the future is now
what the fuck. what the fuck how. how the hell.
Virginity only matters if you’re lighting the black flame candle to summon witches.
Actually, When people talk about “blood of a virgin”, what’s actually meant is “virgin blood”, aka blood that’s never before been used in a ritual.
Therefore, virginity doesn’t matter for anything.
*noises of comprehension and frustration that I didn’t make that connection before*
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.
Fucking Cinna is a fucking mastermind
a dead mastermind
A dead mastermind who’s greatest work involved him giving the Capitol the biggest “fuck you” he could.
There was no regret on his face.
When I grow up I want to be Ming-Na Wen.
She’s the voice of Mulan, as if she wasn’t amazing enough.
She broke it with her fingers. Not a fist, her fingers.