#Lenore Dove is coming next

[mockingjay-sings]

I’m ok, I’m fine, I’ve been handling Sunrise on the Reaping very well -I’ve been crying non stop.

[she-took-the-heartland]

There are two very different but tangentially connected topics I've been thinking about: Covey lineage and homophobia in District 12.

We learn in TBoSaS that there are six remaining Covey members. There are three Baird cousins: Lucy Gray, Maude Ivory, and Barb Azure. There are two Clade brothers: Billy Taupe and Clerk Carmine. And there is the adopted Tam Amber.

Lenore Dove is confirmed to be a Baird whose mother died in chilbirth. When Haymitch finds the Covey graveyard, Lenore Dove's grave is next to Lucy Gray's and Maude Ivory's. This seems to imply Maude Ivory was Lenore Dove's mother.

"Clerk Carmine and her other uncle, Tam Amber, have raised her since her ma died in childbirth, seeing her pa's always been something of a mystery. They're not blood kin, her being a Baird, but the Covey look out for their own."

-SotR, pg. 8

From SotR pg 371 and 372

Since TBoSaS was released, it's been speculated that Katniss was descended from the Covey. So it isn't at all surprising to find that Burdock was also a Baird. Given that Lucy Gray is long missing/dead, and Maude Ivory is likely Lenore Dove's decesed mother, that leaves Barb Azure to be Burdock's mother.

"She [Lenore Dove] wasn't one of Burdock's Everdeen cousins, but I knew she had some distant ones on his ma's side."

-SotR, pg. 7

I remembered that in TBoSaS, Barb Azure is mentioned to have been dating another woman.

""She [Barb Azure] just started seeing a gal down the road," confided Lucy Gray when they were out of earshot of the house. "Probably glad to have the place to themselves for the day.""

-TBoSaS, pg. 430

This got me thinking more about homophobia in Panem, and I gathered as many references to queer relationships as I could find throughout the series.

In TBoSaS, we have the Barb Azure wlw reference which seemed to be socially acceptable in that time. Also in TBoSas, Coriolanus brings up a gay couple from the Capitol and does not express their relationship to be taboo:

"They had come to see Pluribus Bell, an aging man with lemon-tinted spectacles and a white powdered wig that fell to his waist. He and his partner, Cyrus, a musician, owned the shattered club and now made do by trafficking goods from its back alley."

-TBoSaS, pg. 32

It seems likely in the early history of the Panem, homophobia was not an issue in the Capitol or the Districts.

However, a few quotes from Katniss in Catching Fire and Haymitch in SotR lead me to believe at some point, homophobia was used to control District citizens specifically.

"That's when she revealed that he'd [Clerk Carmine] been together some thirty years with the fellow in town who replaces busted windows. They have to keep it quiet because loving differently can get you harassed by the Peacekeepers, fired from jobs, arrested even."

-SotR, pg. 13

By the 20th hunger games, 10 years after Barb Azure was seemingly openly dating a woman, Clerk Carmine had to keep his relationship with a man secret.

But there's no evidence that Capitol citizens are punished for same-gender relationships. It's hardly mentioned in the original trilogy, but it is implied that when Finnick was forced into prostitution with rich people from the Capitol, it wasn't just women who were paying for him.

"But ever since he [Finnick Odair] turned sixteen, he's spent his time at the Games being dogged by those desperately in love with him. No one retains his favor for long. He can go through four or five in his annual visit. Old or young, lovely or plain, rich or very rich, he'll keep them company and take their extravagant gifts..."

-Catching Fire, pg. 209

It's sad, but I think Suzanne Collins added these details to show that restricting the freedom to love who you want is another way of controlling the Districts. They are given freedom to choose who they want to marry... as long as that person is someone they can reproduce with to make more children for the hunger games.

Perhaps Barb Azure was bi, or more tragically, perhaps she was forced to assimilate, to marry an Everdeen man and have children. She always seemed to be the Covey member most tied to duty and responsibility.

[tempestandwhirlwinds]

SPOILERS FOR SUNRISE ON THE REAPING (long post)

One major thing that surprised me about this book was how involved and active the rebels were in Haymitch's games. They clearly weren't incredibly organized yet, but they had plenty of smart people in their numbers (Beetee, Mags, Plutarch, etc) who were bold enough to try interfering directly with the Hunger Games arena. But despite all this, the sparks from the rebellion never caught fire (despite Haymitch's token), even though Haymitch and his allies did WAY more outright rebellious things in his game then Katniss did in hers (blowing up the arena, killing gamekeepers). So why didn't the rebellion start with him, and why wasn't he the "mockingjay"?

Here are my theories as to why in no particular order:

1. Haymitch betrayed his rebel spirit to Snow BEFORE the games started (making Snow 'claim' Louelle's death after the parade) which made him a clear and obvious target for Snow to focus on.

2. Once Snow started paying attention to Haymitch, he clearly saw some similarities between Haymitch's relationship with Lenore Dove and his own with Lucy Gray (that whole conversation they had at the Heavensbee manor). We know now for sure that Snow was haunted by Lucy Gray throughout the rest of his life (💅), and any reference to his lost "love" who betrayed him makes him a bit trigger happy, to say the least. Which means that-

3. Snow clearly paid VERY close attention to what was happening in the arena, to make sure he could punish Haymitch for any rebellious actions or censor them from the footage. This is the critical piece here. Snow knew the power of televised rebellion (the stunt with the Panem flag covering the corpses as a way to hold the Capitol accountable in Lucy Gray's games was a big one), and Haymitch had already demonstrated a similar sentiment in the parade. Because of this, it's clear to see that he had an EXTREMELY heavy hand in the games - he sent the (poisoned?) milk directly to Haymitch, and he heavily censored and manipulated the footage to remove any traces of deliberate rebellion and district solidarity, changing the narrative of Haymitch's games completely.

4. Because Snow was able to prevent the Capitol and the Districts from seeing the rebellious acts (or doctoring a propaganda film of the games that erases ppls memories of the actual events), Snow was able to neutralize Haymitch and the rebellion before it could spread past the arena. And his brutal punishment of Haymitch after the games only served to guarantee that Haymitch wouldn't step out of line again, removing the possibility of Haymitch being the face of the rebellion after Snow has taught him what will happen to those Haymitch cares about.

This led me to the next question: how was Katniss able to spark the rebellion and become the "mockingjay"?

Here are my thoughts:

1. Snow was clearly past his prime by the 74/75 Hunger Games, relying on his reputation of fear and control to keep people in line instead of continuously poisoning people outright. This may be because his body can't handle the poison as much anymore, or because he's slowly dying, but the scene we see in SOTR with Snow vomiting poison (and being unbothered by Haymitch witnessing it), combined with the fact that we don't see Snow as anything less than perfectly presentable in the Trilogy, shows how his older self is reaping the reward of fear and control that his younger self set the pave stones for with all the poisoning. By the time Katniss' games come around, he's like a lazy CEO who has everyone else and his reputation doing the work for him. He only starts picking up the slack once egregious mistakes start being made and his position at the Capitol becomes less stable with the rise of the Rebellion. Crucially, he was less involved in Katniss' games than he was in Haymitchs.

2. Katniss clearly wasn't trying to be a rebel in either of her games, unlike Haymitch, and Katniss and Snow were so similar (survivor's at heart) that Snow wasn't worried about rebellion from her at all. He wouldn't have liked her winning, obviously (Lucy Gray the icon that you are) and he would've been sneering over the star-crossed lovers angle, as he's absolutely certain that self-preservation will always prevail over love. After all, that's the same dilemma that happened between him and Lucy Gray, and they both chose self-preservation over each other!

3. I would bet money that Snow was fairly hands off during the 74th Hunger games, with the exception of the two-victors-from-the-same-district rule. Knowing what we know now about how Snow handled Haymitch and Lenore Dove, he would've been itching for a recreation of "killing the one you love" situation between Katniss and Peeta, the same way that it happened between him and Lucy Gray and Haymitch and Lenore Dove. He didn't believe that Katniss and Peeta were in love, but he also very sincerely believed the foundations of love crumple to nothing when someone's life is on the line - and he had to believe that, bc that would mean that he killed(?) Lucy Gray for no reason at all.

4. When Katniss teamed up with Rue, their alliance was so clearly different from the careers' in a way that was dangerous for the Capitol - it showed genuine comradery between districts. With the Careers alliances, there's no threat because they all turn at each other at the end (furthering the 'Disticts are subhuman/animal/inferior' perception with the Capitol), but Katniss very visibly treated Prim like a sister. Katniss showed that the Districts were family. This portrayal could not be allowed to continue. This was the first spark to the fire.

5. When Rue was killed, the cameras almost certainly lingered on her so they could capture her dismissively walking away from the body (because everyone is out for themselves, after all) but instead, they capture Katniss grieving and giving Rue a clear funeral in the only way she can - transforming Rue from a number and a bet into a dead girl and a child to be mourned. This is the clear moment that sparks the rebellion and keeps it aflame. Snow clearly didn't expect Katniss to do this, and was unable to avert the cameras in time. The rebellion is past the arena now.

6. This, I believe, is the moment where Snow tried to punish her and work some damage control. He implemented the 2 Victors rule as a bait and switch, to prove to himself and the Districts that even if Katniss will care and protect someone else, she will still choose herself, even if it means that she has to kill someone from her district. This, obviously, would make her a pariah back at home (tributes from the same district killing each other was confirmed to be social suicide in the first HG book) and squash out the face of the rebellion before it could spread.

7. But, of course, Katniss didn't do this and stepped out of the rules of his little "checkmate" entirely, which left Snow in a VERY sticky situation. Either they both died (showing the Districts that the Games are truly just a fancy way to murder their children, without the fame of the victor to distract from it) or they both lived (showing that 2 teenagers are able to hold power over the Capitol itself). Either way, the Capitol doesn't look good and, most importantly, it proves Snow wrong about his perception of humanity. Some people do choose love over survival - even the most brutal of survivalists like Katniss - and that is just too much for Snow to handle. No wonder he's obsessed with Katniss for the rest of the Trilogy, desperate to prove himself right after sixty plus years of the blood on his hands justifying his belief in people being inherently violent and selfish.

TLDR/In conclusion? Haymitch had a little too much boldness and a little too much bad luck, while Katniss had an overwhelming amount of love and loyalty within her, decades of people consoldiating for rebellion behind her, and just enough luck to truly spark the flame of rebellion and keep it lit until it burned the Capitol to the ground. Suzanne Collin's entire story focuses on strength of the power of the many, but how even then, there still needs to be a person to rally behind. This person, this symbol of resistance, can never be the person you want, only the person you need. You just gotta hope the stars align enough to make that person step forward and lead us to victory.

Suzanne Collins, the author that you are.

[caesarflickermans]

Analysis on the SOTR excerpt

The upside of being born on reaping day is that you can sleep late on your birthday. It’s pretty much downhill from there.

This is his last "happy" birthday with his family. By this time next year, he'll celebrate his birthday by being shipped off to the Capitol, having watched two kids get reaped and mentor them until their death.

“Happy birthday!” My 10-year-old brother, Sid, gives my shoulder a shake. “You said be your rooster. You said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.”

This level of family care and love is a strong entry to the book, as this is Haymitch's last day being surrounded by loved ones. There will never again be a morning where he wakes to his brother being his 'rooster'. It's a clashing contrast to the brief glances we receive in his victor's home.

Haymitch & Katniss parallel + Did Haymitch know Mr. Everdeen? Are they friends gathering (Haymitch) and hunting (Mr. Everdeen) in the woods? This could imply a similar relationship as Katniss and Gale initially had (potential parallels between each character?)

It’s true. I’m hoping to finish my work before the ceremony so I can devote the afternoon to the two things I love best — wasting time and being with my girl, Lenore Dove.

LENORE: Edgar Allan Poe reference: "Lenore" by Poe is a poem that explores themes of mourning, loss, and the hope for a better afterlife. The poem is about the death of a young woman named Lenore and the grief of her lover, who laments her passing but also finds solace in the belief that she is now in a better place. The poem contrasts the sorrow of those left behind with the idea that Lenore has transcended to a more peaceful and heavenly existence. Poe's use of language and imagery creates a haunting and melancholic atmosphere, reflecting the deep emotions associated with loss and the hope for eternal peace.

DOVE: Although no colour, her double name might suggest a potential Covey relationship. Dove could be a reference to the bird (grey or white) which might reference both Lucy Gray (grey) and Snow (white).

“Haymitch!” wails Sid. “The sun’s coming up!”

Wonderful reference to the title, 'Sunrise' on the Reaping. It starts at Midnight Sunrise.

“All right, all right. I’m up, too.” I roll straight off the mattress onto the floor and pull on a pair of shorts made from a government-issued flour sack.

This implies that Haymitch is taking tesserae, making it likely that this already existed during the 50th Hunger Games

The words "courtesy of the Capitol" end up stamped across my butt. My ma wastes nothing. Widowed young when my pa died in a coal mine fire, she’s raised Sid and me by taking in laundry and making every bit of anything count.

Haymitch's and Katniss' mothers are stark contrasts here. This increases the parallels between them and what he might have seen in Katniss when she was reaped.

In addition, Katniss remembers the loss of her father as a deep cut into her life. Potentially, Sunrise might answer whether Haymitch feels that way, too, or if he had been too young. Does he feel sorrow when walking not only around the Seam (mother, brother), but also around the colliery (father)?

Out back, my ma’s already stirring a steaming kettle of clothes with a stick, her muscles straining as she flips a pair of miner’s overalls. She’s only 35, but life’s sorrows have already cut lines into her face, like they do. 

His fondness for Hazelle as his housekeeper and potential friend might be due to seeing a resemblance of the mother he lost in Hazelle.

What with pumping and hauling, filling the cistern’s a two-hour job even with Sid’s help.

The brotherly connection he has with Sid being one of mutual aid, in contrast to Katniss' motherly role toward Prim. Haymitch had a real chance at a (relatively) normal family life and an actual childhood until this very day.

A blanket of mist wraps protectively around the worn, gray houses of the Seam.

It's interesting that Haymitch perceives mist as protecting the seam. Mist could potentially link to poems akin "Spirits of the Dead", where mist is a "symbol and a token", "a mystery of mysteries". This Poe poem itself reflects on the inevitability of death and the idea that the spirits of the dead continue to exist in a different realm. This could be a foreshadow for Haymitch and his relationship with the seam; insofar that his past life and soon-to-be-deceased family resided there; still lingering due to his own grief.

Don’t give the Capitol that. They’ve taken enough already.

"When they televise the replay of the reapings tonight, everyone will make note of my tears, and I’ll be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I will give no one that satisfaction." (Katniss) and "Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping" (Lucy Gray)

[jetblack4realz]

protector - haymitch abernathy

prologue

masterlist

background: you're mags' granddaughter, from district 4, 18 years old, just won the 55th hunger games, no clue what comes next whereas haymitch and mags know everything

warnings: sexualizing, allusions to sa and gross people, spoilers to sotr, age gap of like 3 years

word count: .7k

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haymitch hated july. he hated the reaping, his birthday, the hunger games, the capitol - all of it. and why was it so fucking hot all the time? he couldn't even walk from backstage to the damn interview couch without working up a sweat.

and he walked to that couch a lot.

"so, what is the rascal of district 12 up to these days?" caesar asked.

haymitch smirked and let out a low laugh, crossing one leg over the other as he held up his glass of bourbon. "take a guess, caesar."

the crowd laughed with the tv host as he reached for his own drink and clinked it against haymitch's. they both took a swig, caesar wincing dramatically as haymitch just breathed out contentedly.

"hopefully not brewing anymore though?"

"nah, i've got plenty enough funds to buy my own, thanks," haymitch answered with the same lazy grin he always wore in public.

"oh yes, of course you do," caesar said, waving a hand as he leaned forwards toward the young victor. "now, i'm so very sorry about your tributes again. they looked promising in the parade and behaved very well in their interviews."

yes. promising.

the girl had been practically naked and covered in coal dust - the stylist from 2 years prior's grand idea that became the new routine despite the revolving door of apparent fashion-experts assigned to the district - and the boy had the top half of miner's overall's with tiny black shorts. "it's like he fell in a cavern!" the stylist had told him. "it's innovative."

and then when they entered the roundabout parade their horses were slow and loud, their chariot covered in cheap black streamers, and the two fifteen year olds looked like two tiny mice rolled in coal dust and tossed into a cage of cats.

and the interviews? the girl was so nervous her hands shook and the strap of her hideous khaki and black dress kept falling down her arm. the boy kept trying to make jokes that never landed and insulted his district partner.

they then both scored 6s in the tribute center.

it was no wonder they both died within ten minutes of the initial bloodbath. haymitch told them to run and they did - just straight towards the cornucopia. straight towards the careers.

"they were good kids," haymitch managed to get out, taking another gulp of bourbon. "but they weren't built for the games. someone else was and so she won."

"yes, and what do you think of her? miss flanagan, i mean."

he paused, which only made caesar's smile grow wider. he caught sight of his old mentor backstage, her nodding once at him before disappearing behind the curtains again.

he sat straight and willed his grin back into existence, shrugging as he sipped from his glass again. "seems like a strong girl."

"a beautiful one too," caesar furthered, leaning towards the younger man. haymitch laughed lightly, nodding a bit.

"yes, she is," he agreed.

"have you gotten the chance to meet with her?"

"i have."

"and? anything noteworthy to report? any... connections found between you and the newest victor? we've all been waiting for our golden boy to find love again."

again. he hated how they flaunted lenore dove's death like it made him some tragic greek hero. he tried not to tense.

"she's absolutely gorgeous, of course," he answered, relaxing back in his chair as he shot a glance at the overexcited crowd. "no one can deny it. and she's... kind."

"kind?" caesar asked with raised brows. he grinned. "has she been kind to you haymitch?"

"more than any of the other victors, i'll tell you that," haymitch said with a gruff laugh. "alas, we're from different districts... i'll hardly see her except for once a year."

"do you want to see her more than once a year?" caesar teased, smiling at the audience like they were all in on some sort of secret joke.

haymitch paused, thinking back to the girl he'd shared a single conversation with prior to the games - the one who resembled his mentor just barely and had skin bronzed with the district 4 sun. the one who smiled like the sun itself. the one who'd managed to win the hunger games only killing one other tribute and did it all in a desert void of any water that would normally kill a girl like herself. the girl just on the other side of that curtain, chewing her lip, with a target on her back that was placed there just because she was pretty.

"yeah," he decided. "i do."

[onlybeeewrites]

What are the Odds (2/ )

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

Word count: 3k

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

What are the Odds series: Previous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had never actually believed it would be you.

Or Haymitch. Or Louella. Or Wyatt.

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

How awful. How absolutely awful this whole thing was.

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

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

“You.”

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

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

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

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

Then, everything moved too fast.

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

But you didn’t care about that.

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

They weren’t going to let you say goodbye.

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

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

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

“No, please—please!”

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

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

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

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

“Please, just let me—”

“Shut it.”

The first warning.

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

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

“I said shut it.”

The second warning.

Then came the pain.

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

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

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

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

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

Wyatt.

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

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

Then the doors slammed shut behind you.

Darkness.

No goodbyes. No last words.

Not for you, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But one thing was for certain.

The four of you would be completely on your own.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haymitch.

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

The flint striker.

Lenore Dove’s present.

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

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

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

You whispered first.

“She gave it to you,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Live?” Haymitch finished, blunt and quiet.

You nodded.

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

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

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

“Louella,” you corrected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.”

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

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

[chasingwhitebunnies]

Did Burdock know of Lucy Gray? Were all Covey children told about her or was it just Lenore Dove because they hoped the story of Lucy Gray would be something of a cautionary tale that would make her safe? If Burdock did know, would he have told Katniss one day? Or, if he had been there to see her volunteer, would he have told her as they said goodbye so she would have some hope that she, too, could come back home (even if he left out what happened next)

[flowercrownsandherondales]

Against the Odds pt. 5

Hoping this one doesn’t have as many mistakes as the last part lol. Sorry guys, I’m writing these at like 2am. Let me know what you think!

V: The Tour

I had been cleaning Haymitch’s house for a week and a half before I got the letter. 

Your presence is required for the 51st annual Victory Tour….

My feet found themselves standing at the gates of the Victor’s Village once again. Rain came down in buckets, my clothes and hair soaked as I banged on Haymitch’s door. He whipped it open in seconds, as if he had been expecting me. 

“You look like hell.” I bristled at his comment, shoving past him like usual and slamming the letter on his dining room table. 

“What the fuck is this?” He sighed heavily, reading through it before running a hand through his hair. A nervous habit I’d caught onto in the last week or so. 

“You knew this was coming. You’ve been to the other victory tours, Y/N.” 

“It’s bullshit. They expect me to stand up there on some pedestal and listen to some kid detail how sorry they are?” I started pacing the floor, hands shaking at my sides in rage. Haymitch sat down, head in his hands. 

“They aren’t allowed to apologize. It’d reflect poorly on the Capitol.” I huffed a laugh. 

“So what? What could they possibly say to make any of this better!” Haymitch shook his head, giving me one of the most sorrowful looks I’d seen from him. 

“There’s nothing they can say. It’s all scripted. None of it’s really from them. It’s propaganda, they have to make the games seem normal, good even.” Laughing incredulously was all I could do to keep from choking on a sob. 

“You had to do this shit, right? How’d you get through it?” I pressed him, his shoulders slumping more than usual. Asking about his games was always a gamble, and one I had carefully avoided. 

“I drank before it. I read off the cards, I avoided looking at the families, and I drank even more on our way to the next stop.” 

I had never remembered Haymitch drinking in our youth. I knew he had some kind of hand in Reaper’s business, but by then we hadn’t been talking much. The victory tour must have been the start of it. 

“You have to be there too?” My voice was starting to calm down, accepting that there was no way out of this. 

“I don’t really have to be. I don’t usually go.” An unspoken question, do you want me to go? 

“Lucky you.” I scoffed, reaching for the bottle in front of him and taking a swig. His gray eyes softened, putting a hand on the edge and lowering it from my mouth. 

“You know who the winner was, right?” His question was a whisper, as if he was telling me some kind of juicy gossip around the hob. 

In all truth I hadn’t bothered to find out. When Wiley died there had been several tributes left. He wasn’t close to being the last one standing. 

Haymitch met my eyes, almost like he was begging to not have to tell me. 

“Carp Delmar. The kid from 4.” 

The kid from 4. The boy with green eyes who’d snuck up on my son and slit his throat. 

The wind was knocked out of my lungs. A name to the face. A name to the boy who murdered my son. How much worse could things get? What did I do to never have a day of peace in my life?

I was silent for a while, Haymitch watching closely and waiting for an outburst. He always seemed on eggshells, as if I’d given him a reason to be. I hadn’t had a tantrum, had never screamed or raised my voice, and cried hysterically near him. My collected demeanor had been walking a tightrope, but it never teetered off the edge around him. 

“Well I hope Carp got everything he wanted.” Haymitch released his grip on the bottle, allowing me to chug the rest. 

“The life of a victor isn’t as good as I might have made you believe.” He gestured to our surroundings, which didn’t have a grand effect considering I had been scrubbing it for the last week and a half. 

“You have entirely different circumstances, Haymitch.” The fire, his ma and Sid clutching each other tight as they went up in flames. Lenore Dove’s blood soaked lips, a bag of gumdrops spilled on the grass. 

It seemed we were both walking around trauma filled eggshells. 

“Things happen to victors. Life isn’t magically better once you get home. There’s a price to pay for winning, especially the attractive ones from career districts.” I had no clue where he was going with this. Attractive? 

It dawned on me. The way they showed certain victors from 1, 2 and 4. The fawning men and women at their feet. They were always dressed the best, skin perfect and glowing. I thought back to the times we saw mentors in the audience for interviews, mentors like Chaff from 11 that was missing his forearm. Victors from the career districts never seemed to have a spot on them other than the occasional sliver of a scar. 

“They wouldn’t…. They’re kids.” I breathed. No one in their right mind would possibly think- not a child. 

Haymitch was silent, studying and letting me piece together the truth. 

“To the victor goes the spoils.” he muttered, taking the bottle back and finishing off the drop I had left. 

A few days later I was being escorted to the platform in the square. 

I stood alone, the wind storming behind me. I looked to my left, Tansy’s family held each other tight. Her mother was crying, limp blonde hair blowing in the wind as her husband held her tight. Her siblings stood in front, shell shocked and traumatized. A photo of Tansy was plastered behind them. She was a replica of her mother. 

I hadn’t been able to bring myself to look at the picture of Wiley behind me. 

The boy from 4 was forced onto the stage, clutching his cards to his chest. In this light he looked horrified, his version of Effie Trinket nudging him to speak. He cleared his throat, going into a speech about the games and how they were a necessary evil. He wouldn’t look at me, studying his cards with practiced precision until he ran out of breath. When it was done there was silence, which clearly disgusted his announcer. She scoffed, ushering him back into the justice building. 

Carp turned for a brief second as they pushed him inside, green eyes locking on mine. He clearly hadn’t slept a full night in weeks. Sorry. He mouthed, and my heart broke for him. I put on a small smile, a small comfort for a boy that was about to be used and abused by the people who promised him safety. It’s okay. It was no use being angry at this boy, he’d never escape my son. 

I looked into the crowd and spotted him. Haymitch stood with his arms crossed, eyes set on one thing. Me. 

I couldn’t pick out his expression. He had the mask he wore for mentoring on, guarded and cold. He stood ridged, muscles tensed and probably aching. He was clean shaven, borderline presentable if it hadn’t been for his messy hair and wrinkled shirt. 

The pictures clicked off once Carp was gone and the cameras disappeared. No one wanted to see more of the decaying district 12. Peacekeepers pushed the Ruble’s and I off the platforms, ushering everyone out of the square and back to work. A hand clasped down on my forearm, calloused and warm. Haymitch tugged me away, pulling me in a quick pace back to the seam. 

He was practically running towards my shack, shoving me inside and bolting the door. The effort had taken some steam out of him, his alcohol filled body panting at the light jog. 

“That boy is gonna be punished for that.” I furrowed my brows. 

“For what?” But I already knew. The whispered apology, done with the cameras still in front of him. 

Haymitch gave me a pointed look, his arms crossing once again. I sighed, tossing myself onto the busted chair in my living room. 

“What was I supposed to do? I can’t do anything about what he did.” Haymitch crossed over, kneeling in front of me. 

“Nothing you can do. But you should have ignored it.” 

“Like the Capitol is going to punish me. They’ve already done that, and I didn’t even break any rules.” A maniacal laugh came out of me. What more could they want?

He let out a frustrated huff, hands going to his hair again. “You shouldn’t come over anymore.” 

I sat straighter at that. “Already sick of me?” It came out harsh, the brunt of my anger at the situation. “You scared they’re gonna kill you for a fucking whisper?” 

He stood. “I’m scared they are going to kill you for being anywhere near me!” His past had reared its ugly head. 

Haymitch paced, hands clenching and unclenching. “You’ve been spending time with me. He sees that, he sees everything. Then you go and even slightly defy the games, just the smallest thing has the biggest impact on him. He’s going to think I’m- I’m coaching you.” 

Him. President Snow. 

“Coaching me? Coaching me on what, how to defy the Capitol 101?” Haymitch didn’t laugh. 

“Rebellions grow from small acts, Y/N. I have to get out of here.” He huffed, moving towards the door. 

As he went to shut it I called after him. 

“See you next week.” 

[ashyblondwaves]

Prompt? The moment Haymitch realized that Peeta was important to him. Because he could only bring back one tribute, and he chose his best friend’s daughter. So when he realized Peeta meant something too? Meant something for himself not a dead friend or a memory of a lost child? That had to be a big thing for him. Unlike Katniss, I think Peeta meant someone not tainted by his games and memories. Peeta was the first kind person he let into his life after he pushed everyone else away. Katniss too, but Katniss comes with old baggage and her own family to keep her busy. Peeta did not. I just feel no one explores that angle. Always how Katniss and Haymitch are a lot alike, not why those similarities would draw them both to the same boy.

Thank You for this amazing prompt! I knew I could go to sleep until I wrote this, so I hope you enjoy! <3

This Wasn't Supposed to Hurt

I don’t remember his name being called. I was a little preoccupied with being unconscious on the ground to notice the boy nobody would dare volunteer for. 

Could you blame them? Not many would put their own life on the chopping block for another, and after the spectacle that was Katniss volunteering for her sister, nobody was ready to repeat it. 

The first thing I remember about him was when he hoisted me up out of a pool of my own vomit and dragged me off to my shower. Nobody tells you how sobering it is to slip in your own sick and have a pair of kids take care of you. 

After dismissing Katniss, Peeta took the burden of cleaning me up himself, and that’s when I knew he would die. Nobody that gentle or kind, who would take a relative stranger and clean them up like that, would survive in the arena very long. 

But then, the very next day, he surprised me by getting aggressive when I wrote them off. He was pissed, and it surprised me so much, I couldn’t do anything but punch in him in the face. Then Katniss got involved, and I was forced to see them for what they could possibly be to this stagnant rebellion.

The problem was that two of them weren’t designed to be a team. Sure, they could become allies, stick together in the arena and take every one out, but the time would come when one of them would have to die if they both survived to the end. The Capitol is particularly cruel for rigging things this way. 

We even tried the team angle for a while, having them go into things as one, but Peeta got tired of that quickly. He had his own plans. Tactics to give it to the Capitol as good as they gave it. 

He’s a rascal, that one. And not in the way that I pretended to be one. He just is, through and through, without any sort of facade, and I admire that. 

Even with all of that, I knew there would still come the moment where I had to choose one of them. They couldn’t both come home, and Peeta made it almost too easy for me to choose Katniss, which he probably intended. 

After teaming with the Careers, the Capitol wasn’t too keen on him, even though it was plain to see why he did it. But Capitol folks aren’t the sharpest tools and during the games everything comes with a price, and it this was going to cost Peeta his life.

I don’t doubt for a second that his feelings for Katniss are genuine. I try to think of going into the arena with Lenore Dove, how I would have done any and everything to protect her and make sure she got to go back home and I know without a second thought that if I had to, I would have done the exact same thing as Peeta.

It’s when Peeta and the Careers have Katniss trapping in a tree that I have to make my decision. It’s relatively easy to negotiate with the sponsors to send Katniss the burn cream, something I could never negotiate for Peeta after allying with the Careers, which means I have my answer. 

Then Katniss drops a Tracker Jacker nest on them all, and there’s something in my gut that lurches when I see Peeta screaming at Katniss to leave as Cato closes in. Something that causes my head to spin that has nothing to do with alcohol, when Cato realizes that Peeta helped Katniss escape. The scuffle, the way Peeta holds his ground. It’s familiar to me. I see myself at that age about to go toe to toe with a Peacekeeper to keep him from harming Lenore Dove, and I wonder for a moment if I’ve made a mistake.

He’s lying in the mud now, covered head to toe in the thick, wet earth, injured and clinging to life. I wonder if I should have done more for Peeta, negotiated something for him, gotten the Capitol sponsors on his side again. It wouldn’t have been too hard with these people, but it’s too late now. 

I spend the hours with a gnawing feeling in my stomach. How quickly this boy showed me kindness, and I couldn’t even do the same for him. How easily I’ve been able to see myself in him, and I ignored it. How once again I was trapped into playing the game. I throw my empty glass at the wall, angry that Snow has forced my hand this way for yet another year, because the truth is, I want them both to come home. 

I wait and wait for the cannon to go off, to signal that Peeta’s gone, but it never comes. 

Then Claudius Templesmith announces the rule change, and everything changes. 

[hyperfixations-and-brainrot]

Shit in "Sunrise on the Reaping" That Made Me Wanna Eat a Fuckin Pillow: Chapter 26

(I read that shit on Kobo, so I don't know how accurate the page numbers are, like compared to physical copies, but I messed with the font size to, hopefully, get it as close as I can)

"I'm displayed in a giant golden birdcage" (page 342)

"What awaits me? And if I behave, can I alter it?" (page 342)

"[Heavensbee] refuses to let me catch his eye" (page 342)

"The only person who keeps an eye on me is Effie Trinket" (page 343)

Lenore Dove (possibly??) lyin about bein released from the base to not worry Haymitch (page 343)

"I will bear anything to keep my loved ones alive" (page 344), just... as it is, but especially cause it was all for fuckin nothing

"[...] [Haymitch and the other tributes] will finish this journey together" (page 345)

"Lenore Dove plays [The Hanging Tree] to Burdock sometimes" (page 345)

"Maybe Lenore Dove and I will hang together. Could be easier to find her then, in that next world of hers. That's as close to comfort as I can get" (page 347)

"[...] the Capitol has won. I can't tell [Louella and Lou Lou] apart" (page 347)

"No one waits for me" (page 347)

"The station's quiet as a tomb. Strange, even for the hour" (page 348)

"[...] for the first time I allow myself to believe that I have really come home" (page 348)

"Are the sweet moments of my previous life, always taken for granted before the Games, once more in reach? Can there be happiness again for a miserable wretch like myself?" (page 348)

"If it is a dream, I want to sustain it until I get to see my family one more time" (page 348)

"Maybe [the house on fire]'s not mine. I know it's mine" (pages 348-349)

Blair cryin and apologizin to Haymitch, for not bein able to save his family (page 349)

Burdock askin Asterid if she can help Haymitch (page 350)

Asterid comfortin Haymitch (page 350)

Haymitch wakin at the McCoys' (page 350)

"I'm the reason that cistern's dry" (page 350)

Louella's mom callin Haymitch Hay, the same name her daughter called him (page 351)

""[Haymitch's mom and brother] had hold of each other," Mr McCoy says. "Thought we'd let them stay that way"" (page 351)

"Everybody [at the funeral] should be at work" (page 351)

Wyatt's dad killin himself (page 351)

Haymitch mistakin Merrilee for Maysilee (pages 351-352)

"As my eyes sweep the crowd, I see person after person press the three middle fingers of their left hang to their lips and then extend it to their dead" (page 353)

Bean and hock ham soup (page 353)

"Burdock and Blair catch me as I start fall" (page 354)

Blair stayin with Haymitch while Burdock goes ask Asterid for more sleep syrup (page 354)

"Through the crack in the door, I make out Burdock and Blair, asleep on the couches in the living room" (page 354)

"Sitting on a fallen log, barefooted and in the worn miner's clothes, I feel safer than I have in weeks" (page 355)

Tam Amber bein "a little more stooped" than Haymitch remembers (page 356)

"Tam Amber's the easy parent, the one she goes to with a questionable request, so if he's worried..." (page 356)

"[Haymitch and Clerk Carmine] both really want the same thing: for Lenore Dove to be safe and happy" (page 356)

"[...] it consoles me some that when I run away, [Clerk Carmine] will be here guarding [Lenore Dove]" (page 356)

"[...] I don't think either of us can live without the other" (page 357)

The fact that he literally fed the fuckin poisoned gumdrops himself (page 357)

Snow replaced the rainbow, Lucy Gray's color, gumdrops, with bloodred, his color (pages 357-358)

Haymitch Clerk Carmine for help (page 358)

MasterList

[retrowitchy]

haymitch takes everlark & co. (meaning the geese) to visit lenore dove's grave

ever wondered what it might look like if the mockingjay epilogue was extended just a little bit to include a whole random bit where haymitch takes two kids and nine geese into the woods by the lake to show them a bunch of dead people's graves? well wonder no more!!!

*✴︎+ take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die on ao3

It’s been about a year since we all came back to 12. In that year, I feel like I have grown old so much faster than I ever have before. It’s easy to remember some parts of it all, and hard to recall others. Peeta’s doctor says that’s how trauma works. Sometimes you forget, because remembering is just too hard. And sometimes, I don’t want to remember any of it.

Time has passed, but the three of us, Haymitch, Peeta and I, have settled into a routine with each other unlike anything we ever had before the second Quarter Quell. Honestly, it’s more out of necessity than anything- the nightmares are too hard for any of us to bear in an empty house. We tried living separately for a while, but it felt stupid, each of us alone while we all lived next door to each other. I insisted on staying with Haymitch almost immediately after they came back. I might have been too stubborn to admit the comfort I found in his company before, but it would be ridiculous to deny that now. He and I mean a lot to other. I guess we always have, or we have since this all started.

It took a little while, and a lot of convincing, but after he felt like the risk of hurting me was gone, Peeta moved in too. He was terrified that he’d relapse, have some shutdown that resulted in him strangling me again, but I didn’t care. I missed him more than almost anything. All the time I had spent, hiding in vents and crying to Haymitch and Gale and my mother and Prim when he was being held hostage in the Capitol, it shouldn’t be for nothing, I had said. I needed him to come home. And he did, eventually.

It’s good for us all. Peeta and I stay upstairs, and Haymitch is down the hall. Most mornings we eat together, something Peeta made and I hunted, and then we spend our days doing whatever we feel like. A couple months ago, we got Haymitch some goose eggs, so now he has something to do with his time instead of sitting around in the house all day. They’re rebuilding the Hob, too. And the Meadow is starting to grow back.

One day, when spring has started to seep into the ground, and gets to the point where you can smell it in the breeze, Peeta comes into the fireside room, where Haymitch is asleep clutching a bottle of his white liquor and I am busy working on a letter to Annie.

I don’t look up from my writing. “What, Peeta?”

He chuckles, and then comes to sit down, on the couch next to me.

“What are you working on?”

I don’t like my scratchy penmanship, especially compared to Peeta’s neat cursive, but I hand over the letter.

“I’m trying to be better about writing people. Annie asked us to send more, and you’re always the one who does them, so…” I trail off, getting mumbly and feeling kind of dumb. He’s looking it over.

“This is sweet, Katniss,” he says, scanning it with a little smile at the corner of his mouth. I snatch it back.

“Okay, time’s up. I don’t want you to read the whole thing,” I say, feeling my cheeks going pink. He laughs.

“Okay, okay. I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

I fold the paper in half and tuck it aside. I’ll finish it later.

“What did you come in here to say?” I ask, as I put away my pens.

“Does there really have to be a reason?” he asks.

“Yes. You never stand in the doorway like that unless you have something you’re trying to pitch to us,” I say, glancing at Haymitch, who is snoring slightly across the room.

“Not a pitch,” he says, smiling. “Just wanted to see if you guys were up for a picnic.”

Haymitch opens one eye lazily. Guess he wasn’t as dead to the world as I thought.

“And why would we do that when we’re having a perfectly enjoyable time right now?” he asks, not moving from his armchair. I look to Peeta.

“Because it’s nice out,” Peeta says calmly.

“Nice inside too,” counters Haymitch.

“The geese could get some exercise?” Peeta offers. Haymitch closes his eyes and lets out a ridiculous long grumble.

“Fine,” he says. “But I’m not contributing a damn thing. I’ll bring the kids and that’s it.”

“Katniss?” Peeta looks to me for confirmation I will go along with this plan.

“Sure,” I say. “Anything to get Haymitch out of that armchair.”

“You’re on thin ice, girl, you’d better watch out,” he says threateningly, as he stands up with a grunt and heads toward the kitchen with his bottle.

“Or what?” I call after him, getting no response, and rolling my eyes with a half smile. I kiss Peeta’s forehead quickly and stand up, clutching my letter. “I’ll get a basket.”

“Sounds good,” he says with a smile.

The basket is not for picnic food, which we both know. Whenever we take trips out to the Meadow, Peeta likes to collect some of the flowers and bring them back for the house. I like it too, because it means I can hunt for plant life that we might have missed for the nature book. It’s a rarer occurrence these days, since we’ve almost filled up the entire thing, but you never know.

I grab an empty basket from the top of the pantry, stopping only to pop a few tomatoes into my mouth, and then start digging around in the cabinets for the nature book. Usually, it stays upstairs with me and Peeta, because I like to look at it before going to sleep sometimes, but we were working on it in the kitchen yesterday and I am pretty sure it’s here.

“Hey, bring the memory book while you’re at it,” Haymitch says, making me jump. I turn around, getting hair stuck in my mouth, and spit it out.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because. Never know when you’ll come across a good piece of information for that thing,” he says, vaguely. He’s acting kind of weird and I’m trying to place why, but I’m coming up short. I don’t think I said anything to really set him off this morning. Whatever, I think.

“Okay.” I grab the journal from its place on the kitchen bookshelf, and the nature book is right next to it, so I grab that too, and stick them both in my basket.

After helping Peeta pack some food, we head out.

There’s a few spots we gravitate to in the Meadow, but Haymitch has the geese, so we let him take the lead. It’s amazing how attached he’s gotten to them in the last couple of months- and even more amazing how attached they’ve gotten to him. Once, when it was snowing, I caught him nursing one of them in his arms by the fire inside. He got pretty angry with me, growling curses and insults, but I could tell he was trying not to disturb the gosling because he kept his volume low. I know the geese are important to him not just because he secretly has a heart, but also because of his old girlfriend, somebody Snow killed after his Games.

When he told me and Peeta about Lenore Dove, it was a surprise. We hadn’t been working on the book at all. It was a late night in November, and we were all trying to figure out the central heating system in the house- something I maintain is a ridiculous luxury, although nice- and then when we had all found the switch that controls it, he said, “I never actually told you about her, did I?”.

“Who, Haymitch?” Peeta had asked, while fiddling with the switch.

“My girl.”

Haymitch had mentioned her to me once before, in 13, but Peeta had never even heard of her until then. He told us about her, how she belonged to a people called the Covey, who didn’t even exist in 12 by the time Peeta and I were kids. After he won his Games, defying the Capitol in every possible way he could while doing so, Snow had her and his family murdered. Apparently, she used to herd geese. That’s why we got him the eggs.

The goslings huddle and quack around Haymitch like he’s their mother or something. It always makes Peeta laugh, and he points at one of them that keeps falling behind and trying to catch up, and then hitting Haymitch’s boot when it does.

“Poor guy,” Peeta says, as the baby hits his foot again, and Haymitch shakes his leg slightly to ward him off.

“They need to learn to make friends with each other, not with him,” I say. The geese are desperate for Haymitch’s attention.

“Or we could set them up with Buttercup,” Peeta suggests jokingly.

“Yeah. And he’d eat them all,” I respond. I am not kidding. More than once, I have caught him trying to sneak inside their pen.

“He’s gotten more friendly with them, though, right?” Peeta protests, grinning at my stubborn refusal to say anything nice about that cat.

“Maybe. So he can trick them into trusting him,” I say. He laughs at me, and despite myself, I crack a smile, swinging the basket as we walk.

We reach the edge of our usual tree, but Haymitch isn’t stopping.

“Are we going to the lake?” I call to him.

“Something like that,” he replies, not bothering to turn around. I didn’t know he knew about the lake, but there’s a lot I’m finding out about Haymitch that I didn’t know.

But we don’t stop at the lake- we follow him around it, to the bank across the way. I can tell Peeta needs a breather- his prosthetic leg doesn’t do great with long distances.

“Haymitch, we have to stop a minute,” I tell him, signaling to Peeta to stop.

“Almost there,” is all he says in response, and that gets an eye roll from me.

“I’m fine, Katniss, it’s okay,” says Peeta.

“No, you’re not, you have to rest,” I say, and it comes out slightly more forcefully than I meant it. I clear my throat. “Sorry. I just mean I don’t want your leg acting up. Haymitch, seriously-”

But Haymitch is already leading his gaggle of geese into the humid patch of mossy wood next to the bank.

“Fine,” I yell to him, since he’s a pretty good distance away already. “We’re staying here!”

“Fine!” he yells back, and disappears into the woods. Good riddance.

“Sit, Peeta,” I say, and crouch down along the muddy bank next to him. We rest, letting our boots squelch in the sticky mud around our feet and trailing our fingers through it absentmindedly. Peeta is proud when he finds some katniss root, and I rinse it off and put it in our collecting basket.

When I stand, there something white and flowering at the edge of the trees that catches my eye.

“Stay here a minute,” I tell Peeta. “I’m just collecting something for the book.”

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s happy digging for katniss, and even though Peeta alone in the woods makes me anxious, I don’t feel too bad leaving him for a second here.

I stomp through the muddy grass to where the tree line starts and am disappointed to find that the white flower is just a clematis vine- something we definitely already have in the nature book. I squat down next to it to pick off some of the blossoms for Peeta, when I hear the honking of the geese not too far away.

“Haymitch?” I call, but there’s no response except the continued honking. I glance back at Peeta on the bank, but he’s okay, so I decide to find Haymitch.

Curious, I wander through the forest, following a trail that is marked out only by the muddy boot indents in the grass he made minutes ago, and otherwise untouched. It doesn’t take me very far to reach a clearing, surrounded by tall water birch trees and shaded so well I know they must have grown here hundreds of years ago. In the center of the clearing, there is a small graveyard.

Haymitch sits on a boulder a respectful distance away from the graves, surrounded by his geese, and just looks up mildly.

“Followed my footprints, did you?” he asks, but there’s not as much snark dripping from that sentence as there normally might be.

“What is this place?” I ask, trying to process how serene he looks with nine white birds nested and clucking around him peacefully.

“Covey graveyard,” is all he says.

Covey graveyard. This is something I did not expect. I look closer at the headstones and see that they are all engraved.

“Go ahead,” he says, gesturing, inviting me to investigate. Obediently, I go over to the different stones and start to read. As I take in each one, I am quickly picking up that they all reference a different song, and the rock is as close a color match as possible to the name of the Covey member buried there. Some seem like they were erected in the last 50 years, and others feel like they might have been here for centuries, so grown over with moss you can barely read them.

“You’re related to them, you know,” Haymitch comments from his boulder. I quickly turn to him.

“What?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Your dad. He was a distant relative, so you got Covey in your blood. Figures how you got those pipes.”

This is something I have never considered before in my life. My father, related to the Covey? Meaning that I too, am connected to this legacy. I stare at him, gaping.

“I always wondered how she could sing like that.”

Haymitch and I both start, and Peeta is standing at the opening of the clearing, looking a little apologetic.

“Sorry,” he says, both in reference to startling us and the fact that I told him to stay. “Haymitch, is Lenore Dove buried here?”

Why didn’t I think of this? I am an idiot. Of course this is why we are here. Haymitch just nods his head to a stone by my foot.

“Read that one,” he says. Peeta comes over to me and crouches down in front of the stone, examining it.

“’But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ‘Lenore?’ This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” Merely this and nothing more’,” he reads, solemnly and slowly and much better than I could have.

There’s a silence in the breeze, and for a moment, it feels like the forest has stopped moving, the world has stopped working, in respect for Lenore Dove and her lyrical epitaph. I look over and I see Haymitch, absentmindedly stroking the head of one of the geese with a faint smile on his face and watching Peeta with a vaguely misty expression.

“Is this why you wanted us to come here?” I ask. “To visit her grave?”

“I just thought you…might like to meet her. Or…see this place, I guess,” he says, his voice gruff. “It’s sorta your birthright, in a way.”

“Katniss.” Peeta’s voice is soft and quiet at my feet. “The book.”

Realizing quickly what he’s saying, I push the basket towards him with my foot, and he pulls out our memory book, flipping to a blank page.

“Do you know anyone else buried here?” I ask Haymitch, wondering just how many of the Covey he could have hung around.

“Nah,” he says. “Well, technically, yes. Tam Amber, that yellowish stone in the back corner there, he was one of Lenore Dove’s uncles. Not by blood, but he raised her. Along with Clerk Carmine, who you saw playing at Finnick and Annie’s wedding.”

“Wait, there are Covey still alive?” This is shocking to me. And I know that fiddle player, even from before 13. I used to see him inside the Hob, playing while I traded my hunting loot on the weekends.

“Just him. He’s the last one,” Haymitch amends. I can hear the scratching of charcoal that I know to mean Peeta is marking out a sketch. I understand now why Haymitch asked me to bring the book. “He lives in the rebuilt part of town, now, actually. Him and I don’t exactly get along on the best of terms, but he is here.”

I do not know what to do with any of this information but let it settle in my brain and watch Peeta’s pencil move across the page. Suddenly, I have an idea.

I kneel down next to Peeta and the basket, and I pull out the clematis I picked earlier. Glancing at Haymitch to make sure I’m not crossing some kind of invisible boundary, I slowly set down the blossoms in front of Lenore Dove’s grave. Peeta, head down and focused on his sketch, nods his approval.

I look up to Haymitch, and he nods too, and I think there might be tears in his eyes, but I can’t completely tell.

“Is that okay?” I ask, worried for a split second.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “She would have liked that. She used to grow those flowers up the side of her window.”

I swallow.

“Good.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says.

[berryflavouredkoolaid]

The Ballad of Annabel Lee, as Haymitch Abernathy Remembers

~ Sunrise On the Reaping SPOILERS ~

Haymitch Abernathy saw his girl sing with an audience once. Although it was just her uncles, himself, and baby Annabel Silver watching, Lenore Dove approached the performance as if she were on stage before the entire district. It’d been a special occasion, Annabel Silver’s birthday. She let Annabel Silver bang a few keys out on the piano, before she herself sat down at the instrument, and with an almost heartbreakingly beautiful voice, sang:

“It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

Little Annabel Silver, like she recognized her name-song from the womb, had pounded her chubby fists and grinned a gummy grin. By the time Lenore Dove’s started the next verse, green eyes glittering, Annabel Silver had quieted, and watched her cousin with wide, entranced eyes, drinking in the way her fingers danced across the keys.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.”

Haymitch doesn’t hear a Covey naming song again after Lenore Dove dies. Not for a long time. Not until he’s stumbling through the Seam, a three-quarters drunken bottle of white liquor in hand. He can hear low music coming from the little house near the Meadow and the woods. There’s a girl singing, and for a moment he forgets the meadow, and the gumdrop, because he swears he can hear his girl singing in a voice as soft and low as moonlight filtering through the tall grass. He doesn’t dare encroach on the yard from which the sound spills out. He watches from the banks of shrubbery that surround it as a girl with dark hair plucks at a guitar. He can see her toe tapping time to the music, her voice low and haunting despite her grin.

“And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.”

When she sings the next lines, Lenore Dove rises so fully in his mind he chokes on her presence, the half-swallowed rotgut dribbling from the side of his mouth.

“The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.”

He can remember the next verse before she sings it, mumbling along off-time and key in his drunken state. Haymitch takes a swig from the bottle, and sinks down onto the yellowed grass.

“But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;”

The bottle nearly empty, Haymitch’s eyes see a boy with hair like coal and the ashy skin that marks him as a Seam boy, watching the girl with unadulterated rapture. He’s sitting cross-legged at her feet, looking up at her. Annabel Silver, for it is little Annabel Silver who’s singing, has her eyes on him, a smile playing at her lips. Haymitch tumbles forward, the last drops of white liquor watering the ground. He’s only dimly aware of Annabel Silver still singing her name-song in the yard.

“For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea—

In her tomb by the sounding sea.”

When he wakes in the morning, his mouth tastes of day-old liquor and dirt, but a grey blanket shields his body from the dew, and a pillow softens the ground beneath his head. He cranes his neck and he can almost see a girl with dark hair streaming behind her speeding down the knoll back to the house, empty bottle in hand.

[lilylife2010]

Sunrise on the Reaping Analysis (Spoiler Alert)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[amgk22]

a rose and one boot. burdock everdeen x asterid march

synopsis: when haymitch and burdock go a bit too far in the woods, haymitch ends up having to bring burdock to asterid- knowing it would spark a romance.

warnings: none

“I bet you can’t go any higher,” A snarky, high pitched voice squeaked. “Oh come on ‘Mitch, don’t be a kitty cat!”

“I’m not a kitty cat, Burdy!” Haymitch exclaimed, looking down at his friend from the top of one of the highest trees. Haymitch and Burdock called it the tree of death, since there was a rumour that a kid once died there. Since they were ten, it was always a race to see who would reach the top. No one ever did.

Until now. “I’m about to reach it!” Haymitch called. “Who’s the kitty now! Shouldn’t have let me go first.”

Burdock crossed his arms. “You’re gonna slip. I just know you are.”

“No I won’t!” Haymitch laughed, letting go of one arm. “Look! I’m doing it one handed! Can you do that?”

“I can scale up the whole thing one handed,” Burdock reminded Haymitch. “Sit on that branch, I’ll show you.”

“If you can do it, I’ll give you ten bucks,” Haymitch chirped, leaning back on one of the more sturdy branches.

Money? Now that money was in the question, Burdock’s need to prove himself stood out like a sore thumb. He wouldn’t quit, especially not now.

His brown -almost ripping apart- boots sunk themself into the little cracks of the bark. The adrenaline of being in the air, it excited Burdock. He saw birds around him. Mockingjays. “Look, a mockingjay!” Burdock exclaimed. “Lenore Dove’s gonna love this.”

“Oh yeah, Lenore Dove,” Haymitch mumbled. “She’s cool. But way too good at freeze tag.”

“Well, that’s cause she’s my cousin,” Burdock replied with a grin. “Like, super distant, but it’s still in my genes.”

“Very funny,” Haymitch snickered. “Stop chirping and start climbing, you little kittycat!”

“Don’t call me that!” Burdock yelled up, climbing mostly with his upper body. His legs swung a little bit, focusing on keeping his grip.

The higher he went, the closer he got to Haymitch, and the bigger his grin got. “See? I’m about to reach you,” Burdock teased. “And it’s been less than a minute!”

Haymitch looked down, still staying on the branch. “My branch’s creaking a bit, how much longer you gonna take?”

“That’s just cause you’re FAT!” yelled Burdock, letting go of his grip just slightly. With his legs wobbling a bit, one arm out, and the other just barely holding on, his weight couldn’t support him for much longer, and he began to slide.

“Who’s the fat one now?” Haymitch asked, smirking as Burdock hung for his life.

“I just slipped. I’m coming back up!” Burdock exclaimed, but the second he went to grab a piece of bark to hold onto, the bark fell off, and he went down the tree and onto the leaf-filled ground- landing right on his arm.

“Haha!” Haymitch laughed. “Loser!” He waited by his seat on the tree, excited to see Burdock defend his embarrassing fall. But when Burdock wouldn’t get up, a bit of worry covered Haymitch’s face. “Burdy?” Haymitch asked. “You okay down there?”

“Yeah,” Burdock groaned, but Haymitch could tell something wasn’t right. Careful but quickly, Haymitch descended from the high up branch down to the ground. Burdock wasn’t dead, he knew that- the tree of death hadn’t taken its next life. But Haymitch knew that Burdock definitely wasn’t gonna grin and bear it.

Once Haymitch reached Burdock, he let out a groan. “Hey,” Burdock mumbled, a bit of tears in his eyes. “I’m fine, really.”

“No, you’re not fine,” Haymitch insisted. “What hurts? Your leg? Your back?”

“My arm,” Burdock told Haymitch, rubbing it painfully. “I landed flat on it. Everything else is..mostly fine.”

“Good, but bad,” Haymitch mumbled, standing up. “Come on. Let’s head and see if there’s a doctor we can take you to. Kay?”

“Kay,” Burdock said, slowly getting to his feet. His arm stung, bad. He felt so much, and at the same time, so little. But for once, Haymitch wasn’t just his skinny dipping best friend. He was responsible.

“If anyone asks, we weren’t in the woods,” Haymitch told Burdock. “You tripped on the stairs.”

“But my house doesn’t have any stairs,” Burdock mumbled.

“Then you tripped on my house’s stairs,” Haymitch said. “My mom’n Sid better cover.”

“They will,” Burdock insisted, letting out a moan of pain. “Agh.”

“It’s okay,” Haymitch mumbled. “Just go under the fence.” Crawling under the fence, Burdock watched Haymitch and painfully went through as well, getting a little shock.

“Those things better turn off soon,” Haymitch laughed. “They’ll kill you someday. That, or some mine explosion.”

“Don’t jinx it, Haymitch,” Burdock told his friend, trying to joke off the pain. It didn’t work, but it made him smile. “Maybe we can go to the merchants. Heard the March’s are back in business.”

“The March’s,” Haymitch mumbled. “They’re friends with the Donners.”

“Just because the girl’s friends with stupid Maysilee, doesn’t make them bad,” Burdock shrugged, before rubbing his arm in pain. “What do you think happened?”

“You didn’t break it,” Haymitch pointed out. “Maybe fractured? Or are those two the same.”

“I don’t know,” Burdock laughed. “But whatever it is, it sucks.”

The two friends chuckled a bit, as they walked down the merchant’s lane, and eventually to the March’s house slash doctor’s office. “You ring the bell,” Burdock whispered.

“No, you!” Haymitch retorted, slapping Burdock on the shoulder.

“OW!” Burdock squeaked, rolling his eyes and using his good arm to ring the bell.

After a couple seconds, the door opened. Burdock couldn’t believe what he saw. A beautiful, blonde haired girl with icey blue eyes and dimples when she smiled. “Hello,” the girl said. “Are you here to see my dad?”

“Yeah,” Haymitch said for Burdock, who stared at the girl in mostly shock. “This guy fell down my stairs and his arm hurts.”

The girl frowned. “That must suck. My dad isn’t here, though, I apologize. Shall I help you?”

“That would be great,” Burdock finally managed to say. “I-I’m Burdock.”

“Asterid,” she smiled. “An asteroid hit the lake the night I was born, and my mother loved space, so my dad saw it fitting.”

Asterid led the two boys into the house, both of them quickly admiring the surroundings. Burdock couldn’t keep his eyes off Asterid. The way her hair swayed as she walked, the way her blouse was perfectly loose, how her flats sounded when she walked in them, it made his heart flutter like a mockingjay’s wings. But Haymitch saw the food. “Hey, Asteroid, can I have a snack?” Haymitch asked.

“It’s Asterid, but sure,” Asterid replied, still taking Burdock into a specific room. “Sit down, please. I’ll take a look, and if I can help, I will. If I can’t, I’ll get my dad.”

“Sounds good, Asterid,” Burdock smiled. Suddenly, he wasn’t even focused on the groaning pain of his elbow. Slowly, Asterid touched Burdock’s arm and body with precision and tenderness.

“Does that hurt?” Asterid asked, tapping a specific spot.

“Yeah, Asterid,” Burdock said. “Really bad, girl.”

“Okay, so that gives me a basic idea,” Asterid told Burdock, standing back up straight. “I think you’ve got a sprain in your elbow. It won’t need surgery, thank goodness- but you’ll need some rest. And ice. Shall I give you some?”

“Give me all your ice,” Burdock mumbled, watching her. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he had sprained his elbow yet..

“Here,” Asterid said, giving Burdock a bag filled with ice. “Shouldn’t melt for a bit. I’ll get you a bandage as well, to compress it and release some pain. Alright?”

“Kay,” Burdock told her, smiling as Asterid wrapped the bandage around his slightly swollen elbow.

“Is that better?” Asterid asked, Burdock immediately nodding. “I guess…that’s it. You can go home now.”

“No, wait-“ Burdock interrupted. “I think I might have a headache. And a backache. And a broken leg. I might need some..assistance.”

“Nice try,” Asterid chuckled. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.” As Asterid led Burdock out of the office, Burdock’s eyes glanced to Haymitch. “Get your hand out of that jar!” Asterid exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Haymitch mumbled, a cookie in his mouth. “I got one for Burdy here.”

“Burdy..” Asterid repeated. “I like that name.”

That night, Burdock couldn’t sleep. He was thinking about Asterid. She had treated him so nice, and he wanted to see her again. But he knew he couldn’t fake an injury. She’s a healer, for Brock’s sake. But he could get a rose.

Slowly, he rose out of his bed, and sneaked through the back door to his large-ish but empty backyard. In the ground, one rose laid. He grew it with his brother, before he went to the mines for a job he never finished. He swore to himself he’d never take it out, in memory of his brother. But he was done mourning. His brother would want him to get the girl. So that’s what he did. He plucked out the rose, dusted off the dirt, and pulled on some of his best clothes to walk down to the March’s home.

It was dark, and only one little light was on. Burdock saw that as a welcome sign, as he rung the bell with his good arm.

Instead of Asterid opening, it was another girl. The Maysilee girl that Haymitch hated so. “Oh, the boy Asterid’s been talking about,” Maysilee grumbled. “Hey Asterid! The poor guy’s here to see you!”

In mere seconds, Asterid shuffled through the house and into Burdock’s view. “Thanks, May,” Asterid said, waving her off. “Hello, Burdock! What a surprise! What happened now?”

“Nothing,” Burdock told her. “But I got you a rose. As a thank you.” As he pulled it from behind his back, Asterid couldn’t resist a smile.

“Thank you, Burdock,” Asterid said with another smile. “I love it..I’ve always loved roses.”

“I guess I have to remember that,” Burdock grinned, giving a fancy bow and waving Asterid goodbye.

As Asterid held the rose, she felt her heart flutter. She had talked to Maysilee and Merrilee about him for the duration of their sleepover. And now she had his rose.

At that moment, Asterid knew that she couldn’t give up on Burdock now. And he definitely wouldn’t give up on her.

[highly-flammable]

Sunrise on the Reaping Reaction: Chapter 1-2

I am a very pro-spoiler person so this will be very liberally spoiler-y. Read at your own risk.

All parts can be found here

Chapter 1:

* Haymitch knowing how to brew alcohol is quite interesting, like in the main trilogy he would struggle without alcohol but still never make his own, which perhaps tells you how far gone he is by that point.

* It’s clear that Lenore Dove is Maude Ivory’s daughter, but I can’t figure out how she and Burdock (Katniss’ father) are related.

* I don’t know how I feel about Katniss never knowing her dad and Haymitch were friends. She must have seen them around, or if she didn’t, how come? I’m curious to find out.

* Haymitch and Katniss are alike in the sense that they would rather keep their head down, and I can sense it’s Lenore Dove’s rebelliousness that will rub off on Haymitch. Her death has to be the reason he takes up with the rebels, even though he comes from a rebel family line himself.

* Haymitch is so in love with Lenore Dove that I can tell there will be no Hayffie agenda in the book even if the ending goes as far as the war, or a time beyond that. Hayffie was strictly a movie thing and it shall remain that way. Book Haymitch would never.

Chapter 2:

* Haymitch not being reaped but basically being forced to be a replacement tribute was not something I saw coming.

* Well hello, Plutarch Heavensbee! I have to say I understand the criticism of fanservice with regard to this book, what with Katniss’ parents, Peeta’s dad and Plutarch all showing up within the first couple chapters. But I’m willing to keep an open mind.

* Those of you who thought the main trilogy was too heavy on romance when the romance subplot was “irrelevant”, joke’s on you. Suzanne Collins seems to be doubling down on love this time around. This book is a love story. A tragic one, but a love story nonetheless.

* The irony of the Capitolites not offering champagne to children because they are not old enough, but making them go through the freaking Hunger Games where they fight to the death, is not lost on me.

* Sid and Haymitch’s relationship breaks my heart.

* Plutarch is being an insensitive showmanning prick, as I suppose is his job.

* I have tears in my eyes reading Haymitch’s farewell to his family. I am not gonna survive reading this book.

* And then there is Lenore Dove singing/screaming her lament as the train takes him. Damn it.

Next: Chapter 3-6

[gudvina]

Hiya! I find your SOTR posts really intriguing and I’d love to hear your take on something that’s been nettling my brain for quite a while. How come (some) people hate on Lenore dove for being written as a character without flaws but they LOVE St. Peeta wholeheartedly despite him also being a character without no flaws? I love peeta just as much as the next person but at the end of the day he IS portrayed even more flawless as a character who has no bad traits whatsoever than anyone else. He’s good and kind and brave and smart and beautiful and sexy and brilliant and strong and self-less and loving and he knows exactly what to say at all times no matter the pressure or the stakes. In short: perfect in every way - at 16 years old! And yet, no one reading seems to have any problem with it. No one complains about HIM being written as flawless. No wonder Gale never stood a chance for Katniss’s love and no wonder Gale gets sooo much hate because unlike Peeta, Gale IS a flawed character who’s struggling with real life issues PLUS the trauma of war and having watching his own people burn alive and he reacts to things in a much more true to life way. Think about it, is there even one place in the entree trilogy where Peeta does something or says something that’s genuinely selfish or self-serving?

Hi!

This is a good question, and I think it's worth to discuss this in relation to a lot of other aspects of their characters.

First of all, I want to preface that Lenore Dove's characterisation is hated not just because she is flawless (that in itself is not too bad), but also because she has virtually no personality nor distinct voice. Now, Peeta if we go with the fact that Peeta is portrayed as flawless, what is compelling about him is that, instead, he does have a distinct voice and he does have a personality that is overall coherent, not taking into consideration his mutt phase in MJ.

Also Peeta not being flawless is not exactly accurate. Many might not see these as real flaws, but Peeta is self sacrificing to a fault, no matter what, and that is a problem. He also has the tendency to not be fully honest or direct, to bottle up his feelings until he can't anymore and we see him snap at Katniss more than once when he's not taken in consideration. Again, you can consider these as "positive flaws", but he has people pleasing tendencies and that is his major flaw. Now, have we seen him being selfish or self-serving? No, but that's okay that was not the way he was characterised, and there is a narrative that he inhabits that needed him to be like that. His people pleasing tendencies have as a negative side at the very least some resentment. The fact that it might come out in short-lived outbursts doesn't mean it's not there.

Lenore Dove, on the other hand, isn't written with the same consistency. Her characterisation contrasts with the way she is framed in the narrative, we see her being self-serving, conceited and even entitled, but it's all framed by the narrative as if she is not all of those things, and that's because Suzanne Collins didn't want the parallelism with Gale to be too evident. I think that had she been brave enough to lean fully on that aspect, it would have made Lenore Dove more human and likeable, but it would have also created some conflict in her relationship with Haymitch that she didn't want to delve in.