Posts tagged "the hunger games"
still upset that the films never acknowledge that Peeta loses a limb in the first arena and goes through the Quarter Quell with a prosthetic leg
or that Katniss has suffered permanent hearing loss in one of her ears and now requires a hearing aid
or, you know, the Avoxes
FUCKIN’ RIPPED OFF that the second and third images of this photoset do not deliver stills of the live broadway production of High School Musical that I assumed Hoechlin was starring in based on the first image.
Also upsetting: that he is literally on this team with Josh Hutcherson, and yet I have not been able to find 83 different fanfictions where Derek Hale and Peeta Mellark become best friends/pen pals/misery bros.
Because both of their families were horribly murdered by fire! GEDDIT?? not to mention the way their first loves were used as psychological warfare to break their spirits! I mean, it writes itself.
(also Derek probably kind of likes bread, maybe)
OH MY GOD DEREK DOESN’T EAT CARBS! IF HE GOES ABOVE 1.7% BODY FAT, WHAT VALUE DOES HE HAVE TO ANYONE, EVER!? NONE!!! NONE IS HOW MUCH!!!!!
So alone that anyone, anything no matter how loathsome would be welcome. But when I finally have a visitor, it’s sweet. Morphling. Coursing through my veins, easing the pain, lightening my body so that it rises back toward the air and rests again on the foam. Foam. I really am floating on foam. I can feel it beneath the tips of my fingers, cradling parts of my naked body. There’s much pain but there’s also something like reality. The sandpaper of my throat. The smell of burn medicine from the first arena. The sound of my mother’s voice. These things frighten me, and I try to return to the deep to make sense of them. But there’s no going back. Gradually, I’m forced to accept who I am. A badly burned girl with no wings. With no fire. And no sister.
When I hear the screams of the crowd, I think it’s because I must look stunning. Then I notice something is rising up around me. Smoke. From fire. Not the flickery stuff I wore last year in the chariot, but something much more real that devours my dress. I begin to panic as the smoke thickens. Charred bits of black silk swirl in the air, and pearls clatter to the stage. Somehow I’m not afraid to stop because my flesh doesn’t seem to be burning and I know Cinna must be behind whatever is happening. So I keep spinning and spinning. For a split second I’m gasping, completely engulfed in the strange flames. Then all at once, the fire is gone. I slowly come to a stop, wondering if I’m naked and why Cinna has arranged to burn away my wedding dress. But I’m not naked. I’m in a dress of the exact same design of my wedding dress, only it’s the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that’s when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.
Cinna is one of my favorite characters. He sacrifices his life the moment he executes the design of Katniss’s mockingjay dress. Yes, other people willingly die for Katniss, notably in the Quarter Quell arena, but I feel with Cinna it goes beyond. Dying for the sake of a symbol is a theme of Collins’ work, and arguably Cinna is among them: I’m still betting on you, Girl on Fire. There’s more to it, though; Cinna also does it for Katniss as a person — he has seen her up close and personal, he knows her in ways the tv screens and word of mouth can’t quite replicate. Of all the Capitol people, he is a true friend to Katniss.
Are you Team Peeta or Team Gale?
Not applicable, and I love these actors for knowing it,
“You’re the mockingjay, Katniss. While you live, the revolution lives.”