excelled in any particular skill. Deciding to take a little public humiliation over a target on your back, you purposely failed at every skill. You barely struggled your way up a net, let your arms shake as you picked up the axes, failed miserably at starting a fire, and repeatedly chose poisonous plants to eat.

You weren’t alone in your struggles. The question was, is everyone else faking too?

~

After your first day of training, you went back up to the District 12 floor, straight to your room. You were exhausted as you stepped into the shower, reveling in the luxury of warm water.

After probably far too long you finally got out, wrapping a towel around yourself. Heading out to the main room you didn’t spot your mentor until you were fully out of the bathroom. “Holy shit,” you exclaimed in surprise, seeing him seated on your bed. You immediately pulled the towel tighter around yourself, not missing the way his gaze lingered on your legs for a second.

“Uh, sorry,” he quickly tried to disguise where his attention was. “I- uh… just…” he looked to be seriously trying to figure out what he had initially been here to say before breaking out into a chuckle. “Sorry, I completely forgot what I was gonna say.” He then snapped his fingers, pointing at you. “I know what I was gonna say. You fucking suck. I was watching you. You somehow managed to fail every possible skill. You’ve survived god knows how long without your parents. I find it hard to believe you don’t have any survival skills. Your score is impacted by this training time too. Sponsors don’t send money to tributes who don’t score well.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? For whatever reason I can survive in the Seam but it’s not exactly the same as the fucking wilderness where I’m actively being hunted. Besides, before I came here I don’t think I had ever had a full meal so I can’t exactly help that everyone else is stronger than me.”

Haymitch sighed, standing up. “Look, I get it, a lifetime of malnourishment can’t be fixed by a few days in the Capitol so that’s why you learn how to survive. I’m begging you, figure out your survival skills so the cold or dehydration or even hunger don’t kill you.”

“Why do you care so much?” you asked again. “You don’t treat Alder like this. As far as I know, you haven’t given a damn about any of your tributes.”

Haymitch just sighed, shaking his head. “Get some sleep,” he dismissed, stepping towards the door.

Sick of not knowing what was going on and being treated like a doll, you blocked his path. “No, you’re gonna tell me what’s going on. You’ve been weird like this ever since we met.”

“You don’t know me, you don’t know what’s weird for me. Maybe I'm just looking out for the kid who was raised in the Seam just like me,” Haymitch bullshitted a response. He was desperately hoping she’d accept that because he wasn’t about to tell her he’d been keeping an eye on her the past few months.

He could see it in your eyes, you didn’t fully believe his lies but you let him go anyway. Stepping aside, still in only a towel, water dripping from your hair down your neck and chest, you let him pass, feeling his arm brush against your shoulder.

~

“What do I say to him?” you asked Haymitch frantically as the stylist did your hair.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he tried to assure you. “He'll just ask you a couple questions so the audience gets to know you.”

Over the past few days, you and Haymitch became closer. He wasn’t nearly as perpetually drunk as he was when you first met him. He was actually helping you rather than just yelling at you to be better. And because of that, you were more open to talking to him instead of just giving him sarcastic remarks.

“Up,” the stylist told you. You complied, not questioning it until he began undoing your robe.

“Woah,” Haymitch reacted to it even before you did, gaze averted up to the ceiling.

“Hey-” you protested, holding the robe to your body.

“Vodka wants you dressed,” he explained.

“I know but you’re just doing it in front of him?”

The man gave you a look that said ‘seriously?’ “Your tits were just broadcast on national television a few days ago,” he dismissed, taking off your robe. “Besides, this outfit isn’t much more conservative,” he smiled. Completely unsure what to say you just allowed him to help you into it.

Upon getting the outfit on you knew it was absurdly impractical. It was a black dress, the skirt was long but any modesty was thwarted by a part on your left leg, exposed by the fact that the skirt was only actually on one side, the rest of the fabric was cut short at the hip. This left the bodysuit connected to the corset top exposed. As for the top, the only thing not sheer about it was the boning which did actually provide you a little modesty.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” the stylist asked Haymitch with a smile. He finally looked away from the mirror, jaw genuinely slacked upon seeing the dress. You were gorgeous, anyone would say the same. But he cringed as you were clearly uncomfortable being on display so much.

“You look great,” Haymitch smiled awkwardly. He noticed a slight blush coat your cheeks despite the caked on makeup covering your skin.

Then the door opened and the human equivalent of a tropical bird entered. Vodka literally squealed upon seeing you. “Ah, isn’t the dress just stunning? All the men in the audience are just gonna eat you up,” she gushed. “Come, come,” she ushered, “you have to start lining up for your interview.” You looked back at Haymitch, silently pleading for help as you were practically dragged away.

~

Taking his spot with the other mentors, Haymitch turned his attention to the screen as his tribute walked up on stage. He admired the grace you walked with despite the impossibly tall shoes. Caesar also noticed your outfit as he stood, reaching out a polite hand to you. “My, my, my, Y/N, don’t you look like Capitol royalty,” he complimented. “Doesn’t she look fabulous?” he turned to the audience. They erupted into cheers, a shocking amount of engagement for a District 12 tribute.

The pair sat down and the interview truly began. “It’s hard to believe such a pretty face comes from the coal mining district. Tell me, have you ever been inside or worked in the mines?” Caesar asked.

You nodded, looking down at your lap, fiddling with your hands. “I did work there. I was younger than most but I needed a way to provide for myself.”

“How come?”

You looked like this was the last thing you wanted to talk about but answered anyway. “My mom died giving birth. Mine explosion killed my dad a few years later.”

The crowd made noises of sympathy. At least that was something. But Haymitch already knew your story.

He had been buying booze at the Hobb when he noticed you.

“Come on, I come here every damn week and the first time I’m a few cents short you won’t give me a break?” you had asked the Hobb baker. “You gotta help me out,” you pleaded, “I’ve got nothing else this week. With the northeastern mine collapse no one’s getting paid until they figure it out.”

‘This girl is already working in the mines?’ he has thought to himself. Looking at Lou, who had just sold him alcohol. “Who is she?” he asked, nodding over towards where the girl stood, arguing with the vendor.

Lou took one look at you. “Y/N L/N, she’s been coming since she was about ten after her dad died. Never talked to or sold to her but the others say she’s sweet. Too bad such a young thing is already working. Has been since she was 16.”

Haymitch fished a few coins out of his pocket. “Make up the difference for me, will ya? And don’t mention me.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Caesar sympathized. “Well, in contrast to the dreary District 12, how are you finding the Capitol so far?”

“The, uh, food is really good,” you offered with a weak smile.

“That seems to be a popular answer among tributes,” the interviewer smiled. “Any boys back home?” Haymitch didn’t know why he held his breath at that.

“No,” you answered with a gentle shake of your head. “Too busy trying to survive to think about boys.”

“Well I think everyone in the Capitol is in love with you right now,” Caesar laughed, gesturing to the dress again. “And if you win, you’ll have any pick of Capitol men.” You smiled as Caesar took your hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N L/N,” he reintroduced you before you walked off stage.

~

Out of public view, you stumbled off the stage, headed back where all the other tributes and mentors were watching the remaining interviews on the screen. You made your way over to Haymitch, standing next to him as you turned your attention to the screen where Alder was being introduced.

“Nice job not puking,” Haymitch ‘complimented.’

“Thanks,” you smiled briefly. “He got really personal,” you tried to laugh off the dredging up of all your personal trauma.

Haymitch hummed, trying not to let on that he knew your story already. He sensed that you were somewhat private with your life given your lack of interaction with anyone in 12. “He made you look sympathetic. Sometimes that’s all you can ask for.”

You hummed in agreement. “Or pointless. I don’t have anyone to go home to. No one to fight for.”

“Hey,” he immediately reprimanded, “remember what I said, win out of spite. They want to kill you.”

“‘S that why you won?” you murmured.

“Sort of,” Haymitch relented. “I had a family to go home to but I was so angry I wanted to win just because everyone says District 12 can’t win. I was also the second name drawn and…”

“And if it weren’t for the quarter quell you wouldn’t have gone in,” you finished for him.

Haymitch nodded. “My family would still be here and I wouldn’t be such a…”

“I’m sorry,” you sympathized, placing a comforting hand on his arm. As you remembered where you were, you drew back your hand, returning your attention to Alder who was being dismissed from the stage.

“Go on ahead to the elevator, Alder and I will be right up,” Haymitch suggested. You nodded, walking over towards the elevator.

You got on it with a few other tributes and mentors, groaning internally as you stopped on nearly every floor. But upon reaching the penthouse you went straight to bed. Not because you were tired but because you were drained by your anxiety about tomorrow.

Requesting sleeping pills you took double the dose before laying down in the first comfortable clothes you could find. But after a few hours of tossing and turning, you gave up. You headed to the kitchen that you were sure had never been used as Avoxes brought your meals up to the penthouse. Probably from a bigger kitchen somewhere in the building.

As you were getting a glass of water you noticed someone’s presence. Looking over, you found Alder glaring at you, giving you a start. “Alder!” you said in surprise. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“What’d he tell you?” he asked.

Completely and utterly confused you just stared at him. “What? Who?”

He rolled his eyes. “I know Haymitch has been training you without me. I know that technically we should have two mentors but just because I'm not fucking him doesn’t mean I don’t deserve help.”

“Woah!” you cut him off. “I’m not- Haymitch and I aren’t-”

“Don’t play stupid. I see the way he looks at you. God, you don’t even have a family. You have no one worth living for so why is he helping you?” He paused as if waiting for an explanation but you couldn’t exactly give him one. “If you’re going into the arena with more knowledge then I think it’s only fair we level the playing field,” he said menacingly. Seeing as you were backed against the wall and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fight back without sustaining any injuries yourself, you screamed.

“Shut up!” he screamed, knocking you into the wall.

Hardly a second later, Haymitch’s voice pierced the air. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled, ripping Alder away from you. The boy tried to stammer out an explanation but Haymitch was too angry to listen. “I don’t wanna hear it. You have plenty of time to fight in the morning. Go to bed.” Alder looked angry but walked off anyway. Haymitch then turned to you, his expression softening with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, pushing yourself off the ground. “I’ll be taking a lot more than just a shove tomorrow.”

Haymitch looked like he wanted to say more but he just bid you goodnight before heading back to bed, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

Masterlist | Prologue (II)

[mariigoldzz]

Haymitch Abernathy ━ The Hunger Games Trilogy

"Remember who the real enemy is."

[noxribles]

a spring day with gruncle haymitch and his geese🪿

[myalonyalala]

"And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies" IM SOBBING

[admireforever]

“But his arms are there to comfort me, and eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.”

[childofbriseis]

forever thinking about the parallels between the haymitch/maysilee friendship and the katniss/rue friendship. arena alliances, only days-long and doomed to fail. haymitch and katniss - idealists despite their hard, gruff, exteriors - refusing to accept the temporary reality of the alliance. haymitch running for maysilee without thinking twice despite their broken alliance. katniss burying rue in flowers. both of them holding their ally's hand as they die. both their stories inherently disproving snow's thesis about the games being an exercise in selfishness. both their stories bridging panem's social divides (a seam boy and a town girl. two girls from different districts). the mockingjay pin connecting the fiftieth arena to the seventy-fourth.

[vasilissadragomir]

y’all i really think sid abernathy is intellectually and/or developmentally disabled. idk if this is a common belief or not, but after the audio excerpt i’m more convinced than ever. here’s why:

1. sid’s dialogue and behavior

“you said be your rooster. you said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.”

“haymitch!” wails sid. “the sun’s coming up!”

sid’s language and cadence suggest a young child. which makes sense; he’s 10, which is a young child. so it’s consistent that haymitch would tell sid to be his “rooster,” which is, of course, a callback to “tuck your tail in, little duck.” however, while katniss’ pet name for prim is humorous and light-hearted, her intention in using it is to make prim feel better facing the imminent reaping.

sid’s joy on reaping day, especially the reaping day of the second quarter quell, suggests sid is at best aware but unconcerned about the day’s proceedings, but realistically, that he doesn’t know or understand whatsoever what will occur. as far as he’s concerned, the most important event of the day is haymitch’s birthday.

granted, sid is 10, and prim, at 12, is reaping age. but there’s no way he can avoid the truth about the games or reaping day at school. and haymitch “resistance is not an option” abernathy would not indulge such wanton disregard for the dangers of the day. acting like the reaping isn’t happening is insolence in and of itself. unless, of course, sid’s behavior is not disregard, but true ignorance. and the only way he’d be ignorant of the reaping is if he is, at least in the eyes of haymitch and his mother, incapable of understanding it.

2. sid needing an explanation about the reaping

“i wonder whether it'll be me or ma who sits him down beforehand and explains about his role in the reaping, how he had to look nice and keep his mouth shut and not cause any trouble. even if the unthinkable happens and his name gets drawn, he's got to suck it up, put on the bravest face he can muster and climb onto that stage, because resistance is not an option.”

as implied by sid’s happy attitude in the excerpt, and now confirmed by the audio clip, sid will need to have the reaping explained to him when he turns 12. but in his worry about sid’s first reaping, haymitch is concerned with telling sid step-by-step what to do. and it’s not just about where to stand or the proceedings themselves. he will have to explain to sid that he needs to be quiet and docile.

no kid in district 12 would need it explained to them how to act on reaping day by age 12. that is, unless the normal district 12 peacekeepers would otherwise know that the kid means no harm in stepping out of line. on reaping day, with peacekeeper reinforcements and cameras, the same lenience would not apply. an intellectual disability would explain not only that, but why haymitch and their mother intend to keep sid in his happy ignorance as long as they can.

3. sid’s death within two weeks of haymitch’s defiance

the most common question about snow’s punishment of haymitch is why he didn’t have sid or lenore dove reaped. on lenore dove, it would be too obvious to reap haymitch’s girl just a year or two after haymitch’s games. that’s especially true if haymitch’s insolence is so egregious as to warrant a punishment as severe as the death of all his loved ones. after a year or two lenore dove would be aged out. to create some plausible deniability for the capitol citizens, the only realistic option for snow to reap would be sid.

with sid, he would have nine years to choose exactly the right moment to punish haymitch in this way. if sid is anything like prim, he’d be beloved in the capitol during haymitch’s games, largely for his youth and innocence. but katniss herself considers prim to be reaped. that’s a particularly strong possibility once prim was older, and thus less angelic and harmless in the eyes of the capitol. even still, rue is evidence that age is not reason enough for the capitol to grow sour at the idea of any tribute’s reaping.

so why wouldn’t snow wait it out for sid? i’m sure we’ll get plenty of reasons in the book, but the best explanation is that it would create blowback for snow if sid was reaped, regardless of his age or how beloved he is in the capitol. the most realistic scenario why that would be true is if sid is too naive and “simple” to be a threat, even as an older teen in a strong, adult-like body.

that’s not to say the capitol is “above” reaping a disabled child (see: the boy from 10 in the 75th and wovey in the 10th). but a beloved younger brother of a quarter quell victor who is ALSO developmentally disabled? the optics would be terrible for snow. that’s especially true if the capitol’s attitude toward people with mental disabilities is anything as patronizing as that of the people of district 12 (see: the people at the hob treating greasy sae’s granddaughter like a pet out of ignorance rather than malice).

4. it’s great device to explain the games to the audience without too much info-dumping

we’re going to spend much of the games in haymitch’s head. even in the midst of a battle royale, that can get boring really fast. that issue was avoided in tbosas by snow’s narration, since the boring bits of lucy’s gray’s time in the games were easily supplemented by snow’s life in the capitol.

with katniss, the quiet parts of the games were broken up with flashbacks. the flashbacks served double duty of keeping things interesting AND creating character development/worldbuilding. we saw katniss’ father’s death, her interaction with peeta, her friendship with gale, and her life at home with her mother and prim. her father’s death explained her character, the bread incident her feelings about peeta, her friendship with gale her worldview, and prim/her mother the inter-12 seam/town tensions as well as katniss’ motivations.

unlike with katniss, though, we know a lot about who haymitch is and what happened to him. we don’t need as much basic worldbuilding (and i doubt he’d have much more information than katniss does at this point, anyway), so the only things left are his family and district 12. for haymitch’s family, which is 100% seam in a way katniss’ is not, we’re going to need a new lens through which to view 12. it can’t *just* be typical single-mother seam life; we got most of that through katniss and gale. haymitch’s story has to provide a new angle.

i think that additional layer *has* to be sid. haymitch, unlike katniss, was himself reaped—what is motivating his survival? what makes him different than all the others in the seam, who are reaped to an inevitable death? a clear explanation could be that sid is incapable of surviving if haymitch dies. even with their mother working, everyone has to contribute. and if haymitch doesn’t have a gale, sid’s protection is even less guaranteed.

sure, haymitch might just have the same maternal instinct katniss has for prim, but that’s one of the key distinctions between them in the trilogy. haymitch loves peeta and katniss like they’re his own, and yet he lies to and betrays them in a way that katniss considers unconscionable. and, imo, if it’s as simple as haymitch wanting to protect sid’s innocence like katniss wants to protect prim’s, the similarities between them become less parallels and more replicas. what’s the point of sid’s death if katniss and haymitch are so similar that the loss of their siblings conveys the same message?

[no-one-can-save-you-now12]

Peeta: anyone know how to clean a stab wound? Haymitch: a stab wound? you mean an extra pocket Peeta: omygosh wait Effie: neither of you should be let outside

[finnicks-elbow]

‘need i say more?’: the sequel