Happy Pride Month

Katniss, oblivious: My dad sang me this song, I miss him very much. This is a forest where he used to take me. I learned to swim in this lake.

Coriolanus Snow:

I love the irony of an author making a cautionary tale like "don't you think it's fucked up when society do thing" and then society goes anf just proves their point

Like when Nabokov wrote a book about how a criminal used flowery language to romanticize his crime trying to justify the monstrosity he committed then society went like actually a younger girl being loved so much by an older men is both hot and aesthetic pleasing

Or how Susanne Collins wrote about the horrors of making a spectacle of the murder of children and how Hollywood exploits the young only for people online to be begging for her to write more books about the children getting slaughtered

It's so tragic and so telling I just love it

i am loving the resurgence of fun pop music

thank you miss chappell roan and sabrina carpenter for being the pop girlies of the decade

SotR is a realisation. A realisation that the rebellion didn’t start with Katniss. That all the people we see supporting her or helping her have all been wanting to fight but they’ve been failing. That there weren’t merely “rumours” of a revolution but there were many active plans playing out and failing.

It’s a reminder that the perfect Hunger Games we saw in the first hg book was an illusion because we had Katniss as our narrator. We didn’t have Haymitch, hell, we didn’t even have someone like Peeta because these people played the games. Katniss didn’t.

Katniss was introduced to us as a mad, simple, naive girl who literally only survived because of others. She didn’t know how much her taking Prim’s place mattered because she didn’t realise what it meant to everyone who came before her. To everyone who had heard rumours of how the last District 12 victor actually fought his games. No, Katniss had just kept her head down, hunting and providing for her family.

See, she grew up way before the Games got to her. She’d already lived through her dad’s death and watched it destroy her once lively mom. Haymitch didn’t have to go through that. Lucy Gray didn’t have to go through that. They were both angry, yes, but at the Capitol. Katniss? She was first and foremost angry at her mom. At her dad. She knew who was to blame but she had too much to do and deal with to think about that. She was already jaded in a way that the Games couldn’t touch.

Peeta? He was Haymitch. He knew what he was getting into and realised he was just on a chess board with no control. So, he adapted. He played the knight, the rook, the king, the pawn. Katniss? She just… did. Changing directions, not playing the piece she was assigned because she didn’t realise that’s what was going on. Remember her surprise at the crown twisting into two after the Games?? She was so oblivious. Until Catching Fire where everything caught up to her. Where everything so many other people had been waiting and working for caught up to her.

SotR is a history book. Rewritten and edited and published as a piece of fact. SotR is a mirror and it’s a reflection of what actually happens vs what ends up being shown. SotR is the playbook of those in control of any and every kind of media that we come in touch with. SotR is a wake up call and I truly don’t know how many will see it as such.

i knew there was a connection between why i want to embody klaus and sirius

ok but Klaus and Five are Sirius and Regulus variants

i am going to shout this from the rooftops:

Katniss, Haymitch, and the Seam inhabitants are all described as olive-skinned, brown-eyed (edit: and gray-eyed), and dark-haired.

Peeta, Maysilee, Katniss’ mother and the Merchants are largely described as blond haired, blue eyed, light-skinned.

The Hunger Games adaptations have a huge weakness to their casting because they allowed their white audience to overlook this very important fact, that the Mockingjay is a brown girl, that her mother was disowned for having a mixed-race and mixed-class marriage, that Katniss and Haymitch were long shots not just because they’re Seam but because they are brown… because the only brown characters in the movies (i.e. Rue, Thresh, 11 in general) were there to be tragic, not to be saviors.

Katniss Everdeen is brown, and I won’t forgive or forget the movies for erasing that part of her character.

this has been another tea time with hawk ☕️🦅

i dont really get how some people can thirst over snow, like tom blyth was hand sculpted by the gods themselves but SNOW!?!? he was so evil from the get go, he hated the people from the districts like he was such an elitist and not to mention he went on to traffick and sell literal children. tbosas made my hatered for snow even stronger and i never thought that could ever happen.

I love how Snow's inevitable demise is constantly foreshadowed throughout the movie with Dr Gaul's "rainbow of destruction".

First we see it in Lucy's dress:

Then the snakes:

And finally, the very last scene:

It doesn't matter that "Snow lands on top" at the end of this movie because everyone knows how his story ends. Even though it will take a very long time...

That's what I call poetic cinema👏

Maysilee’s final poster wasn’t her death, it was her pin being the face of the rebellion 25 years later.

"Bleed the Sky"

The sky bursts open,

not gently,

not softly,

but like a body breaking,

like something holding on for too long

finally letting go.

The first drop hits—

hot asphalt hisses,

dust rises like ghosts startled awake,

and the earth opens her mouth

like she’s starving.

There’s no beauty here.

No poetry.

Just the raw writhing of water finding cracks,

finding hunger,

finding every place that aches or crumbles or waits.

The rain doesn’t ask permission.

It doesn’t care where it falls—

forest, rooftop, desert, skin.

It pounds against leaves as if to punish them

for turning their faces away,

fills the throats of rivers

until they choke on their own rushing,

slides down windowpanes like tears

too heavy to hold back.

And it keeps going.

There is no tenderness in this.

This is not about grace.

This is about gravity and surrender,

the weight of billions of tiny impacts

stripping the world bare.

And something in you loosens—

against your will,

unraveling in the rhythm,

in the relentless pounding that reminds you of your own breaking,

of the times you couldn’t stop falling.

You stand there,

letting it hit you,

letting it drench everything you thought was safe.

Maybe this is what healing feels like:

not silent, not soft,

not clean.

But messy.

Wet hands in the dirt,

skin soaked,

blurry vision as everything spills.

The rain knows.

It always knows.

It comes to destroy,

and in the destruction

it leaves something you didn’t know you were—

raw, gasping,

and growing.