#probably because Victor still got a flask of SOMETHING out of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

schrijverr · 4 months

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It Just Hits Different When It’s Batman

5 times a League member heard Batman use slang + 1 time they knew where the fuck he got it from.

This fic is based off this post by @wednesday-if-it-was-tuesday bc it was just too good! Hope you don't mind :D

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~~

1. Flash

Barry is pretty sure he has to get his hearing checked as he speeds through a city, trying to find a series of bombs, courtesy of a new alliance of villains. He and Batman are on bomb duty, thus sharing a private com line as to not distract the others or be distracted as they coordinate.

However, Barry is very much distracted by his own partner in this whole mess, because unless he’s gotten a few too many hits to the head in recent years, he’s pretty sure Batman just reported: “The bombs look like yassified thermos flasks.”

“What?” Barry chokes, nearly tripping over his own feet as he does.

Batman doesn’t seem to notice, instead explaining the bomb, not his wording: “The casing looks to be made from plastic, likely to escape Superman’s notice. Start checking water pipes, I found this one near a toilet. I’ll report again once I figure out how to disarm it.”

Okay, questing his sanity later, finding bombs, now.

So he zooms off again, having to agree with the fact that the bomb does look like a yassified thermos flask. He wonders if he can use that in his report or if Batman will scold him for language. He has worked with the man for long enough that he knows Batman isn’t above hypocrisy.

Then he wonders again if he even heard it right. In the heat of battle, the brain sometimes does weird things, especially when someone thinks at the speed of light. Or faster.

He’ll put it out of his mind for now, maybe tell Hal about it just so he’ll have someone to share the bizarre experience with.

Clark probably has a thesaurus, he should probably also find a synonym for yassified. Does a thesaurus have slang too?

2. Green Lantern

It’s true that Barry had told him about Spooky saying yassified in that one battle, but Hal hadn’t truly believed that Bats was capable of something like that. I mean, look at him. The guy might be a weirdo who dresses up as a Bat, but he’s not a weirdo who says shit like yassified.

However, at the moment it is starting to look more and more likely. Fuck, Barry is gonna give him so much crap for not believing him.

The moment in question is Batman working with him on the stealth mission. It’s one for the Green Lantern Corps, so Batman is doing him a favor. Though Hal is starting to wish that he hadn’t done him that favor, because Batman has just said: “It looks like Luthor is being thristy for Superman again. For someone who hates the guy, he sure wants his attention a lot. That’s Kryptonian honing device.”

Hal doesn’t react, still thinking about the fact that he’s just heard Luthor, thirsty and Superman in one sentence. In Batman’s voice no less.

“What?” he says.

“A Kryptonian honing device,” Batman repeats, sounding as if he thinks Hal is stupid, not uncommon. “So he can hone in on Superman, find him. Something we need to do something about.”

Hal decides to take the smart way out and lets the whole thing drop in favor of focusing on the mission. He’s not just telling Barry, but Ollie about this as well.

3. Cyborg

Being in the Justice League isn’t much different than being on the Teen Titans. Like right now, being in a building that could explode at any moment unless he hacks into the system and stops that from happening.

Ah, good old life-threatening pressure.

Batman is fighting some of the goons in the background. They’re on their own here, with the others fighting through an army outside to get to them. But it’s mostly up to them. Batman yells: “Cyborg, status.”

“I’m getting through, but something is bugging me about this whole thing,” Victor calls back. “I think there is someone I’m missing that will allow me to crack this.”

There are a few grunts in the background as Batman fights on, while Victor starts to scan through everyone who worked for the organization, trying to find the missing link.

He is interrupted by Batman, who says: “I took a tour here once. There was an intern, Kyle Paulson, he was kind of sus. Look him up.”

For a second, Victor is thrown by the sus in that sentence, but he quickly focuses back on what’s important. Indeed finding Kyle to be the missing link that gets him to disarm the bomb. While Batman is taking out the last of the bad guys.

In fact, the whole thing slips his mind until he’s writing his mission report, going through the footage to get accurate information in there. Then he pauses again, before dismissing it. Those who trained under Batman are always prepared, maybe it’s not slang but shorthand to be useful in the moment. Or he’s trying to include him, sweet, though unnecessary.

Victor puts it out of his mind.

4. Green Arrow

Ollie doesn’t believe Barry or Hal for a second. Like, really? Batman using slang that the sidekicks are using?

Sure, Nightwing sometimes uses some here and there, but Red Robin is always very professional and Robin is closer to a Shakespearean actor than a TikTok teen. There isn’t anyone else he could have gotten it from and it doesn’t make sense with his whole ‘I am the Night’-persona.

Victor suggested it was to make the newbies more comfortable when he overheard them talking, but that’s even more ridiculous in Ollie’s opinion.

So, he’s not at all in the slightest prepared for Batman’s reaction when he shows him the new arrows he developed. Because Batman’s reaction is: “Hm, serves cunt.”

“Excuse me, what?” Ollie says, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

Batman just stares at him, then in a confused sort of voice goes: “You know, it slays? It’s, you know, good? Positive.”

“Huh, what? No, I- I know what that means. How the fuck do you know?” Ollie splutters.

“I’m Batman,” is all he says. Then he walks away and leaves Ollie to stand there, still frozen in time, because what the hell was that? Batman can’t just do that, can he? That’s illegal. How does he even know that?

What Ollie doesn’t know, is that this was a calculated move. Bruce had overheard the three talking as well and decided to have a little fun. All the times before, it just slipped out in the heat of battle, but this one was purposeful.

Bruce knows Ollie would know what it meant, because billionaires Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen have done TikTok trends in the past and try to keep up to date, despite their age. Not that Ollie knows it’s him under there.

And last gala, he left Bruce for the wolves – Vicky Vale – so now Bruce is dealing psychological damage to him as petty revenge.

5. Superman (and Practically the Entire League)

They’re in a meeting with most of the Justice League members that are present on earth at the moment. It’s not often they hold such meetings, since they are a little overwhelming and tend to drag on more than be productive.

However, Clark thinks it’s important to ensure there are avenues through which ever member can state their piece and be heard. So, here they are again.

Booster Gold is complaining about always being on the sidelines and never in the heat of the action, even though he’s a great hero. He’s claiming that there is a bias against younger heroes, despite the fact that the ‘old guard’ will have to give it up eventually.

Apparently, Batman has had enough, because he gets up and snaps: “We don’t have bias based on age, we have one based off skill. Maybe if you stopped abandoning your post and being someone reliable, you might get put out in the field more often. Now stop being salty about it.”

It’s silent.

Clark is scrambling his brain, to figure out the meaning. As a journalist he tries to stay up to date on current language use, however, the only person he’s heard use that word is Jon. The boy never explained, but Clark guessed what it means. Doesn’t explain why Batman knows it.

Then the silence gets broken by a snort, everyone’s head whipping towards the source. It’s Nightwing, a newer addition and one affiliated with Batman himself. The only one there brave enough to laugh at Batman, mirthfully asking: “Did you actually say salty?”

There is no change on Batman’s face, but as a longtime friend, Clark knows he isn’t emotionless. Indeed, when he listens close, he can hear the blood rush to his face, blush hidden by the cowl.

“That was not the point of the sentence, Nightwing,” Batman counters, the name a little bit pointed on is tongue.

“Okay, okay,” Nightwing grins easily, showing his hands in surrender, an act which is made null by him adding: “Just pointing out that this is an official meeting. You’re on the record and you know I’m reporting this to the others.”

Red Robin and Robin, Clark fills in mentally, the other two known associates. Everyone already guessed that Nightwing must be close to them as well, since the younger two are closer to being Batman’s children. Now that is confirmed.

“Thank you for reminding me,” Batman says tersely, before quickly pivoting to the next point on the agenda. No one calls him out for it.

However, just because no one calls him out on it, doesn’t mean they drop it. In the weeks after the incident, whispers make their way through the halls of the Watchtower as people speculate why or how Batman came to use the word salty and how out of character it is.

Clark can hear the gossip all over the Watchtower and he’s sure Batman is aware of it too, because some brave souls have asked about. Especially when some of the others talked about the incident not being the first one.

Batman hasn’t replied yet to any of the questions or rumors. Clark thinks he likes the mystery and chaos, likes that they don’t know why the hell he sometimes lets slang slip. Even Nightwing has been seemingly silenced, never commenting with a sort of professional ease at evasion.

Nightwing is the only clue they have, along with Robin and Red Robin, but none of them seem like the culprit.

It just doesn’t make sense and Clark can’t help but have his reporter brain itch.

+1. The Batfamily

There is going to be an attack somewhere in a major city in America tonight. They cannot figure out where, so there is a nation wide stake out at all the important places. Nearly the entire Justice League has been pulled out for it and even then they don’t have enough.

Batman insists on having a skeleton crew remain on the Watchtower in case the threat turns out to be a distraction. And when it is protested, he pulls out an army of associates none of them have ever heard about to fill out the last gaps in their observational net.

The sudden introduction of about six new Gotham vigilantes, which have apparently been operating inside the city as well as outside of it, would have been the main shock if it weren’t for how they are on coms.

Red Robin and Nightwing are known as professionals like Batman, while Robin isn’t a known entity in missions, though those who have met him, know him to be serious. However, with the introduction of the others all of that professionalism melts away.

It starts about 45 minuted into their mission when Spoiler’s voice suddenly crackles over the coms: “I fucking hate stake outs, they’re so boring.”

“I know right, my ass is starting to hurt,” Red Robin – to everyone’s surprise – replies.

“No chatter on the coms,” Batman dutifully reproaches like he always does, but he sounds less stern this time. It’s as if he knows they won’t listen, but says it because it’s his role to do so.

Red Hood ignores Batman completely, idly commenting: “I don’t know, stake outs always hit different for me.”

“That’s just because you’re boring AF,” Spoiler says, an eyeroll practically audible.

“Oi, take that back,” Red Hood says, offended. “I didn’t die to have you slander my name like that!”

This is horrifying news for most of the other people stuck on the coms, however, there is a cacophony of annoyed groans as well. Why anyone would be so blasé about someone mentioning their death, they don’t know.

Until, Robin says: “Cease mentioning your death as excuse. It’s unbecoming to be so reliant on one measly event. You’re not the only one who has died, don’t be – what was it? – ah, yes, don’t be basic, Hood.”

“Yeah, Hood, don’t be salty just because you’re becoming a boring old man,” Red Robin pipes up, sounding smug. That solves the salty mystery.

“Shut up, Replacement,” Red Hood huffs. “I can talk about my death as much as I want to and you can’t stop me.”

“Hood, please, stop talking about your death, you’re going to make B sad,” Nightwing suddenly interjects, stopping the conversation before it can get out of hand.

Those with super hearing will hear Barry mutter in a shocked manner: “Is he talking about Batman?” But he is overshadowed by most of the newly introduced (and already) known Bat-associates booing loudly.

“Don’t be a fucking suck up, Dick” Spoiler hollers, only those in the know picking up on the fact it’s his name. It’s the only time Batman won’t correct them, because not everyone will know it’s a name unless it’s pointed out.

“Periodt,” the quiet voice of Black Bat supports Spoiler.

“Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about, BB,” Spoiler cheers when she hears the other girl.

“That was the correct usage?” Black Bat asks.

“It was, well done,” Oracle’s kind voice comes over the coms, from where she is in her lair helping with coordination.

After that it all quiets down again for about half an hour, then Bluebird breaks the quiet again, complaining: “I can’t believe I had to stay behind in Gotham of all places.”

“You live there. Willingly,” Signal answers. “And I had to stay behind too, you know.”

“They’re sleeping on us, Signal, be upset with me,” Bluebird exclaims, indignantly.

“Okay, but tea though,” Spoiler says, most of the Justice League listening in are starting to learn she likes stirring the pot a little.

“Don’t be a simp, Spoils,” Red Robin says.

“Oh, look who’s talking about being a simp,” Red Hood snorts loudly. “I observed you, loser boy, you’re the simp.”

“It’s not as much of the serve you think it is to admit to stalking me,” Red Robin deadpans.

“RR, not to be that bitch, but you’re the OG stalker, maybe- maybe don’t do that,” Nightwing says cautiously, which is apparently funny enough that multiple people start laughing.

Meanwhile Red Robin complains: “Stop laughing at me, when I did it was totally different, I didn’t plan on killing any of you.” Which is mildly disturbing

“Oi, I never planned to actually kill you-kill you either,” Red Hood protests, even more disturbing. The Justice League is starting to wonder why Batman works with the man.

“Stop with the chatter,” Batman interjects again, before it can go further. “It’s not just us on the com lines now. At least try to be professional.”

And much to the horror of the League, who could never imagine doing such a thing, Batman gets booed. Again. This time directly.

Then to add to the horror, Batman doesn’t explode in anger, like everyone would have imagined, instead he just sighs. Defeated. Batman is like a cockroach, he doesn’t get defeated. However, these kids are managing.

Batman remains defeated too, because the Gotham vigilantes continue to idly chat all throughout the next hour. They are definitely bat associated, because they never reveal any information that could be tied to their civilian identity. Instead discussing other missions, general news, funny things they saw on patrol and personal grievances with the others on the line.

If this is what Batman deals with on the day to day, some are starting to see why he would prefer the heroes of the Justice League to keep their mouths shut on missions unless it’s important.

Most try to tune it out and focus on their own stake out, though the voices keep them awake. But they notice when Spoiler’s voice suddenly becomes serious as she reports: “Sus individuals moving towards the Mayor’s office.”

“Received, getting visual on your location,” Oracle’s voice replies, also snapped back into professionalism.

Spoiler reports their appearances and currently location, until Oracle has them, running a check on them, before confirming they have a criminal record and might be thugs for hire. Spoiler says: “I am going to move in.”

Batman says: “Do not engage, Spoiler, they could be a decoy. Try and get more information first.”

“Alright, alright,” Spoiler huffs. Then adds petulantly: “I’m not gonna do it, I was just thinking about it.”

Which sounds pretty reasonable for most listening in, who aren’t of the right age group to know the meme. Batman, however, does know, because he’s been subjected to it multiple times. So, he yells: “Spoiler, no!” startling some members.

A second later, there are sounds of a fight and Spoiler gleefully saying: “I did it.”

Batman lets out a frustrated growl, but Spoiler pays it no mind and she can’t truly get chewed out, because more and more start to report suspicious individuals moving in on the targets they’re watching.

Within minutes of it starting, Nightwing reports: “They’re decoys with targets. Not the main attack, but will do damage if they succeed.”

“Everyone make sure to take out the decoys,” Batman says. “Those without decoys, keep your eyes peeled, you might be at the real target.”

“Done with my targets, moving to help the others now,” Nightwing reports seriously, before he adds: “And can I just say that I’m the GOAT. Dibs on cookies for finishing first.”

“Okay, shade much,” Bluebird says.

“Don’t be arrogant, it’s unbecoming,” Robin retorts as well.

“Yeah, stop flexing,” Spoiler adds. “I’ve wrapped up too, by the way. You’re not special.”

“Let me have this,” Nightwing complains. “You already took all my shit, let me be cool. You all used to think I was cool.”

“Yeah, used to,” Red Hood scoffs. “Then we all realized you’re a looser.”

“Ha, get wrecked,” Red Robin snorts.

“Baby bird, wasn’t I your favorite?” Nightwing asks hurt, though over the top enough to show he is faking it.

“No, sadly, that was Hood,” Red Robin replies, sounding a little like he’s grimacing.

“No cap?” Red Hood asks, surprised.

“No cap,” Red Robin confirms.

“Now I feel kind of bad for you,” Red Hood says, before some bullets are fired. “Wrapped up here, moving to help.”

Red Robin seems glad to not have to reply and none of the other Gothamites do either. With what the League has heard so far, they’re also kind of happy the topic is being dropped, unsure what to think.

Batman’s associates are among the first ones cleaning up, however, soon others are joining them and the true battles grounds – yes, there are multiple targets, these people are organized (Batman will likely obsess until he has tracked down their organization afterwards) – are discovered and heroes move in to fight them.

Throughout the battle, everyone catches snippets of this strange, newly introduced group. A group, who works well together, like an oiled machine, yet obviously made up of highly competent parts that can act on their own as well.

Like Black Bat calling out: “Red Hood, yeet,” before those fighting alongside them see Red Hood boost her into the air, so she can come flying at the terrorists.

But they also make comments about the people they’re fighting and the others that are fighting alongside them.

Signal calling out: “Bluebird is pulling some sick ass moves. Another one for her on the slay-board, Oracle.”

Or Spoiler commenting: “Okay, not to be like that or whatever, but these terrorists are kind of looking snatched.”

To which Batman sighs: “Spoiler, please, no chatter,” in a vain attempt to get them under control.

“What?” Spoiler says. “I can appreciate when they’ve at least tried to pull a fit instead of that usual para-military, ninja type BS.”

“Go off,” Black Bat pipes up again and Spoiler cheers while Batman drops it. Defeated again.

They also check in on each other, with Red Robin hissing in pain, which is immediately followed by Nightwing going: “RR, you good, fam?”

“Gucci,” Red Robin replies. “Just low-key got stabbed.”

“There’s nothing low-key about getting stabbed!” Nightwing exclaims, getting called a hypocrite by many people, while Batman is already calling for Oracle to get a visual and for a medic to head Red Robin’s way.

By the time the battle is over, the Justice League understands how different the team is that Batman usually works with. If they were surrounded by heroes who talked like that continuously, they would have probably picked up some things here and there too.

Still, it fucking weird when Batman checks over his horde, before declaring: “You were all lit out there,” causing multiple of the kids around him to groan loudly, with Bluebird calling Batman a boomer.

Clark, however, sees a small uptick in Batman’s mouth. And in that moment, he knows Batman is doing it on purpose, that he’s enjoying it. That he’s fucking with them. He doesn’t know what to do with that, nor does he think that anyone will believe it. So, he decides to share the amusement and drop it.

They’re never going to figure out Batman.

A/N:

This work is going to get dated so so so fast lmao, but it’s fun rn (if ur commenting in the future, welcome to outdated slang vibes from someone who wasn’t that up to date with current slang when writing it, bc im secretly a grandpa).

Hopefully I didn’t overdo it to an unrealistic degree, but if I did, such is the story that was being told oops

Also this whole fic is just an excuse for me to write batfam banter bc I love it lmao

I didn’t include Batwing, Batwoman and Flamebird here, sorry, but writing the batfam is always so hard bc there are so many characters T-T

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yandere-sins · 3 years

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Bad Decisions

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

I was again commissioned for a companion piece to this one! This time from the reader’s pov and some backstory. Thank you ♥

Characters: Ignatz Victor (Fire Emblem: Three Houses) x Reader Words: 3401 Warnings: Yandere, Obsession, Mentioning of stalking, Mentioning of War/Death/Blood

You could still remember the first time you met him vividly.

Taking a seat on the ledge above the training grounds, you heaved a long breath, trying to calm your racing heart. If only you could have put this energy into training more, instead of using it as a reason to take a break, but your legs felt wobbly just from thinking about getting back up. For the better of the last three weeks, you had trained and studied tirelessly. Being granted the chance to attend the academy of your dreams was no reason to slack off, and you were thankful for the opportunity you were given.

But… rubbing your sore legs and feeling your feet pulsate in the tight leather boots as they finally got a break, you had to admit that it was more challenging than you expected. Even though you had built up stamina and muscles before coming here, you were still met with the instructors’ high expectations for their top-tier students. Day in, day out, you were either on your feet and training or with your head in the books studying. No wonder it felt so draining when all you did was pressure yourself more and more on being perfect and prepared for all that would come your way. After all, your expectations of yourself far exceeded the ones anyone had in you.

“It’s tough, isn’t it?” a timid voice called out to you, and you turned your head towards it, a flask with water being held out in your direction. Surprised you took it, finally getting a look at the person behind the voice. A young man, not much older than you, smiled at you friendly, his glasses tilting a little from him leaning forward. Without waiting for your reply, he pointed at the space next to you, asking, “Mind if I join you?” and you shimmied to the side to allow him to take a seat.

“Swordsmanship isn’t my strong point either. I keep forgetting where to put my feet,” he laughed bashfully, rubbing the back of his head. He appeared friendly, approachable, and kind, but his physique was on the weaker side, making his struggles a tad obvious. Nonetheless, you weren’t one to judge someone based on appearance, and taking a sip from the water flask, you felt yourself be soothed by the refreshment. Having spent so much time holed up in the library or handling weapons hadn’t given you a lot of chances to make friends, so having someone be so kind and nonchalant around you genuinely made you happy.

Handing the flask back to him, the young man gladly accepted it. His shirt had stains of polish and sweat on it, and you realized he must have come from training himself just like you. You wondered what year he was in, or if he was a classmate you just never noticed.

“Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it? Approaching you so out of the blue. I’m Ignatz. Ignatz Victor, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Though his name didn’t ring a bell, you shook his hand out of respect. Even if it started out a little awkward, you two soon fell into a comfortable conversation as you shared your weak points, and so did he. Your words weren’t forced out, and you started to relax around him. At the same time, Ignatz laughed and smiled at you, putting you at ease as well. Perhaps you two were more alike than it appeared at first glance, and thus you were relieved to find someone like-minded.

At that moment, you didn’t find him approaching you so weird anymore. More so, you were relieved to have someone accept you so openly and interact with you, who had been rather lonely up to this point. Part of you had always wanted to make friends in the Monastery and hang out with them, and this was the closest to it you had come. It was also refreshing to have someone to talk to, and as it turned out, Ignatz was able to lift your mood significantly with his input and suggestions as you spoke about your everyday life at the Monastery.

“Come,” he prompted, jumping down the small ledge and standing before you. Holding out his hand to you gallantly, he waited for you to join him back on the training grounds with a kind smile. You didn’t feel pressured to join him. Instead, you wanted to join him, agreeing that it might be good to not cool down too much.

“Let’s see if we can help each other,” Ignatz laughed, and perhaps, for the first time since you arrived, you let out a chuckle. Taking his hand and letting him lead you back to where the weapons were, you agreed with an enthusiastic, “Okay!”

It wasn’t a friendship you expected to have, but with every passing day, you felt yourself growing and thriving from it. With Ignatz by your side, new things were opened to you. He took you out in the city and showed you around the fields. His interests sparked new ones in you, and soon enough, you weren’t caught in that somber life you had built at the Academy before. Having someone to motivate you and lift the burden on your shoulders with a clever and upbeat nature made you strive for more and greater things. He picked you up when you were down and in a slump, helping you to enjoy your time much more than you did when you still struggled to find your place. Time passed on, and you two still stuck together. Everything was going so well.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

It was the little things that made you nervous. The glances that lingered too long, the hand next to yours on the library table whose pinky kept touching yours. Goodbye hugs that were too tight and eyes that tore away from anything just to look at you. Ignatz’s unfinished paintings that he never worked on again once his attention shifted to you instead, making you feel bad for the waste of paint, and the tests he seemed to flunk because he only ever cared for your lectures.

Somehow you were glad when he wasn’t allowed to change classes. This way, you’d have at least a little bit of privacy since he wouldn’t let you go train alone, even if you told him you had a different sparring partner this time. It had started out so innocently. You were just two people who got along well and spent a lot of time together. But now, roughly three months since you came to the Monastery, you wondered if there was anything else going on.

By now, you had made new friends and then lost some, but you found the courage to join clubs and help the student council because Ignatz had been with you all this time and supporting you. Without him, you probably wouldn’t have had the success you achieved, and while you were glad for such a good friend by your side, you slowly felt like you were drowning again. Not drowning in work and insecurities like in the beginning, but drowning in Ignatz’s presence in your life.

Truth be told, you wanted to spend some hours alone every now and then. With everything going on, you searched for ways to relax and destress from the buzz of the day, and not always did you wish for company that, frankly, made you anxious. Even if it was hard to pinpoint - perhaps because part of you wished you didn’t have to pinpoint it at all - something about Ignatz felt off.

There were off-hand comments about your life that he shouldn’t have been familiar with. Finding out about your extended family was weird, but you thought it might be registered somewhere that he could have stumbled upon. However, when he brought up your favorite toys and books from before you had joined the Academy, you raised an eyebrow. His mentions were so casual and woven into conversations that it was sometimes hard to find them, but when he also started to talk about the days you spent apart from him in the Monastery, you knew something was up.

Part of you only wanted to believe he might have a crush on you.

Sure, as sweet and positive as he was, Ignatz still occasionally tended to be clumsy and awkward. It was always easy to forgive him for a wrongdoing as he’d apologize and learn from his mistakes, though, so you never worried much. Still, it seemed like he tried to get even closer than he was to you by following you around and checking on you more often than not. It might have been pleasant and cute at first, but you had to admit you were beginning to be creeped out by his obsessive observation of you, knowing even little details like your toilet breaks or what you had for lunch.

Perhaps it was just his way of trying to tell you how much he cared and wanted to be with you. But what if it wasn’t?

The thing he didn’t realize was that the more he pushed himself on you, the more you wanted distance from him. It had been a harsh realization, one over which you lost sleep for a few nights. Because how would you be able to make it clear to the person who had supported you all this time, kept you company, and helped you through everything, that you wanted to have a break from them? Perhaps, a few days or a week. Maybe it would stop the negative feelings you had about him if only you wouldn’t interact for a while. At least, that’s what you hoped.

Waiting in front of his classroom, you picked at the skin around your fingernails nervously. Class was already dismissed, but you could see Ignatz talking with the teacher, his back turned to you. It was taking a while, but you had to do it. Better now than never. If he had feelings for you, he had to realize he wasn’t showing them in a way you were comfortable with. And if he genuinely liked and appreciated what you two had, he’d understand your request for a break as well.

It was nerve-wracking to wait for him, but eventually, you heard his signature laugh as he waved goodbye to the teacher and turned to leave, sorting his papers for a moment before he noticed you. Anxiously, you lifted your hand in a greeting, and Ignatz’s eyes widened and began to shine amorously, a broad smile curling his lips. He was so happy to see you that he quickly ran up to you, almost colliding with some passing student. But he didn’t even care, only coming to a halt right in front of you.

“Ah, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” was his first response even though you two hadn’t actually made an appointment with each other. Ignatz stood closely to you, almost enough so that your chests would touch. It was a kind of forced intimacy that made you uncomfortable. Still, in foreknowledge about what you were going to drop on him shortly, you allowed it.

“Actually…” you mumbled, looking around in hopes that the crowds would start to dissolve. “I’ve got something to tell you. But maybe not here?”

Ignatz’s expression only grew softer as he heard that, and you wondered what he thought you were going to tell you. Nevertheless, he softly pulled you by the hand and into the small garden next to the classrooms. Sure enough, there weren’t as many students here as most took after-class activities or went to the training grounds instead, and it made you feel better. Breaking his heart in front of everyone was an embarrassment you didn’t want to put Ignatz through.

“So, what’s up?” he laughed, happy as ever, but he had yet to stop holding your hand, which you pulled away from his for him instead.

“Ignatz, it’s just…”

As expected, it was hard to form the words in your mouth. There were too many accusations on mind that you didn’t want to hit your friend with, but how else were you supposed to tell him? Something had to come to mind now, preferable a reason that wouldn’t ruin your friendship. Ignatz looked at you expectantly, as if he was hoping for a confession rather than a break announcement, but you simply didn’t return those feelings of his.

“I wanted to talk to you about us, and--”

Just when you finally managed to bring up the courage to confront him, a voice behind you called out to Ignatz, who - reluctantly - looked away after his name was called out a second time. “Byleth wants to talk to you!” a student you didn’t know announced to Ignatz, and you bit your lip.

Just your luck.

“I will go after--” Ignatz tried to argue, dismissing the call, but you gave his arm a pat to get his attention, quietly releasing him to go.

“It’s not that important anyway,” you assured him. Like a liar. “We can talk about it some other time.”

“Are you sure?” Ignatz questioned, furrowing his brows. You could see his honest disappointment in not hearing the words he was desperate to receive from you in his eyes, but you just nodded. “Of course, we can always talk about it later!”

Reluctantly, he looked back to the student who was waiting to lead him back to Byleth before he sighed. “Okay, I’ll be quick. You can tell me after that!”

“S-Sure,” you mumbled, forcing a smile on your lips, and Ignatz reached out his hands, squeezing each arm comfortingly as he saw your awkwardness. Finally, he passed you by, not without having his eyes on you until he really couldn’t anymore, and off he went. Just like that, you had missed your chance to tell him, and with it, all the courage you had built just for this moment.

Just before he turned the corner, Ignatz stopped, and your eyes met for a split second. “I’ll see you at training later?” he asked, sounding worried. You gulped before nodding, and he went on his way with a tender smile playing on his lips. It was the first time you really didn’t want to go train since you came to the Monastery. Just sit out for the day, and maybe, forever, so you wouldn’t have to see him.

In the end, you never got around to tell him. Before you knew it, you were busy with your duties and studies. Even though Ignatz’s behavior continued, you didn’t have the time to give it your attention.

Then it happened. The event that would change everything in your life and everyone else’s.

And the tragedy ensued.

As you carried yourself through the forest, colliding with countless branches and thorns in your way, you felt so frustrated. It all could have been different, but now that you chose this path, it would be the one to die on. If only you had told him your feelings back then. If only you had made an effort to hold him back and fess up. Then nothing like this would have needed to happen.

Your hands were stained with the blood of your friends and comrades. The same ones you spent the best months of your life with. The ones that helped you get proficient enough to kill them and the ones that begged for mercy as you gave them a quick death. And yet, because you never told him to back off, you had never been able to make the same cut with Ignatz. He had been the beginning and the end, the reason you had survived for so long and the reason why you were now deserting from the fraction you swore your fealty to.

Goddess, you were pathetic.

Secretly, you had always known this. No matter how hard you tried to cover it up, you weren’t a genius or especially well-raised like the others at the Academy. You didn’t even have a title to defend, and you chose the side that seemed less risky when it was time to decide to whom you gave your loyalty. All the efforts you had put into your time at the Monastery had been the only thing you were good for - working hard and diligently. But you weren’t cut out for these heavy burdens.

And you couldn’t kill the only true friend you ever had when it was most crucial to do so.

Your whole life could have played out differently. You could have asked to be moved to another frontier in the countryside. Maybe you’d have died at some point, but at least you wouldn’t have to meet all these people you once loved and admired, seeing them die one after the other. Or maybe you should have just given up and let Ignatz do the deed, at least so you didn’t have to hear the words you always dreaded. He had utterly taken you aback with his confession, and you felt even more confused and appalled than back in school.

Hearing him confess his love, you simply couldn’t fight him anymore.

It was wrong. Wrong to run, both from your duties and Ignatz, but it had been the only thing you knew how to do. You never learned any better, never stood up for yourself in any choice you made. Following instructions and orders was all you could do, and even if you tried to do something on your own, you’d always end up needing to rely on others. Plagued by these thoughts, it only pained you more when you heard Ignatz shout behind you, realizing he still wasn’t going to let you go.

“I looked up to you! I needed you, and you needed me! And yet, you betrayed us! And yet, I only liked you more!”

Yes, you needed him. You needed someone to save you when you were lost. But right now, you needed anyone but him to take pity on you. Anyone but Ignatz to tell you what to do. You needed to decide on your own what you were going to do from now on!

A sudden push tore you out of your thoughts. You had come so far and almost reached the other end of the forest, but the saving light disappeared in front of your eyes, replaced by the dirty ground as you crashed down. Frustration, pain, fear - all of it caused tears to collect in your eyes. The weight of Ignatz’s body on top of you made you struggle against him, the last effort to escape the clingy obsession he had with you.

“I love you! I love you so much, don’t ever leave me again!” he yelled, his face contorted in pain as if he was the person going through a lot. What expression were you making? It satisfied you to see the disgust visible in your face reflecting in Ignatz’s eyes, hoping he’d get the hint. Twisting and turning your wrists, you hoped it would cause him to let go, but his grip only tightened the more you moved.

Out of sheer willpower, you managed to lift your pinned down right hand to his face, scratching and fighting against him. But alas, he kept you where he wanted, making you wonder where he managed to gain so much muscle strength to do it. He looked different now, but all you could see was the nice guy who first approached you at the training grounds, a weak but chipper young man. And yet, perhaps because of the war, or maybe you simply never noticed it before, the aura of madness was all that surrounded him.

It was just like back then. Ignatz was the one who took the decision about your life off you. It was a slow, painful realization, your screams being covered by the ones on the battlefield, and your tears disappeared in the dirt beneath you. You’d never have the last word in your life. Someone would always come to take it away from you. Maybe you were just not meant for it, but there was nothing more terrible you could imagine than not being the master of your own self.

Bad decisions led to this outcome. But how could you have known back then, when Ignatz was a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

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dingdongitsbees · 3 years

Text

BLACK-EYED SUSAN | LEVI X READER HUNGER GAMES AU

Chapter 13: Rinse and Repeat

Previous - Next

Tw: PTSD, implied suicidal ideation, alcoholism

WC: 5.4k Ao3 link Ask to be added to the taglist! It will be updated weekly on Saturdays

First person version can be found here

Master List

“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful, it was always just red.” – Kait Rokowski

It had been a few years since your world had gotten simultaneously a million times better and also gone to shit. It hadn’t really hit you two until you had spent a few days back in the homes that had been provided for you. You each had your own house as per usual for victors, but you didn’t need a second. You had spent your life together in a borderline shack, it would feel weird to have the other sleep across the street. But it had been in that gifted house that it finally came crashing down.

All you could see was their faces, all you could feel was that knife in your hand, all you could hear was that goddamn canon. You were sitting on a velvet couch paid for in blood. Now having more than enough food on the table was exchanged for lives. Being able to still exist in the world meant twenty-two people had been ripped from the world.

Levi had been next to you, so he just held you, his shoulders shuddering just as bad as yours, and you cried. You just cried. There’s nothing you can do or say or think to make anything like that better. Only time can help, and to be honest it isn’t very good at its job.

The trip to each district took what was left out of you two. Combined you had killed tributes of five districts out of the other eleven. Almost fucking half. Most of their families just glared at you on their platforms as their child’s face was displayed behind them as you recited propaganda scripts.

District Ten was hard for you. They had surprised you to be honest, neither of Sasha’s nor Connie’s family looked at you with any disdain. All you could feel was pity radiating off of them, especially from Sasha’s father. She told you how he had taught her how to shoot, you almost deviated off script to say how you learnt vicariously through his daughter, how kind she and funny she was.

Connie’s siblings hurt to look at. They looked at you with such big eyes. They should have hated you, they really fucking should have. Their brother died in one of the most horrific ways possible yet they stared at you as if you were one of their sisters. The normal people in front of the stage only copied their looks, none of them hated you for taking away two souls. It didn’t make any fucking sense. It would have been better if they had just heckled you. Just yelled at you and screamed at you, taking the brunt of their words was the least you could do for exchanging your life for one their own.

District Eleven wasn’t so kind to Levi. Kaya’s family looked like they were two seconds from breaking on to the main stage and choking him to death right there. He might have let them. Niccolo’s family was confusing. There was obviously no forgiveness for how Levi killed their son, a wild animal in a spree of rage, but they didn’t look angry. Levi had told you he had just said a few words over Niccolo before coming back, maybe those words were enough remorse for them to not want his head on a spike.

However, the civilians in the crowd didn’t agree. They had to be restrained from climbing up, yelling threats and taunts, about how he could kill a little girl without a second glance, how he took pleasure in killing Niccolo. Levi kept his head down, his undercut blinding his view, but his hand shook in yours. You did the speech on behalf of the both of you.

The districts from Nine to Five didn’t give two shits about you, maybe only some had mild curiosity. Their glazed-over eyes just stared, clearly bored as you were from the fuckery spilling from your lips. Some of the families glared only because their child wasn’t standing up there instead of you, but you couldn’t blame them for that.

One was…weird to say the least. Neither of you had many interactions with either Annie or Bertolt, but you two lead them to their deaths. Levi may have killed Annie directly but Bertolt’s murder was just cruel, you knew that, but you had thrown that rock anyway. Both of their families just looked devoid of any emotion, the crowd didn’t seem to care, that’s One for you, but their parents just looked empty. The speech went smoothly.

Three was strange as well, you never met nor saw their girl, but Falco you certainly had, but you also hadn’t killed him, in reality your relationship him was positive. They didn’t seem to hate you, quite the opposite really, they seemed to be happy you were there. Three was no stranger to careers betraying and killing their tributes so they were probably just happy Reiner didn’t win and it had been because of your own hands. Still, it was strange. Falco’s older brother, the one you had seen in the reaping recording, had looked on the brink of tears but he stayed strong, his back straight and head up high. They probably wouldn’t have looked at you the same if Falco had gone with you. Someone would have needed to kill him at some point anyway, it just so happened it wasn’t you.

Two was painful. Instead of two separate families standing on their respective platforms it was just one. There was confliction in their eyes for sure, you were surprised they could even stand to be around each other, their sister or bother’s son killing their child. But they stood together. Staring at you with a mix of hate and affection. Levi had to do the speech that time.

Four was hard once again, but only because of one person, specifically Marcel’s younger brother. He flew daggers from his eyes, pure fury ran through his veins. He probably would have killed you both if he had the chance, probably would have been good at it too. You could only begin to imagine the anger he had stored up since you had sliced his brother’s throat.

You recognised him in the reaping for the next game.

He used his anger well.

At the end of the trip you had to go to the Capitol once again for the Presidents party. You nearly preferred the arena.

Floch was sweating buckets under Zeke’s gaze the entire time and drank himself into a stupor, avoiding you both at every turn which you were glad for. People reached for you like you were statues, brushing your hair and clothes and bodies like you were pets. Nick was the only thing stopping you from cursing everyone in the vicinity, Levi came close. Zeke watched from his balcony, eyes narrowed and sipping on champagne waiting for one of you to misstep so he could order a bullet into your heads.

When you got home you two didn’t know what to do. You both fucked around for a year, bought anything that caught your eyes at the hub no matter if it was an ugly piece of pottery or a toy. You bought a lot of liquor too and drank most in one go. The burning in your throats let you forget the inferno in your brains. A small price to pay for some peace and quiet between neurons.

You two were rarely sober for the first few months. You’d wake up and have whiskey for breakfast, you’d walk around town, maybe sneak through the fence, and have some gin, and if it was a particularly bad day you’d opt for tequila as your bedtime stories.

People in the streets knew to leave you alone, just to let you wallow a bit, they hadn’t seen many victors, but they could guess that starting up conversations with people on the knife’s edge was a good way to get punched. Hannes talked to you two occasionally, usually at the hub, cheering your bottles with his flask. He didn’t ask about the game, he saw enough anyway, he just pretended you were those troublemaker kids you had been when you left.

It was Hanji of all people that got you out of it, though she wasn’t one to talk when it came to the number of empty bottles in your living room, but she at least cut the number down a bit or swapped out the drinks for something weaker much to your slurred complaints.

The months after that were hard, letting the built-up trauma hit you like a train. You both started getting nightmares.

One of you would wake up already screaming or crying or be entirely frozen still and unable to move as their body quaked. The other would hold on to them until their tremors ceased and their breath evened again. Then you’d just rinse and repeat the next night.

Rinse and repeat.

Flinch at a raised voice, go numb at the sight of blood, start hyperventilating when you were sure you had seen another tribute in the crowd.

Try not to let yourself die.

Rinse and repeat.

Then the next game came around. You both offered to go as mentors, to let Hanji take a backseat from the role after her isolating years, she came to make sure you didn’t say something stupid, but she just got to hang around without much of a care.

The two kids that you got weren’t good. You knew the second that their names were called that they were goners. Wouldn’t make it in the bloodbath, and even if they ran, they probably wouldn’t live past the first day. You learnt to push their names away. It didn’t help any to hang on to them.

The kids weren’t dumb, they knew that too.

There was a little bit of hope when they looked at you however, a hope that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Porco had sliced both of their throats open within the first minute. Porco won the title of victor in only three days with a kill count of eight. They never had a chance.

You think that was the last time you cried.

When mentors go to the Capitol and watch the feed, they sit in a room together connected to an ongoing party that never stops until the games do, infested with sponsors and government officials. Only mentors are allowed in that room, not even titan servants. You just needed a room to be in to be able to grieve only with people that understood.

They always looked after the new mentors, it didn’t matter the districts or even if their tribute killed yours, they’d hold you, get you a glass of water or usually something stronger, just let you get everything out and topped up makeup on your red rimmed eyes before you got ambushed by press outside the door. Sometimes the career districts were prickly, but only the ones that truly cared about the kids became mentors anyway, so they weren’t ones to give you shit.

It just sort of numbed you after that. You’re not sure if you could even remember all the kids you sent to their deaths. No, you definitely couldn’t, and you didn’t plan to.

Without fail every year they always got killed in the bloodbath, and every year without fail you’d drill into them to just run away, but they just wouldn’t listen, or the careers just didn’t let them leave. You both spent most of your time in the Capitol just flicking off the tops of third bottles and taking quiet bets on who was going to win or who’d kill who. Levi was always right.

It was actually Erwin’s idea to do something back at Twelve, to find something to pour yourselves into. So, after the 70th Hunger Games you went back and pushed your ludicrous amount of money to builders to create an orphanage. The one on your side of Twelve was shit and didn’t have the funding nor space, it was the reason you two had never gone to it yourselves, so you gave them some of your load too so they could get food on the table for once.

Kids started trickling in, you didn’t run the place yourselves, you didn’t have the emotional range to do something like that anymore and you’d probably do more harm than good as their caretakers, they didn’t need a pair of fucked up twenty-year-olds to lead them through life. But you visited, making sure everything was up to scratch and there was no complaints or concerns from the kids about the people you had employed or the quality of their beds and food or if they needed some more toys to play with.

Levi always made sure the place was meticulous, and it was kinda funny how he used cleaning as his way to bond with the kids. They always complained but they never said no when he asked for their help. You helped kids with schoolwork and funded whatever type of skill they wanted to learn.

“You wanna paint? Here’s an easel and some paints from the Capitol that my designer friend sent over.”

It was hard to smile but at least you could help them to.

One day, when you two had dropped in to visit before you went to stock up on vodka, a boy came up to you with big emerald eyes, with a black-haired girl trailing after him. He asked a question that got everyone surrounding you looking up from their sandwiches.

“Can you teach us how to fight?”

And so you did. Twelve had always been at a disadvantage, nothing in your district aided you for the Games, the closet you’d had was learning about mines and explosions or having the physical strength to lift a pickaxe but that was only available when you worked in the mineshafts at eighteen, the last year qualifying for the reaping, and eighteen-years-olds were never picked.

So usually any kid that went in was utterly fucked.

Unless you tried changing that.

You started small. Learning how to throw a proper punch or kick, things you had learnt on the streets stirring up trouble. How to balance yourself in a proper stance so a gust of wind or a shove from a career wouldn’t send you stumbling.

You taught them the things you learnt in the Capitol and in the training room; what foods were safe, how to set a trap, how to treat a wound, how to conduct an interview, how to form an alliance, who to avoid.

It was a long time before you held a blade again.

They had begged you for months to just teach them how to knife fight, but the idea still shook you. You hadn’t held a throwing knife in your hand for years, but it still melded uncomfortably comfortable into your palm. You could still throw it and hit it dead on centre. You knew if the throw was hard enough to go through someone’s skull. You knew how long it would take for their body to hit the ground if it were a clean shot, and how long it would take if it wasn’t. You knew how many milliseconds it would take for the canon to fire.

Picking up a knife again, only if to teach, was a torturous process, but you didn’t let them know that. You would just drink a little more that night.

“Eren keep your arms up! Try and copy Mikasa’s form!” you barked.

They all stood in a line, throwing knives into hay bales, some making it, most missing. Mikasa was unsurprisingly the former, Eren was unsurprisingly the latter. The two were always the hardest at work though it seemed it was usually driven by Eren’s ambition. The kid wasn’t gifted with natural talent but he was stubborn enough to try and make up for it. They had come to the orphanage after Mikasa’s parents were murdered over some debt they couldn’t pay and Eren lost his mum to a mine explosion and then his father caught something bad from his own patient.

It was always them begging you (well Eren at least, Mikasa would just ask nicely) for more lessons and whatever advice they could squeeze out of you. It frightened you a little, Eren’s enthusiasm, you had seen that face before.

It was an unspoken truth that they were your favourites of the bunch, the others didn’t take offence to it, it was just those two were always coming up to you two whenever they got the chance, though you were scared it was because they reminded you of an overconfident kid and the one trying to take care of them. You tried to pretend you didn’t see Gabi and Falco when you looked at them.

“I’m trying but my arm’s starting to feel heavy!” Eren said, not even bothering to turn his head.

“You brats don’t have time to get tired when you’re in there so just get used to it,” Levi replied.

He walked behind them, arms crossed as he analysed each of them, you tried not to make a joke that Eren and Mikasa were taller than him now. He muttered out tips to those who needed it, and compliments to those who deserved it, you had tried to get him to coddle them just a little bit but then he said overestimating yourself just gets your killed and you couldn’t say anything to that. When he got to the end of the line of kids, he wandered back over to you and you gave a crooked smile.

He bumped his shoulder into yours before turning around and standing next to you, you both falling into your usual silence as you just watched.

“There’s more of them than usual,” Levi noted and you nodded absentmindedly.

“It’s today, it makes them nervous.”

“Zeke never picks them though.”

That was true, when you had first started up the orphanage, you had expected Zeke to jump at the opportunity, there was no way he wasn’t privy to your every movement let alone something that required legal documents to be signed, so how he hadn’t rigged the reaping to pull one of your kids was honestly getting a little unnerving.

But each year a pair of kids were picked that you didn’t recognise, and you’d breathe a sigh of relief; it’s much easier to forget strangers.

You realised that the games were rigged at the 71st games, you had noticed that all the slips of paper you could see, even though they were folded in half, would all start with the same letter, it peeking out, and then the name called out would match. You asked Hanji afterwards, cause there was no way she hadn’t noticed, and she just laughed in your face.

“It’s a show, of course they choose their cast.”

You leant your head on his shoulder as you watched, he leant his head too. His arms untangled themselves from each other and he let one fall, letting his pinkie interlock with your waiting one. You both still being there was a constant surprise and an unspoken threat, because someday, when Zeke got tired, or you did something to piss him off, that fact might not be so true anymore.

But Levi’s there now, maybe not tomorrow, but today at least, and you could only hope that the trend remained.

“Cut it out dude!”

You both whipped your heads around, finding two kids wrestling on the ground. They panted as they tried to get the advantage, dust billowing around them as the other kids stared. Neither of you could be bothered to move. Eventually one straddled the other, pinning him to the dirt.

Levi’s pinkie tightened.

The boy on the ground whined while the other grinned in victory before joining his empty hands together and sending them down onto the boy’s chest.

Levi stiffened beneath you and alarm bells blared in your head.

The boy started pretending to stab him.

“Die! Die! Die!”

The kids around them laughed.

The boy beneath told him to stop.

Levi’s breath shortened.

You were at the kids in a second, pulling them off one another.

“That’s enough.”

They went silent, the boys looking down to the ground in shame, though they didn’t know why you were trying so hard not to glare.

“Time to pack up anyway, you guys need to get ready for the reaping,” you said, you were just greeted with whinges, “Put the knives in the tub you lot. Now.”

They instantly shut up, knowing that tone of yours was not to be messed with under any circumstances. They all shuffled off, throwing the knives in, you always counted them all in case one of them took one, but they were good kids.

Levi nodded at them as they filed back inside the building, jaw still tight. As soon as they were all gone, Eren and Mikasa waving goodbye at the end of the line, you sprinted back over, running your hands through his hair as you brought his face to your shoulder.

“Shh it’s okay it’s okay.”

A shudder whipped through him.

You kissed his temple. “You’re not in the arena, you’re in Twelve. I’m not about to die and neither are you. No one is dying and no one is going to. Just breathe, just focus on my voice and breathe.”

Eventually he stilled again, air flowing through his lungs like normal. It didn’t happen as much anymore, but it still happened. It probably didn’t help that he was about to meet two dead kids.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

He nodded into your shoulder before finally raising his head, sliding over his façade again. You two of all people had to be the strong ones today, you couldn’t show fear, you weren’t allowed to anymore.

The walk home was silent, most people were inside or rushing home to get ready. You dropped past the hub quickly and you bought some bottles from your usual, Levi didn’t say a word, just stared into space. You passed the town square, the camera crews were nearly all set up, the barriers were getting placed. Hannes was testing the mic on the stage, he sent you a nod that you sent back.

The Victor’s village was always weird to see, after passing smog polluted houses with windows that are barely transparent anymore with walls that are starting to tilt, you come to a pristine gate. The separation pissed you off like it was saying you were better than them, but Nick would have your head if you even suggested taking it down. The houses were beautiful too. Maybe it was just an average house for a Capitol citizen, maybe a little nicer, but it looked like a goddamn king’s estate compared to everywhere else in Twelve.

People would say you deserved it, to have a nice home. It made you want to puke.

You could see Hanji through her window, lounging on a couch, bottle of whiskey in hand. Seemed like a plan.

You squeezed Levi’s hand as you unlocked the door and led him inside. You shed your jackets and shoes and put away your bottles, leaving one out. You glanced to him, he was still sort of out of it, he needed quietness, maybe a bath. Yeah a bath would do, those always calmed him down.

You trekked up the stairs, on the landing you let yourself take a little run up and slide across the wooden floorboards on your socks towards the bathroom door. Silly shit helped sometimes.

You reached out and grabbed the handle and turned it, pushing forward on the door. It let out an ungodly and far too familiar screech.

You gasped and slammed your back into the wall.

Fuck.

Your breath was getting quicker, not letting your lungs get enough oxygen before taking another gulp.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You crouched down, elbows on your knees as you pressed your palms into your eyes at a sad attempt to get your brain to stop.

You could only see him, or in more exact terms, you could only see his melted remains.

Fuck.

Rapid thumps came from the stairwell, you didn’t look up as arms enveloped you.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t say anything, just kissed your head before holding you tighter. Your need to talk to communicate was even less than it used to be ever since the Games. There were things you two didn’t need to speak about, you just acted on, knowing exactly what to do.

Though there were moments you didn’t want to talk about, and you didn’t plan to talk about them either. He didn’t mention finding you sobbing on the bathroom floor surrounded by spilled sleeping pills and you didn’t mention waking up alone in bed and finding him completely out of it on the roof of the orphanage. You didn’t talk about it, but you held each other a little tighter just as you did both of those nights.

“I’ll get some oil for it when we get back,” Levi whispered.

You nodded into his chest.

“Bath?” he asked.

You nodded again.

Warm water has magical powers you swore, it really shouldn’t be able to make someone feel so good, to be able to relax and almost drift away forgetting about the possibility of drowning. What a lame way to go out, though it was much nicer than the ways you’d seen.

You laid on Levi’s chest as the water rippled around your little movements. He played with your pruned fingers, touching the fingertips with his own like it was an interactive museum exhibit. You watched, fascinated by his fascination, blinking slowly as the bath bled out all of your stress.

Moments like that were nice, but it had to be broken today. You couldn’t stay in that warm heaven forever, though it was quite tempting, you wouldn’t exactly be missing out on the adventure of a lifetime.

You ruffled the towel through your hair as you sipped the vodka. The burn and taste were barely noticeable, even the effect had begun to wear off or maybe you had just gotten better at being under the influence.

“Catch.”

You threw the bottle to Levi on the couch who caught it without a second glance, immediately taking a few gulps of it himself.

“Hello you two.”

You both looked to the door, sending tight smiles to your usual guest, though to be honest your home was hers and hers was yours at that point.

She walked behind Levi’s couch and took the bottle that he already had extended to her, taking a gulp before placing it on a side table.

“Ready to send children to die?”

The reaping went as usual. Hanji welcomed everyone to the 74th Hunger Games, two kids got reaped, one fifteen-year-old and one thirteen-year-old, you couldn’t remember which was which. You waited in the train, neither of them came up to talk to you and just ate up all the food they could before passing out on the nicest bed they would ever sleep in. You didn’t bother them, one look and you knew they were a lost cause.

The process went on.

Neither were that charismatic, they were only memorable because they were last and that was pushing it as is. They both got low scores, a four and a six. The thirteen-year-old cried himself to sleep the night before, or he might have, you wouldn’t know, you slept through it.

That morning you went up to the roof with them, got in the mentor’s hovercraft and just twiddled your thumbs, wondering who was going to win that year or what the arena was going to look like. You went in, sitting in the back of a cart, going through the maze of corridors beneath the grand stage, not bothering to focus in your eyes to see your surroundings. It was just grey walls anyway.

You yawned when you got to the centre, scratching the back of your neck as you tried to find your tributes amongst all of the shaking teenagers.

A finger tapped you on the shoulder. You spun around to see the girl from…Seven? She grinned, her eyes crinkling.

“I just wanted to say I think you’re really cool, I really admire what you and Levi did in your games.”

You blinked.

“Oh, is that so? Good luck then I guess.”

She smiled even wider before running off with a wave. You dragged a hand over your face before heading over to your tribute waiting for you.

It was a forest arena, nothing too special.

The games had long since started when you got back to main city of the Capitol and went into the sponsor party, both of you immediately beelined for the mentor room. You watched as replays showed one getting killed in the bloodbath the other getting hunted down by none other than the careers. You just stared at their slow-mo screaming faces and sighed.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t even blink. You did the first time but after that it’s just been shut away. Thankfully there was no new mentors that year, you didn’t have to deal with sobbing messes. You were too exhausted to care for someone anymore. Compassion doesn’t come cheap.

The mentor room was filled with pain as always, most were just trying to unlearn two names as quickly as possible, drowning their neurons in liquor so they could pretend that two faces weren’t burnt into their brains. It won’t be enough, it never is. You knew that too now.

Some of the others in the room weren’t mentors but they were victors all the same, having just grabbed a free trip to the Capitol so they could bum off some high-class booze. Couldn’t blame them. They were lucky though, the other districts, having more than three victors meant they had the option of just staying home and just ignoring the screen. They didn’t have to know the kids.

You two spent the rest of your time in silence, going back up to the penthouse to sleep before coming back, hoping the whole ordeal would be over soon.

The girl that talked to you before it started, a girl from Eight you had learned, was still alive though, and you couldn’t help but cheer for her a little bit. She started an alliance with a girl from Six, both doing well against the attempted threats on their lives by the careers. Soon they had made it to the last few with only a few scratches to show the world, much better than your leg to say the least. It still ached every once in a while.

But you were still surprised when her little duo alliance were the last ones left. Their mentors were on the edges of their seats, hands covering their noses and mouths like a prayer, eyes glued to the screen.

Then the girl from Eight did something fucking stupid, something that made everyone’s breath hitch around the country.

She brought out some poisonous berries. They had killed a career with them, not needing to get into a fight, but then they held grenades in the form of blueberries in their blood-stained hands.

They brought it to their mouths as the room cursed in unison, people rose from their seats, you could hear people yelling outside the door. They both hesitated for a second as they counted down but plopped them in their mouths anyway.

Two canons fired in quick succession.

The transmission was as silent as the room. No one knew what to do. You stared at the screen with two dead kids. There wasn’t going to be a victor. There wasn’t going to be a victor because they copied you.

“I really admire what you and Levi did in your games.”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The room slowly turned to you two as your heart hammered in your chest, Levi’s hand fumbled for yours.

You were fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

a/n: sorry this chapter was late! this was mainly just summary but we’ll really get into it next chapter

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years

Text

MultiVillain x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: Okay, so this is how it goes. Reader’s in love with (Villain), and (Villain) is in love with them… but no one ever said it out loud, and now Reader is marrying someone else.

Includes: Napoleon Boneparte (Misc), Human!Oogie Boogie (Disney Villain), Oswald Cobblepot (Gotham), Slenderman (Creepypasta), The Clown (Horror Villains)

Warnings: Alcohol intake, talk and hints towards murder of course, and swearing.

Notes:

Inspired by ‘Marry Me’ (Either by Thomas Rhett [The guy’s POV which is what this will be in] or Elle Mears [Your POV, if you wanna see how Reader’s thinking]) and I recommend you listen while you read! ^^

I’m so happy!! I finally wrote something more then headcanons for Oogie! And this is also my first time writing for the Clown, so be easy on me XD

I hope you like this- I for one, am actually pretty proud of it!

~~~

Napoleon Boneparte (You’re having a nighttime wedding- you made this decision of course so your friend and secret soulmate could attend):

She wants to get married, she wants it perfect She wants her grandaddy preaching the service Yeah, she wants magnolias out in the country Not too many people, save her daddy some money

Before walking into the church, I halt a moment at the side so others may get inside by me. This will be hard. I need a moment, just a moment… to pull myself together. It would be very bad, if I were to panic as Y/N makes their way down the aisle.

Hand on the church, more to hold myself together rather then to hold myself up. Am I doing the right thing? Should I be here? Should I leave? That stupid Capone said I might not be able to control myself and will object when the preacher asks… he’s not right, is he? It’s true, I don’t feel entirely under my own control right now…. But I need to be here. To support Y/N on their big day.

… I do love them, far more than any man every should a nearly married person, and even if I can’t have them for myself, I would, happy, do very near anything to make them happy.

So, if… If they want me here, as they said they do… Then I have to go in. I can’t chicken out now. I am the great Napoleon Boneparte. I can attend a wedding. Bon dieu.

Viva La France.

I can do this.

Forward!

As soon as I walk in, it is as if I am strolling into Y/N’s mind. This is just as they always wanted, with a few obvious added things by the other one that’s getting married today, like the chiselled cat head mahogany chairs… not that I think Y/N would disapprove if they weren’t, in fact, kind enough to just agree right away, seeing as it isn’t only their day.

The white makes a beautiful backdrop for their chosen accent colour, and the people in the room are exactly who I would imagine to accompany Y/N in her daily life, when I cannot be there. There’s not a sour, or in any way unexcited and unencouraging expression in the place.

Honestly, with my whole heart, wish I could feel the same as them.

Then Y/N comes into the room, and steals the breath right out of my chest. Like always.

Human!Oogie Boogie:

Ooh, she got it all planned out Yeah, I can see it all right now

I'll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back I'll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask

Christ, what kinda shindig is this?? I’ve asked everyone and their cat, including somebodies’ mother who looks like a cat, to play a tiny game of Blackjack with me while we wait for the main event, but nothing! Nada! What’s wrong with these people? Are they dying to just sit around and contemplate their loneliness until the two hosts get hitched??

I, for one, am not playing that game today.

Of course, I’m also avoiding Y/N at all costs so maybe I’m not the best example of a man controlling his emotions.

“Oogie!”

My shoulders seize up visibly, at Y/N’s voice behind me and I stop shuffling my cards. I only decide to turn around and face them like a man, when they give up waiting and round me so I can see their beaming face.

Oh, they look so happy.

That’s nice… in a terrible, heartbreaking, awful kind of way.

“Heya, Y/N. You look great!” I start shuffling the cards again in my hand, distracting my hands from and refraining myself from, taking their hand and kissing it, or pulling them into a hug. If I did that, I think theirs an acute possibility I would end up saying something we would both regret, in a moment of determination… and devastation, of course. Can’t forget that.

Really, I can’t. It’s a very prominent feeling right now in my chest, just being here. Just knowing this is happening.

“Thank you!” They beam wider, and oh Jesus. They’re so beautiful when they look happy- I wish I could make them this happy.

… But that’s all the other guy. The one they’re hitching.

They run their bottom lip through their teeth, looking down at the cards in my hands and then smirking in that mischievous way that always somehow makes this blackheart’s insides clench up. In a good way, but still. Tilting their head, they look back up at my face. “Had no luck getting anyone to bet with you yet?”

I let out a deep, theatrical sigh full of frustration. “No! Your guests all suck, Y/N.”

“Even you?”

“No, not me. I’m the King.”

“Right,” They laugh, then goes and sits down at a nearby table. “Well we have 10 minutes until I have to go get ready to walk- I’ll play you if you want!”

My heart pops like a balloon, and goes flying, wheezing around in my rib cage as I just smile at them for a good moment- unmarried, and free, and mine. For ten to fifteen more minutes. Hell yeah, I’m going to sit down and play with them.

Why aren’t I telling them not to? I wonder, as I deal us both cards and they pick theirs up and make cheeky ‘Hmmm’ sounds to throw me off. Why don’t I tell them, right now, how I feel? Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I here, is also a valid question but I already beat myself up over that last night when I was picking out my tie. I’m her friend, and they deserve to be… yuck. Happy, with the person they chose.

And I guess, that’s the answer to all my other questions too.

Let me just enjoy this last game, this last 600 seconds with them.

Oswald Cobblepot:

I remember the night when I almost kissed her Yeah, I kinda freaked out, we'd been friends for forever And I always wondered if she felt the same way When I got the invite, I knew it was too late

And I know her daddy's been dreading this day Oh, but he don't know he ain't the only one giving her away

As soon as Y/N leaves my side to go and freshen up for the aisle walk, I find myself a seat in the very back of the church / auditorium and rest in for the event. I will not be moving from this hidden away spot, in convenient shadow, with my secret flask of terrible smelling stuff that Victor gave me before arriving, until this shitshow is over and I can leave.

I’m only here in the first place, because Y/N asked me. And, evidently, my idiocy runs deep because I accepted such an invitation. I will do anything, for them. I learnt my lesson in dealing in peoples love lives, with Edward and Isobel- I will not let my relationship with Y/N go as badly as that one did, with Ed.

So if I must sit here and watch them marry that moron, (Fiancé’s Name), then that is what I’ll do. But I won’t sit in the front and watch it, and I will be as drunk as whatever this drink can make me.

Maybe I should text Victor, the deadly assassin, and ask what the contaminants are…

An unevolved, ap-like woman walks past my seat and I must be too close to the aisle because I can hear her yap like a strangled cat about what a cute couple Y/N and (Fiancé’s Name) are together and how they must be soulmates, and I don’t think twice before gulping down a huge mouthful of the alcohol. If this is how I die, then so be it, I think bitterly as I slide further down the aisle.

“Fuck!” The word comes out of me before I can stop it, my face probably the picture of horror and disgust. This… drink, if I can even call it that -more of an undiluted acid, if you ask me, - tastes like regret and earwax.

The same ape-like woman from before flashes a stern, disapproving look at me like she thinks she’s my mother, and I show her my middle finger. Uncouth, yes, but affective. This is a bad day, and I am in no mood to deal with bitches like her. She quickly looks away, and I take another, smaller, sip of the drink.

Another moment passes and the wedding doesn’t seem to be even a second closer to ending, so I sit up straight and close my eyes, holding the flask in my lap. Take me back to a better time…

In the silent, middle-of-the-conversation lapse moment, I allow myself to look down at Y/N’s mouth. They have a soft smile, left over from whatever we were just talking about, on their face as they sit comfortably in our silence and I suddenly feel total confidence. They’re here, with me, instead of off with that boy toy / girl toy / gender neutral or fluid toy. They’re with me. That must mean that I mean something to them, right? And Ed said they looked at me like… like, they love me. Or ‘care deeply’, as he put it. But we all know that was just his stiff version of the word ‘love’. Ever since Isobel… had her unfortunate accident… he’s been focused on one emotion only and it is not, love.

Anyway, the confidence spreads through me and I smile. It mixes with my perpetual desire to kiss them, and goddamnit, I should do it. I should just lean over and press a gentle kiss on their mouth- if they aren’t interested or pull away, I can blame it on the wine between us. If not…

Butterflies erupt in my stomach and my chest, and I’ve just lean an inch forward… when their phone rings on the table and I see (Boyfriends Name) flash on the screen.

I rush to lean completely back in my chair, as they answer. I don’t like to believe fate has anything to do with Gotham, but… that was entirely too close.

My eyes snap open and I roll my shoulders back, inhaling another, bigger slug of the contents of the flask and feel even angrier.

That was, most certainly not a better time, you nitwit.

Slenderman:

Bet she got on her dress now, welcoming the guests now

I could try to find her, get it off of my chest now But I ain't gonna mess it up, so I'll wish her the best now

I’ve been sitting in the back of this church, a place I likely shouldn’t ever enter in the first place -Well, at least I’m not Offender. I would probably burn to death, in that scenario, - for over 2 hours and I only got to see Y/N for 45 and a half minutes of that time.

Not that that really matters. Its more important that they see me. I certainly don’t want to see them. I don’t wish to see them, or their wedding clothes, or their wedding guests, or the stupid moony smiles on their faces, or the cake, or their partner. Definitely not their partner. If they show their face before they absolutely have to, or worse, talk to me, I will promptly go home and kill 30 people. I don’t want to be here.

I shouldn’t be here, in fact. If I were a good man, I wouldn’t be here. A good man would never turn up to a wedding that he know’s he’s just going to sit back in and think unholy, too-fond and too-angry thoughts about one of the marriage participants. Marriage is supposedly a sacred thing, and if I were this good man that I’m thinking about, I wouldn’t urinate on it like this.

But I am not a good man.

So, really, what would I know about what a good man, would do in the first place?

Enough thinking about good men, it’s making me queasy and very uncomfortable.

I don’t look around, but I can infer with general certainty, that Y/N will be welcoming all her other guests now that I ‘allowed’ -Not that I could have stopped them. They just didn’t want to leave me in my own company,- them to let me be alone here. And they’re in their wedding clothes, which look lovely on them, and their smiling and their giddy.

Giddy. Ugh, I hate that word, especially in this sense. Defined by the Cambridge English Dictionary as ‘feeling silly, happy, and excited and showing this in your behaviour’. And by the Oxford, to ‘Make (Someone) feel excited to the point of disorientation.’. Yes, I looked up these definitions and memorised them before I came, and loathe every single word, in that order.

Because apparently, as if it wasn’t already obvious by the very fact that I’m HERE, I hate myself.

This other person has made Y/N giddy, while I have to sit here and pretend, I’m happy for them both and that I don’t feel like vomiting for the first time in 5 centuries.

But I can’t do anything about it, because I love them, Y/N, and I will… I will not, allow myself to be the reason their wedding wasn’t perfect. So, I wish them the best.

Or I try my damn hardest to.

The Clown / Jeffry Hawk / Kenneth Chase:

So I'm in my black suit, black tie, hiding out in the back Doing a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask I'll try to make it through without crying so nobody sees Yeah, she wanna get married Yeah, she gonna get married But she ain't gonna marry me

I don’t know if I’d call this a real wedding. For one, its in the entities realm so how ‘magical’ could it really be? And for another reason, the only white thing here is my grease paint. Its pretty laughable. I would laugh, in fact, if I didn’t know it would cause a coughing fit and bring attention to me as Y/N walks down the aisle- O don’t need them looking at me. I might accidentally blurt out an ‘oopsie’ or something not-at-all funny like that, with all the whiskey I’ve injected today. Not that that would be the biggest issue with these kids seeing that I’m here, in the first place. Only Y/N knows, I’m hiding by a tree.

But, I digress I guess. They’re calling it a wedding. The big one with the beard is officiating -I guess he has an online certificate from before he was brought here,- , Y/N’s wearing a pit of plastic bag on their head like a make shift veil / bit of plastic bag fashioned sort of like a tie, and all the lovely little fingers, or survivors as they like to call themselves, watch. With silly gleaming smiles and hope in their eyes- Pft, suckers.

Honestly the idea of weddings in the first place make me a bit uncomfortable. All those wide eyes watching and perving on your happiness?? Seems pretty creepy to me, and I’ve been told I’m pretty creepy myself! So, I would know!

The fact that possibly the sweetest, perfect person I’ve ever had the pleasure of setting my gaze upon is the one getting married, has absolutely no stake on my take on weddings in this moment.

Absolutely not…

Aha… hahahaha…

I kill myself.

I kill them, too, but let’s put that on the backburner like their fingers, for now.

Let me wallow in self-pity for a while longer before we start making jokes.

Yeah, let me… I take a swig of my flask -a bee-oootiful concoction of all the most toxic hootch I have in my collection, and maybe also some actual poison maybe since I wasn’t paying much attention when I created it this morning and I keep it all in relatively the same place, - and savour the horrible flavour on my tongue. Let me wallow, for a little bit.

This is going to be a bad day, for these little fuckers when I get into the game.

#napoleon x reader #NATM Napoleon Boneparte #Oogie Boogie x Reader #Human!Oogie Boogie #Oswald Cobblepot #Oswald Cobblepot x Reader #The Penguin #The Penguin x Reader #Slenderman #Slenderman x Reader #The Clown #The Clown x Reader #Kenneth Chase #Kenneth Chase x Reader #Jeffry Hawk #Jeffry Hawk x Reader #Drabbles #Drabble

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white-rose-week · 4 years

Text

Beacon

Audience List, Day 2

Also on Archive of Our Own

AU supposes all 4 girls are the same age.

The four women were ushered into the office with haste. It was a bit of a surprise to be called for a disciplinary meeting in the second-to-last week of the school year, so some of them resented the supposed ‘urgent need’ for disciplinary action.

“I appreciate your co-operation on such short notice, everyone.” Vice Headmistress Goodwitch put a finger to her temple as she sat at the desk.

“Was all this really warranted, Glynda?” Kali asked. “It’s almost the end of their junior year. I’m sure they have far more momentous things to worry about.”

“I’ll say,” Raven agreed. “Yang hasn’t been able to shut up about-” she squinted her eyes in thought, looking to Kali with a perplexed look “-Blake’s ‘Not Another Birthday Birthday Bash’?”

Kali had to suppress a laugh. “Well, it was either that, or the ‘Bellabeauty Birthday Ball’. Blake was mortified when she heard the names.”

“I do feel sorry for that girl sometimes.” Willow’s eyes were half-lidded, but she could imagine the embarrassment Blake must deal with.

“Ladies, please.” Glynda pinched the bridge of her nose and blinked with vigor. “Let’s not get off topic. I called you all here to discuss a serious breach in our code of conduct.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Yes, this ‘physical altercation’.”

“Your girls started a brawl, out in front of the entire student body.”

“I’m sure they chose the most opportune moment to strike.”

“It was during the advisory period, in the middle of a mandatory pep rally.”

“And I’m sure the fight generated more pep than the rally ever could have.”

“Raven,” Summer attempted to mediate. “play nice.”

Raven sighed. “Did they at least win?”

“Whether or not there were victors is hardly-”

“I disagree.”

Glynda facepalmed.

“Glynda,” Kali started, “I have to say, none of our girls are the type to start fights unprovoked.” She crossed a leg over the other on her chair. “Are you sure they’re responsible?”

“Considering the district’s zero-tolerance policy, the responsibility lies equally with all of them.”

“That’s a load of bull!” Raven exclaimed.

Kali pressed the matter. “Be that as it may, I believe we have the right to know what happened.”

The headmistress conceded and looked down at her desktop, at a series of recorded statements. “According to these statements, the girls threw the first punches in a heated exchange with a group of boys in front of them.”

“OK. And is everyone alright? Or should we have met in the emergency room?”

Glynda donned a more serious face. “One of the boys suffered a broken nose, another a series of bruised ribs, yet another two black eyes, and finally, a possibly fractured mandible.”

Raven let out a hearty giggle.

“Goodwitch,” Willow interjected. Nobody had noticed she’d taken a swig from a concealed flask. She sloshed it around in one hand, school policy be damned. “While this all sounds dreadful, it’s hard to imagine our girls would do such things without good reason. Tell me, how exactly did Weiss get involved?”

“Supposedly, Weiss started the fight, Mrs. Schnee. Witnesses say she punched Cardin Winchester in the jaw when he mocked Ruby’s eyes.”

Summer sighed audibly from her seat. “And is Ruby OK?”

“Aside from a sore knuckle, you daughter is fine.” Glynda looked at all the mothers’ faces in a row. “In fact, the worst injury any of your girls escaped with was a few missing strands of hair.”

“I’m relieved,” Summer said.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t proud of them,” Kali agreed.

“I’m afraid the issue is more complicated than that.” Glynda pulled another incident report out from the desk. “Given that Weiss started the fight, coupled with the fact that Yang struck a school police officer in the heat of the moment-” Raven groaned “-the present officers are inclined to blame your daughters for the incident. And who knows if they’ll press charges against Ms. Xiao Long.”

“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

Kali piped back in. “Will that really be necessary? Our girls have had near-perfect conduct thus far.”

“Regardless of their records, policy leaves no room for assault. The district’s recommendation is several days of OSS minimum, including from any and all end-of-year activities.”

“OSS?” Willow was unfamiliar.

‘Out-of-school suspension.” Raven was quick to clarify.

“Suspension?” Willow returned a look of disgust. “With all due respect, that is absurd.” She shook her head.

“We know these girls, Goodwitch. I can assure you; Weiss and Ruby are not the types to dabble in physical assault casually.”

“I agree,” Summer offered. “Ruby is too kind-hearted. And I’ve known Weiss a long time. She’s a wonderful girl.”

Willow nodded. “If I’m being honest, from some of the things I’ve heard, Ruby may very well be my daughter-in-law someday.”

“I think it’s a little early to talk about that. If Ruby and Weiss end up staying together, it should be what they both want.”

“No arguments here.”

“That’s all nice and wonderful.” Glynda’s tone betrayed an awkwardness. “I’m sure they’re all angels, but none of that helps them here.”

She continued perusing the incident report. “What we see here is these girls attacking four classmates, with disproportionate injuries.”

“Oh, Shut. Up.” Raven was irritated now.

“Excuse me?”

“I bet that Cardin kid had it coming.”

“The code of conduct would disagree. The district has a zero-tolerance for violence of any kind, Ms. Branwen.”

Raven scoffed. “That zero-tolerance policy is trash.” She leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “You want to know what I think? If I know bullies, – and believe me, I know them very well – then Cardin has been picking on smaller students for a while now, and Weiss finally got fed up with it. Do you honestly believe four well-rounded girls would just go and pick a fight with these boys?”

“Frankly, I find this troubling. If this school is unwilling to be just in its handling of discipline, I think it may be time for Weiss to consider other options. And the SDC’s sizable PTO donation will follow.”

Willow’s threat hung in the room like a switch waiting to be flipped. Would she follow through? Probably not. But it had its intended effect.

Glynda was still thinking of a response when the door to the office opened.

“Let’s hope it won’t come to such a thing.”

Headmaster Ozpin stepped into the room with his signature cane and took a seat.

“Oz, what is this about suspension?” Raven practically growled.

Ozpin eyed her with the same unbothered look he always wore.

“Yes, that unfortunate incident from earlier. I’m afraid the brawl caught one of our guards in a foul mood this afternoon. I believe I can talk him down within the day, though it means settling for a Saturday morning workforce, in lieu of suspension.”

The mothers collectively sighed.

“I suppose that will have to suffice.”

“Acceptable terms. Thank you, Ozpin,” Summer granted.

Kali perked up at the new arrangement. “Ladies, if this is all taken care of, I suggest drinks at Schnee manor to celebrate.”

—–

Ruby was nervous. The four of them sat in the hallway outside the main office, awaiting their sentences and whatever their mothers had to say.

She flailed her left hand, trying to shake off the soreness. She leaned her head on Weiss’s shoulder. “What do you guys think is gonna happen?”

Blake was the first to speak up, with a sigh. “Probably suspension. Two days if we’re lucky. Maybe alternative school programs for Weiss and Yang.”

Yang’s head shot up. “You think they’ll send us away? At the end of the school year?”

“I’ve seen it happen,” Blake said, shrugging.

Ruby frowned at the thought. She grabbed Weiss’s hand. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“I know. But it was worth it.” She squeezed Ruby’s hand back.

“Worth possibly getting sent to an alternative school?”

“Something tells me mother will have some choice words for the administration, if that’s the case.”

Yang smirked at the thought. “I’d kinda like to see someone go off on Goodwitch.”

“Only because she keeps catching you late to class.”

“Yeah, but still.” Yang brushed it off. “Anyways, whatever happens, we still need to finish planning Blake’s party.”

Blake groaned at the reminder.

Weiss nodded. “We will. As soon as they dismiss us.”

And so, they waited, and were relieved when their punishment seemed so lenient.

But no satisfaction was greater than seeing Cardin the next Monday with a mouthful of metal.

#white rose week #white rose #whiterose #submission #wrw2020 #rwby #day 2 #fiction

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hayffiebird · 4 years

Text

Taste of Strawberries, Chap. 21

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

I hope you like angst on your fanfic sandwish :) Leave a comment and tell me your thoughts!

Also: (spoiler not a spoiler) I included the Capitol anthem from the new THG book “The ballad of songbirds and snakes” but it doesn’t give away the story so it’s safe to read.

Chapter 21 The betrayal

*ring ring*

… What?

*swallows back a sob* Haymitch? Haymitch, it’s me.

Ah. There she is. Long time no princess. What can you want?

I’m sorry. I know I should have called you a long time ago.

Oh, I remember that voice. Effs Trinket needs a shoulder to cry on, huh? So she goes to good ol’ Haymitch. Course. *takes a mouthful of something* It’s too bad mine’re all the way down here then. Both of ‘em.

I can take the train. If I go now I ought to be…

Here in a day. Yeah. And I’m supposed to just welcome you with open arms?

Haymitch…

That’s my name.

I really must speak to you. It’s im…

What for? I’m a dead-end drunk, remember?

I’ve never called…

No, that’s right. Your words were much fancier.

I know you’re angry. This is not easy for me either but…

I’m fine, sweetheart. Just fine. Can’t ruin a life that’s already ruined, right? I s’pose you want all your crap back? Yeah, the kids have it. They think you’re gonna come back, you know. “When hell freezes over”, am I right? But you know Peeta. I’ll just tell ‘em to send it over straight away so you never have to set your foot here ever again. Great, huh?

You left me, Haymitch! I didn’t want you to go! I didn’t want it to end!

Could’ve fooled me. *twists the top of another bottle* And don’t you worry your pretty head, sweetheart. You’ll get over it. Trust me. Soon you’re gonna find some nice, wholesome guy who does exactly what he’s told. It’ll be all: “Yes, Euphemia. No, Euphemia. Whatever you say, Eu…”

Don’t call me that! Haymitch, please! Mrs. Q, she… she tried to… I need you! If you care about me at all…

Oh, I cared about you. A lot. More than a lot. Should’ve fucking known better. So why don’t you call Plutarch or Octavia or any other of your friends and just leave me alone. Cause I owe you nothing. Nothing at all.

*sobs* I’m so stupid.

Have a wonderful life, Eff. I’m sure you’re gonna be deliriously happy.

*toot toot*

xXx

There was still some broth left. Katniss slipped her flask into a jacket pocket and poured a second mug.

The storm had finally blown itself out, for now anyway, but one look through the window quelled all hope for a hunting day. No point roaming the woods for sustenance when the snow lay waist-deep.

She fed Buttercup her last piece of bacon and carried the mug into the living room.

“I’m going to the bakery.”

Nightmares had made Haymitch kick all the cushions off the couch again. He lay on his side with the knife cradled against his chest like some scary version of a teddy bear.

“There’re scrambled eggs if you want it,” Katniss said. “And some bacon. I left it on the stove.”

She couldn’t set the mug down. Wasn’t enough space on the coffee table and Haymitch grunted at the sound of glass against glass when she tossed the empties in the container by the door.

He muttered something she couldn’t make sense of and pulled his arm up over his eyes to ward off the light from the one lamp. “Drink the broth at least.” She placed the cup at arm’s reach and was gone.

It was almost a month now since Haymitch set up camp on their couch. One day mid-dinner he just staggered into their living room and he hadn’t left since.

He was decent enough to not completely trash the place but still, you didn’t want Haymitch Abernathy for a roommate. He was hard enough to deal with nextdoor.

Katniss couldn’t stand it being at home these days. Haymitch woke both her and Peeta almost every night with the agonized sounds he made in his sleep and daytime was no better.

Their mentor, hollow-eyed and shrunken on the couch – it all reminded her too much of her mother and Katniss fled when she couldn’t help. She kept to the woods as much as possible and if not the woods the bakery or the Hob or Hazelle’s.

Anywhere but home.

When they finally asked him if it wasn’t time he moved back to his own house, they cleaned it for him, Haymitch only shot them a long look, like a dog they had just mistreated and rolled over so he faced the couch.

“She’s there,” that’s all he muttered.

And what could they do? Not tie him up and dump him somewhere. He was their mentor and they already owed him more than they could ever repay.

They had known something was off the moment they got home, the day before Christmas Eve.

They walked up the old pathway, loaded with bags and the first thing they saw when they passed Haymitch’s house was the Christmas tree lying in the snow, still green and frosty and covered with ornaments. Like someone had just thrown it out the door.

And it wasn’t the only thing.

In the ever-growing light they saw the ground littered with items. Towels and bed sheets and bath robes lay in bundles, all frozen stiff. Soggy, old newspapers and magazines too, blown apart by the frisk wind.

Her clothes were everywhere, along with an endless number of bottles and jars and other beauty products half-buried in the snow. They found napkins and slippers, perfume bottles and pillows. Hairbrushes, tea cups, blankets, curtains, shower curtains, even anagrammed towel hangers attached to chunks of the bathroom wall.

The state of his house was even worse, like a twister had gone through it. They asked him about it but Haymitch was a closed book.

Then, of course they found Effie’s note on their kitchen table and it wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened in their short absence.

They wanted to help. Of course they did. Only, how? Wasn’t like they could change what had already happened or say anything to make it better.

Not that Peeta didn’t try to talk to him. Talk at him. Finally Katniss stepped up and said, not unkindly,

“Just leave him be.”

Haymitch had said next to nothing the whole time but when Katniss and Peeta turned to leave he stopped them in their tracks.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said and looked Peeta straight in the eye; a feat considering how intoxicated he was. “You don’t get any ideas ‘bout calling the Capitol, alright. I mean it, boy. This is my wreckage.”

Sun set early this time of year. For the remaining hours, Katniss and Peeta dug for treasures in Haymitch’s garden, until they had to squint in order to see. And even then some of Effie’s belongings would probably not be found until Spring.

They brought it all back to their house. Silently, Peeta filled the sink with hot water and suds and washed the plates and glasses and tea cups while Katniss stood at the ready with a towel, both of them deep in thought.

Back in District 4, when Peeta gathered her in bed, he had teased her about their cosy, up-coming Christmas. Painted her pictures of Effie plaguing both her and Haymitch with her bright holiday spirit and bringing them gifts – wrapped in regular wrappings so she didn’t technically break Haymitch’s rule of “no Christmas presents.”

Dinner at the Hob would follow where Effie would spend about two thirds of it clucking over Haymitch’s table manners and Haymitch stating he should just hire her voice to cut his turkey for him and “we’re not doing this again, that’s for sure”, all the while not quite able to keep his hands to himself.

“And then they’ll top the evening with a see-through excuse like ‘I’m gonna go get a bottle’ or ‘I am simply exhausted. Do you mind if we call it a night?’,” Peeta finished and grinned at Katniss who squirmed like a worm in hot ashes.

It just felt good to make fun of their mentor being happy for once. Happy with Effie.

Now, everything was in ruins and tomorrow would be just like any other day, with Haymitch drunk and getting drunker.

Not that Christmas had ever been a busy affair in the Victor’s Village. They had dinner and that was pretty much it. A slightly fancier one, perhaps, with about a 50% chance of Haymitch joining. He only ever showed up last New Year’s because of Effie.

Because of Effie. That phrase applied for many aspects of Haymitch’s life, didn’t it? He’d deny it but just the fact she got him to even consider drying out pretty much said everything.

“Maybe we should call her,” Peeta wondered, not sure himself.

“But you heard him,” Katniss said. “This is none of our business. And they’ll come around, eventually.”

They were both so used to their mentor and escort’s antics. Those stubborn, old fools were always at each other’s throat and through and through they found a way back to one other. Back at each other’s side.

This too would pass, surely? Sooner or later, one of them would swallow their pride and pick up the phone.

And while Katniss and Peeta waited for that call they stored Effie’s things for safe-keeping, well out of Haymitch’s sight and stopped asking questions.

But February rolled to a close with dark days and even darker nights. Life in Twelve was just one storm after another and people were forced to seek shelter at the Hob so as not to get lost in them. The vixen’s cry echoed in the night and Katniss and Peeta stored up on candle sticks for the blackouts.

March came with the deceiving breath of spring only to bury the district in a second winter. Hazelle’s kids put her on bed rest after a sprained ankle. Brooks gushed in plentiful streams under the ice and an apple-cheeked Katniss returned from the woods, game bag loaded with wild turkey.

April arrived with warmer weather. Tiny greens peeked in people’s gardens and the patches of last year’s grass grew bigger for each day. Water dropped down every icicle and town’s kids and Seam kids alike melted snow in water barrels to make the spring come faster.

Everyone kept busy. It was a time of change, of rebirth. Winter was finally over and it had a rejuvenating effect on everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

Effie’s name was never mentioned and yet she was ever present. If an outsider walked past and saw Haymitch on the couch he might think “same old, same old”. But Katniss and Peeta were family and they knew him better than that.

Haymitch had never been an easy person to deal with and definitely not a happy-go-lucky one. But every once in a while, if he had a couple hours of dreamless sleep it was like he got an energy boost.

That’s when he got up, checked on the geese, helped Peeta in the bakery, maybe just had a hot meal down at the Hob before he returned to his bottles.

Now, it was like he didn’t care about anything anymore. He just lay on the couch, drinking and God help the one who bothered him. He only ever left for the bathroom breaks or when his liquor ran out.

But even that came to an end.

It happened when Haymitch staggered into the Hob on a Sunday morning.

“Usual,” he slurred and tossed handfuls of money on Ripper’s bar counter.

“Sorry, Haymitch. You’re too early,” she said. “The train doesn’t arrive until Monday. We’re all out now.”

“Usual!” Haymitch repeated, louder this time like she was slow. Sighs rose from around the tables.

“It’s Sunday,” Ripper told him patiently. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll get your bottles. I can’t sell it to you now because we’re out.”

She couldn’t make him understand. Each time she tried Haymitch only got surlier. “Wha’s the problem?” he whined. “I have money. Wha’s the problem?”

He scared some of the little kids eating breakfast with their parents. The temperature in the diner seemed to have dropped twenty degrees and finally a gray-haired old man muttered, loud enough for Haymitch to hear it,

“Who’d have thought we’d ever wish for that fancy sow to come back?”

That’s when Haymitch wielded his knife. He was so drunk it was pathetic but for Ripper that was it! She kicked him out and told him either he left his knife at home or he would have to get someone else to buy him his liquor.

From then on, Katniss and Peeta stocked up his supplies and Haymitch found even fewer reasons to get up.

What for?

Maybe it would have been better, Katniss thought. Less cruel, if he never got those precious few months with Effie. Because losing her, losing her altogether and not just as a lover, seemed to have opened a crack in his rock bottom and pushed him down that hole as well.

And Effie, how was she doing?

xXx

May. God, he hated May. Ever since he turned twelve, the month right before the Hunger Games was nothing but a ticking clock. Even now, years after the war had ended, there were still times when he started awake, thinking,

Reaping day’s almost here!

He couldn’t sleep. While he marinated his liver a bug had detoured in to the house and was now buzzing about in the window.

The sound unnerved him because the bloody thing just wouldn’t give up! It bumped and thumped against the glass over and over again, yearning for freedom.

It was Peeta’s damn fault. He always opened a window when it rained.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright, alright,” Haymitch growled and swung his legs off of the couch.

It was a wasp. Not the tracker jacker kind, just a regular one. It crawled along the window sill, flew into the glass once more and wiggled it’s antennae in irritation.

“Out with you now,” Haymitch muttered as he struggled with the window hooks. “Be free.” And watched the bug disappear.

The night air felt balmy against his skin. He took his time unscrewing the lid on the silver hip flask. The geese were quiet for a change but the mockingjays were still up, frisky and begging for company. He ran his hand through his wild beard and drank the flask dry. It didn’t take long.

He was just looking for something to fill it up with when he heard the sound. One even his soaked brain could place.

A phone. Ringing.

His mind jumped to Effie and he could’ve kicked himself for it. He resisted the desire to slam the window shut and closed it before he returned to the couch. The coffee table held nothing but empties. They clinked under his fingertips until he found one with some in it. He lifted it to his lips and greeted the burn with a sigh of relief.

Outside, the ringing continued. Even with the window closed, there was no escaping it.

It’s not her. Why’d she call now? No reason for her to call now.

After what felt like 10 years, the phone silenced. The knot in his stomach eased somewhat and after he promised himself to tear the phone out the wall as soon as the sun rose he walked over to the cabinet and peeked inside.

“Thank you, kids,” he mumbled at the welcomed sight. He grabbed same bottles at random and brought them back to the couch. But before he got the chance to flop down on his ass-print the phone went off again.

“Oh, fuck me,” he wheezed.

Who called him at three in the morning? No, strike that. Who called him, period?

Sweat trickled down his sides in never-ending streams. The sound played on his nerve strings like a violin. It was the wasp all over again because the caller, whoever it was, didn’t give up. Refused to stop until he did something about it.

A hundred whispered insults spilled over Haymitch’s lips as he pulled on his shoes.

He hadn’t seen the inside of his house in months. The last time he was here had been a fucking nightmare. Broken furniture, broken everything.

The long, hard signals cut through the stillness like a knife.

It’s not her.

He picked up the phone and the blare of music nearly ripped her ear drum. He held the thing a meter away.

“Hello?” someone called. “Helloo?”

He brought the phone closer.

“Who is this?”

“Well, hi to you too!” the person laughed. It was a woman’s voice. One he recognized, only he couldn’t quite place it. From the Capitol at least. “How’s the bachelor’s life treating you, Haycock?” the stranger woman asked. When he didn’t answer she went on, “It’s me, Gloria! Gloria Highgrass. We met at Octavia’s birthday party, remember? Yellow dress. Good-for-nothing cousin by my side.”

Haymitch drew a silent sigh. Of course.

“Where you’ve been hiding, hm?” she asked. ”Haven’t seen you in a while. Finally tired of your afternoon delight?”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

“Oh,” Gloria chuckled. “You kiss your bottle with that mouth? What would Effie said?”

Her words drew giggles. Clearly, they had an audience and he was just about to slam the phone down when she said,

“I just saw her, that little cock-warmer of yours. And between you and me: I don’t blame you for leaving. What a mess, haha! You screwed her up good, Haycock! She’s so unfuckable now! Well done, sir. Well done.”

And her brilliant laughter hammered his head.

“Do you know we all placed bets on how long the two of you would last? It’s true! You cost me a fortune, Haycock! You guys stuck it out way longer than I thought. And then my useless cousin told me about your little scene at the train station. ‘Get your shit together’ and all that. God, I wish I was there!”

She had a sip of something and then rallied on,

”You wanna know what I think? I think she planned the whole thing. So you’d never leave her. Too bad she forgot that district scum scurry off like cockroaches once the light’s on. Well, she’s paying for it now, isn’t she? How’d she tell you? Before or after you cleared out?”

It was a wonder the phone didn’t break in Haymitch’s fist. He could hardly breathe, that’s how furious he was. But he refused to give this woman the satisfaction of him losing his temper.

“Hey, lady,” he said, in a very measured voice. “If you know something about Effie, spit it out. Or else you can just stop wasting my time and go back to your pathetic little life.”

That finally silenced her. For about three seconds.

”You don’t know?” she said. “You kidding me? He doesn’t know!”

And everyone on the other end broke down in hysterical laughter. Gloria contained hers just long enough to say,

”Come back to the Capitol, Haycock! See for yourself!”

And she slammed the phone in his ear.

He couldn’t stand another second in this place. Her things may be gone but he still felt Effie’s presence in every corner of the house. Like fumes slowly killing you.

He didn’t realize how much his hands trembled until he was back on the couch. He balled them into fists.

The nerve of that woman! “Come see for yourself.” The hell’s that supposed to mean?

He needed a drink. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and tipped the first bottle he found in to his mouth, again and again until he came up choking.

The liquor numbed his worries like they numbed everything else.

“You screwed her up good.” Yeah, that’s likely. He didn’t fancy himself being important enough to lose even a minute’s sleep over.

Maybe so. But you’re not the only bad thing that’s happened to her. Remember?

“She’s fine,” he told the empty room. “Just fine.” Probably thrived now that she didn’t have to deal with him anymore. That low-life Gloria Highgrass was just fucking with his head. She wanted to cause a spectacle, get some gossip material, that’s all.

If Effie was in any kind of need all she had to do was pick up the phone and call him.

Besides, wasn’t like she kept in touch to see how he was fairing. It was damn clear she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. And if she didn’t care, why should he?

Yeah, he thought and reached for the next bottle. Let her deal with her own demons.

xXx

If Haymitch thought he was the only one up he was wrong. Katniss slept a deep slumber for once but all the creaks and groans coming from the floorboards downstairs finally wormed their way into Peeta’s dreams until he flinched awake.

The room burned with morning light. Peeta’s heart pounded in his chest but he remained still so as not to disturb Katniss while he listened to the sounds below.

It wasn’t the first time Haymitch “ghosted the halls”. Peeta remembered it especially well from their train rides together and back at the penthouse during the Games.

Sometimes it seemed like Haymitch just couldn’t stand to remain in the same place, locked inside his own head. And that’s when he stalked from room to room, aimlessly. Like a bear in a cage. Well, a bear with a bottle in its paw.

No, it wasn’t the first time but it was the first time in a while. And he used to go to bed with the sun so what was he still doing up?

At least with Haymitch on the couch, you knew where you had him. Finally Peeta carefully extracted himself from Katniss and slipped out of bed, just to check on him. That wouldn’t be a first either.

He reached the foot of the stairs just as Haymitch returned in to the living room, surprisingly sober. Sobered up. He sunk down on the couch, elbows on his knees. He never noticed Peeta. His eyes were squarely focused on something in his hands.

Peeta couldn’t tell what it was at first but then Haymitch shifted it over and the penny suddenly dropped.

It was a paper goose. The paper goose. He knew it well because it used to sit on the window sill back in his studio. Haymitch must have ventured inside and stumbled upon it by co-incidence.

Effie’s paper goose. Well, Haymitch’s really since she gave it to him.

Peeta remembered the day she made it. It was the summer Haymitch had brought her here after the over-dose.

She had one of her good days and joined them for breakfast in the studio. He painted, Katniss ate cheese buns, Haymitch doodled a horrible caricature of Effie and in exchange she made him this little origami creature.

A good day in an ocean of bad ones.

Shortly after, the night terrors sent her in a down-ward spiral again and just to keep her from clocking out Haymitch said he thought about getting some geese. What’d she think?

The idea probably originated from Chaff. Eleven’s victor loved everything made from the bird. Roast goose and buttered potatoes, corned goose hash, fried eggs with mushrooms.

Those were the dishes he ordered at the training centre before the third Quarter Quell and if memory didn’t deceive Peeta he even told Caesar Flickerman after he was crowned victor, that he liked to raise geese once he returned to District Eleven.

Now he never really got that idea off the table. Instead, Haymitch did. Well, sort of. None of his birds had ever wound up on a plate.

In any case, Peeta bet the whole ”let’s go to Eleven” adventure wasn’t motivated by some great desire to buy geese. That’s just what Haymitch had her believe. Because for whatever reason Effie lived up a little whenever she got to plan things. It gave her a sense of control.

It was slick how he played it. Made her think “This will be good for Haymitch” when really it was “good for Effie”. Something to keep her mind occupied. His own way to try and coax her out of her depression.

A hundred memories drenched up by one paper bird. That’s what Peeta witnessed this very moment. Haymitch could have crushed it easily. Just made a fist and tossed it on the fire. He tossed everything else that even vaguely reminded him of her.

He didn’t. The way he held it, you’d think it was one of his goslings and he had a look on his face that would not have been there, had he known someone was watching.

“Morning,” Katniss yawned as she walked in to the kitchen, hours later. Peeta stood by the stove, quietly pouring hot water through the tea leaves. She reached for the jug of orange juice to set it on the table. “Where’s Haymitch at? I didn’t see him.”

“On the train.”

Katniss stopped, eyebrows lifted.

“You sure?”

In answer, he pointed at the table and she discovered the note, jotted down on a scrap of paper.

I’m gonna go see Effie. Call her and tell her I’m coming, OK? Thanks.

“You talked to her? What’d she say? What?” she asked at the look on Peeta’s face.

“I tried, for about an hour,” he said. “I can’t get through. The phone’s disconnected.”

xXx

Gem of Panem Mighty city Through the ages, you shine anew

Intertwined with their laughter, the Capitol anthem echoed around the deserted city. Morning light stretched their shadows into four giants as they walked down the street, arm-in-arm. Their makeup was smeared, the flowers in their outfits drooping. All evidence of what a smash hit the night had been!

We humbly kneel To your ideal And pledge our love to you!

Coriana’s voice rose highest of them all, the only member in their quartet who could hit all the high notes, drunk or sober, but they all joined in just as merrily with the voice they had.

Gem of Panem Heart of justice Wisdom crowns your marble brow

It felt good, comforting, to chant the age old verses of their childhood. The real anthem of Panem. The politically correct atrocity Paylor whipped together didn’t hold a candle to it!

You give us light You reunite To you we make our vow

Tipsy to say the least, Priscilla wobbled dangerously in her sky-high heels but each time she careened to far to the left, they steered her right again with many giggles and “Oopsy-daisy!”

Gem of Panem Seat of power Strength in peacetime, shield in strife

“Oh, this is my favorite part!” warbled Imogen who couldn’t carry a tune with a gun to her head.

Protect our land With armored hand Our Capitol, our…

Lancer gasped, mid-through the final crescendo. Linked with the others he almost toppled them over at sudden halt.

“My gracious!” he said. “It’s Haymitch Abernathy!”

Up ahead, a man had just appeared round a corner. Ruffled clothes, hair hanging forward, everything about him completely out of place here. He paid them no attention but it was him, without a doubt. The drunken traitor of District 12.

“You heard about him and Effie Trinket, right?” Imogen asked in a loud whisper.

“Of course we heard,” said Coriana. “The whole town knows.”

“Ugh. Just look at him.” Priscilla wrinkled her nose. “At least on television he dressed decently. Disgusting!”

“She’s the one who’s disgusting,” Lancer said and pursed his lips. “He’s district. What did you expect? But a Capitolian really should know better.”

“I would jump off a cliff if it was me!”

“It could never be you, Imogen, the very thought!” said Coriana. “What’s he doing here again? Flaunting himself on our streets after what he did. What they did!”

If Haymitch heard them he didn’t show it and he didn’t change his course. When they remained shoulder to shoulder, gawking at him he sawed right through them like they were a flock of pigeons and they jumped apart with furious cries.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Priscilla shouted to his back. “I really think you should!”

Those four weren’t the only ones who questioned what Haymitch was doing in the Capitol. Had there been one positive consequence of him and Effie breaking up it was that he would never have to see this place again.

Well, the joke’s on him.

She’s not back on pills, he told himself as he kicked a squashed ice cream cup far up the street. She promised she wouldn’t go down that road again.

The train ride was hell on earth. Throughout the long hours he failed to quiet his mind, to shake off his worries over Glorias’s words and why he couldn’t get a call through to Effie. Just thinking about their impending reunion made him sick, until he finally caved in to the bottles in his duffel.

Ironically, the one thing that stopped him from drinking himself completely senseless was the paper goose, now hitching a ride in his pocket. It helped him focus.

Walking the deserted avenues, through glitter and serpentines left from some party only reminded him of the first time he came here unannounced.

Little Ms. Hypocrite. She was one to talk about having someone almost die in your arms.

But she’s not back on pills.

The brightness of the sun reflected in the candy buildings, the lush public gardens alive with bird song, the bounty flowerbeds, the gushing fountains. It was like the Capitol mocked him with its splendor. Days like this were Effie’s favourites.

And there her building was. He saw it over the roof tops, windows reflecting bits of the blue sky. With a grimace, Haymitch slowed his steps like he’d run out of gas. Fuck it. He needed a drink. One more or less, what did it matter? He wasn’t going to stay here long anyway.

He was still struggling to close the zipper as he entered her street, her curb. He pulled the straps over his shoulder, about to give the door a knock.

And he just stared. Dumb-founded, for half a minute or more. Gaped at her front door, like the gaggle of fools he passed earlier.

No, no this can’t be right, he thought, unable to take in what his eyes were telling him. It’s gotta be a mistake.

The name plate on Effie’s door was gone. The window shutters were all closed. He turned the handle. It wouldn’t budge. He rang the bell. He knocked, pounded rather. No one opened. The place was completely dead.

But it made no sense! Effie had lived in this apartment almost all her life!

He walked over to the windows, shielded his eyes from the sunlight as he tried to peer through the shutters for any movements inside.

“Eff?”

He returned to the door, raised his hand for another knock.

“She’s not here,” a voice rung out.

He turned at the sound. On the other side of the road, just across from him, stood an old lady. The same dry twig of a woman he’d seen twice before. At least twice.

“Mr. Abernathy,” she said. The sun glinted off the gem stones in her wrinkled cheeks. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Didn’t think I would ever see you here again.”

He crossed the road.

“The hell’s going on here? Where’s Effie?”

The woman’s pale green eyes pierced his. She had to lift her chin to do it. Just like Sae she barely cleared his shoulders but that’s where the similarities ended. Because this woman’s eyes held none of her warmth or gaiety.

And yet, behind the frost he noticed that same sadness he’d seen there before. Only not for him.

“I warned her”, she said. “I told her from the very beginning not to get involved with someone like you. A man who would give her nothing but heartache. But she never heeded my advice. She didn’t want to listen.”

“Here’s an idea,” Haymitch cut her off. “How ‘bout you quit playing games with me and tell me what you know.”

“I blame myself,” the woman continued, unfazed by the interruption. “I insisted she applied for an escortship. If she became an architect like she first wanted, she wouldn’t be where she is now. Maybe none of us would.”

“Who are you?” Haymitch demanded. “What’s your name?”

“Mrs. Quinlan.”

Quinlan? He had definitely heard that name before. Nothing Games related, at least he didn’t think so. No, Effie had mentioned her at some point. Yeah, at the hospital, after her rescue. She asked if she was still alive. If she was safe.

Mrs. Q.

“You’re Eff’s landlady.”

The woman shook her head.

“Not anymore.”

“Because you kicked her out.”

“She’s beyond my help,” Mrs. Quinlan said. “Euphemia was a good girl, Mr. Abernathy. A good daughter. I have wept blood for her sake but I never gave up on her. Even after the war. She got one last chance to make amends. To build up a life for herself that she could be proud of. And she went and threw it all away the moment she decided to keep your young.”

Haymitch heard the words, loud and clear, but it was like he couldn’t absorb them. Make sense of what she just said.

It was like when he was little and broke his arm, falling down a tree. They all saw it was broken but it didn’t hurt. Not straight away. Like the shock was so great nothing registered.

“’Keep my young?’ he rasped. Heat rose up his throat and face until it burned. “What do you mean ‘keep my young’?”

For the first time, a flicker of surprise registered on Mrs. Quinlan’s face.

“Where is she?” He didn’t think his voice would carry at all. Instead it echoed around the buildings. “If not here, where’s she staying?”

“Go home, Mr Abernathy,” she said. “You have done enough damage as it is.”

“If you don’t want me to wake the entire neighborhood, you tell me where she is!”

Sleepy heads already poked out windows at the commotion. There were murmurs, curious looks thrown their way. Mrs. Quinlan’s lips pressed into the same tight line.

“She moved in with Caesar Flickerman’s daughter. I assume I don’t have to tell you which one.”

xXx

The bearded dragon slumped on her favorite spot in the vivarium - a gnarled old tree root and basked in the warm rays slanting through the windows.

When they first got her she fitted in your pocket. Now they had to use both hands to carry her properly. Sandy yellow and with a look on her face like “you’re all beneath me” you’d think she was the distant cousin of a certain District 12 cat but it was only an illusion.

“Hey, you,” June said and slipped a hand inside the enclosure, knuckles down, fingers outstretched in an inviting gesture. The reptile crawled down the root and over to her. June gave her a soft scratch under the spiky chin and the animal climbed up her palm.

Annabel sat by the secretary desk, her tea long cold and forgotten, but when June passed, she took the time petting their dragon before she returned to her letter. She eyed what she’d just written, critically and gave a deep sigh.

“They won’t even…”

“They will,” said June. She had settled on the couch with the dragon on her lap. The animal closed her eyes under the soft strokes.

It had been a quiet, docile morning with just the occasional car passing by and the gentle scratch of pen against paper.

“The crates should arrive today,” said June and reached for her own cup of tea.

Right on cue the bell rang.

“Speaking of the devil,” said Annabel. She set the pen down and slowly and painfully flexed her fingers.

It rang again, on her way through the hallway.

“Coming!” She pulled her hair back in a hasty pony tail. A shadow moved behind the frosted glass. She took the chain off the door.

And came face to face with the victor of District 12.

”Mr. Abernathy,” she said, eyebrows lifted. “I…”

He didn’t let her finish.

”Effie,” he said. His face was a deep red. “She here?”

“Bel?” June’s voice fluttered in from the living room.

“Is she here?” Haymitch repeated, the fury behind the words only barely contained. “Never mind that. I know she is.”

“She’s here, Mr. Abernathy,” said Annabel.

That’s all he needed. He pushed past her.

“Eff?” he called as he stalked into the living room. June had risen, face white as paper. The dragon’s tail flailed between her cupped hands at the sudden alarm.

Annabel had followed inside and he turned on her again.

“I know all about it,” he spat. She could smell the hard liquor fumes on him. June quickly set the reptile back in the safety of the vivarium. “I know she’s pregnant so don’t try and lie to me!”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s resting.”

“Well, go and wake her up!”

“Mr. Abernathy,” she said, voice suddenly firm. “You will not shout in my house.”

“I don’t care! She thought she can just have my kid and never tell me? Who the hell does she think she is!? I wanna talk to her. Give her a piece of my mind!”

“Not until you’ve calmed down!”

“The hell with you! I’ll go find her myself.”

He turned for the door but she was right at his heel.

“Stop it!” June cried when Haymitch shoved Annabel’s hand off of him. The tea cup knocked over and crashed against the floor. The dragon ran frantically around in its cage. “Stop!”

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Haymitch, what are you doing!?”

Her cry made them all turn. Flushed and out of breath from the rush and alarm Effie stood in the doorway, a robe carelessly thrown over her nightdress. Her eyes locked on his, for the first time in months and the words choked in his throat. It was like the rest of the room and everyone in it just disappeared. Everyone but Effie.

And through the blood pounding in his head he could make only one coherent thought.

What have I done to her?

xXx

“I’ll be in the back if you need anything,” Annabel said as she swept up the last of the broken cup. A spitting mad June had already retreated to their bedroom, carrying the dragon with her and now Annabel went as well, leaving Haymitch and Effie to talk in private.

Not that Haymitch looked like he’d ever speak again. He hunkered in the armchair with his arms crossed over his chest. Effie sat on the couch but they could just as well be light years apart.

“Who told you?” she asked in a hushed voice.

”Does it matter?” He wasn’t yelling now. Wouldn’t even look at her. He seemed to have aged ten years in the past half hour.

“No,” said Effie. “No, I suppose not.”

She had a blanket draped over herself. Like that was going to hide anything.

“I thought you were on the pill?”

“I was.”

“Time and money you could’ve saved, clearly,” he said through gritted teeth. “And the whole Capitol knows I’m the father?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I wanted to tell you.”

“So why didn’t you? If you have my kid rolling around in your tummy I deserve to know about it, don’t you think?”

When she didn’t answer straight away his eyes darted to her face. And his insides contracted all over again as cold panic flooded his limbs.

“What, Eff?”

”It’s...” Her voice faltered. “We’re not...”

“We’re what?”

He saw his own anxiety mirrored in her eyes. She placed her hand against her stomach and his throat closed up. Because he knew the truth before she said it.

No! No, I don’t wanna hear it!

”It’s two,” she said. “Haymitch, I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. I didn’t…”

But Haymitch had already heaved himself to his feet. He wanted to throw up. He would throw up.

“I can’t do this.”

”Wait,” she said but he didn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her and her big stomach.

”I need some air.”

xXx

“Good afternoon, Mathilda,” Mr. Bumble smiled when he crossed her door. His elegant, twirled up mustache was dyed a dusk pink today, the same color as the lap dog, freezing at his feet.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bumble,” Mrs. Quinlan said, hoping he would pick up on the very inappropriate use of her first name.

He didn’t.

“I’d stay and chat,” he said, “but Helga is waiting for us.” And he gave his bouquet of blue roses a little wave. “It’s our anniversary, you know! 25 years!”

“How wonderful. Give her my best,” Mrs. Quinlan said mechanically as he trotted off down the street. If Helga was home or even remembered what day it was, she would eat up her hat.

She dropped the key in to her handbag and crossed the road, mindful of any ice patches hidden under the fresh snow.

The door was locked but that she only expected. So she slipped her hand into her handbag and got out different set of keys. Normally she took pride in not using them but the girl had sounded very off on the phone. Sad.

“Euphemia?” she said as she stepped inside. The flat was dark but she turned the lights on as she went. She knew her way around this apartment, almost as well as her own. “Euphemia, where are you?”

She heard noises from the master bedroom. Retches that led her straight for the adjoined bathroom.

Effie’s nightgown clung to her with sweat. Slumped down on her knees, she clutched the toilet seat as she threw up. Tears and perspiration rolled down her face from the ordeal.

She didn’t hear anyone come in. That way she never saw the complete and utter shock on Mrs. Quinlan’s face. But she quickly composed herself again.

“Euphemia.”

Effie looked up, startled.

“Oh”, she groaned. She was pale as a sheet, her eyes wet and red. “Mrs. Q, now’s… not a good time.”

And she disappeared inside the bowl again as the next wave rolled in.

Mrs. Quinlan didn’t say anything. She just pulled up a stool and seated herself. She gathered Effie’s hair with one hand and held it back from her face until the worst was over.

When Effie grew still, head heavy against her arms, just heaving breaths of both exhaustion and relief Mrs. Quinlan reached for a towel.

“Here,” she said and soaked it under the faucet. “Clean yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Q,” Effie mumbled and dabbed her mouth with it. She felt Mrs. Quinlan’s eyes on her and tried to elude them by wiping the tears off her cheeks. “I am not quite myself today.”

“Euphemia.”

“Must be something I ate.”

“Euphemia, look at me, please.”

With an enormous effort, Effie lifted her head. She swallowed and swallowed. The color of her face had returned, from barely holding it together.

“Are you with child?”

Those words did it. It was like a dam broke. Effie buried her face against her babysitter’s lap and now they came. All those pent-up tears she hadn’t been able to shed since that awful day with Haymitch on the train station.

Mrs. Quinlan’s face was taut as a string.

”There now,” she murmured and stroked Effie’s hair. ”You will be alright. It’s going to be just fine.”

Effie soaked Mrs. Quinlan’s skirt with her sobs and it was like she was little again.

She’d been four or five and accidentally knocked over a vase. Everything in Mrs. Quinlan’s apartment was either ancient or valuable or both and little Effie stared in horror at the broken pierces. Finally she ran off and hid.

For the next half-hour Mrs. Quinlan had to go from room to room and from closet to closet, peer inside the cupboards and behind every thick curtain, calling her name. When she finally found her in the laundry basket Effie was so terror-struck she burst in to a wail of tears.

But Mrs. Q just scoped her up, pulled a dirty child sock off the side of her dress and carried her into the living room. With her skinny arms linked around Mrs. Q’s neck Effie sniveled and whimpered the entire time, her little body racked with sobs.

Mrs. Q. wrapped her in one of her own shawls that smelled of perfume and to the rhythm of the creaky old rocking chair, she hummed her to sleep with a Capitol lullaby.

She had never felt so safe.

“Why don’t you take a shower, Euphemia,” Mrs. Quinlan said once Effie’s sobs had subsided a little. She patted her hand between her own icy ones. “And then you and I will have a cup of nice, hot tea.”

“Oh, that is awfully sweet, mrs. Q, but I think I rather,” she started to object but Mrs. Quinlan only waved a finger in the air.

“It will do you some good,” she said. “Tea at my place, four o’clock.”

Effie had avoided Mrs. Quinlan’s flat for the past almost two years. She had spent a great deal of her childhood in the company of her landlady when mother and father couldn’t or wouldn’t take their daughter with them to one of their events.

But these days there was only one subject Mrs. Q wanted to discuss when they met and Effie found herself coming up with excuses. Because it didn’t matter how many times she tried to change the subject, Mrs. Q always steered the conversation back on the same sole topic.

Haymitch Abernathy.

Effie never talked about her and Haymitch’s relationship. Not with Mrs. Q or anyone else. But living just across the road, Mrs. Quinlan seemed to know everything anyway.

She didn’t approve. She never liked the gruff and unrefined victor of District 12 and nothing could change her mind.

She just didn’t understand. How could she? No one in the Capitol did.

“How far along are you?” she asked and poured them tea from the plump china pot. Effie tried to breathe through her nose. Just thinking about ingesting something made her queasy.

“Nine weeks.”

“Have you told him yet? Are you sure it’s his?”

“Mrs. Quinlan,” said Effie tiredly. “We’ve been through this. I’m sorry, but it’s private and really no one else’s business.”

“So, I take that as a yes,” she said mildly.

Exhausted, Effie’s eyes wandered longingly to the snow-specked window beyond Mrs. Q.

“He should have taken precautions,” the old woman said. “The situation he puts you in.”

”It wasn’t his fault,” said Effie. ”It just… happened.”

Mrs. Quinlan poured cream into her cup but Effie didn’t touch it. All she really wanted was to lie down.

There were cookies rounded up on the silvery cake stand. The frosting wasn’t like Peeta’s. Not nearly as nice but looking at them only reminded her of those lazy days in District 12 and Haymitch, teasing her for having such a sweet-tooth.

”Drink now,” said Mrs. Quinlan. “Add a little honey. Or would you rather I put some ginger in? It helps with the nausea.”

“No, it’s OK.”

Effie lifted the cup just to humor her. She was about to take a sip when the warm scent curled into her nose. A crease appeared between her eyebrows.

Mrs. Quinlan didn’t like surprises. Her routines had been virtually unchanged for the past decades. She washed her hands with the same kind of rose soap, combed her hair with the ivory comb that had survived two wars and she always drank jasmine tea.

This wasn’t jasmine tea. Effie should know. After all those tea parties at this very table, the flowery aroma was forever ingrained in her memory. She took another tentative sniff of the strange and unfamiliar fragrance.

It had a faint minty quality but not quite like the mint tea in District 12. She doubted she ever had it in the Capitol either. And yet the smell tugged at her, tried to tell her something.

Her eyes flitted to Mrs. Quinlan. The old woman stirred her own cup in slow, precise circles. The silver spoon rasped the bottom of the china. A cup she had yet to touch.

And a wave of dread flushed Effie’s face when the name surfaced.

”It’s pennyroyal.”

Mrs. Quinlan looked her in the eye. Her face was as hard and unyielding as the gems in her cheeks.

”You should never have let him into your bed.”

The beverage scalded Effie’s hands when she pushed back from the table. She stared at Mrs. Quinlan, eyes wide in terror.

”It’s for your own good, Euphemia. Nobody ever needs to know. It will be like it never happened.”

Effie didn’t stay to hear the rest. She fled the room, didn’t bother with her coat just bolted for the door. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t work the locks and one terrible moment she thought herself trapped.

Footsteps approached or she imagined they did and a shriek escaped her lips. Then the door flew open and she staggered out into the sleet.

Blood pounded her ears as she locked her front door, fled into her bedroom and locked that door as well. She was shaking all over and slumped rather than sat down on the bed, hand clamped over her mouth.

I didn’t drink it. I never drank it.

Her vision was so blurred it took her three efforts to dial the right number. Her hand found her tummy and she tried to draw slow, deep breaths to calm the erratic beating of her heart.

”It’s OK,” she whispered to the unborn baby in her belly. ”It’s OK. You’re OK.”

So many signals just came and went, her hopes faltered with each one. Until,

“What?”

A sob slipped between her lips at the sound of his voice. She couldn’t help it. Her palm remained against her bump that wasn’t even a bump yet. Just a slight swelling beneath her dress. It made her feel stronger.

”Haymitch?” She fought to keep her voice steady. ”Haymitch, it’s me.”

“Ah, there she is,” he said with the nasty edge that sometimes crept into his voice when he drank, especially now under these circumstances. “Long time no princess. What can you want?”

“I’m sorry. I know I should have called you a long time ago.”

“Oh, I remember that voice. Effs Trinket needs a shoulder to cry on, huh? So she goes to good ol’ Haymitch. Course.” She heard him take a swig from a bottle. “It’s too bad mine’re all the way down here, then. Both of ‘em.”

“I can take the train.” Tears threatened to spill over her lashes but she held them back. Didn’t want to break down in to a blubbering mess. ”If I go now I ought to be…”

“Here in a day. Yeah. And I’m supposed to just welcome you with open arms?”

“Haymitch…”

“That’s my name.”

“I really must speak to you. It’s im…”

“What for?” he cut her off. “I’m a dead-end drunk, remember?”

“I’ve never called…”

“No, that’s right. Your words were much fancier.”

A wave of despair rose up within Effie. It was like a physical pain.

“I know you’re angry,” she said. ”This is not easy for me either but…”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just fine. Can’t ruin a life that’s already ruined, right? I s’pose you want all your crap back? Yeah, the kids have it. They think you’re gonna come back, you know. ‘When hell freezes over’, am I right? But you know Peeta. I’ll just tell ‘em to send it over straight away so you never have to set your foot here ever again. Great, huh?”

“You left me, Haymitch!” Effie cried and her voice broke. “I didn’t want you to go! I didn’t want it to end!”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He twisted the top of another bottle. “And don’t you worry your pretty head, sweetheart. You’ll get over it. Trust me. Soon you’re gonna find some nice, wholesome guy who does exactly what he’s told. It’ll be all: ‘Yes, Euphemia. No, Euphemia. Whatever you say, Eu…’”

“Don’t call me that!” she cried at the sound of Mrs. Quinlan’s name for her. “Haymitch, please!” She didn’t care that she begged now, hand clutched against her stomach like she could somehow protect it that way. ”Mrs. Q, she… she tried to… I need you! If you care about me at all…”

“Oh, I cared about you,” Haymitch said. “A lot. More than a lot. Should’ve fucking known better. So why don’t you call Plutarch or Octavia or any other of your friends and just leave me alone. Cause I owe you nothing. Nothing at all.”

Tears rolled down Effie’s face and she abandoned all efforts to try and stop them.

“I’m so stupid.”

“Have a wonderful life, Eff. I’m sure you’re gonna be deliriously happy.”

And she was left with just the flat audio tone.

Author’s note: I don’t know who I feel the most sorry for. Haymitch or Effie. How about you? And hayffie twins are on the way!

What did you think of Mathilda Quinlan? I face claim Geraldine Chaplin for her, the way she looked when she played Aurora in “The Orphanage”.

#hayffie #everlark #haymitch x effie #taste of strawberries fanfic #thg #post-mockingjay #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #fanfiction #myfanfiction #district 12 #the capitol

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Pitching a Tent ⛺️ (1/1)

Emma Swan does not want to go camping. Who even goes camping anymore when things like air conditioning, indoor plumbing, and the internet exist? Why would anybody in their right mind sleep on the ground instead of the softness of a mattress? David says that it’s an adventure, and while she doesn’t believe him those first few hours of trekking through the wilderness, she does once she drunkenly wanders into a British man’s tent in the middle of the night.

Created by the 2 trope game of | wilderness + awkward first meeting |

Rating: Teen (yes, I know, the innuendo in the title is not indicative of this)

A/N: Can I give one big shoutout to @galaxyzxstark for sending me the prompt that created this story but also for literally brightening my day every time I see her tags underneath one of my stories? You are the best! Thank you❤️

And thank you to @captainsjedi for organizing @csseptembersunshine to give me the motivation to finish writing a lot of little things that I’ve been working on☺️

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @idristardis @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81

-/-

“Toothbrush, toothpaste, bug spray, sunscreen, sleeping bag, whatever, whatever, whatever.”

Emma runs through the list that David sent her in email after email and text after text. It’s ridiculous. The man puts a ring on Mary Margaret’s left hand and all of the sudden he starts making her highly organized lists and reminding everybody of everything at all times. And by everybody she most definitely means herself and possibly Ruby, but since Ruby is dating Mulan, Mulan usually keeps everything organized for the two of them. So that just leaves Emma to be this mess of a person who is pretty much treated like David’s child instead of his friend.

They have a weird relationship, but it’s fine.

And she really does probably need packing lists sent to her two to three times so that she can make sure to pack everything and have time to buy what’s missing on the list. Or, like she’s done now, she can pack the morning of and be missing everything that she needs that she couldn’t find at the Wal-Mart she went to at three in the morning. Some very interesting people were walking the aisles – and she is including herself in that.

Getting hit on while wearing pajama pants with Santa Claus’s face plastered all of over them is not something she ever thought would happen and will probably never happen again.

But David and Mary Margaret have very oddly decided that they want to go camping as some kind of joint bachelor and bachelorette party, and Emma would much prefer a half-a-day thing where they spend the daylight hours wandering around in nature or canoeing and then sleep in a nice, air-conditioned cabin that has beds and indoor plumbing and a solid roof over their heads. But no, the soon-to-be Nolans have decided that they want to sleep in sleeping bags on the floor of a forest. Supposedly, it’s a beautiful place with a gorgeous lake and human-made campsites carved out, but Emma is not going to believe it until she sees it.

This is what happens when you don’t have parents to take you camping as a kid – you are entirely unprepared to live in nature for a little over forty-eight hours even if you do consider yourself a resourceful person like Emma considers herself to be.

“Dry shampoo,” Emma mumbles to herself, moving from her bedroom to her bathroom and grabbing the bottle before shaking it and spraying it into her hair so that her hair won’t be disgusting tomorrow. She’s going to pull it back into double French braids, but still.

David better be bringing snacks on this trip. She is not going to be able to survive without snacks.

Damn.

Why didn’t she buy pop-tarts when she was at the store this morning?

Probably because she was running away from the weirdos who hit on people wearing Santa Claus pajama pants in May.

Oooh, she needs to pack her pajamas.

(She really does need that list.)

Emma’s phone starts buzzing on her bed, and she lunges over her backpack to check it.

Ruby: Get your ass outside. It’s time to go.

-/-

Okay, okay, okay.

So maybe David and Mary Margaret were right about how gorgeous it is out here. Emma wasn’t sure at first, especially with the three-hour drive that it took to get to the campsite and the hour-hike through some pretty shady (literally and figuratively) woods, but once they got to their destination, she was definitely a little more open to it.

Or a lot open to it.

The air is somehow different out here, fresher and less saturated than the air of the city. There are no traces of gas or garbage or the intense crowding of people. Emma loves living in Boston, loves almost everything about it, but sometimes she can do without the crowds and all of the industrialization of the city. Walking out of the hordes of trees and into the open space of the campsite to see the sunshine sparkling down on a clear blue lake that stretches out over the grounds, ripples moving through the water as fish swim and birds coast in the sky, is now one of her favorite views in the world.

The lack of honking horns and people talking on cell phones is pretty refreshing too.

Emma could, however, do without the bugs that are buzzing around her despite the spray she’s soaked her body in and also do without the possibility of bears and snakes coming out of nowhere to attack her.

The random animals walking around terrify her. Obviously, she’s encroaching on their natural habitat, but this wasn’t exactly her idea, okay?

It’s surprisingly easy to set up camp, even if her tent gives her all kinds of fits that explain why it was under fifty dollars, and after it collapses in on itself for a fifth time, David sighs and sets it up for her. She swears that she is a resourceful person, that she could probably survive a little while in the wilderness, but that might be entirely too optimistic thinking with how the whole tent thing went. Nothing like a camping trip to humble expectations on how she would do if she ever signed up for Survivor.

Is that show even still on the air?

As soon as she gets internet service again, she’s finding out.

“Do you find the whole camping and joint bachelor and bachelorette party thing weird?” Ruby asks her as Emma lays out her sleeping bag, tucking her pillow inside so nothing gets on it during the day.

“I find it all extremely weird,” Emma huffs, twisting her head to look at Ruby who has been far too amused by Emma’s struggles today. “Except for the fact that they want to do this together. Two peas in a pod. I never thought the separate weekend trips were going to work out even though I was really looking forward to going to New York.”

“You and me both,” Ruby sighs, plopping down on Emma’s sleeping bag, “but I think this could be fun. I mean, ten of us, some beer, and the wilderness. What could go wrong?”

“As someone whose tent fell apart multiple times, I feel like the answer to that is everything. I have lived in Boston my entire life. I was not made for this.”

“You’ll adapt. I know for a fact that Mary Margaret brought things to make s’mores for you.”

“She did not,” Emma gasps, turning to face Ruby before sitting down on the ground too, a rock hitting her ass. Ruby nods, a smile on her face. “Did she really? God, I love Mary Margaret and her resourcefulness.”

“She also brought you hot chocolate.”

“Even better.”

“And I,” Ruby hums, reaching into the inside of her vest to pull out a flask, “brought whiskey and earplugs just in case all of the couples here get ideas that you, our little spinster, are not taking part in. I mean, you could, but I doubt you’d be quite so loud by yourself.”

Emma can’t help but laugh at Ruby and the smirk on her face. Anybody who brings their own flask of whiskey when they know that David, Victor, and Graham have brought an entire cooler full of drinks is a resourceful woman. And Emma can always go for some spiked hot chocolate. Well, not always, but it does sound nice for sitting around the fire tonight.

And the earplugs. She did not think about that. She doesn’t really want to.

“I love you for that.”

Ruby mock gasps, putting the flask back in her pocket before covering her mouth with her hands. “Don’t tell my girlfriend that.”

“Tell me what?” Mulan questions as she pokes her head to the inside of the tent.

“That I love your girlfriend,” Emma chuckles. She stands from the ground and brushes at her ass, the feel of the rock probably going to be imprinted there forever. “Obviously you have a lot to worry about.”

Mulan rolls her eyes. “I think I’ll be fine for about thirty-two different reasons on that front. Do either of you have a bobby pin? I’ve got this piece of hair that won’t stay back, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“I have a couple in my backpack, babe,” Ruby tells Mulan, not bothering to get up from the ground. “In the bag with my toiletries.”

“Thank you. You guys want to go hiking now that things are set up? I think our other option was fishing.”

“Hiking,” Emma and Ruby say at the same time. “Definitely hiking.”

-/-

“Is everyone wearing sunscreen?”

Mary Margaret has asked that question approximately seventeen times today, and while it has been very much appreciated, now that the sun is setting over the lake, everything cast in an orange glow, no one really needs it. At least, Emma doesn’t. What she needs is something to eat that’s not a bag of trail mix, even if that trail mix was really good. She would know. She ate the entire bag when they went hiking earlier, but they were out there all afternoon long.

She needed substance to survive.

(Okay, so she definitely wouldn’t last on Survivor.)

“Yes, Mom,” Emma teases, picking up her water bottle so that she can take another sip. “We have all protected our skin.”

“You say that like I didn’t save that pale skin of yours earlier by handing you my bottle.”

“True, true,” she sighs before getting up from her folding chair so that she can walk toward Mary Margaret and wrap her arm around her shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re the best.”

“I also brought you snacks. You probably love me for that too.”

“Oh, I do. I’ve been told of the s’mores and hot chocolate, and let me tell you, I can’t wait. It’s what’s going to make sleeping in the wilderness bearable.”

(That kind of sounded like a pun, but it really wasn’t…and now she’s thinking about bears.)

“I think it’s kind of fun. David and I go camping all of the time.”

“You guys literally stayed in a lodge with a spa the last time you went camping.”

“Semantics.”

“David,” Emma yells as her hip bumps into Mary Margaret to tease her, “when is the food going to be ready? I’m starving.”

“You are not actually starving,” David corrects, looking back at her from the grill that’s set up at the campsite. “You’re just in that state of Emma where you’re always slightly hungry.”

“What can I say? I like food.”

David laughs at her before turning around and flipping the hot dogs on the grill. She doesn’t even like hot dogs, but she can’t wait for these.

The rest of the night idles by, everyone beginning to get a little tipsy on beer or Ruby’s smuggled whiskey – definitely a lot of the smuggled whiskey for Emma – and as the sky completely darkens so that the only sources of light are the clear stars in the sky and the large fire that everyone is sitting around, Emma completely settles into being outside camping. This is actually the kind of thing she could get used to.

It’s definitely the whiskey and the s’mores talking.

Probably more the whiskey than anything, but she knows how to hold her liquor and isn’t that affected by it.

So maybe it’s the chocolate.

She doesn’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day all that matters is that David and Mary Margaret are having a good time. This is their weekend, and to watch Mary Margaret have her head rested on David’s shoulder with content smiles on both of their faces is all that matters.

Emma’s not entirely sure if she believes in true love, especially not with her relationship history, but if anyone has it, it’s David and Mary Margaret.

Or, at least, they have a good love that they both choose to work every day for, and that is probably a better qualification of true love anyways.

Little by little, everyone trickles off into their tents. Graham and Belle are the first to go, followed by Ruby and Mulan, Ruby teasing Emma about using her ear plugs. Emma rolls her eyes at that, but when she goes to her tent, zipping it up so that nothing can get in – which is something she doesn’t even want to think about – she does twist her ear plugs before putting them in her ears so she can’t hear anything else.

Better safe than sorry, right?

-/-

The moment Emma’s eyes open, she notices two things.

Her head is killing her.

She really has to pee.

Like, really has to pee.

And after checking her phone and confirming that it’s only a little past three in the morning, Emma reaches over to grab her boots, stuffing her pajamas pants inside of them, and unzips her tent so that she can go find somewhere to pee.

Definitely not the weirdest thing she’s ever done at three in the morning but also not the most normal.

Victor, for some insane reason, has decided to sleep in a hammock outside, and since she can tell that he is very much awake doing whatever it is Victor Whale does while awake in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night, Emma uses the flashlight on her phone to wander into the woods to try to find a tree to pee behind somewhere Victor can’t see or hear.

If they do this again, they’re going somewhere with bathrooms. Emma is putting it in whatever unwritten rule book there is.

Her head is still pounding, the haze of the whiskey and lack of sleep definitely evident, but Emma manages to find a tree, pee behind it, and start working her way back toward the camp.

Only, which way was the camp? To her left or to her right?

Oh shit. Maybe it was neither left nor right and somewhere in between? What’s in between left and right? Straight? Yeah, definitely straight.

“You can do this,” Emma whispers to herself, giggling a little bit when she realizes that she is actually talking to herself.

Is it possible for Ruby’s whiskey to be spiked? Can alcohol be spiked with…more alcohol?

That’s too confusing to even think about it. Maybe she can’t hold her liquor the way she thought she could.

Left. Right. Straight.

Yeah, straight.

Emma trudges through the woods, having to avoid some limbs that she doesn’t remember avoiding the first time. And when did she even wander this far into the woods to begin with?

Damn Victor and his damn sleeping bag.

After what feels like walking for hours, Emma finally sees the opening of the woods back out into the campsite, and it’s just in time since small droplets of water are beginning to fall from the sky that has her putting her phone away in the waistband of her pants, wishing she hadn’t taken her bra off. It’s also what makes Emma hurry to her tent, quickly unzipping the entrance and stepping inside before zipping it back up and toeing out of her boots, thankful to be in the warm, dry enclosure of her tent, fully ready to go back to sleep before her head can hurt her anymore.

“Who the bloody hell are you?”

Okay, so her head is definitely deteriorating or something because that was a British man, and even if that’s what her GPS is set to sound like because she can’t figure out how to change it back to the default voice, she knows that it’s not what the voice inside of her head sounds like.

And the warm hand that she feels on her shoulder can’t be part of her imagination either.

Shit.

She’s about to die, isn’t she? There’s nothing like being about to die that sobers a person up enough to see that she is very much not alone in this tent, the dark shadows of a man skipping across her vision. And where is all of her stuff?

“Are you okay?” the voice says again, and then suddenly there’s a flash of light, a lantern being turned on, and things start to make so much more sense.

Kind of.

Because a grown ass man with black hair and what she thinks are blue eyes is sitting next to her blinking at her with his brows furrowed together and his lips parted. He’s also not wearing any clothes, but the moment she noticed the firm muscles covered with hair and the particular piece of anatomy that males possess (wow, maybe she’s still a little drunk if she can’t even think the word dick), her eyes glanced back up to his face even as her cheeks warmed.

What is happening?

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Emma finally says, and the man simply blinks at her again.

“Why are you in my tent?”

“I asked you first.”

Wow. Real mature, Emma.

“You broke into my bloody tent.”

“I’m pretty sure this is my tent,” Emma sighs, and she does not at all watch as the man grabs a pair of boxers and pulls them on. “Or, at least, I thought it was. Is this not my tent?”

“No, lass,” he breathes, continuing to get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, “I don’t believe it is. Are you drunk?”

“Um,” she hums, reaching up to rub at her eyes just to make sure that she’s not hallucinating, and when her surroundings come back to her, she realizes that she most definitely is not.

This is most definitely not her tent.

Holy shit.

Where even is she?

“Shit,” she mutters aloud, standing up only to hit the wires that are holding the tent up, but none of that matters as she reaches down for her boots and stuffs her feet into them, quickly unzipping the tent and stepping outside only to trip on the entrance and stumble out onto the ground.

Face first.

Into the mud.

Because it’s raining.

She knew that. Of course, she knew that.

“Woah, woah, woah, lass,” the man sighs, his hands reaching under her arms to pick her up off the ground. This could not be any more embarrassing. It simply can’t. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my camp so I don’t get murdered by the man I apparently just barged in on.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

Emma blinks up at him as the rain pours down on the two of them, the power of it increasing with every second that she stands out here, and she might as well get pneumonia because she’s going to get murdered anyways.

Positive thinking for the win.

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“I guess you’ll have to trust me,” he sighs, a bright smile on his face that she can see under the moonlight. “How do I know that you’re not a murderer? You’re the one who broke into my tent, after all.”

Emma chuckles and starts shaking her head before reaching up to cover her face with her hands. Her entire body is going to be bruised tomorrow. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I don’t – I may be the slightest bit drunk and was in the woods because I needed a place to pee and I didn’t want to do it near my campsite because Victor was sleeping in a freaking hammock outside. I mean, who does that? He’s so weird, and he’s probably getting soaked in this rain right now and I – ”

There’s a tug on her wrist and suddenly she’s being pulled back into the tent of the mystery man, and if she gets murdered tonight, there’s absolutely no reason for her to regret eating four s’mores.

None at all.

(It was five.)

“W-what are you doing?” she hisses, little bumps rising on her arms as a cold chill settles over her.

“Love, as much as I am enjoying your rambling, I don’t enjoy standing in pouring down rain. We were getting drenched out there.”

“I am not your love.”

“Well, maybe if I knew your name, I could call you something else.”

This man is really attractive, and Emma still isn’t entirely sure that she isn’t dreaming.

“Emma Swan.”

The man smiles before reaching back to scratch behind his ear, a half smile on his lips. “Killian Jones at your service, milady. Now, Swan, you were saying something about walking away from your camp? You’re here with other people, aye?”

“My friends for a, like, super weird joint bachelorette and bachelor party.”

“Ah, well, that explains your state of intoxication. Though, I didn’t know that women were now wearing pajama pants with Santa’s face on them to bachelorette parties. That’s a bloody shame.”

“Ha ha,” she murmurs as she rolls her eyes. “Look, bud, these pants are super comfortable and warm except for right now because I’m covered in rain. Can someone even be covered in rain? Is that a thing?”

Thunder crashes down around them, a slow rumbling that’s followed by bright flashes of lightning, and now all Emma can think is that if she doesn’t get murdered, she’s going to die by lightning strike on her walk back to the camp she’s actually supposed to be in.

(Murder, pneumonia, or a lightning strike: the three most common causes of death.)

How does she even get back? Where in the world is she?

Killian clicks his tongue, and her head snaps away from looking at the roof of the tent to looking at him, and all she wants to do is slap the cocky grin off of his face. Or kiss it.

Woah, okay, that’s definitely the whiskey talking. This is not a romantic comedy. She’s not sleeping with the random man that she found in the woods.

Horror movie. It’s a horror movie. Not a romantic comedy.

Get it together, Emma.

“What?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and really wishing that she hadn’t taken off her bra because this guy can most definitely see her tits through this shirt. Then again, she saw his dick.

What a weird night.

“Well, I’m thinking about this little predicament we’re in,” Killian sighs, pulling his damp shirt over his head so that she gets a good flash of his abs and the trail of dark hair that dips into his pants before he’s throwing on a sweatshirt over his shoulders and all she can see is the messy shock of dark hair on his head. “First of all, you need to get out of those clothes. I have a flannel shirt and some boxers you can wear. I wish I had something different, but I’m afraid I’m going to need my pajama pants since I’ve soaked my jeans.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I’m leaving as soon as I figure out how to get back to my friends.”

“Stubborn lass,” he mumbles under his breath before digging through his bag and tossing the clothes at her. She catches them, and she’s about to protest once more when he turns around so that he can’t see her. “And you’re not going to get back to your friends tonight. You may as well wait the four hours until the sun rises, but it’s too dark and the rain is too bad for you to find your way back right now. I imagine you can’t be far, probably just across a little patch of woods, but you were obviously pretty drunk and could have wandered for a long time without realizing it. Have you finished changing so I can turn around now?”

“What? Are you a gentleman or something?” she huffs, pulling her wet shirt over her head before sliding the sleeves of the flannel onto her arms and buttoning it up.

Killian looks behind him, his eyes glancing up and down her body before he winks. “I’m always a gentleman, love.”

“Whatever.” Emma finishes changing clothes, balling up her pajamas and putting them in the corner with her boots as another bout of thunder crashes down around them. “Thanks for the clothes. And the shelter and not murdering me or whatever since I did kind of intrude into your tent.”

He turns around with a nod of his head, but instead of replying to her, Killian bends down and starts unzipping his sleeping bag, spreading it out and laying it on the ground. “Now, Swan,” he sighs, “I know you’ve already seen the family jewels, but I need to get out of these pants and need you to turn around. But you may sit down if you like.”

Emma does what he says, turning around before sitting down on the warmth of sleeping bag, and she very pointedly ignores the sound of his zipper being undone and the rustle of clothes being shed. If only she had those earplugs that Ruby gave her. Those would be pretty helpful right now.

Four hours.

Emma is going to be here for four hours until the sun rises, and she is leaving as soon as she can find her way back. And she is not going to sleep no matter how much it is calling to her. She doesn’t sleep over with men she goes home with at bars, and she’s not sleeping in the vicinity of a man who might be a murderer (even though she doesn’t really think that) who could have been out here waiting for someone to stumble into his tent.

Probably not the best plan.

Probably not his plan at all.

The sleeping bag shifts beneath her, and Emma feels the warm heat of a body next to her, and when she turns to the side, Killian has laid out on the blanket, his arms crossed behind his head, and his feet at the ankles. Is he about to go to sleep?

“So, Swan,” Killian starts, his voice as even as it has been this entire time, “you’re a bit of an open book to me, and I can tell that you very much think I’m going to murder you even though I should think that about you. I’ve not heard of many murderers who wait in tents for their victims to come to them. So, I figure we might as well get to know each other since I imagine there will be no going back to sleep involved here.”

Well, that was kind of a creepy reading of the mind.

Emma twists over on her side and mimics Killian’s position, kind of wishing she had a pillow right now too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Wandering in unknown woods while drunk is definitely topping the list of her worst drunk moments over that time that she asked every woman in the bar if they would be willing to braid her hair because her arms had turned into actual noodles…and then she asked everyone if they had noodles for her to eat.

She still kind of hates Ruby and Belle for allowing her to do that instead of taking her home.

“I’m not sure there’s much to know about me,” she finally tells Killian while light flashes outside.

“Nonsense,” he scoffs, hitting his elbow into her. “You seem plenty interesting. I mean, look at how much excitement you’ve already brought into my boring weekend with my mates. Liam could never be this exciting.”

“Who’s Liam?”

“My older brother. He’s in the tent next to us, is probably wondering why the bloody hell I’m talking to myself, and then down the way are Robin and Will. It was Liam’s birthday on Wednesday, and he decided we should go camping this weekend. So, my brother is just as crazy as your friends for wanting to do this. Though, I suspect maybe I’m a little more equip at camping than you are.”

“What the hell gives you that idea?”

“The fact that you are in my tent.”

“True,” she sighs, completely and totally ignoring just how good this guy’s shirt smells. And it’s also really warm. Warm enough that she doesn’t really want to give it up. “What do you do, Killian Jones? And are you British? You sound British.”

“That’s because I am.” Emma twists her head back to the side only to find Killian grinning at her with that cheeky smile and a raised brow that she imagines must be what he does when he’s charming someone. “I’m a writer, actually. I’ve got a couple books out now, nothing big or anything, but it pays the bills. As do the occasional articles I write. It’s…tough, you know, because sometimes my mind doesn’t cooperate and the industry sucks, but I love it. And I’m able to live in your country because of it too, which is a plus since my publishing company is American.”

Okay, so British dude whose tent she invaded is a writer. That’s honestly pretty cool, and she is most definitely going to look up his books when she gets internet back. Not that she’s going to tell him that. He seems to have a bit of an ego even if it is a charming one.

“Well, that’s fancy. Am I going to end up in one of your books?”

“Absolutely. I’m already plotting it in my mind.”

“Of course you are.”

“So, love, what do you do for a living? I need to know as research for my book.”

Emma laughs, twisting a bit on the ground to make herself more comfortable. “I’m a cop.”

“Badass, Swan.”

A little swell of pride swells within her. Damn right she’s badass. “I know. I’m usually not a bumbling drunk idiot crashing tents, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I can tell. You were too flustered for this to be your first time, and you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

“Is that supposed to be an innuendo?”

“Always,” he chuckles, waggling his brows across his forehead, and her stomach does this little weird twisting thing inside of her. “So, tell me about these friends of yours who are celebrating their upcoming nuptials in the woods.”

And that’s exactly how Emma starts weaving the tale of Mary Margaret Blanchard, David Nolan, and the weird, sickeningly sweet, wonderful love story that they have. She most likely gives a little too much detail, which she blames on the lingering effects of the whiskey-s’more hangover, and that tiny underlying fear of what exactly this situation right now involves. Obviously, there are no rules for her life in these odd hours between night and dawn, and when Killian doesn’t tell her to shut up, she takes that as a sign to keep going despite the fact that she has probably never talked this much to someone she has known for under two hours in her entire life.

Sometimes she doesn’t even talk this much to her closest friends.

That does something to her insides, twisting around her heart and either the large or small intestine, but Emma is easily able to ignore it as Killian asks her questions about her friends and shares little snippets of his own, reaffirming what she already knew about the fact that every single person on earth is at least a little bit crazy. If they’re put together in a group, however, the craziness factor multiplies tenfold.

Killian is thirty-two years old, though he says he sometimes feels much older than that, and honestly, she believes it with the way that he talks, all quick wit and flowery words that are laced with innuendo. It might be a British thing. She’s not sure. She’s only ever met one other British person in her life, and that was only for thirty seconds while he asked her how to get downtown.

But this particular Brit is charming and funny and has her laughing so much that her stomach hurts nearly as much as her head is really starting to with the hangover that’s really coming in. He reads, like, all the time, which makes sense for his profession, but he’s also one of those people who does in-depth research for his books by actually going out and doing the activity he’s describing. It sounds a little extra for her, but it’s apparently how he got into both kickboxing and sailing, as well as being able to mix a mean drink, and she can appreciate all of those things.

Kickboxing because she enjoys that, sailing because it seems kind of cool, and a good mixed drink because, well, that one is kind of obvious.

The conversation flows so easily, a natural progression that almost seems false in its genuine state, that Emma doesn’t notice that the rain has stopped pounding down on the tent or that thunder is no longer making her jump every few seconds. And she definitely doesn’t notice that sunlight is beginning to peek through.

But Killian does, and when he brings it up, disappoint washes over her.

Why in the world is she disappointed that she has to go back to her friends? And her clothes. And oh God, her toothbrush. Her breath is probably awful right now.

Her clothes are still soaked through, so Killian insists that she can keep on her measly borrowings from him, and so looking like the most ridiculous person in the world wearing an oversized flannel shirt, boxers, and a pair of hiking boots, Emma steps out of the tent only to come face to face with three other men all sitting around a firepit drinking coffee.

“Damn, Jones,” one of them whistles, “I knew you knew how to pick up women, but doing it out in the middle of the woods is damn impressive.”

“Shut up, Scarlet.”

Ah, she thinks, so that’s the Will she’s been told about.

And the one with blue eyes and curly hair is likely Liam so the one remaining is Robin.

“Lads,” Killian continues, walking toward the fire and grabbing a canister sitting on the griddle before pouring what looks like coffee into a mug, “this is Emma. Emma and her friends are camping somewhere nearby. I’m thinking across that patch of woods since she mentioned a lake. But Emma, here, was a tad bit intoxicated last night – ” At this he hands her the cup of coffee, and she is even more thankful for him “ – and got a bit turned around when she was relieving herself. And then the storm started, so she stayed with me for a bit. Though nothing untoward happened. On my honor.”

Her cheeks heat at that, but she ignores them and takes a sip of the coffee, also ignoring the fact that she probably just burned her tongue and also that there is absolutely no creamer or milk or sugar in this. But caffeine is caffeine, and that’s all that matters.

“Hello,” she croaks out, waving her hand in the air at the three of them. This is about ten thousand times more awkward than barging in on a naked stranger last night. Oh shit, she really did that. “It’s nice to meet all of you. Thanks for the coffee.”

“That’s a nice outfit you’ve got on there,” Liam laughs, shaking his head the slightest bit. “I trust my little brother is telling the truth when it comes to him being a gentleman last night.”

“Younger,” Killian quickly corrects, looking between she and Liam. “I am your younger brother, and yes, as I told you, I was a gentleman.”

“I mean, he was alright,” Emma teases as her eyes squint up at the rising sun. “He didn’t give me his pillow, I saw his dick, and he wouldn’t stop talking, but other than that, he was great.”

Liam, Robin, and Will all break out into laughter that has her shoulders straightening a little bit and her confidence rising as she arches her brow at Killian. He looks both affronted and impressed with his parted lips and raised eyebrows, and that’s exactly what she was going for there.

“I thought you said you were a gentleman, Killian,” Robin laughs. He puts his mug down on the ground and wipes away at his eyes. “How did she see your dick if you were being a gentleman? Were you pitching a tent…inside of your tent? Talk about inception.”

“Alright,” Killian sighs over the laughter of all of his friends – and her too – before he wraps his arm around her shoulder in a touch that very literally might send all of the lightning strikes from last night down her spine, “I think I should probably help Emma find her friends before they start missing her, and I fully expect the lot of you to have cooked breakfast by the time I get back, yeah?”

“You can have some peanuts and whatever you catch in the lake.”

“You’re awfully cheeky for it to be so early in the morning, Will,” Killian sighs, squeezing his hand against her shoulder.

“I got a great night’s sleep last night. Unlike you, obviously, because you look like shit.”

“That’s all on Emma.”

“Hey,” she scoffs in protest even if she knows that it’s true. “You could have gone to sleep.”

“And run the risk of you murdering me? Never.” He cocks a smile at her, one that’s slanted and boyish and probably charms all of the girls Will was teasing him about, before tilting his head back toward the woods. “You ready to go, Swan?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, taking one more giant gulp of coffee, “I guess I am.”

With her phone – still without any kind of signal because apparently they are in the most remote place on the planet even though Boston is less than three hours away – and her wet clothes in hand, the two of them start trekking around the perimeter of the woods so that Emma can figure out where in the world her friends are. She knows that she definitely came through the woods, and Killian’s got a pretty good idea of the area now that it’s sunlight outside, so they should be able to find it.

Hopefully.

How far can someone really wander while drunk?

That seems like it’d be a really funny question to google. The answers would be something else.

“So, your friends are interesting,” Emma says, trying to think of some kind of small talk. It’s not awkward walking in the woods, but she can still feel the lingering effects of Killian’s hand on her shoulder and figures talking might make it go away no matter how illogical that is. “Well, friends and brother.”

“They’re a bunch of assholes who I didn’t think would be awake,” Killian sighs, holding up a stray branch for her to walk under, “but I do love them.”

“That’s how all friends are, I think. At least, I think so. If not, we’ve surrounded ourselves with the wrong people. Then again, I kind of think I can be an asshole sometimes, so I probably deserve asshole friends.”

“You? An asshole? Never.”

“I feel like we have not known each other long enough to mess with each other like this.”

“Then what the hell is it you were doing back at my campsite with my friends?”

“Valid point,” Emma laughs before stopping in her tracks to try to see if any of this looks familiar. It all just looks like…wood. And leaves. “Do you know where we are?”

“Aye. We need to keep going straight. I think the rest of the campsites are out on the other side.”

“Whatever you say. I’m still not entire convinced that you’re just leading me into the woods to murder me.”

Killian barks out a laugh, his head thrown back, before he places his hand on the small of Emma’s back and gently guides her forward. “Swan, I promise you that you are going to make it out of this situation alive.” “Whatever you say, Jones.”

They idly chat as twigs and leaves crunch underneath their boots, and even though Emma knows that it’s been at least a fifteen-minute walk (damn, drunk Emma), it surprises her when the two of them walk through a clearing of the woods and the familiar sites of her actual campsite come into play.

Okay, so Killian’s tent doesn’t at all look like hers.

What the hell was she even thinking?

Obviously, she wasn’t.

“This you, love?”

“Yep,” she sighs, looking over at David and Ruby sitting by their firepit with mugs in their hands before turning around to look up at Killian. He’s smiling, that crooked one, and his messy hair has at least two leaves in it. Camping is really not for everyone, and they’ve still got another day of it. Hopefully tonight she won’t wander into a random man’s tent. “This is me. Thanks for not murdering me.”

There’s a subtle shake of his head, those lashes landing against his cheeks, and the smile stays there. “You are ridiculous.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah,” Killian mumbles while his hand reaches up to scratch at his scruff, “I do. You are surprisingly quite the charmer.”

“I don’t think it’s surprising at all.” Killian laughs at her shrug of her shoulders before swaying into her space, the toes of his boots knocking into the toes of hers, and her breath hitches at the touch. “So, thanks for helping me find my way back. I promise I won’t barge into your tent in the middle of the night. Though, you should really think about wearing clothes. Just in case and all.”

“Just in case,” he repeats, and Emma fills a chill run down the back of her spine at the dark tone of his voice. “Or, you know, you could. I don’t think I’d mind. You do have to give me my clothes back.”

Her eyes roll, but her heart flutters all the same. Emma is not the type of girl to meet a guy and immediately hit it off. There are too many things in her past, too many bad relationships that have burned up in flames, but she’s not committing to life here. She may not even be committing to anything at all. It was a weird night, and she might as well let it roll into a weird, wonderful morning.

“I think I’m going to have to keep them.”

“Huh, then maybe I’ll have to stumble into your tent in the middle of the night to get them back.”

“I’ll make sure I’m dressed again in my Santa Claus pajama pants.”

Killian laughs as his head dips so that his lips can tentatively press against hers. He’s as unsure of everything as she is, which makes a hell of a lot of sense considering how weird this situation is, but Emma responds to the kiss, slowly moving her lips against his as her hands move up Killian’s arms, gripping onto the soft material of his sweater as Killian’s hands thread into her hair, familiar and yet entirely unfamiliar shivers covering her body as soft lips move against and with hers.

What a few hours.

What a damn good kisser.

Emma pulls back, not entirely sure what kind of pacing is going on here or what she should do, and she laughs when she remembers that she hasn’t brushed her teeth and probably has awful breath. Then again, so does Killian.

Obviously the height of romance.

“Why are you laughing? I don’t usually have women laugh at me during a kiss.”

“Well, that’s because you’re not kissing women who probably have bad breath and smell like a forest.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Emma pulls back and slaps his chest, which really only makes Killian waggle his brows across his forehead, the confidence coming off of him in waves.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Only a little.”

“Or at lot.”

“Definitely a lot,” he laughs before kissing her cheek and squeezing her hip. “Do you want to go to dinner with me sometime? Preferably when we’ve both had the opportunity to shower and brush our teeth. A proper getting to know each other.”

“Can we go somewhere with air-conditioning?”

“Absolutely,” he smiles.

“Then yeah,” Emma sighs, pressing up on her toes to kiss Killian’s cheek, “we can go to dinner sometime. You can also come back to get your clothes sometime today.”

“You going to see if you can google me before that?”

“Damn right.”

Emma steps away then, walking backward to the camp and waving Killian away before turning around to walk between the tents where Ruby and David are sitting with their jaws practically on the floor.

“What the hell was that?” David starts.

“Who the hell was that?” Ruby continues.

Sighing, Emma sits down on the folding chair and looks at her friends. “Man do I have a story to tell you guys.”

-/-

Killian and his friends join their group for dinner later that night, but the dinner with brushed teeth and styled hair – plus that ever-important air-conditioning – comes a week later in Boston.

Killian is her date for Mary Margaret and David’s wedding two months later.

Two years later, they get engaged in a tent with Emma wearing her Santa Claus pajama pants and Killian wearing his boxers, but she insists that he takes them off, for authenticity and all.

And the story of how they met most definitely ends up in one of Killian’s books.

It’s a murder mystery.

#pitching a tent #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #csseptembersunshine #captain swan

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veinsandknuckles · 5 years

Text

Haymitch/You - the grosser points of seduction - pt one

You’ve been unfortunate enough to be singled out by some Capitol VIP as the next in a line of amusing conquests and see in this your chance to promote yourself from Victor’s assistant to rebel spy - the only question being how to ensure you’ll keep his interest.

Haymitch has been a mentor for a very long time and, as he puts it himself, has a lot of experience with people trying to screw him out of what little he has. Naturally, this makes him the perfect person to show you the way to a man’s heart, and if that means lessons in slow dancing and having to exchange meaningful, lingering glances, well… that’s just a few more knocks you’ll have to take for the team.

TL;DR: Haymitch agrees to teach a guileless reader how to flirt. Slow and cheesy burn with neither party daring to realise the interest is mutual, set vaguely during the tour in Catching Fire.

“Haymitch.”

“What?” He grinned and slid even further down on the coach, like he was melting into it.

You pulled at the skirt of your dress.

You’d think these clever bastards could invent some clothes that at least stayed in place of their own accord, but they seemed to be masochistically driven to inject the most pointless kinds of discomfort into their lives. Look at me! I’m much too elegant ever to twist an ankle and that’s why I walk on stilts. Look at my waistline. Breathing is so plebeian, wouldn’t you say?

But Haymitch looked comfortable no matter what, he flaunted that he could get away with stubble and cotton shirts and laughed whenever he caught you correcting your make up or searching for your clutch. He had no solidarity. Sure, this was better than your duties back home, but humanity has an endless capacity for finding faults.

“You look great, princess. I’m sure your young gentleman will be smitten.”

“Oh, so it doesn’t look like a circus tent?”

“It does, but he’s a clown, so he’ll want to get in there.” Haymitch eyed you through his fringe and lifted his dainty cup of espresso to his lips. “Me? I’m not as cultured as these people. I like to see a bit of skin peeking out, helps to get the, uh... imagination going.”

“Well, then I’m glad. I’ve seen what you’re like when someone’s caught your attention.”

“I’m a pig, I know.” With a deep sigh, he put his empty cup aside, pulled himself up out of his seat and lumbered over. His hands, steady now as the day crept towards its close, came to rest warm and heavy on your shoulders and through all those layers of fabric, he probably couldn’t spot how your breath caught in your throat. “So’s he, even if he’s not as honest about it as I am. Make him work for it. Don’t let him get physical, not yet. Remind him you’re not for sale.”

“I am for sale.”

Haymitch smiled and there was no mirth in it. “Well. He’ll want to think it’s not like that.”

“Right. I’ll remember.”

You swallowed and kept staring straight at him, wild eyed and suddenly cold and clammy. “I’m not right for this job, Haymitch. I want to go back to scrubbing floors.”

One hand lifted and he moved as if to lift up your chin. For all his misanthropy, he got familiar with people rather quickly. Then he thought better of it, squeezed your other shoulder and let his arms fall to his sides. “He chose you. Just make the best of it.”

“Right.” You breathed deep and did better on the second try. “Right. Eye contact. Tits and teeth. Touch his arm.”

“And remember, everything he says is clever and funny. All men want to believe that.” Haymitch put an unnatural force into his words as he walked back to the couch, signalling that your time was up. “Go get him, princess - if nothing else, you’ll get some good grub out of it.”

This was, supposedly, the first date.

It didn’t work like that back home, people didn’t go out to dinner together (for one, there usually wasn’t any to be had), they didn’t make long, intricate rituals out of courtship because you needed to grab what good you could in life or risk losing your chance. Not that they rutted in the streets, like people around here seemed to believe - it was just that people got to know each other naturally and weren’t so inclined to mince words or lie about their intentions. The word date felt appropriate here because it had no romantic meaning for you to spoil.

A young man in the Capitol, spoiled for choice by his own good looks and by being the second oldest son in an impressive family, had spotted you at one of the endless banquets you escorted the team to. That he’d asked you to accompany him to a show, instead of trying to drag you along to some broom closet somewhere, you knew was meant partly as a joke. Not that his attraction to you wasn’t genuine, but the idea of dressing up a poor provincial girl (he was too condescending to admit you were a woman) as if she was a real person and actually bringing her out in public where people could see the two of you together, that was just too funny. I can’t believe he did that! Oh, she doesn’t know which glass is for what drink - how droll.

But, crucially, he was the son of a general. The goal was to keep him coming back for more and to convince him that the quickest way to a girl’s heart was leaking military secrets or whatever else he might have to offer. Like Haymitch said, you wouldn’t be the first person to kneel for the greater good... the way he emptied his flask after that comment and stared into empty space made it even less funny.

Peeta was the only one still in the common areas when you came back, and he just met your eye, set his jaw tight and went back to building a skewed tower out of the incomprehensible decorative statuettes on the coffee table. You were sure he hadn’t forgiven Haymitch for encouraging this scheme, or you for being so pragmatic about preparing for it. Even though you slipped quietly out of your heels and padded into the apartment looking as relaxed as you could manage, the tower came down in a crash and Peeta stormed off in the opposite direction. You’d think he’d be more comfortable with intrigue and theatre by now but whatever the reason for his grim look, it was his problem, not yours.

You cleared your throat and forced your legs to keep moving. Up until a week ago you’d been a member of the team, valued and liked well enough, but in no way indispensable or universally fascinating. Haymitch had appreciated your cynicism, Effie liked what she viewed as a can-do attitude and your quiet ways around her and the golden couple were as open with you as they were with anyone (ie, not at all when they could help it) and wonderfully uncomfortable with having assistants. The rest of the crew were happy as long as you didn’t get underfoot. Now you had been given the opportunity to contribute beyond running errands, someone important had selected you and suddenly everyone had to reevaluate you.

If ever you’d daydreamed of being at the center of attention, this would never have been the way. The flavours of a thousand rare foods stuffed with other rare foods pressed back up towards your mouth and the heat from that packed concert hall had seemed to stick to your skin all the way home. You needed something real. And before that, a shower and a change of clothes.

Even with your ear pressed to his door you could hear nothing and that made you pause. Was Haymitch passed out on the floor, at this hour? If he was, you’d be doing him a favour by barging in...

But your knock got a response eventually: a quiet, irritable “yeah?” and then a slow shuffle coming nearer. The door slid aside and Haymitch glared down at you, bleary in the light of the hallway and looking even worse for wear than was usual. As compensation for the bags under his eyes, he was only wearing shorts and a worn t-shirt. You didn’t look down. You definitely didn’t look down.

“And here I thought I’d had a bad night.” You forced a smile. He was standing awfully close and the Capitol standards of hygiene must be catching up with him, too - that was a strong cologne.

“Actually, missy, I was asleep, but thanks for the judgement. You know I can’t get enough of it.”

“You were asleep? It’s only just past midnight.”

Haymitch looked sour but stepped aside and you followed him back into his pigsty of an apartment. The door closed behind you and automatically locked. The air was a little stale, but not bad. He kicked a pile of clothes without bothering to check whether it made it all the way underneath the armchair. “I’m a changed man, living healthy now. Ate a vegetable while you were out.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.” He fell into one of the chairs, put his bare feet up on the table and didn’t object when you sat down opposite him. “It’s the first time I’ve closed my eyes in 30 something hours and all my ‘hard work’’s finally caught up with me. That what you want to hear?”

But your mind was somewhere else and Haymitch’s expression softened, at last. “Need a drink?”

“Yes please.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He feigned getting up but you were faster on your feet and grabbed a bottle from the cabinet at random. Two tumblers - he was too kind to let you drink alone. You sat, poured out one large helping and one small and pushed the small across the glass in his direction. Haymitch lifted it with a sarcastic “oh, thanks” and helped himself to half.

When you’d swallowed down the burn and forced yourself to look back up at him, he was still watching you.

“That bad, huh?”

Well, he had asked. “It was fine. I mean... I think he almost wanted it to be humiliating, me being ignorant and overwhelmed... I can’t tell.”

“Oh, those rich pricks know just how to make us squirm.”

“I surprised him a couple of times. Made things a little uncomfortable.”

He snorted. “Sounds like a smart move.”

“I don’t know, I think it was - he obviously thinks I’m stupid so I figure if I show him I’m not, that might make him interested beyond just...”

Haymitch was still looking at you, you could feel it.

“Well...” he finally said and knocked back the rest of his drink, “I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t.” You leaned in towards him. “Haymitch, I don’t know what I’m doing - if you hadn’t pointed it out to me I wouldn’t even had known he was watching me.”

Something about this seemed to have amused him but he said nothing, so you pressed on. “when I say I can’t do this, I don’t mean I won’t... I just not good at being... seductive. I don’t know how.”

“That, uh... that’s hard to believe, princess. Sorry.”

“Fine.” You poured yourself another glass and refused to speak again.

Haymitch shook his head after a pause and either chuckled or coughed. “A real life blushing violet, huh? That’s cute. Guess it’d explain things...”

He was laughing at you. Not literally, but internally, you just knew it. “No, you ass. I’m just used to people coming out and saying it. I’ve never had to work for it. Or wanted to.”

“Well! It’s lucky for some.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You mean you don’t know how to play the game.” His eyes glittered in the low light.

“Yeah. I mean no. I don’t.”

Haymitch pursed his lips, leaned in closer with his elbows on his knees and tilted his head to one side. “And... what. You’re asking me to teach you?”

That... no. What? You had to muster all your strength to keep breathing. That’s not... you’d only come here to complain, maybe hoping for him to give you another terrible pep talk or, better yet, an out. After a second, you forced yourself to meet his gaze again and he was grinning now, that grin that made absolutely everyone want to slap him.

“...Could you?”

“Could I?” Haymitch pressed his hand to where he thought his heart was. “Sweetheart, you wound me.”

That made you laugh, more from nerves than anything.

“Now,” he went on, “I’m not saying I’m a master of seduction; I mean, you’ve seen my attempts.”

Waitresses and Capitol glitterati alike. Effie. A peacekeeper, once, and her response had left him limping for a week. Generally, things didn’t go his way, at least not where anyone could see it. “But I’ve been seduced plenty, both successfully and, once or twice, unsuccessfully...” Haymitch must have misread your expression because he raised his eyebrows and said “yeah, laugh all you want but I was quite the looker in my day. And being a people person and a man’s man, what I’m saying is, I know what works, and not just on myself, either.”

You swallowed. Seemed a pity to keep doing that with nothing to swallow, so you had yourself another drink. Either it was strong stuff or your head was swimming for some other reason. Of course, you could be in luck. It could be both.

“You’re saying I should experiment on you.”

“I’m saying that I would submit, reluctantly, to you throwing yourself at me, over and over again. And give you pointers, of course.”

Oh, his pointers... he liked to pretend his mentorship style was all intentional, that he was cutting and perpetually underwhelmed to inspire his charges to prove him wrong, get them nice and angry so they’d forget to be scared. Having Haymitch laugh at you when you finally had a chance to be even a little honest...

Your pulse beat hard, you could feel it at your navel, insistent and hot. On the other hand, it’d be an excuse, a wonderful excuse to spend time with him, get close to him, touch him now and then and make it all into a harmless joke. And all the while, he’d teach you just how to get to him so that maybe, if you learned fast...

“Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It took a moment before Haymitch spoke again and his grin hadn’t faded. Then he shook his head, poured you both another drink and lifted his glass high. “Well then. Here’s to playing the game.”

#haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy imagines #haymitch x you #the hunger games fic #this is a new account and my first ever contribution to the fandom so go easy on me ^^#woody #my fics

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ellanainthetardis · 6 years

Note

may i prompt? -i remember reading something where effie was caught with her hands down haymitch's pants, so i was wondering if u could do one were hayffie walk in on the kids like that

Here you go [x]

Teenagers Are The Worst

“Six needs to go without a hitch.” Effie insisted,hurrying after Haymitch down the train corridor. She was annoyed that he didn’thave the courtesy of slowing down the pace so she could walk next to him, shehighly disliked having a conversation with his back, but he had been determinedto escape the discussion since she had started it. He claimed they had alreadygone over it at length the previous night – and they had – but it never hurt tobe prepared in her book. “And if you could have a word with Katniss…”

“I’ve had plenty of words with Katniss, sweetheart.” he sighed, sparing her aglance over his shoulder. “Told her to look in love so many fucking times I can’t even countthem.”

“She looks constipated everytime she has to step on stage.” Effie deadpanned. “The way she looks at Peetawon’t fool many people.”

“You tell her.” he shrugged.

“I did.” she argued.

“Yeah, well… So did I.” helamented. “Look… As far as Katniss goes, there’s no training her. We’re gonnahave to let the boy handle…”

His voice suddenly trailed off asthey reached the train’s last car. It was usually the one the children hung inbecause they were fond of the huge glass wall-windows that allowed them to takein the whole landscape – and it was also cozier than the living-room car.

Haymitch remained frozen inplace and gave no hint that he would ever finish his sentence. She frowned andducked under his arm, curious to see what had him so shocked.

“Oh my goodness!” she gasped when she actually caught sight of thechildren.

Katniss had both hands onPeeta’s groin.

The only mercy was that hispants were still on.

The girl was staring at themall, frowning and seemingly confused. Peeta looked like a deer caught inheadlights. Haymitch was gaping, red in the face.

“Breathe.” she reminded himbefore glaring at the young victors. “Take your hands off him, young lady. That is notat all what we meant by ‘try to lookin love’.”

Haymitch let out an indistinctnoise between a grunt and a pained whine.

“It’s not what you think!” Peetapromised, battling Katniss’ hands away and taking several steps back. “I swear!”

A glance was enough for Effie toascertain his zipper was open and he was having a… situation. She tactfully kept her eyes on his face but he must haverealized she had noticed because he flushed crimson, grabbed a cushion from thecouch and pressed it against his groin.

“I believe we all ought to have a little conversationabout acceptable behavior in common areas.” she gritted through clenched teeth.“Truly! Imagine that!”

“Don’t have to.” Haymitchmuttered.

She wasn’t sure if he meant thathe didn’t have to because it was seared on his brain or because they had always been so bad at beingrespectful of shared rooms. Why, the number of times they had done it in that very car… If that couch could talk…

“No, no, no…” Peeta cringed.“She was just… She was helping me…”

“You don’t say.” Haymitch scoffed.

Effie elbowed him and pursed herlips at the boy. “Any helping handKatniss might want to give you will be reserved for your room or hers from nowon, are we clear? And you will cometo my room before dinner so I can make sure you have appropriate means ofprotection.” Which might be a little difficult because… Her eyebrows furrowedand she turned to Haymitch. “Do you have condoms?”

“What would I have condoms for?”he scowled. “You’re the one who always have some in your purse…”

“I haven’t been keeping any inyears.” she protested. “What would I have used them for?”

He opened his mouth and wiselyclosed it again before they could start the whole no-string-attached debate in front of the children.

“Cinna.” he said. “Cinna mighthave some.”

“Perhaps.” she hummed but shedoubted that. He and Portia had been together for long enough that they wereprobably off condoms. “I will ask around if not.”

And wouldn’t that be a fun addition to the trip.

“We don’t need condoms.” Katnissscowled. “What are you on about? I was just helping him…”

“Against my will!” Peeta addedquickly. “I told her not to…”

“Likely story, boy.” Haymitchmocked. “You didn’t seem to mind… thehelp.”

He nodded at the cushion Peetawas still covering himself with.

“His zipper was opened. I toldhim, it turned out it was stuck so I said I would help ‘cause I’m good with zippers,that’s it.” Katniss growled. “Why do you have to twist everything?”

“Now, Katniss…” Effie started,taking pain to keep calm because starting to shout about proper behavior andmanners and safe sex wouldn’t helpwith her particular brand of temper. “There is no shame in experimenting however…”

“I’m out of here.” the girlsnapped.

“Certainly not!” Effie huffed.“You will sit down and listen because I will be damned if you two are not safe on my watch.” Katniss had neverlistened to her before though and she stormed out, pushing between her andHaymitch, stomping her feet all the way down the corridor. Effie glared atHaymitch. “Do something!”

“Like what?” he scowled. “Youwant me to grab her, toss her over my shoulder, bring her back and force her tolisten?”

She didn’t even blink. “Forinstance.”

“It was really what she said.”Peeta cut in with a wince. “She didn’t mean… I mean… I don’t think sherealized… I…”

“You don’t think she realizedyou got a boner while she was trying to pop your zipper up?” Haymitch retorted.

Peeta licked his lips and hunghis head, his face so red Effie took pity.

“Dear, we won’t be mad if youtwo are… experimenting.” shepromised. “Young people will do as young people do. Why, I…”

“Nobody wants to know what youwere up to when you were young, sweetheart.” Haymitch interrupted her swiftly.“Look, kid, just…”

“We’re not having sex.” Peeta snapped, rubbing his face. He tossed thecushion back on the couch.

“You are sleeping in the samebed.” Effie insisted.

“But not like that.” the boy hissed. “I don’t want to talk about thisanymore.”

And before she or Haymitch couldargue, he was storming out too. Effie watched him go and then closed the doorso they could have some privacy.

Haymitch shook his head, fishedhis flask out of his pocket and flopped down on the couch, his grey eyeswatching the landscape flashing by through the floor to ceiling window.

“You buy the story?” he askedher.

She gracefully sat down next tohim. “Which one? Katniss’ hands being in Peeta’s pants being innocent or the factthat they are sleeping together but not sleepingtogether?”

“Either.” he snorted. “Both.”

“Do you?” she deadpanned.

“Don’t know.” he admitted. “Ifit was me…”

“Exactly.” she hummed. “I wouldnot hold back either. Give me some of that.” He handed the flask, smirking alittle when she gulped some moonshine down and her eyes immediately watered.She made a face. “I do not know how you can stomach this.”

“Experience.” he teased. “So…What do we do now? We wanted them to be closer…”

“Yes, but that was not what I meant.” she countered. “I amgoing to have to live dreading a pregnancy scare…”

“Teenagers…” he sighed.

She let out a sigh of her own.“Quite.”

Teenagers, she decided, were theworst.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #victory tour #the kids #pep talk #crack #coconuts friends

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adelmortescryche · 6 years

Note

R u ready cuz i got me a LIST. I'll send prompts in separate asks and if u don't like any feel free to disregard! First off is Victuuri, with "I'm not very good with commitment, or soulmates, or love." Preferably said by Yuuri bc i l o v e angst. A lot.

hah, can i just say that i was fcking delighted to get this one with Yuuri being the one to say the line. i mean, as i mentioned before, i’d have had yuuri say it either way, but then i registered that that was exactly what you wanted anyway. such a lovely coincidence. this turned out fluffier than expected, but hey, it’s still mildly angsty.

an explanation in advance, if it isn’t obvious: soulmates live their lives in this ‘verse with sensory deprivation of some sort. so they’re all actually impaired to a certain extent until they meet their soulmates. soulmates don’t necessarily have to be romantic or stay together. guess what side of the argument these two dorks are on.

In response to this post. salty soulmate prompts ftw.

Victor supposed that he should have seen this coming. He’d spent his entire adult life wondering what taste was, read books about flavor and food, and stared at cooking shows, wondering if food was really more than just aesthetic appreciation and matter being shoveled in for energy and nutrition. Whether there was actually someone out there, a destined someone who would who would bring flavor and taste into his life like a tidal wave. He’d heard Chris think about smell in the same way until he’d met his dashing mystery man, too - if it was real, if something as mundane as the way things smelt was worth the hype.

The first thing he’d done in the aftermath was drag Chris into a flower shop. And had weathered the teasing about being a pathetic romantic while Chris all but buried his face in a vase full of lilies.

So, yes. He should have seen this coming. He’d spent enough years as a precocious teen scoffing at the thought of something as ridiculous as fate and a soulmate deciding anything about his life. He’d spent many more as a lonely adult thinking that it might not be that bad, having someone promised to you so soundly. He should have seen this coming.

Yuuri, for his part, just looked uncomfortable. And maybe a little tired, eyes just a bit puffy and red. His fingers were tight around the edge of his door, holding it in place like a shield to hold Victor at bay. Ridiculous. As if Victor needed anything of the sort to keep him back when Yuuri-

“Sorry. I’m just… not very good with commitment. Or soulmates. Or love. We had this discussion already, Victor, I’m-”

Not good with people, Yuuri had said. Not good with relationships, casual or otherwise. Just not comfortable with social interaction outside the bare minimum at all. Funny how Victor had assumed that meant people who weren’t soulmates. Relationships that didn’t involve him. Because he was- because Yuuri was-

“Sorry.” Yuuri repeated, and slammed the door shut in his face.

“You look like you need a drink.”

He blinked muzzily down at the table, then forced himself to lift his head enough to peer up at the red clad form kneeling on the other side of the table from him.

Ah. It had gotten rather quiet, hadn’t it.

“Sorry, I’ll go back up,” he mumbled, a few more blinks making it easier to recognize the form as Mari. Yuuri’s older sister.

She just shook her head, though, gesturing for Victor to stay where he was, then proceeded to settle into a more loose-limbed crosslegged posture. It took a little longer for the situation to compute, but when it did, Victor’s head drooped a little lower.

“You heard us.” It wasn’t a question.

“Aa. You were very quiet, but…” she shrugged, unapologetic, and Victor had to give a tired laugh. Fantastic. Obviously he shouldn’t have brought the topic up at the inn. But it was either the inn or the rink, or the walk between the two. Or assorted restaurants that Yuuri had been willing to introduce him to. If nothing else, the inn had been more private than the other options.

They were silent for a moment of companionable silence, long enough that Victor suddenly found himself wondering if Mari had met her soulmate yet. What her take on the topic was. Yuuri had made his stance very clear, but that didn’t mean all the Katsukis felt the same way.

“My brother… he isn’t shy.”

Mari’s words were blunt. Abruptly so. They made Victor blink again, confused, but she barged on before he could actually understand what she meant.

“He isn’t shy, but people make him uneasy. People who want his time make him break. Ah, I mean-” she paused, looking irritable, but Victor nodded slowly in response, willing to take her at face value. Even if the thought of Yuuri breaking made something sick settle at the bottom of his gut.

“He gets very uneasy, when he does not know what someone wants. It is always better to tell him what you want.”

Victor frowns at that, and wants to argue that that was exactly what he’d done. He’d come clean. He’d said that flavors had bloomed in his mouth only after he’d met Yuuri. He’d even left himself open to hurt, and said that he was happy that Yuuri was the one to return his missing sense to him. How much clearer could a man get?

Mari just looked vaguely exasperated, though. Maybe a little long-suffering. She was older than him, Victor remembered distantly. It had been so long since he’d had peers who were older than him that actually mattered.

“You want that drink?” she asked.

Victor shook his head.

“Then you sleep. Go. And talk to my idiot brother in the morning. Oyasumi.”

“Oyasumi,” Victor parroted dumbly, watching as she pushed herself to her feet and walked away. Not sure if he should take issue with the appellation, then deciding that if anyone had the right to call Yuuri an idiot, it was his older sister.

By the time he got himself to his room, Makka was already curled up and half asleep on top of the covers. The sight makes him pause by the door, an odd smile pulling taut across his face. Even when Makka lifting her head to stare at him questioningly, wondering why he hadn’t already gotten into bed already, didn’t erase the smile from his lips.

Well. He still had Makka, didn’t he. This didn’t change anything. Yuuri didn’t change anything. Soulmates didn’t change anything. He could still try coaching for an year, be thankful for the break and actually enjoy eating food.

So what if he’d been right all along, as a teen. His seventeen year old self would probably laugh to see how far he’d fallen.

Makka whined, and Victor stepped into the room, the action a reflex more than anything else. Her stare was enough to get him switch off the one lamp that was still lit, and get under the covers without much more thought.

“You’re more disapproving than a mother with a teenager under her roof,” Victor muttered into the curls topping her head, once she’d flopped down on top of him, all but burying him beneath herself.

No response, but then, he’d never needed one, from Makkachin. He could always tell when she wanted him around. Now if only Yuuri were that easy to re-

A cool, dry nose nudged at the hollow of his throat, sudden enough that he almost yelped in surprise. When he pulled back, he found Makka staring up at him accusingly. It had him bursting into snickers that he promptly buried into her fur, much to her sleepy irritation. Not that she protested. She never did.

Okay, then. Sleep. Actual sleep, without working himself into the ground thinking about Yuuri, or fate or anything else that was liable to leave him awake through the night. He was a coach now, after all. And if his student was avoiding him… Well, then he’d just meet his student halfway. Soulmate or not.

A few days down the line proved early on that Yuuri was not an easy man to meet halfway. Not when he seemed stubborn and embarrassed enough that he was doing his literal best to skedaddle whenever Victor got anywhere near close enough to ask to talk.

It was enough to drive a man crazy. Especially when Mari slowly went from looking exasperating to commiserating to amused. Hiroko and Toshiya weren’t of any help either, clearly just as amused as their daughter, and while Minako was kind enough to split bottles of sake and plum wine with him, but she wasn’t kind enough to not laugh at his plight.

“You seem to be doing something right, at least. Yuuri sure as hell wouldn’t act like this with a coach.” Minako crowed, while Victor knocked back the last dregs of whatever had been left in the flask before them.

“It’s not like it helps. He won’t even talk to me!” he snapped back, and immediately regretted it. A friendly listening ear aside, Minako was still Yuuri’s old ballet teacher. Lilia would probably smile with perfect poise in a similar situation, all the while plotting to murder anyone badmouthing her students.

Minako, thankfully, just laughed some more, and patted him roughly on the back. Hiroko, in the process of bringing out yet another bottle of wine, most likely for Minako because Victor was stopping while he was ahead, reached out to pat him on the shoulder, murmuring something in Japanese that just made Minako laugh even harder. Victor wasn’t sure if he wanted to know or not.

The mean glint in Minako’s eyes told him that he was really better off not knowing.

A clatter near the entryway had Victor glancing that way reflexively, only to find Yuuri in the process of leaving, most likely for an evening run. Yuuri barely met his eyes for a split second before he dashed away, though. It was barely a surprise at this point.

“See? That’s not how he’d treat a coach. I should know, I’ve been his teacher since he was a tiny kid. Hell, I stood in for a coach a whole lot when he’d been a kid, too.”

Victor’s not sure how it matters, when the equation there was so different from whatever was getting built between him and Yuuri. Maybe that was where he was supposed to start in that talk. Mari though he should tell Yuuri what he wanted, but… that didn’t seem to be helping at all. Maybe he should just ask what Yuuri wanted instead.

Something of the frustration brewing in his head must have shown on his face, because Minako nearly cackled. And proceeded to fill his ochoko with another shot of sake.

“Drink up, boy, clearly you’re going to need it. And then maybe you can consider going on a run to catch up with Yuuri-kun.”

“Maybe,” Victor agreed, the smile on his face a lot more plastic than it had been in a while. No way in hell was he going to go chasing after Yuuri. Not only could he set a terrifying pace when he was focused, Victor suspected that trying to catch up with him after that momentary traded glance earlier would backfire a lot more than any other attempts he’d made so far.

So no. Maybe he could try to catch him at the rink in the morning. He felt safer near the ice, right. That’s what Nishigori and Yuuko had implied, at any rate.

Well, Victor could say the same. Neutral ground! Maybe that would help, if nothing else did. Honestly, he didn’t even care as much about soulmates any longer, not after the last few days he’d been through. No, fate and destiny could go fuck themselves, all he wanted was Yuuri, acting normal again. His fledgling student, the fellow competitor who’d managed to sweep his heart away well before Victor even registered that he’d returned his missing sense as well, the man whom Victor had slowly begun to realize would be a worthy friend to have, too, aside from everything else.

Morning. The ice rink. It was on.

“…Victor, are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Victor, in the process of getting his skates off, eyes hard in his head, started in surprise. When he regained enough control to look back at Yuuko, who’d managed to sneak up on him when he’d been busy knocking the ice off of his blades, she just looked more alarmed than her voice had suggested.

The expression did little to soothe his ire, but he did take the time to offer her a smile. It’s not her fault that her friend is starting to feel roughly as stubborn and bratty as Yura. Victor was tempted to shove that in Yuuri’s face, just to see how he’d react to it.

“It’s nothing, we’ll be taking a break today, i think.” he replied, smile firmly pasted in place, and Yuuko stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment before finally coughing out a laugh.

“Don’t be too hard on him. Yuuri isn’t shy, he’s just-”

“Really not good with people. Yes, thank you, I’ve figured that out now.” Victor completed cheerfully, something in him very tempted to drop the smiles to the wayside just this once, because he was tired, damnit, but Yuuko didn’t deserve the vitriol buried beneath them, just waiting to be unleashed.

She looked uncomfortably knowing when she waved him out of the rink, all the same.

Cycling back to the inn in the cold air managed to cool him down somewhat, enough so that he’s relatively calm by the time he’s kicking his shoes off in the genkan and trading them in for his own pair of indoor slippers.

He runs into Mari when he’s heading up the stair, and she only needs a single glance at his face before she lips tugged apart in a delighted smirk.

“Finally,” she declared, sounding aggrieved. “Do you have any idea how irritating the two of you have been these past few days. Please go tell him what you want from him so he can stop hiding in his covers.”

“Thanks, Mari,” Victor replied pleasantly, not bothering to correct her, and somehow that just made her smirk broaden. She didn’t say any more, though, instead continuing down the stairs without giving him any grief.

By the time he gets Yuuri’s door open to drag him out to the beach, he’d almost completely managed to convince himself that he’ll be okay with however this is going to end. Even if everyone else seemed to have their own opinions about what’s going to happen.

“-and even if I couldn’t actually feel her arms around me back then, something about that situation left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I just- shoved her away. Because she was making assumptions about what I was feeling, and was forcing her emotions on me… It’s never been something I’ve been comfortable with. I need space, Victor. To just exist, maybe to figure out what I want. And no one I’ve been with in even the flimsiest of a relationship till now seems to understand that, outside of my family and friends, here. I’m not weak.”

And so the unease about commitment. And love. And soulmates. Victor tightened his grip around Makkachin involuntarily, only relaxing it when she whined, confused.

Yuuri sounded exhausted, and vehement, almost like the words he’s said had been clawing at his throat ever since they’d stopped talking to each other.

“No one thinks you’re weak, Yuuri. I certainly don’t. This entire time, all I’ve wanted was to ask you what you wanted out of this. I said that I’m certain we’re soulmates, but that doesn’t have to mean anything more that you want it to. Did you want me to be a father figure to you? A sibling, a friend, a lover-” Victor paused when Yuuri’s hand abruptly reached out to cover his mouth.

When he looked over to the side, Yuuri’s face was flushed enough that it bordered on unhealthy. He seemed determined, though. So Victor waited, curious.

The next thing he knew, Yuuri was standing up and bowing, at a perfectly formal 90 degrees, arms steady at his sides. It’s enough to make Victor fumble in place, eyes going wide, but before he could say anything, Yuuri was speaking, Japanese spilling smoothly past his lips, in a stream fast enough that Victor had no chance of understanding any of it. It wasn’t much, only a sentence, but at the end of it, Yuuri eased off on the bow enough that Victor could see his face again. And the small, impish smile playing on his lips, too.

“Pleased to meet you, thank you for returning my tactile sense.” He said, this time around in English, and Victor choked on a surprised laugh, delight budding bright in his chest.

“Yuuri-”

Yuuri just cleared his throat rather pointedly, though, and Victor sighed, smiling a little helplessly as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Pleased to meet you, thank you for returning my sense of taste.”

“There. That was better.” Yuuri said, actually laughing out loud when Victor rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

They stayed on the beach for longer, simply walking by the water, throwing a ball for Makka whenever she got bored, segueing into more casual topics of conversation, even discussing what it felt like to have a sense returned to them. Apparently Yuuri had been stuck in bed for weeks because of how bad the pain had been for him, years of ballet and figure skating without any tactile sensation finally catching up with him. Victor had cringed at the thought, in turn offering up photos of all the different food combinations and cuisines he’d taken to trying out once he had a fully functioning sense of taste.

It wasn’t until they were ready to leave that Yuuri slowed down to say that he didn’t want Victor to be anything but himself. Because Victor the Person, his coach and possibly his friend, was at least a little more important than whatever had destined for them to be soulmates.

It’s enough to make Victor think, if only for a split second, that he’s very relieved that Yuuri was the person that had been destined for him after all.

A few months down the line and Victor’s tackling Yuuri to the ice, heedless of the screams and the lights and sound of thousands of camera shutters flashing, hellbent on smothering him in kisses. He’s still not sure if that’s more because Yuuri was his soulmate or because Yuuri was Yuuri, and Yuuri was never going to stop surprising him, but by that point, Victor really couldn’t care less.

#boycottromance #fanfiction #yoi #soulmate au #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #mild angst #fluff #relationship negotiation #prompt fill #thank you for the ask!#my writing #gah it's been a while since i've posted anything hasn't it #i hope this is a fun read #sensory deprivation soulmate au 'verse #katsuki mari #okukawa minako #nishigori yuuko #adel writes

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elizabethrobertajones · 7 years

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Wait, wait... Who is the character of the season for the other seasons?

Funnily enough I was musing on this after I said that because I don’t think I ever collected them ALL up or thought about a couple, like season 3 which I never think about much if I can help it so that’s a bit of a mess :P It’s something I’ve cared about more since I watched the show after I caught up that first time to season 6, so one of those vague trains of thought I’ve nurtured ever since then. I suppose people can disagree but it’s not really about favourite or BEST characters to me but the ones I think are absolutely the heart of the season in a way with its themes or story or just hold the plot together with the way everything ties into them.

John, I’d say obviously but I suppose you could argue Azazel. They’re like the only 2 options as the ONLY other consistent characters all season, but John’s mentioned almost every episode, it’s his legacy, revenge mission, job as a hunter etc that they inherit, and they’re either searching for him or being guided by what they think he wants them to do or what they want to do in opposition to him. He has sporadic appearances or they have sporadic direct-ish interaction with him to keep up this thread.

Azazel, because now it actually turns up a gear and he’s a character who has some serious presence in the narrative, the special kids thing takes centre stage, and he and his plan lurk in the background; Dean’s angst comes down to what John said about Sam which links back to what Azazel did to him, Sam just dreads it. His death & fruition of his plans ends the season nicely.

Bela, but a massive wasted opportunity because of the strike and her story shoved in at the end; still as a parallel to Dean she means a LOT, and she manages to stir up trouble like getting Gordon AND Victor set on them at various points; she steals the Colt which affects everything, and I cry about the wasted opportunity, because despite the stiff competition from next season’s key character, she actually personifies season 3 in a really fascinating way. The world changed and she and Ruby are the faces of what’s different - Ruby in the plot, but Bela in how the story is told and stuff like continuing subplots about side characters, and people being in the story in a much more interactive way. I really wish that she had had better writing. Ruby on the other hand is mostly a plot mechanism and I only think she really has much impact in 3x09 in the end conversation on Dean, and 3x16 to get in an awkward conversation to start the season 4 stuff: Lilith just takes over Ruby at some point in the last confrontation so she just kind of fades out of that story once she did her part to get Sam and Dean to Lilith.

I probably SHOULD say Cas, but this is Ruby’s season (they’re played off each other as opposites so like Ruby and Bela last season it could be one or the other). Cas has an incredible arc but Ruby is still the key to everything because she’s got the big betrayal coming up, while Cas’s stuff is all personal growth for HIMSELF and honestly the reason I re-watch season 4 so much and just skip to all the Cas scenes, but still. Story-wise, Ruby plays it undercover, her manipulation of Sam is apparent in nearly every episode, even when she’s not there, and she’s reflected in his change. The conflict that SHE is creating between Sam and Dean lurks under the surface of the whole season - I’ve talked a lot about how 4x06 mirrors 4x14 which of course mirrors the fight in 4x21 which leads to Sam going off with Ruby to start the apocalypse, and each time Sam’s in a worse place. And, of course, she probably is the most successful villain of the entire show. She’s woven into everything that happens between Sam and Dean this season, so she rightfully gets the crown.

Michael. Sorry, Lucifer, but you just kinda showed up and started monologuing everywhere and killed the tension. (Again, 2 character in contention and it’s pretty hilarious it’s them in a contest, but yeah :P) The actual dread was always about your brother showing up, and he’s in 2 scenes in person, and spends the entire season scaring the crap out of Dean. Sam’s relationship to being possessed by Lucifer is advertised as inevitable, played up the entire time, and clearly part of his teased downfall/actual redemption and it’s there all season and so you COULD say it’s Lucifer, but I find Dean vs Michael to be more of the MAIN plot because Dean’s resistance, wobble where he nearly gives in and then riding in to save the day at the end to be the sort of main plot where a character had agency. That’s all done in opposition to Michael, and so being possessed by Michael and the way he can deny Dean the agency to save the world is the real threat when you look back on how Dean did it by showing up in full Dean “humanity” Winchester style. I hope I’m not just being a full on Dean!girl about this, but I think the story they told makes him the REAL antagonist, and he’s defeated in 5x18 and that allows Dean to reconcile all his emotional crap with Sam, and for all the mechanical parts of the plan to fall in place (finding out about the rings, getting them, etc), and his ABSENCE after that allows Dean’s character growth

Cas, poor thing. This time all about his absence, and the build up to what he’s doing. And then 6x20, and the reveal. It’s such a masterful episode putting everything into context that I don’t even know what to write about it except like, hey, now I want to go watch it again :P Anyway it squarely puts Cas at the heart of the drama, and from 6x01 the question of Cas’s absence and what he was doing over that year was subtly raised, and his absence and lack of help gets louder and louder as it goes on, until after the 2/3rds mark we begin to find out more of what he’s actually UP to.

Bobby, hands down. He is the on-screen story of grief and loss that mirrors Dean losing Cas and then Cas coming back in a way Dean can’t handle; the season opens and closes with Cas and Dean, with all the Godstiel drama and Dean losing Cas, but the Leviathans just fill space with all their metaphorical depression darkness washing over the world. And Dean needs to make it right with Cas because he needs Cas to get Dick. (Sorry, I watched it last night… So much cackling about boning and Dick like they were cramming in every last joke they hadn’t made yet :P) But again Cas is absent most of the season, and we get a build up with Bobby being more present in their lives than ever, and more active a hunter than ever, and then a whole episode dedicated to losing him, and a whole arc about him returning. He indirectly stops them going after Dick the first time, which actually saves them from walking into the Dick made more Dicks trap, and allows Dean to reconcile with Cas. He lashes out at him BEFORE they move Bobby on, Cas silently attends burning Bobby’s flask, and the next scene is Dean getting it together and forgiving Cas, and learning to approach him, having let go of Bobby. I think Bobby is metaphorical for a HUGE amount of Dean’s issues, from the depression and suicidal feelings and his alcoholism, which he enabled by always pouring a drink every time something sucky happened all through season 6 and the start of 7… Bobby represented a LOT of old ways to survive hunting day after day but not to live a long and fulfilled life, and season 7 grapples with all these dark themes, and in the end they let him go.

Ack, tough one and I have been thinking about it, and I would probably say Metatron despite his brief appearances and the fact he was mentioned in 7x21, but not again until 8x21; still, Kevin is his adjacent main character of the season and Kevin represents most of the tablet drama, because his presence enables Crowley to get all excited about having his tablet read, and for Naomi to freak out and hurry to protect HER tablet. Kevin’s presence as someone who can read all this for whoever snatches him motivates everything, BUT it’s all Metatron’s work, and Metatron’s writing, and in the end the grand scheme he and God had with the tablets and taking down the word and creating prophets. Metatron’s advice in 8x21 to Dean is haunting for season 9, and once he’s back in the game he goes for it and destroys the whole natural order as it had once been since basically Creation. Sam was attempting to do it for GOOD, but fails. Cas is duped into doing a similar struggle, and Metatron does it for evil. Anyway, he’s the heart of all the turmoil in season 8, and like Azazel in season 2 and Ruby in season 4, is the successful villain as a result of being thematically well-placed in the story.

Gadreel, who did what he had to do all the way through the season to wildly mixed results and represents the entire struggle this season. He’s paralleled to Sam, and Cas, and Dean and gets to be Metatron’s lackey for a while. Sam compares how he felt to vengeful spirit type feelings and behaviour, the same feeling that powers Dean while he has the Mark, and both take on these revenge missions which are pointless and filled with collateral damage. Metatron uses Gadreel as a weapon just as Crowley is hoping to add Dean to his collection.

Rowena, who like Kevin in season 8 was the key to getting all the plot stuff done, but this time represents a sort of warning of the coming threat of Amara - the powerful but trapped feminine force appearing in the narrative. Always in chains or imprisoned, she lashes out with her attack dog spell that makes people rabid. She represents a way to talk about a lot of the family stuff, lurking in the background of all the big family stuff - we paralleled her meeting Crowley to Cas reconnecting with Claire, for example, or being the reason Dean explains what family is and isn’t to Crowley in 10x17, obviously paralleled to Cas and Sam off in the background trying to save him with Bobby’s help, who first said that about family. She’s in a ton of episodes and I can’t actually remember them all because I’ve only watched it once, but she and Crowley had a whole mini arc in the background of several episodes, before the whole season ended up being about her spell from the Book of the Damned and the sacrifice she had to make for it. (because of 12x13 I actually was only thinking of this one last week; up until this point I had a thought from during season 10 that it might be Cole if they went down that path of all the revengey father issues stuff, but the season was way more about mothers in the end... because it was about Cole I gave up caring about analysing that pretty quickly and never came back to fill in the gap :P)

Amara kind of hogs this one, and the same deal as with Michael back in season 5, but this time Dean’s positive growth in the end is about letting her go. Like with season 5 he overcomes this milestone shortly before the end - 11x21 I think was where he met her in the woods and resisted her properly. That’s the parallel to 5x18 and him managing not to be possessed by Michael. After that the elements fall together to resist her, and once again Dean “Humanity” Winchester, unburdened, walks in to talk it out, this time without anyone getting hurt or dying. This season seems to be all about her dark compulsion on Dean and also the consequences of her being locked away, this time setting up the stage for the next season and Mary’s return

You’ll notice I rarely list actual main characters except Cas that one time, and I stand by Ketch being the representation of this season because I think Mary fitting under the family bracket makes it all interpersonal drama, and so far I think Ketch has been written to represent all the other themes outside of family much more consistently, like with what the main plot is and what the villains truly represent… Knowing HE is awful while all the others try to play nice, especially, acts as the reminder he’s what’s underneath their nice mask. I suppose the BMoL as a whole are the key thing this season, and we still don’t know who the boss is so by the end I may change this to a season 8 Kevin > Metatron one if the leader is compelling, but Ketch is the character they built up with like 5 faceless appearances of increasing horror before he showed up with a grenade launcher and that stroll into shot, and like I said, he’s horrifying enough that I’m sticking him with Amara and Michael as the GENUINELY scary villains who hog the story. :P This season’s themes are pretty different and the style is really hard to grasp one clear thing compared to the other seasons because it’s churned up all the other seasons into it, so the family are all re-treading a ton of past emotional beats and whirring through their own stuff destroying various re-takes on ALL their past mistakes and emotional arcs. The Ketch stuff is an actual clear line through the story and completely unique to this season and its stuff. Like, “oh yeah this season one of the Winchesters is betraying another and now two of them are betraying the third and -” yeah it’s all been there done that… This guy managed to be a menacing enough presence we guessed he was stalking them from a single glance at a motorbike an episode before that was ever confirmed to be his :P

#Asks #my stuff #uuh I have no idea how to tag this #just bunging it in the tag for where all my weird thoughts about stuff are and leaving it at that or I tag the entire show somehow >.>

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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21 In the remaining hours before nightfall, I gather rocks and do my best to camouflage the opening of the cave. It's a slow and arduous process, but after a lot of sweating and shifting things around, I'm pretty pleased with my work, The cave now appears to be part of a larger pile of rocks, like so many in the vicinity. I can still crawl in to Peeta through a small opening, but it's undetectable from the out side. That's good, because I'll need to share that sleeping bag again tonight. Also, if I don't make it back from the feast, Peeta will be hidden but not entirely imprisoned. Although I doubt he can hang on much longer without medicine. If I die at the feast, District 12 isn't likely to have a victor. I make a meal out of the smaller, bonier fish that inhabit the stream down here, fill every water container and purify it, and clean my weapons. I've nine arrows left in all. I debate leaving the knife with Peeta so he'll have some protection while I'm gone, but there's really no point. He was right about camouflage being his final defense. But I still might have use for the knife. Who knows what I'll encounter? Here are some things I'm fairly certain of. That at least Cato, Clove, and Thresh will be on hand when the feast starts. I'm not sure about Foxface since direct confrontation isn't her style or her forte. She's even smaller than I am and unarmed, unless she's picked up some weapons recently. She'll probably be hanging somewhere nearby, seeing what she can scavenge. But the other three. I'm going to have my hands full. My ability to kill at a distance is my greatest asset, but I know I'll have to go right into the thick of things to get that backpack, the one with the number 12 on it that Claudius Templesmith mentioned. I watch the sky, hoping for one less opponent at dawn, but nobody appears tonight. Tomorrow there will be faces up there. Feasts always result in fatalities. I crawl into the cave, secure my glasses, and curl up next to Peeta. Luckily I had that good long sleep today. I have to stay awake. I don't really think anyone will attack our cave tonight, but I can't risk missing the dawn. So cold, so bitterly cold tonight. As if the Gamemakers have sent an infusion of frozen air across the arena, which may be exactly what they've done. I lay next to Peeta in the bag, trying to absorb every bit of his fever heat. It's strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant. Peeta might as well be back in the Capitol, or in District 12, or on the moon right now, he'd be no harder to reach. I've never felt lonelier since the Games began. Just accept it will be a bad night, I tell myself. I try not to, but I can't help thinking of my mother and Prim, wondering if they'll sleep a wink tonight. At this late stage in the Games, with an important event like the feast, school will probably be canceled. My family can either watch on that static-filled old clunker of a television at home or join the crowds in the square to watch on the big, clear screens, They'll have privacy at home but support in the square. People will give them a kind word, a bit of food if they can spare it. I wonder if the baker has sought them out, especially now that Peeta and I are a team, and made good on his promise to keep my sister's belly full. Spirits must be running high in District 12. We so rarely have anyone to root for at this point in the Games. Surely, people are excited about Peeta and me, especially now that we're together. If I close my eyes, I can imagine their shouts at the screens, urging us on. I see their faces - Greasy Sac and Madge and even the Peacekeepers who buy my meat cheering for us. And Gale. I know him. He won't be shouting and cheering. But he'll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he's hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale's not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more? I wonder what he makes of all this kissing. Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I'm careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don't return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn't need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I'm not there to remove it, he'll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue's spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I'm about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night. My breath makes small white clouds as it hits the air. It's as cold as a November night at home. One where I've slipped into the woods, lantern in hand, to join Gale at some prearranged place where we'll sit bundled together, sipping herb tea from metal flasks wrapped in quilting, hoping game will pass our way as the morning comes on. Oh, Gale, I think. If only you had my back now. I move as fast as I dare. The glasses are quite remarkable, but I still sorely miss having the use of my left ear. I don't know what the explosion did, but it damaged something deep and irreparable. Never mind. If I get home, I'll be so stinking rich, I'll be able to pay someone to do my hearing. The woods always look different at night. Even with the glasses, everything has an unfamiliar slant to it. As if the daytime trees and flowers and stones had gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their places. I don't try anything tricky, like taking a new route. I make my way back up the stream and follow the same path back to Rue's hiding place near the lake. Along the way, I see no sign of another tribute, not a puff of breath, not a quiver of a branch. Either I'm the first to arrive or the others positioned themselves last night. There's still more than an hour, maybe two, when I wriggle into the underbrush and wait for the blood to begin to flow. I chew a few mint leaves, my stomach isn't up for much more. Thank goodness, I have Peeta's jacket as well as my own. If not, I'd be forced to move around to stay warm. The sky turns a misty morning gray and still there's no sign of the other tributes. It's not surprising really. Everyone has distinguished themselves either by strength or deadliness or cunning. Do they suppose, I wonder, that I have Peeta with me? I doubt Foxface and Thresh even know he was wounded. All the better if they think he's covering me when I go in for the backpack. But where is it? The arena has lightened enough for me to remove my glasses. I can hear the morning birds singing. Isn't it time? For a second, I'm panicked that I'm at the wrong location. But no, I'm certain I remember Claudius Templesmith specifying the Cornucopia. And there it is. And here I am. So where's my feast? Just as the first ray of sun glints off the gold Cornucopia, there's a disturbance on the plain. The ground before the mouth of the horn splits in two and a round table with a snowy white cloth rises into the arena. On the table sit four backpacks, two large black ones with the numbers 2 and 11, a medium-size green one with the number 5, and a tiny orange one - really I could carry it around my wrist - that must be marked with a 12. The table has just clicked into place when a figure darts out of the Cornucopia, snags the green backpack, and speeds off. Foxface! Leave it to her to come up with such a clever and risky idea! The rest of us are still poised around the plain, sizing up the situation, and she's got hers. She's got us trapped, too, because no one wants to chase her down, not while their own pack sits so vulnerable on the table. Foxface must have purposefully left the other packs alone, knowing that to steal one without her number would definitely bring on a pursuer. That should have been my strategy! By the lime I've worked through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, jealousy, and frustration, I'm watching that reddish mane of hair disappear into the trees well out of shooting range. Huh. I'm always dreading the others, but maybe Foxface is the real opponent here. She's cost me time, too, because by now it's clear that I must get to the table next. Anyone who beats me to it will easily scoop up my pack and be gone. Without hesitation, I sprint for the table. I can sense the emergence of danger before I see it. Fortunately, the first knife comes whizzing in on my right side so I can hear it and I'm able to deflect it with my bow. I turn, drawing back the bowstring and send an arrow straight at Clove's heart. She turns just enough to avoid a fatal hit, but the point punctures her upper left arm. Unfortunately, she throws with her right, but it's enough to slow her down a few moments, having to pull the arrow from her arm, take in the severity of the wound. I keep moving, positioning the next arrow automatically, as only someone who has hunted for years can do. I'm at the table now, my fingers closing over the tiny orange backpack. My hand slips between the straps and I yank it up on my arm, it's really too small to fit on any other part of my anatomy, and I'm turning to fire again when the second knife catches me in the forehead. It slices above my right eyebrow, opening a gash that sends a gush running down my face, blinding my eye, filling my mouth with the sharp, metallic taste of my own blood. I stagger backward but still manage to send my readied arrow in the general direction of my assailant. I know as it leaves my hands it will miss. And then Clove slams into me, knocking me flat on my back, pinning my shoulders to the ground, with her knees. This is it, I think, and hope for Prim's sake it will be fast. But Clove means to savor the moment. Even feels she has time. No doubt Cato is somewhere nearby, guarding her, waiting for Thresh and possibly Peeta. "Where's your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still hanging on?" she asks. Well, as long as we're talking I'm alive. "He's out there now. Hunting Cato," I snarl at her. Then I scream at the top of my lungs. "Peeta!" Clove jams her fist into my windpipe, very effectively cutting off my voice. But her head's whipping from side to side, and I know for a moment she's at least considering I'm telling the truth. Since no Peeta appears to save me, she turns back to me. "Liar," she says with a grin. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it." Clove opens her jacket. It's lined with an impressive array of knives. She carefully selects an almost dainty-looking number with a cruel, curved blade. "I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show." I'm struggling now in an effort to unseat her, but it's no use. She's too heavy and her lock on me too tight. "Forget it, District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally. what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?" Clove asks. "Now, where to start?" She carelessly wipes away the blood from my wound with her jacket sleeve. For a moment, she surveys my face, tilting it from side to side as if it's a block of wood and she's deciding exactly what pattern to carve on it. I attempt to bite her hand, but she grabs the hair on the top of my head, forcing me back to the ground. "I think. " she almost purrs. "I think we'll start with your mouth." I clamp my teeth together as she teasingly traces the outline of my lips with the tip of the blade. I won't close my eyes. The comment about Rue has filled me with fury, enough fury I think to die with some dignity. As my last act of defiance, I will stare her down as long as I can see, which will probably not be an extended period of time, but I will stare her down, I will not cry out. I will die, in my own small way, undefeated. "Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?" she asks, I work up a mouthful of blood and saliva and spit it in her face. She flushes with rage. "All right then. Let's get started." I brace myself for the agony that's sure to follow. But as I feel the tip open the first cut at my lip, some great form yanks Clove from my body and then she's screaming. I'm too stunned at first, too unable to process what has happened. Has Peeta somehow come to my rescue? Have the Gamemakers sent in some wild animal to add to the fun? Has a hovercraft inexplicably plucked her into the air? But when I push myself up on my numb arms, I see it's none of the above. Clove is dangling a foot off the ground, imprisoned in Thresh's arms. I let out a gasp, seeing him like that, towering over me, holding Clove like a rag doll. I remember him as big, but he seems more massive, more powerful than I even recall. If anything, he seems to have gained weight in the arena. He flips Clove around and flings her onto the ground. When he shouts, I jump, never having heard him speak above a mutter. "What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?" Clove is scrambling backward on all fours, like a frantic insect, too shocked to even call for Cato. "No! No, it wasn't me!" "You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?" Another thought brings a fresh wave of rage to his features. "You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?" "No! No, I - " Clove sees the stone, about the size of a small loaf of bread in Thresh's hand and loses it. "Cato!" she screeches. "Cato!" "Clove!" I hear Cato's answer, but he's too far away, I can tell that much, to do her any good. What was he doing? Trying to get Foxface or Peeta? Or had he been lying in wait for Thresh and just badly misjudged his location? Thresh brings the rock down hard against Clove's temple. It's not bleeding, but I can see the dent in her skull and I know that she's a goner. There's still life in her now though, in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the low moan escaping her lips. When Thresh whirls around on me, the rock raised, I know it's no good to run. And my bow is empty, the last loaded arrow having gone in Clove's direction. I'm trapped in the glare of his strange golden brown eyes. "What'd she mean? About Rue being your ally?" "I - I - we teamed up. Blew up the supplies. I tried to save her, I did. But he got there first. District One," I say. Maybe if he knows I helped Rue, he won't choose some slow, sadistic end for me. "And you killed him?" he demands. "Yes. I killed him. And buried her in flowers," I say. "And I sang her to sleep." Tears spring in my eyes. The tension, the fight goes out of me at the memory. And I'm overwhelmed by Rue, and the pain in my head, and my fear of Thresh, and the moaning of the dying girl a few feet away. "To sleep?" Thresh says gruffly. "To death. I sang until she died," I say. "Your district. they sent me bread." My hand reaches up but not for an arrow that I know I'll never reach. Just to wipe my nose. "Do it fast, okay, Thresh?" Conflicting emotions cross Thresh's face. He lowers the rock and points at me, almost accusingly. "Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we're even then. No more owed. You understand?" I nod because I do understand. About owing. About hating it. I understand that if Thresh wins, he'll have to go back and face a district that has already broken all the rules to thank me, and he is breaking the rules to thank me, too. And I understand that, for the moment, Thresh is not going to smash in my skull. "Clove!" Cato's voice is much nearer now. I can tell by the pain in it that he sees her on the ground. "You better run now, Fire Girl," says Thresh. I don't need to be told twice. I flip over and my feet dip into the hard-packed earth as I run away from Thresh and Clove and the sound of Cato's voice. Only when I reach the woods do I turn back for an instant. Thresh and both large backpacks are vanishing over the edge of the plain into the area I've never seen. Cato kneels beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. In a moment, he will realize it's futile, she can't be saved. I crash into the trees, repeatedly swiping away the blood that's pouring into my eye, fleeing like the wild, wounded creature I am. After a few minutes, I hear the cannon and I know that Clove has died, that Cato will be on one of our trails. Either Thresh's or mine. I'm seized with terror, weak from my head wound, shaking. I load an arrow, but Cato can throw that spear almost as far as I can shoot. Only one thing calms me down. Thresh has Cato's backpack containing the thing he needs desperately. If I had to bet, Cato headed out after Thresh, not me. Still I don't slow down when I reach the water. I plunge right in, boots still on, and flounder downstream. I pull off Rue's socks that I've been using for gloves and press them into my forehead, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but they're soaked in minutes. Somehow I make it back to the cave. I squeeze through the rocks. In the dappled light, I pull the little orange backpack from my arm, cut open the clasp, and dump the contents on the ground. One slim box containing one hypodermic needle. Without hesitating, I jam the needle into Peeta's arm and slowly press down on the plunger. My hands go to my head and then drop to my lap, slick with blood. The last thing I remember is an exquisitely beautiful green-and-silver moth landing on the curve of my wrist.

#HungerGames

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ellanainthetardis · 6 years

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do you still take prompts? could you do one where post mj haymitch has a photo of Effie in his wallet or just somewhere in his house or something and maybe katniss or peeta see it and are like wtf??? x

Here you go! The first prompt of the year! [X]

A Picture In A Wallet

Peeta wiped the sweat off his brow with hisshirt, discarding it to the side once it was done. It was far too hot under themidday sun and the shirt was filthy anyway. He surveyed the work they hadaccomplished that morning when Haymitch leaned back and pressed his hands atthe small of his back. The partition wall that would stand between the kitchenand the customers area was up to their hips. Haymitch hesitated and thendropped the brick still in his hand on the heap on the floor.

“Not bad.” his mentor sighed.

“Yeah.” Peeta smiled. “If we keep up like this,we can probably move on to the roof next week.”

They were progressing slowly but surely and thebakery was slowly taking shape. It looked like barely more than a split carcassright then. They had the four outer walls but they still needed to finish theinside and there was no roof to protect them from the sun.

He checked the blueprints he had sketched whileHaymitch, after a moment of hesitation, took off his dirty shirt to wipe hisface too. He knew his mentor was self-conscious about the scar on his stomachbut it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it before and nobody would wander in atrandom. The whole place smelt like cold sweat, cement and dust and it wasn’treally nice but Peeta was getting used to it.

“We will need to think about the plumbing too.”Haymitch pointed out, stealing the plans from his hand to look them over.“Guess we can probably do most of that ourselves but it wouldn’t hurt to haveit checked by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Peeta smiled and nodded his agreement. A fewpeople had offered their help with the rebuilding but he didn’t want to taketheir attention away from the more urgent housing problem. And, to be honest,he also liked the idea of doing this with his own two hands. Haymitch’s helpwas welcomed but it didn’t bother him to work alone when the older man wasn’tin any… shape to do so.

“Hello?” a young voice called from what wouldbe the bakery’s entrance once they put on a door.

“Coming!” Peeta called out, his stomachsuddenly rumbling. Most days, he packed some lunch or they walked back homebut, sometimes, he ordered something from Sae’s new restaurant on his way over.It was a small gesture to help her start.

He tossed a bottle of water to Haymitch on his wayout. The man’s hand shot out and he grabbed it out of the air without muchgrace but with precision despite the fact his attention was still on theblueprints. One day, Peeta vowed, he would manage to catch him unaware – whileHaymitch was sober that was, itwasn’t much fun otherwise.

The young boy Sae had hired to make take-outdeliveries greeted him nervously outside, never too keen on entering the place.Tobby’s mother had forbidden him to go in any of the building still inconstruction and since it wasn’t a bad rule to follow, Peeta never insisted.

“Afternoon, Mr Mellark!” The kid flashed him atoothy smile and handed him the lunch basket. “Mrs Sae says it’s wild boar inthe sandwiches today. Miss Katniss killed one this morning.”

“She killed a boar?” he asked, slightly worried.It seemed like a big beast to take out by herself. A little too dangerous.

“Oh, yeah!” Tobby exclaimed, stretching hisarms as wide as they would go. “It was big like that.”

Peeta chuckled, sensing the boy wasexaggerating a lot. All the kids were fond of Katniss to her eternalpuzzlement, they worshiped the ground she walked on. She kept muttering aboutthe stupid Mockingjay role but he thought it had more to do with the fact sheoften came back from the woods with various huge animals slung over her not sofrail shoulders.

“Wow!” he humored the kids, feeling around hispockets and coming up with a whole load of nothing.He was sure he had money in there… He always left money in his pockets in case…Remembering a particular discussion with Katniss about emptying pockets before putting clothes in the hamper – and thusmaking it easier for her when it was her turn to do the laundry – he groaned.“Haymitch?” he called out. “You’ve got any cash?”

“Wallet’s in the bag.” came the gruff replyfrom inside.

“Just a second.” he asked Tobby, briefly comingback inside to find Haymitch sitting on one of the unopened bags of cement,slowly sipping his water. Peeta handed him the basket, hiding a smile when theolder man jumped on one of the sandwiches as if he was starving, and rummagedaround the old messenger bag Haymitch sometimes carried around when he neededto stop in town for grocery shopping. His hand clasped on the cold metal of hisflask long before he found the wallet. It was an ancient frayed leather thingthat was falling apart and Peeta proceeded with caution as he grabbed a fewnotes and walked outside to pay the kid. “Here.”

Tobby thanked him, handed the change over,carefully pocketed the money and ran back in the direction of the restaurantfor his next mission.

Peeta watched him go with a fond smile, knowingit was still too soon but hoping someday he could convince Katniss to have oneof those. He was going to put the coins safely back in their designed area butthe small zipper seemed stuck and he struggled with it, a bit afraid ofbreaking the whole thing. He wasn’t sure if Haymitch was keeping that old thingout of sentimentality or laziness – with him, both were equally possible – andhe didn’t want to tell him he had been the one to tear in two what might be afamily heirloom.

It was almost inevitable that he would drop thewallet.

What fell out of the torn lining and into thedust of the street now…

Peeta stared at the pictures for a few secondsbefore picking them up along with the wallet, tossing a guilty glance over hisshoulder. The oldest one was yellow and grainy, one corner was burned and itwas difficult to really make out the faces but he knew he was looking at Haymitch’sfamily. He just knew. His mother, his brother and a much younger Haymitch.

The second one was a Polaroid that seemed tohave seen better days. It had been crumpled at one point and then carefullyflattened out but it was damaged.

The only time Peeta had seen Effie without herwig and make-up had been in the Capitol’s belly and his memories from thatperiod were hazy to say the least but he recognized her without a single momentof hesitation. And it threw him. Because the woman on that picture was youngerand completely carefree. Also visibly very naked but anything that could havemade him uncomfortable was hidden from view.

On the picture, Haymitch’s broad arm was wrappedacross her chest, over her breasts. It seemed he was trying to pull her back ormaybe to catch the camera she was visibly holding. She was laughing, her freehand coiled around Haymitch’s elbow. Haymitch was naked too – or at least Peetaassumed so given that the shot mercifullycut above their waistlines – and while he was scowling, there was also asmile tugging at his lips.

Peeta wasn’t sure how old Haymitch was onthere. He would have said mid-thirties but it was hard to tell. The war hadaged their mentor. Sometimes, he mused that the Quell’s victor looked fifty instead of forty-two.

“You’re coming or what?” Haymitch called frominside. “It’s too hot to eat outside, boy.”

Peeta startled, feeling embarrassed and guiltyeven if it had been an accident. The picture was obviously a cherished one andit was such an intimate moment… He put everything back in place and stoppedtrying to make the coins fit.

He walked back in the bakery with an apologeticshrug and handed wallet and change over. “Sorry, I can’t make it work.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes and placed hissandwich down – half of it was gone already. He manipulated the wallet with theease of habit, making the recalcitrant zipper behave. The wallet was placed inhis pocket and he picked his food back up, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow whenPeeta simply stood there.

“It’s not rat if that’s what’s keeping you fromthe food.” Haymitch offered.

He forced a smile and picked up his sandwich,sitting on another bag of cement. It wasn’t the most comfortable seat but itwould do.

“Katniss caught a boar.” he informed him.

“Nice.” his mentor smirked.

They ate mostly in silence. At least untilPeeta couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“Have you heard from Effie?” he blurted out.

The bottle of water froze midway to Haymitch’slips and was slowly placed back down.

“Not really.” the older man answered toocalmly.

Grey eyes darted to the bag where the flask wasand Peeta awkwardly cleared his throat. “She hasn’t called us in a while.”

“She’s fine.” Haymitch dismissed. “Probablybusy partying. You know how she gets.”

“How do you know that she’s fine if you haven’theard from her?” he insisted.

His mentor was studying him now. “Any reasonyou’re so interested in Effie suddenly?”

There was a hint of suspicion in Haymitch’svoice that had Peeta wincing. “No, it’s just… I guess I was just wondering ifyou kept in touch.”

“We’re hardly best friends.” Haymitch scoffed.“Can’t say I expect her to call me every two days for some gossip session,Peeta.”

“But you were close.” he insisted. He hadn’tneeded to see the picture to know that. There were looks and private jokes thathad made him feel like they enjoyed arguing too much for it to be genuinedislike. They butted heads. That was how they worked but when it came down toit… Haymitch and Effie were a formidable team. “I mean…”

“What doyou mean, boy?” Haymitch cut him off, a warning growl in his voice.

Peeta inspected his sandwich more closely thannecessary. “Were you and Effie…”

“None of your business, is it?” his mentorsnapped, tossing what was left of his food back in the basket and haulinghimself up. Peeta couldn’t say he was surprised when Haymitch grabbed his bagand pulled out the flask. He seemed to freeze for a second, his thumb strokingthe engraving on the side, and then he took a long mouthful before glaring backat Peeta. “You’ve been snooping.”

He flinched at the accusation and winced.“Pictures fell from your wallet. I didn’t mean to look.”

Haymitch’s hand flew to his pocket where he hadplaced the wallet, his face grim. “That was a long time ago.”

“But you still carry the picture.” he pointedout. “So it must mean something.”Haymitch looked away, his jaw clenched. “Are you and Effie still…”

“No.” his mentor spat. “Now, drop it, kid.”

“But…” he pressed. “Haymitch, if you still feelsomething for her…”

“Never said anythingabout feeling for her, did I?”Haymitch snarled.

“You’re carrying her picture.” Peeta rolled hiseyes. “You don’t need to.”

“I’m telling you. Drop it. Now.” the older man growled and Peeta lifted both hands in a peaceoffering. Haymitch took a few more sips of liquor but it didn’t seem enough toassuage his anger. “Don’t go and talk to anyone about this either.”

“Who do you want me to tell?” he snorted. “Andanyway… It’s not like… It’s not like before,you know. Nobody will care.”

“I care.”Haymitch hissed, snatching his shirt from the ground and slipping it back on.

“I don’t think she’s doing as well as she saysshe does.” Peeta stated firmly.

It wasn’t something he had felt he could saybefore because it was a small betrayal toward Effie. But it had been nagging athim for some time now. She called now and then, never very regularly, and sheregaled them with stories of parties and her fabulous new job and her hugebrand new apartment… Katniss always ended up rolling her eyes and leaving him aloneto listen to her prattle. He did listen.That was how he had noticed she was trying too hard to convince them. He didn’tbelieve her and it made him wonder what it was really like for her in theCapitol.

Haymitch paused, the bag’s strap over his head.He finished shouldering it slowly, clearly debating something. In the end, hismentor sighed. “Plutarch is keeping an eye on her for me. If it becomes…problematic, he will tell me.”

“Have you tried to call her?” he frowned.

“She doesn’t want to talk to me, boy. She madethat very clear.” Haymitch scoffed.“She wants her space. Works for me.”

“Maybe she wants to talk to you again and shedoesn’t know how to go about it.” he offered. “She always asks about you when she calls.”

Haymitch shook his head. “She’s done with me,Peeta. Given what happened to her… I can’t blame her. Drop this. Please.”

It was shocking to hear Haymitch say please. Peeta couldn’t remember him everusing that word.

It was the only reason he let his mentor gowithout putting more of a fight.

He didn’t think Haymitch was angry, not really,but the man didn’t like it when it became personal and it was clear that Effie Trinket very much counted as apersonal subject.

He finished his sandwich and then went back towork but he stopped after another single row of bricks. His heart wasn’t in it.

It didn’t take him long to gather his thingsand trek back to the Village. The honking from Haymitch’s house was a familiargreeting sound by now but the geese’s owner was nowhere to be seen. Peeta toyedwith the idea of seeking him out to apologize but he was pretty sure Haymitchwould be in one of those moods that were only solved by a hard binge. Nothinghe would say or do by that point would be appreciated.

He hurried back to his house instead, smilingwhen Katniss’ head shot out of the kitchen.

“It’s early.” she commented. “I thought youwould be a while longer.”

“I didn’t really feel like it.” he shrugged,stealing a kiss on his way to the stairs. “I really need a shower.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” she teased,making a show of wrinkling her nose.

It was a whole hour before he lifted the phonefrom its cradle, ignoring Katniss’ questioning look. He dialed the number, hiseyes darting all over the room. His girlfriend had been working on herremembrance book, carefully copying something from a letter Annie had sentabout Finnick, but was now studying him with a small frown.

“Are you calling Doctor Aurelius?” shehesitated. “I can go in the living-room if you want some privacy.”

“It’s not Doctor Aurelius.” he answered rightbefore the ringing finally stopped as someone picked up at the other end of thecountry. “Effie?” he asked when there was nothing but silence.

“Oh, Peeta!” she exclaimed with her usual cheerand what he thought to be relief. “Howgood to hear from you, dear! What a surprise!”

It was difficult to say for sure because shehad always been over the top, ridiculouslyover the top, but he didn’t think he imagined the edge in her voice, the strain. He indulged her in some smalltalk, listening to all her fabulous daysin the city and sharing the progress of the bakery’s rebuilding… Katniss hadlong stopped listening to the discussion, focusing back on her book.

“I was calling for a reason, actually, Effie…”he said when there was a lull in the conversation. “I was wondering… I coulduse some advice. It will be finished soon and I was thinking I should dosomething special for the reopening…”

Katniss glanced up at that but she must havethought it was a reasonable explanation because she didn’t ask any question.

“Oh, you definitelyshould!” Effieagreed with what he guessed to be real enthusiasm.“I think you should have a tasting. Freesamples, perhaps a small party… Something to show your future customers whatyou would offer and to get to know them.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I knew you would knowwhat to do. You always do.” he agreed.

“Now, you are tryingto flatter me, dear.” she laughed.

“Maybe.” he grinned. “Because I have no ideahow to organize something like that and you’re an expert.”

“Peeta…” she hesitated.

“I know you’re very busy and everything but…Maybe you could take a vacation?” he cut her off. “We would love to see you. Weall miss you. Haymitch was just telling me today how much he would like it ifyou could come.”

There was a sharp intake of breath at the otherend of the line that matched almost perfectly the way Katniss’ head shot up. Hemade a face and waved his hand to indicate he would explain later. She didn’tlook reassured in any way.

“Did he?” Effie asked uncertainly.

“Oh, yeah…” he confirmed, praying he wasn’tlaying it too thick. “I think he really misses you.”

“I verymuch doubt that, Peeta.” she denied.

He hesitated. Haymitch would kill him. He would kill him.

But maybe if something good came out of thiswhole thing he would be too grateful and forget to?

“I was surprised too.” he offered withuncertainty. “Did you know he kept a picture of you in his wallet? That’s howwe came to think about you to organize the reopening actually.”

“You are mistaken.” she insisted. “He doesn’t have a picture of me.”

“Oh, he does.” he winced. “I wasn’t reallymeant to see it, I think. You’re not really… Well, it’s obvious it’s a privatepicture.” He could pinpoint the exact second she realized which picture it mustbe. “I didn’t really look, honestly. But it wasyou. I’m sure. And… Honestly, Effie, I think he wants to call you but he thinksyou won’t want to talk to him. He even said if you wanted to come to Twelve fora bit, you could stay with him…” Only silence greeted him at the other end ofthe line. Katniss was gesturing wildly, probably trying to tell him he wascrazy. “Or you could stay with us, of course. Whatever you like best.”

“He keeps that picturein his wallet?” sheasked after a whole minute.

“With the one of his family.” he confirmedsoberly.

He heard her lick her lips. “I will… I will think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.” he promised.

They didn’t linger long after that. They saidtheir goodbyes and then he was faced with a very wide-eyed Katniss.

“Have you completelylost your mind?” she hissed.

He sighed and explained everything.

She still wasn’t convinced.

Haymitch reappeared at dinner, not as wasted asPeeta had feared but very much drunk. They all walked on eggshells and ignoredthe elephant in the room. Their mentor looked sad, not angry, and Peeta andKatniss kept exchanging glances behind his back. Katniss’ gaze was accusative.

Peeta hoped he hadn’t made a mistake.

His fears were put to rest the next morning,long after Katniss had left to the woods for her daily hunt, as he was about toleave to work on the bakery.

A woman was making her way up the Village’sstreet, struggling with her suitcase. He recognized Effie at her bearingsalone. She was wearing a yellow summer dress, her hair was loose on hershoulders in wild curls and she looked tired. She must have hopped on a trainthe previous afternoon.

He lifted a hand in greeting, ready to go helpher, but the words died on his lips when he realized where she was headed. Hereally should have said something but he followed a little behind her insteadand watched when she stopped in front of Haymitch’s front door, nervously runningher hands on the fabric of her dress to smooth it before knocking.

It was a couple of minutes and a few rounds ofknocking before the door was torn open and Haymitch appeared, a dark scowl onhis features.

It was almost comical how fast the scowl fadedwhen he realized who was standing there.

Peeta was too far to hear what was said. Heheard the echo of Effie’s nervous laughter as she explained what she was doingthere but that was it. Haymitch’s lack of reaction seemed to make her flusteredand after a whole minute of him doing nothing, she nodded as if to herself, herexpression closing off, and she turned away, her hand grabbing the handle ofher suitcase.

Haymitch’s own hand shot out to cover hers.

She turned to him once more, her face an openquestion…

Peeta wasn’t sure what he was expecting…

But the way Haymitch embraced her was explicitenough in his opinion. He watched his mentor bury his face in her neck, watchedthe desperate way they clung to each other…

And he decided it was the right choice afterall.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #post mj #book!verse #the kids #angsting h #no wig no make-up #not established

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ellanainthetardis · 6 years

Photo

I hope you enjoy this chapter because it was emotional to write! Let me know your thoughts!

[ff] or [ao3]

Chapter 25 : Make Sure It’s Buried With Me

Haymitch had never been good at goodbyes.

How many times had he stood in that corridor, sending tributes to bed knowing he would never see them again? It was odd to be back on the other side of the line.

He hugged the boy, smirking when Peeta shot back his words from the previous year… Stay alive… But he didn’t linger. He clapped the girl’s shoulder, told her he would see her the next day, and he just… slipped away while Effie hugged Katniss so tight he thought she would never let go.

His room was just like he had left it earlier.

He gathered the meager belongings he had brought with him, stuff that could fit in his pockets really, and gave a last look around. It looked less messy than usual. Probably because he hadn’t spent a single night in there.

It was odd how familiar the room looked. He had never thought about it before, never spared a thought for the four walls that sheltered him during his stays in the Capitol but now… How odd was it that it felt exactly like the house in Twelve? Not quite a home, never a home, but… Comforting in its familiarity. It had been his place for twenty-five years. He wasn’t one to get attached to walls and objects but he still couldn’t help a pang of… regret.

He waited until there was no more noise to sneak into Effie’s room.

She was sitting at her dressing table, staring at her reflection, her diamond necklace forgotten in her hand.

Her carefully painted face had melted with the tears she had shed.

He sat on the edge of the bed and, for a second, he stared into space too. It was one thing to know it was coming, it was another to reach the finish line.

He let it sink.

He let the weight of that knowledge settle on his shoulders.

Eventually, she picked up some cotton ball and a bottle and started erasing the Capitol war paint from her skin. She slowly appeared under the mask. Pale skin, rosy lips, bright blue eyes…

“We have to talk about…” he heard himself say and then stopped because he couldn’t quite get the words out. We have to talk about what happens when I’m a corpse didn’t quite sound right. “I’ve got favors to ask.”

Her movements faltered but she didn’t stop. Her hands kept moving, darting around her face, removing earrings, unpinning the golden wig… Preserving some semblance of normalcy, of routine.

“That’s yours.” He started with that because it was the easy one.

He leaned in to place a silver flask on the table near her elbow. She had gifted it to him, years back, it had been her grandfather’s and he didn’t want it to get lost or tossed away. She had made a big deal of it not having any meaning but he had known better even at the time, had been reluctant to accept it full point – particularly given the T branded on the side.

She didn’t acknowledge it, barely pushed it further down the table where it was hidden behind bottles of perfumes.

The wig was placed on the plastic mannequin head she kept in her room and she moved on to unpinning her hair. It was braided close to her skull, he realized. A Katniss braid. Another quiet rebellion he wished she would give up.

He placed his old knife on the table next, blade pointing away from her. The handle of that knife was in a pitiful shape, damaged by years of clutching it in his sweaty palm at night. He had won the first Quell with that knife, had pulled a tantrum until they had accepted to give it back to him when he had woken up in the clinic… It was Chaff who had convinced them. It had been the only thing that had made him feel safe for many years.

“Once she’s out… Give it to Katniss.” he requested. “She’ll get the message.”

Her fingers brushed against the familiar knife almost warily. He had almost accidentally stabbed her a couple of times with it during the first years, when she hadn’t yet learned how to deal with his night terrors properly, when she had still been a stupid little Capitol drone who couldn’t phantom the sort of pain he was constantly in.

“What’s the message?” she whispered.

He almost didn’t explain. Katniss would get it so there was no need to spell it.

He surrendered to the sorrowful eyes that were watching him in the mirror.

“Fight. Survive.” he shrugged. “Find a way.”

She blinked hastily and gave him a shaky nod.

The knife disappeared in the drawer of her dressing table, lost in a sea of hair ties, pins and various hair accessories.

“What else?” Her voice was purposefully detached. She ruffled her braided hair until it was loose on her shoulders, a crumpled mane of curls that made his stomach clench with want.

The picture wasn’t easy to let go of. It was the difficult part. The one that made his fingers shake.

He placed it where the knife had been.

“Make sure it’s buried with me.” he demanded.

Her golden nails caressed the faces on the yellowed paper that had never really been glossy. It had been an extravagance, that picture. A birthday gift for their mother. So worth it though. He would have forgotten her face by now, like he had forgotten Mabel’s. He would have forgotten how crooked Hayden’s smile was.

“Of course.” she answered finally.

She wouldn’t attend the actual burial, of course. They never did. They saw to it that the bodies were released and the coffins sent back but that was the extent of their involvement. Mentors remained in the city until a victor was crowned. By the time he went back to Twelve, tributes were usually long in the ground.

She would have no trouble getting something in the coffin though.

He had gone every time at first. In the first few years after his victory. He had felt he needed to, to pay his respect or… whatever. He had stood there and had watched as they had placed the bodies in the coffins, he had made sure everything was done right since the families couldn’t… He had stopped quickly enough. It was too painful. It was too much… involvement.

She could do it herself if she so wished or pay off one of the staff members. Or ask the boy. Either way, he had no doubt she would respect his wishes.

“If you can get in touch with Undersee somehow…” he hesitated. “I’d like to be with my family. Not in the victors patch. Nobody’s gonna come and check and I don’t need the glory in death kind of thing.”

She placed the picture in her jewelry box and picked up her hair brush. Her hand was shaking but she ran it in her curls all the same.

“I will do my best.” she promised in a voice that sounded too cheerful.

She was trying to keep her mask on, she was clinging to the escort persona because…

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “Maybe it’s easier if I go back to my room, yeah? ‘Cause…”

The hairbrush bounced back on the wall and landed on the carpet with a disappointing lack of noise.

“You are mine.” she declared. “For the rest of your life you are mine, that was the point of putting crumbs all over my room, wasn’t it? I won’t be robbed of a night just because it would be easier. It won’t be easier. Nothing about this is easy.”

Anger faded just as quickly as it had flared.

Her shoulders slouched and she swallowed hard, pushing the stool back to stand up. He looked up at her, remaining silent because he didn’t know what to say.

There were too many words to utter and not enough at the same time.

Too many things to say.

Too many things to confess.

They stared at each other for a long time and then she turned away, struggling with the fastenings of her dress. Her fingers were trembling, she was upset and she tugged too hard. She cursed when the fragile fabric tore.

Not that she would ever be wearing that dress again, he figured. It was, after all, his funerals.

He watched as she squirmed her way out of the golden fabric, his eyes caressing the naked lines of her spine.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

It took him a few seconds to realize it was him who had spoken.

She froze.

She turned around eventually, the golden dress crumpled in her fist, completely naked. He watched her, committed every part of her body to memory and it wasn’t even… It wasn’t even lust or desire. It was…

“You are not losing me.” she objected, dropping the dress on a heap on the floor. “I am.”

“I know.” he admitted. “And I’m sorry.”

Because the pain he felt at the thought of losing her…

He shook his head and stood up, shedding his jacket. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

It would be his last one. There would be no time the next morning.

“Do you want company?” she hesitated.

“Don’t I always?” he smirked.

He wasn’t oblivious to the way she put his shirt aside when she helped him undress. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact she had regularly been snatching shirts, undershirts and tee-shirts away from him since the beginning of Training and that they were now stashed in her pink suitcase. He didn’t comment on it though.

If his smelly shirts could comfort her once he was gone, he wasn’t going to deny her.

There was no real funny business in the shower. He chose the plainest setting and they mostly hugged under the streaming water. Hands wandered but only to touch not to start anything. They clung to each other, skin flushed against skin, her lips mouthing the same relentless words against his neck again and again, as if they were about to be torn away from each other.

When she finally turned the water off, he kissed her.

For a brief moment, he was reminded of the last night of the Tour.

It wasn’t their usual brand of despair. It wasn’t the familiar urge to take.

It was…

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek, pushed her wet hair over her shoulder…

When his hands rested under her ass and she hopped and locked her legs around his waist, he didn’t pin her to the shower’s wall like he usually would have. He carried her to her bed.

They never stopped kissing.

Not when he almost tripped on her discarded shoe and not when he tugged on the bed covers so he could lie her down on silky sheets.

Not when they clumsily adjusted so she could rest with her head on the pillow, with him heavy between her legs.

Not when they started touching each other.

He couldn’t stop kissing her.

At that moment, she was oxygen.

He needed her to survive.

He stroke her slowly, without displaying any of the dirty tricks he had developed with her along the years. It was pure touch. Basic. He just wanted to feel.

She seemed to be of a similar mind.

There was no real finesse to the way her hand was slowly running up and down his dick, not enough pressure to make it a sweet torture.

When he was sure she was ready, he caught her hand and entwined their fingers. They ended on the pillow near her head. He drew back to look in her eyes when he entered her and she arched her neck, struggling not to close her eyelids in pleasure, to keep staring at him.

The next second, they were kissing again.

His thrusts were slow, almost lazy. He let pleasure build by itself.

They had spent the previous day and a good part of the night fucking to the point he had thought he had exhausted his allotted number of hard-ons for the rest of his life. This wasn’t about sex.

This was… more.

They were one.

At that moment, they were one.

And it was…

Everything.

He wanted it to last forever. He wanted to live in that moment: buried in her, her tongue in his mouth, safe in her warmth.

Their climax was shattering.

It destroyed the illusion of peace.

Eternity gone in a flash of a bliss.

They settled on their side, facing each other, her left leg trapped between his, ankles hooked, hands entwined between them, foreheads pressed together… They breathed each other’s breath, doze off only to wake up and kiss the other with a sudden terror that it would be the last time…

His rest was fretful and not just because she was clinging to his hand with despair. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand table, over her shoulder, from time to time, and the red numbers made him feel sicker and sicker.

It would ring half an hour before the stylists would show up to take the tributes away. He would have time to go back to his own room, to get dressed, to… prepare. If anything like that was possible.

The clock didn’t stop.

It never stopped.

The closer it got to the time it was supposed to ring, the more frantic his kisses became.

Effie was trying so hard not to cry.

He was trying so hard to look strong.

“I love you.” he whispered, two minutes before it was set to ring. His own personal brand of farewell, except he would be the one dying this time around. He had been thinking the words for a long time now but they had always remained stuck in his throat, heavy in their simplicity.

She rushed hers out, almost relieved to finally be allowed to say it out loud instead of mouthing it against his skin. She almost choked on them. “I love you. I love you so much…”

Her kiss was hard, demanding, and it only turned soft when the beeping of the clock echoed in the room. His face crumpled in the middle of it but he kept on kissing her, desperate to have one last second, one last…

It took a long time to talk himself into letting her go.

He briefly cupped her cheek but left her bed before he could falter, before it became impossible to do so, before he forced Peacekeepers to drag him out of her arms…

She sat up, her lips wobbling until she bit hard on her bottom one, hard enough to draw blood probably.

He searched for meaningful last words and realized they had already shared them. Anything they would say after that would feel… less.

He took a deep breath and turned away, walked out of the room.

The moment the door shut behind him he heard her burst in painful sobs.

He wasn’t surprised that their last kiss had the salty taste of tears.

AN: Soooooo how much do you hate me? What do you think of Haymitch's requests? Did you like their last night together? Did you think he would say those words as a goodbye? It was a really emotional chapter to write! I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts!

(for those of you who read April Showers, I won't be updating Sunday because I won't be there but I will be updating on Monday instead so we don't miss a week so keep an eye out for it ;) )

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #into that good night

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years

Note

Prompt: normally haymitch is the one getting teased by chaff and finnick so how about a fic where either chaff or finnick a woman problem and getting teases( and u can make up anything els )

Be warned that victorsprostitution is discussed in here =) [X]

Of Pools, Cheating And Experts

Haymitch’s eyes wandered around the big stone pillarsthat supported the high ceiling, not quite happy with all the areas left inshadows. The only source of light came from the pool itself and it made for aneerie atmosphere he wasn’t too fond of. It made him feel claustrophobic, evenwith the far wall being all glass and giving the vertiginous feeling that thepool was giving out on empty air.

He had hardly ever been there before. Maybeonce or twice after his victory, with another victor his age who had wanted toexplore every floor of the Games Compound… There was everything you needed inthe compound: a gym, a pool, a spa – or so he had been told, he was even lessfond of strangers touching him than he was of baldly lightened gigantic roomsin which anyone could hide and spy…

Eventually, once he was done with his visualinspection of the place and the smell of chlorine had started making his eyesitch, he buried his hands in his pockets and turned his attention to the poolwhere Finnick had been swimming back and forth for the last two minutes withouteven addressing his presence.

“You know I’ve got better things to do thanwatching you pretend to be a fish all night, yeah?” he called out, tired ofbeing ignored.

Finnick shot him a grin over his shoulder butdidn’t stop swimming. “Yes? What?”

“Question would be who actually.” he snorted.

When Finnick had called to ask him to join himat the pool, he and Effie had been in the middle of a very heated make-outsession that he was pretty sure would have ended up with them having their waywith each other right there on the couch. Clothes hadn’t flown yet but his handhad been far up under her dress and hers had been very busy opening the shirthe hadn’t even bothered to button all the way up again.

He knew how he looked: fingers had repeatedlyran in his hair, his shirt was halfway open, there was a suspicious red mark onhis neck and he had lost his jacket and his waistcoat somewhere. He trusted theboy could take a hint.

Finnick had said he needed to talk to him andthat it was important so he had come but he still hoped he could get back toEffie before she grew bored of waiting and went to bed. He was pretty surethere had been lacy lingerie under that horrible green dress.

“Who?” the boy teased.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. “I don’t kiss andtell.”

“Funny, that sounds like what Effie always says.”Finnick laughed, briefly ducking underwater to turn around as he reached thewindow.

Haymitch slowly walked closer to the baywindow, trying to find a spot that wouldn’t leave him with his back to a dooror an even bigger room. The window seemed like a safe enough place.

“I never listen to what she says. You shouldknow by now.” he deadpanned. “So… What’s the emergency?”

He glanced through the window. They were highbut not that high compared to thepenthouse. Outside, it was a typical Games night for the city. If he craned hisneck to the left, he could probably guess at the giant screen on the Squarethat was showing a live feed of the arena. He wondered where they were at now.Last time he had bothered to check, there had been three Careers left, the girlfrom Eight and a boy from Ten. The Seventy-Third Hunger Games were dragging onand he was pretty sure Crane would put an end to them soon one way or another.

“There aren’t any bugs here.” Finnick said,almost all the way across the huge pool already.

“Really?” he asked, eyebrows lifting up ininterest. He hadn’t known that but, then again, Finnick had made it hisspecialty to find out how many secrets as he could . “How come?”

“Something about reverberations and the water…”the boy dismissed. “There are some in the changing rooms but not in the poolroom itself. We can speak freely.”

“You’re scaring me.” Haymitch admitted with adeep sigh. He fished his flask from his back pocket and took a swing. “What didyou do?”

Because it came down to that, didn’t it?Finnick had been playing the game for long enough to know not to make mistakesbut if he had… Well… With Mags at home still recovering from a stroke she wouldprobably never totally get over and his fellow mentor too busy trying to snatchBrutus’ attention away from the man’s escort… He supposed he was the next bestthing when it came to playing mentor.

Finnick stopped swimming in the middle of thepool, his back to him, and then switched so he was floating on his back.Haymitch couldn’t shake the vision of a drown corpse out of his mind and tookanother swing of moonshine.

He would need to fill his flask soon. It wasalmost empty.

“It’s not like that.” the boy explainedeventually. “It doesn’t have to do with the Capitol.”

Everything had to do with the Capitol, healmost retorted but it seemed obvious the boy was upset already so…

“Okay.” he accepted and sat down, confident nowthat Peacekeepers wouldn’t burst in. “You know another good place without bugs?The roof.”

“There’s no pool on the roof.” Finnickcountered.

“There’s a garden.” he snorted, kicking off hisshoes and his socks because it looked like they would be there a while. Herolled up the legs of his pants to his knees and then let his feet dangle inthe water. It was warm, of course.

“You hate the garden.” the boy retorted,staring at the high ceiling.

The pool had an ancient Rome feel to it.Haymitch wondered if that was the aim.

“So you made me come down here so we can talkabout how I hate bright flowers?” he teased. He didn’t like the garden, true.It reminded him too much of his arena and he usually stuck to the unadornedpart of the roof where it was all grey cement. “Got to say… Might have gottenChaff involved. You know he’s got a green thumb.”

It was a well kept secret that Eleven’s victorenjoyed some gardening. Chaff had his own vegetable garden at home – half ofwhich he used to distil his own moonshine and it wasn’t that bad, less dry thanRipper’s and probably safer to drink too.

“I like the pool.” Finnick argued.

“You don’t say.” he mocked. “You like water?Never would have guessed.”

The boy tossed him a look that was a mix ofexasperation and amusement but his face soon turned serious and he went back tojust floating there.

“They made you do it too?” the boy asked.

Haymitch’s amusement died down quickly and hetook a hesitant sip of his flask. Eight years and it was the first time Finnickhad asked that question. He didn’t need him to clarify either. There was justthe right touch of righteous anger and helplessness in the victor’s voice thatthe tone was familiar.

“A few times.” he answered eventually.

He had been lucky. Given how popular andhandsome he had been in his youth, he had been very very lucky because when he had won the system hadn’t yet been whatit now was. The buying and selling had still been reserved to a selected fewwho usually had more important things to do than leer after victors. Now it wasa different story and Finnick had always been far too popular. None of thevictors who had come after him had been that popular and that included the Richtsonsiblings who had won two years in a row. Gloss and Cashmere were an item onthat market and it made Haymitch sick to the stomach every time he thoughtabout it. It was bad enough to be sold like a dog but to watch their sibling behumiliated like that…

All in all, compared to others, on that front,he considered himself lucky.

“Why?” Finnick insisted. “Your family…”

The stab of pain was immediate and heinstinctively kicked the water, making enough noise to cut the boy off. Four’svictor also stopped floating there to switch and start moving again. The boywas quick in the water, deadly.

“Why’s Jo still doing it?” he growled. “She’sgot no one left either, yeah?”

Johanna Mason had quickly become a thorn in theCapitol’s flank and he had warned her several times to cut it down. It hadstarted with Blight doing a poor job of preparing her for what the Capitolexpected of her and with her stabbing the very important, very influent man whohad rented her services for the night. In retaliation, her parents and herbrother had been caught in a deadly accident. It hadn’t done anything for hersnarky attitude, her resentment or her hatred for the Capitol.

“She’s got Blight and his family.” Finnickreplied defensively. “She’s got Syln and the other victors from Seven… They’vegot family too.”

And she was their responsibility so it fell onthem to make sure she played the game or to pay the price. Not a comfortableplace to be in, to be sure. Not that Jo would risk someone’s life like thatagain. At least, he didn’t think so.

“There you have it, then.” he said, waving hisflask to make his point. “There’s alwayssomething.”

“But you didn’t have a mentor and there are noother victors in Twelve.” the boy insisted.

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged. “After a few years Igrew tired of watching people starve ‘cause shipments were late or incomplete…Took me a while to catch up.”

He didn’t like thinking back to that part ofhis life. It had been a few years after he had won and he hadn’t grown used tobe lonely all year around yet. It was when he had started a slow but steadydescent into a bottle too. When Chaff had finally spelled out what he couldn’teven begin to imagine by himself, it had been the nail in the coffin of hissobriety.

Finnick seemed to accept that because hestopped swimming to start floating on his back again, arms spread wide at hisside. Haymitch stared at his own feet.

“Have you ever been with a man?” the boy asked.

“I don’t swing that way.” he answeredimmediately.

“Not what I asked.” Four’s victor pointed out.

“But that’s what you get.” he snarled,swallowing a long mouthful of moonshine. He blocked the memories that wanted torise up, focusing on what had happened the previous night instead. Effie bentover the dining table, her colorful skirt all over the mahogany, his handskneading her ass as he pounded into her warmth… He closed his eyes and focusedon that. The feel, the smell, the taste of her… “Look, boy, not that this walkdown memory lane isn’t just fun but…”

“It makes you crazy sometimes, right?” Finnickcut him off. “After an appointment with a client… It’s… It makes you crazy, right?”

Haymitch studied the eagle spread form of theboy as he floated around.

“Right.” he answered carefully. Thing was, asunbearable as Finnick’s position must have been, the kid couldn’t afford togive it up. Too many people depended on him. Too many lives. Mags’ first andforemost. Then, there was the girl from three years earlier. The tribute he hadgone and fell in love with despite everyone’s warnings… “How’s Annie?”

Because he had a feeling it was all coming downto that.

Maybe the boy had done something reckless likesay no to someone influent and maybe he was scared she would be punished forit.

Maybe…

“How long have you been with Effie?” Finnickcountered.

And Haymitch coughed so hard he almost chocked.“The fuck are you talking about?”

He couldn’t see the boy’s face properly but hewas certain Four’s victor rolled his eyes. “No bugs, Haymitch.”

There had been plenty of places without bugswhere people had teased him about his escort and it had never been enough forhim to forget basic caution.

“We’re not together.” he spat. “I’ve told you plenty of times before. We…”

“Okay.” Finnick cut him off harshly. “Fine. Lieto me.”

Haymitch glared at the kid who had no right tosound so offended by his denial. What a peacock.Arrogant and entitled and…

“We’re nottogether.” he repeated.

“Sure.” Four’s victor snorted. “Sorry Ibothered you. You can go now.”

Haymitch’s eyebrows shot up at the insultingdismissal. Who did the boy think he was treating him like an Avox? Maybe thekid spent too much time in the city and he had half a mind to tell him justthat but he caught the flash of pain of Finnick’s face and swallowed back hisannoyance.

“It’s not a thing.” he insisted quietly, hiseyes automatically roaming around to make certain nobody was hiding behind apillar. He trusted Finnick. Up to a point. He wasn’t sure he trusted even Chaff entirely. Blinded trust wasn’tclever in the city and it wasn’t clever between victors, best friends or not. TheGames were in the way, the Capitol was in the way, and ultimately everyone wasalways out for themselves. Lately, the only one he completely trusted was hisally and his ally was Effie because she was in his corner, always and withoutquestion. She had his back, he had hers and, for now, that was enough.

Terrifying, sure.

But enough.

“Okay.” Finnick sulked.

“Why the interest?” he insisted.

The boy shrugged and then pushed on his armsand legs to come closer to the window. “You ever cheated on her?”

“Hard to do since it’s not a thing.” he scowled, taking his feet out of the water. Histoes were wrinkled and he shifted to completely lean against the window. Hespread his legs in front of him to let them dry. “It’s not cheating, boy.” hesaid quietly after a few minutes. “Doubt your girl sees it like that.”

Finnick didn’t have a choice and Annie probablyknew that by now, assuming he had told her.

Effie went with sponsors from time to time. Hepretended he didn’t know, pretended he didn’t understand when she brought himback a sponsoring pledge that they would usually have no hope of securing. Heknew why she did it. She was desperate for a win, not just because of thepromoting bullshit she kept sproutingbut because watching their kids die was becoming too much. So she went andfound sponsors and he pretended he didn’t know how. He got angry about it, ofcourse, mainly because once you pushed that door, it was an open invitation todo it again. He also knew there were people she couldn’t say no to when theyexpressed an insistent interest, that it wouldn’t have been safe or clever.That made him angry too.

But neither of that was cheating.

And it wasn’t cheating either when a Gamemakermade it clear to him that he should entertaina wealthy lonely woman who used to have a crush on him twenty years earlierand fancied revisiting her youth.

Unfortunate was what it was.

Disgusting.

Unfair.

But cheating… The anger usually came out fromprotectiveness more than jealousy.

“I had a hard one the other day.” Finnickconfessed, so softly Haymitch could barely hear it over the lapping of thewater against the window with every of the boy’s movement.

“A man.” he deduced given the questions fromearlier.

It was almost a whole minute before Finnickconfirmed. “Yes.”

“He hurt you?” he growled.

Because it didn’t matter who the guy was,Haymitch would find him and wouldmake sure he knew better than hurting hiskid. That was only a fantasy, of course, he couldn’t do that without exposinghimself and the kid to more problems but… If it had been serious, they couldalert Crane. The Capitol frowned on their special clients damaging theirproperty.

They had had worse Head Gamemakers. Crane wasalmost decent compared to some.

“Not really.” Finnick sighed. “It’s just… Jowas in the same hotel. She had an appointment of her own so, after, I went to her room.”

He frowned. “And?”

“And it makes you crazy sometimes.” Four’s victor whispered. “Jo was furious. She’salways furious after that kind of things.”

“Relatable.” he snorted.

“We drank too much.” Finnick said. “We figuredsince the room was paid for, we could empty the mini-bar.”

And Haymitch winced, guessing where this wasgoing. “Booze and being upset usually don’t mix that well.”

The boy suddenly shifted, coming to a standingposition, facing the bay window. His feet must have touched the bottom becausethe water barely reached his shoulders. He placed both hands on the glass andrested his forehead on the cold panel. “I’m lying, we weren’t that drunk.”

“You slept together.” he sighed because he wastired of beating around the bush.

Finnick knocked his forehead against the windowtwice. “Three times.”

“In a single night?” Haymitch whistled. “Now,boy, you’re making me feel bad.”

Ah, being twenty again…

Two times in one night was a good run for himnowadays.

“Don’t mock, it’s not funny.” Finnick snapped.

He sighed again, took a sip of moonshine andthen handed out his flask, leaving his arm outstretched until Finnick caved andmoved to grab it. Four’s victor mirrored his position, resting his back againstthe window, a sulk on his face.

“She’s my best friend.” the boy lamented.

Haymitch wished he was more surprised but,truth be told, he had seen it coming. Hell, Chaffhad seen it coming. They had never discussed it but the acknowledgment hadalways been there in shared looks over the rims of their glasses, behind thekids’ back.

Nobody had believed in Johanna Mason during theSeventy-first Hunger Games. Nobody.And yet, on day three, Finnick had taken one look at the meek and terrifiedlooking little girl, had laughed and had claimed that she would be the victor.

And when it had turned out Johanna was neithermeek nor terrified, the boy had turned out to be right.

And the two of them had been thick as thievesever since.

They were young, attractive – and clearly attracted – and they were both goingthrough something terribly hard. It had been a matter of time.

“You love her?” Haymitch asked.

Finnick took a sip of moonshine, probablyfinishing what was left of it because he had to tip his head back all the way.“She’s my best friend.”

“Yeah.” He made a face. “You better made thatclear, then. And gently ‘cause thatgirl… She’s been looking at you with stars in her eyes from the start.”

“She knows about Annie.” Finnick argued. “It’snot… I love Annie. I love Jo too but…Annie…”

Annie was vulnerable and needed him to takecare of her and the boy probably needed the sense of purpose. Jo’svulnerability came in a different shape and she certainly didn’t need anyone totake care of her. Not that she would admit it to herself, at least.

“Boy.” he insisted. “Don’t play on both sides.They both deserve better than that.”

“No, of course not.” Finnick denied. “I’m not…I told Jo it was a mistake. She said she understood. She said we shouldn’t makea big deal out of it. That it was just sex.”

“Was it?” he challenged.

“It makes you crazy sometimes, Haymitch.” Four’s victor almost begged him tounderstand. “I didn’t plan it. It just…”

“No.” he scoffed. “That’s no excuse. It’s justlike the booze thing. You wanted to sleep with Jo so you slept with Jo.”

“It’s not that simple.” Finnick argued.

“Seems that simple to me.” he shrugged. “Youasked me here to tell you it was okay to cheat on your girl because you had hada bad night and one glass too many… Sorry but I wasn’t the right guy to call.Got many flaws but I don’t cheat.”

He had spent too many nights watching hismother wait for his father to get home, watching the disappointment on her facewhen she spotted the guilty glint in her husband’s eyes.

All in all, he figured he had only had twoimportant relationships in his life. His girlfriend who he had had honorableintentions for and who he had intended to eventually marry – and to never cheat on her because he wouldn’tbe that kind of bastard. And Effie, who was the only woman he had spent morethan two nights with in his life and to whom he had been clear with from thestart: whatever they had, it wasn’t exclusive, it wasn’t serious and it wasn’tgoing to be love.

The rules with Effie had been defined clearly. They were both free.

So, sure,in the last couple of years, the non-exclusive clause had become something of aproblem and they had shifted toward something more traditional. But it remainedunvoiced and unacknowledged and if either of them strayed…

Except he couldn’t see himself straying. He hadtried, at first, when he had realized just how long it had been since he hadbeen with another woman – since he had been forced to listen to her prattlingabout her latest boyfriend – it had scared him so badly to feel that way thathe had tried… But he hadn’t been able to go through with it. He didn’t want another woman. And it had felt too much like cheating…

He was many things but he wasn’t a cheater.

“We don’t sleep together… Annie and I.” Finnickconfessed. “Well, we sleep together but we don’t…”

“Yeah, got you.” he interrupted.

They didn’t have sex, was what he meant.

“She’s still recovering and… We said we wouldbe taking it slow.” the boy offered, clearing his throat.

It had been three years since Annie’s Games butfor some victors it was a longer road to semi-sanity than for others. Annie,from what he had heard, was pretty traumatized. Enough that she had remainedcatatonic for weeks and that the Gamemakers had been forced to keep her Tourshort and to the point. She had never come back to the Capitol after that. Itwas hard to hide that she had lost her mind, even from the audience.

“Still not an excuse.” Haymitch shrugged.

“I love her.” Finnick swore.

“Yeah? Which one?” he mocked.

Four’s victor rolled his eyes and tossed theflask back on Twelve’s victor’s legs. “Annie.”Haymitch toyed with it, waiting for the rest and, inevitably, it came. “ShouldI tell her or… Jo said we should do as if nothing happened and I think she’sright. It was a mistake.”

“That’s for youto answer, boy.” he sighed. “Just… Listen to me, don’t screw this up. Whateveryou choose to do… Make sure you don’t string the other along for nothing.”

He hauled himself up to his feet, pocketed hisflask and grabbed his shoes and socks before heading out of the pool onlypausing when he heard the sound of his name.

“Thank you.” Finnick said.

“Any time, boy.” he offered.

It was late enough that the only people he metalong the hallways were Peacekeepers who didn’t even blink at finding himwalking barefoot with his pants rolled up to his knees. They were too used tohis drunken stunts probably.

The elevator trip back to the penthouse feltendless but couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. He spent the wholetime rubbing his face and wondering how and why he had found himself a mentorto victors who weren’t his own.

The penthouse was silent and dark, pretty muchuninviting, but he ignored the fleeting thought that he could slip back out toa bar or another. The living-room was empty and he didn’t bother turning on thelights, the colorful beams from the city nightlights spilling through the baywindows were enough for him to make his way to the liquor cart and fill hisflask with a very expensive whiskey. He downed a small glass while he was at itand then retreated toward the bedrooms where everything was equally silent anddark.

He paused in front of his escort’s room, hesitateda second and then pushed the door and strolled in like he owned the place. Hedropped on the foot of the bed, smirking when she sat up with a startled cryand awkwardly fumbled with the lamp on her bedside table. She didn’t seem toohappy to find him lying across her bed, missing shoes and socks, his pantsrolled up and his shirt still half open.

“Oh!You better not be drunk.” she huffed.

She was the only person he knew who could huffin a threatening fashion.

“Not drunk.” he promised, lifting both handsinnocently.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him with raptattention. She must have been satisfied that he wasn’t lying because she huffedagain. “Did you have to wake me up?In case you are confused after twenty-three years of living here, your bedroomis across the hall.”

“But there are no gorgeous blonde in it.” hepointed out.

Her eyes narrowed even more but her lipstwitched. “Aren’t you being all charming… What do you want?” His smirk deepenedand he wriggled his eyebrows. She burst out laughing. “It is not happening tonight. You aroused meand abandoned me, forcing me to take matters into my own hands.”

“Sounds like I missed out on a good show.” hetaunted.

“You missed out on a great many things.” sheretorted. “I had slit panties on.”

“Kinky.” he commented, eyes sparkling inamusement.

“They were lace.” she scoffed.

“My favorite.” he remarked.

“Only because it is the only fabric you canrecognize and name.” she mocked, crossing her arms in front of her chest with adispleased pout. “Since going out with your friends was more important than mynew lingerie…”

“Finnick needed to talk.” he sighed, taking hiseyes off her to stare at the ceiling with a pout of his own. He liked Annie. He wasn’t sorry to know hewouldn’t have to see her face to face any time soon. He didn’t like lying likethat.

“Is something wrong?” she frowned, shifting soshe was kneeling next to him. “You look troubled.”

She placed a hand on the middle of his chest,the tip of her fingers was on his skin.

He debated about telling her or not. The boyhadn’t sworn him to secrecy but it was more or less implied that that sort ofconversations would remain between friends. Effie, he knew, could be trustedwith a secret.

But it wasn’t his to tell.

“I’m troubled ‘cause I missed out on the slitpanties.” he teased, reaching out to brush the side of her neck with his hand.

“Haymitch.” she said, seriously enough.

He shook his head and coiled his fingers aroundthe back of her nape.

“Nothing to worry about.” he promised. “Justgirl problems.”

“And he asked you for advices?” she scoffed, lifting both eyebrows. “He does know you are not an expert inrelationships, doesn’t he?”

“So funny, Princess…” he deadpanned, pullingher down for a kiss.

He would show her expert.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #games time #angst #teapot #coconuts friends #payment in nature #finnick #jonnick

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