#Effy is in for the time of her life

[bloodinwine]

Welcome to my pervert brain. 🫣

Chapter 16: Only for a Moment

[introspectivememories]

thinking bout 14yr finnick winning the games and thinking about the victors+effie looking at this child and going "fuuuuck!!! guess we're co-parenting now"

[erectomyjunko]

Effie who grew up with Walbuarga. Effie who tried helping her out of that house. Effie who mended her wounds after summer break.

Effie who watched Walburga slowly turn in to the parents she so hated.

Effie seeing Sirius tumble out of her fireplace that night, a mess of black hair on the carpet and for a moment she thinks it's Walburga.

And then remembers it isn't Walburga- and Walburga is the one who did this.

Effie doing everything in her power to make sure sirius doesn't turn out the same.

And then Effie hearing the news that Sirius Black was arrested for the murder of her own son, and knowing she failed once again.

[eleemosynecdoche]

I am recalling events from my teenage years, where I saw an online discussion about what would happen if Archades from Final Fantasy 12 invaded modern Earth, and the assumption was that modern air-to-air missiles would easily down Final Fantasy airships. And what occured to me, as a tender young lass, was "those missiles are build to shoot down things which are practically very fragile because they need relatively thin wings or rotors to stay aloft, FF airships work on different principles and are probably more solid." Now, of course, I understand that the metaconflict is over whether the "rational" modern world is better than the "irrational" worlds of fantasy. I was witnessing the worst Umineko arc known to humanity.

[nb-stingray]

*SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS*

Reading through the SoTR tag and honestly, I fully disagree with a big criticism point, which is that the prequel is turning Katniss into some Chosen One.

I fully read it as the reverse! That Katniss’ life and role and victories are the sum of not only her parts, but every single person who has owed someone else, something that could not be repaid.

Haymitch being friends with Katniss’ dad is not some shoehorn??? District 12 has 10,000 people at the time of the 75th games! They had one school! Everybody knew everybody, so it’s not a surprise that two Seam boys knew each other or could be friends!

Beetee and Wiress and Mags being there wasn’t some “Avengers Assemble” moment, it was 3 Victors being punished like all Victors were (except Beetee had an even worse go of it, proving something Katniss observed in CF, which is that Victors’ children had a higher odds of being chosen or outright rigged).

Even younger Effie and Plutarch??? They were career Hunger Games staff canonically??? It made sense for them to be there??

Idk people have been talking about this book as a cash grab and not talking about the poignancy of how every action Katniss Everdeen took was influenced by the character and love of those before and around her.

[effieotto]

U know, Suzanne didn’t have to develop Effie’s relationship with Haymitch so deeply in sotr. She didn’t have to say, with all the words, how much Effie trusted him to not hurt her, implying a kind of trust that is beyond explanation, due to their short friendship. She didn’t have to say that Effie took care of him during his entire process in the Capitol —from his own Games, all the way to the 75th edition—, and how grateful he was for her. She didn’t have to make the last thing he saw before leaving to his eminent death being her eyes. She didn’t have to use a broken metaphor of geese’s mate to represent the way he saw his relationship with Lenore Dove, knowing perfectly well Geese don’t, in fact, mate for life; but grief for a long time —like Haymitch was doing— before finding another partner. She could have spared us the lore and just sell her tragic romantic story of Haymitch and a Lenore Dove, with no further explanation about Effie, so we wouldn’t question the epilogue as much as we’re doing now.But she didn’t!

She gave us it all, knowing very well the fandom she was working with. Knowing that ever since the first book was released —a decade ago—, we never stopped coming up with more analysis. That we kept overthinking about the tinniest details from the books, creating a stronger understanding about the characters. Knowing she wouldn’t get away with the incorrect geese metaphor…we would see though it

There is no way you are looking at all of this and saying we got less material for Hayffie than before…

She really said “they are not mine…but i know they are yours and i won’t take them away from you”

[livingfandomly]

I remember reading thg for the first time as a kid and thinking how exciting the book was. How Effie was so quirky and funny. How Cinna was so cool. How her stylists were such kooks. How Flickerman was just there to help her feel better. I even remember thinking “omg this isn’t so bad, is it? They’re just quirky people with money”.

Cut to reading its prequels, to rewatching the movies, to rereading the books over a decade later and all I can associate it with is to the kind of books George Orwell wrote. Books about government, power, propaganda and lies. Books about keeping people submissive and scared until they just get used to that way of life. Until they accept it and think it can’t be any other way…

Plus, the prequels are such a stark realisation that Katniss was surrounded by the best versions of what was to offer. No Drusilla insulting her but a caring, albeit naive, Effie. No Magno who couldn’t care less about how the tributes were perceived but the all-out Cinna to make sure they were recognised as a threat. Even Flickerman has gotten much subtler and smoother by the time Katniss sits in front of him. If we didn’t have the prequels, we genuinely wouldn’t even know any of this which goes to say a lot about people existing in the trilogy as well.

[licorice-and-rum]

Something that really hit my like a punch about SOTR is how Suzanne Collins decided to write Haymitch's relationship with the women in his life because (in a clear contrast with Snow) even in his times of doubt over them, even when he's talking about Drusilla (fuck her btw), he still has a level of respect Snow didn't show for any of the women in his life in TBOSAS.

He sees Maysilee and Louella as sisters and each of them have strengths he admires deeply — in contrast with Snow thinking of Tigris (his actual cousin) as someone whose appearance "invited abuse."

Even Lenore Dove's most worrisome characteristics come for Haymitch from a place of care and love for her, from a desire to keep her safe, not to control her. Haymitch loved Lenore Dove for who she was, regardless of her rebelliousness maybe causing trouble for him. I don't even have to mention the contrast to Snow, right?

Even Effie, whose alienation certainly annoyed him, is talked about in a way thay shows and extensive highlights her empathy beneath her propagandized opinions. Haymitch never disrespects Effie or thinks of her disrespectfully despite the fact that is hinted that she has some behaviors that annoyed him. Snow, however, thinks of his female classmates with a irritated tone that visibly undermines them and their good traits.

Even the contrast between Drusilla and Gaul. Right, Drusilla is not as powerful as Gaul when they're presented to the reader, and Haymitch and Snow come from very different places, but Drusilla is the closes thing Haymitch will get to a powerful ally from the Capitol. Yet, he rejects her (in a quieter way than Maysilee does but still does it) almost right away because of her obvious cruelty. It doesn't appeal to him is the slightest like it does to Snow.

Also, the contrast between how Snow and Haymitch see the sacrifices the women in their lives make with the former disgusted at Tigris and the later showing how much he loves his mom (also) because of all the sacrifices she made to keep him and Sid alive and well, even if it devastates him (like the fact that they don't have a cake in the birthdays in fairness to him not getting a cake or the loss of the shirt his mother had so carefully sewn together for him).

Suzanne Collins didn't just made her mission to say a big fuck you to people who were romanticizing Snow, she showed us what we all should expect from a man (again btw) and you gotta respect her for it.

[jaxie101]

the hunger games has been my roman empire since i read when it when i was 10 and here are all of my smaller empires bc this has always been my favourite series ever:

the tributes being treated to a life of luxury both as a “last meal” sort of thing and as a way to make them more vulnerable for the games. keeping them well fed before the games so the starvation hits harder

peeta repeatedly calling himself a mutt after katniss does :(

katniss’ ptsd

katniss being such an unreliable narrator

when cato realised he’s just as much of a toy as the rest of the kids

when gale says he should’ve volunteered in peeta’s place. NOT for peeta, not to save him the trauma, the injuries or his torture, and not to save katniss and to be there for her, PURELY bc he knew that getting hurt would get her attention.

GALE GETTING MAD AT KATNISS FOR KISSING SOMEONE TO STAY ALIVE. EVEN 10 YEAR OLD ME WAS LIKE ??

peeta’s “real or not real” and how easily katniss accepts it as his way of recovery

how perfect katniss’ character was. i was a little girl and i wanted to be exactly like her when i grew up. she wasn’t the cliche “doesn’t need anyone accepts this specific guy that will always save her” she saved peeta, and some times peeta saves her

probably the overdramatic english lit nerd in me but katniss’ hair going from intricate braids to messy ponytails

(tw sex assault) in the books katniss was terrified that peeta was going to be r&ped, for some reason that’s always stuck with me

what happened to finnick

how well written and realistic the books were. peeta loses his leg to the infection, katniss loses her hearing in one ear, finnick suffers from extreme ptsd and it shows in district 13, peeta not being an easy fix. he still suffers years later, but he slowly pieces himself back together. Johanna’s anger, people often don’t like the fact that ptsd DOES make you angry, haymitch’s backstory and effie’s growth.

the mutt’s have the dead kids eyes in the first games

[crescenthistory]

Barty and Potter!Twin!Reader are rivals because Barty, in his own warped perception of loyalty, thinks he just has to hate the Potters on Regulus' behalf. Reader, in turn, is super protective of James and Sirius, so she always fires right back.

One day they're having a spat and he's using the "you're spoiled" argument, to which you reply with your usual "I'm loved, it's not the same". Barty throws out some taunt about "Effie and Monty" instead of "Mummy and Daddy" when he's taunting her and you're all "how the fuck do you know about my parents?"

"Because they haunt Regulus' dreams."

"Regulus would be welcome to come live with us at any time. The only reason he doesn't know that is because he doesn't let himself."

"And the rest of us?" He's hoping it's a gotcha moment where Potter!Reader is forced to admit that there is never enough love to go around for everyone, that you can be spoiled by it, that some people are just born unlucky.

Instead; "You know what, Junior? The rest of you tossers are welcome as well."

You don't let him win and you throw it out without thinking, knowing in your heart of hearts that if your parents would take in anyone. Barty grins wickedly because he thinks you've made a mistake, thinks that he can take you up on it and prove you wrong once and for all.

Fully intending on antagonising you, on making you eat your words, Barty shows up at the doorstep of Potter Manor for summer break. Except that instead of being thrown out immediately or getting to revel in Effie and Monty trying and failing to play along before then at last kicking him out – he's embraced.

Barty is wholeheartedly taken in. And once he's there, no amount of "woah hey no this is not what I signed up for" is going to save him. He gets accepted, doted on, loved. It becomes the best summer of his life.

Instead of him cackling in your face, you get to hold back a smirk as you chew your dinner, multiple weeks into Barty's siege of Potter Manor, watching him smile without thinking about it.

At the end of the summer, maybe after certain feelings have been revealed and established, he's all but toeing the ground with his shoe, looking up at you uncertainly, going: "Did you mean all of us tossers would be welcome?" Queue you thanking Merlin that Potter Manor is already unnecessarily large as you suddenly have three more Slytherins and a Ravenclaw at your doorstep.

[my-castles-crumbling]

decade - February 14 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 530

It was three in the morning, and not for the first time, Regulus found himself sitting at the little breakfast table in the Potters’ kitchen, trying to find some remnants of the tiredness that seemed to constantly evade him.

Nightmares had never not been a part of Regulus’s life. But now they seemed to be changing. They no longer were about his mother…they were about someone else…someone currently sleeping upstairs.

Gulping and trying not to cry, he took a small sip of his tea.

“Regulus?”

Biting at his lip, Regulus turned to see Effie at the door, a look of concern on her face. “Erm..hi,” he mumbled, looking down. 

“Sweetheart, it’s the middle of the night! Are you alright?” the older woman asked, walking toward him. 

His first instinct was to lie. To say he was fine, that he just couldn’t sleep for some strange reason and he was going to go back to bed in a bit. But the exhaustion and anxiety overpowered him and he felt a tear dripping down his cheek.

“Oh, love,” Effie murmured, sitting next to him and placing a gentle hand on his knee. “What is it?”

He tried to find the words to describe his worries. “How…how long have you been with Monty?” he asked softly, sniffling a bit.

“Three decades this June!” Effie answered, eyes shining with pride. “But what does that have to do with anything, dear?”

“Does…do you ever…when did you stop worrying that things would end? That he would…would leave you, or something?” Regulus asked in a little whisper, tears welling in his eyes again.

Instantly, understanding dawned on Effie’s face and she leaned forward to pull him into a hug.

“Oh, Regulus,” she murmured, voice full of sympathy, as he cried in her arms.

He didn’t answer. He just cried silently for a few moments before he pulled back and wiped at his face. “Sorry. Sorry, I just…”

But Effie was looking at him like she was trying to decide something. Finally, she spoke again. “Dear, can you keep a secret?”

Trying not to panic, Regulus nodded. Was she going to tell him that James secretly hated him?

“James has been talking about marrying you since before your first date. I know it can be scary to be this in love. I know it can be hard to let go like that. And I know I am biased, as he’s my son,” she said, eyes twinkling. “But I truly think he’d probably duel someone to the death rather than leave you.”

Stunned, Regulus sipped in a breath and blinked. “He really…?”

“Are you surprised?” Effie grinned.

Logically, he wasn’t. James was known for loving with his entire being and also having a flair for the dramatic. But the fact that he said that about him. “I won’t tell him you said anything,” he mumbled, wiping at his now-dry eyes one more time.

“Good. And please remember, Regulus: you deserve love. Not just from James, but from all of us. Alright?”

Body filling with warmth, he nodded. “Alright.”

When he finally fell back asleep, he was able to sleep through the rest of the night without a single nightmare.

[speechless-illusions]

I kept seeing people on Tiktok saying "Suzanne ended Hayffie" "I'm proud I never shipped them" and even trying to flip the narrative and bring the age difference discourse and the "she met him when he was a minor!!" cards to try and make the ship become "problematic" and tie it to the recent "ship police/purity" witch hunt (ironic, after reading a whole book about the dangers of propaganda) so other people turn to hate it now.

And I'm so surprised because to me, an avid Hayffie shipper since day 1 (more than a decade in this ship, I won't get off now or never), Hayffie has never been so validated as with this book. Suzanne has given us SO MUCH CONTENT.

The makeup case scene? Her putting flowers on Haymitch's shirt? Both are very intimate scenes to me. Her being the last one she saw before entering the arena (her eyes being the last thing he focused on before going into that hell) AND first friendly one to see after he got out? Her making sure he knew that even after how the Capitol portrayed him, she believed he was a good person? Her making sure to check on him during the whole time he was in those capitol parties (and we know what depravities the capitol people made victors do. She maybe was checking noone did anything to him)? I even saw a comment on a Hayffie edit saying that in how grey Haymitch's life turned after his games, Effie was there every birthday of his after that, wearing rainbow colored clothes and trying to bring a positive attitude...

YOU CAN'T TELL ME SUZANNE DIDN'T PURPOSELY GIVE US ALL THIS CONTENT OF THEM

I'll admit I was a bit sad after seeing no mention of her in the epilogue and seeing so many people saying the "goose mate for life" thing completely invalidated them. And then I stumbled upon a comment here on Tumblr that made me go investigate and...

It turns out the "Goose mate for life" means once goose choose a partner, they'll be with that parner until one of them dies, then have a long mourning period, but then CAN and sometimes DO find a new partner after all of that.

I CAN'T THINK SUZANNE DIDN'T KNOW THIS. AND I'M THRIVING AT THE IMPLICATIONS

All I hope, and want to believe, is that this book, just as how Haymitch tells his story to Peeta and Katniss, is finally his way to reconcile with everything and with Lenore, to finally let go of the feelings of regret and guilt. And realise he can have someone by his side to help him cross this world before he finally gets reunited with her again in the other. I believe Effie is that person to him and I'll always still do.

P.S. Knowing most of Effie's development and their relationship sparkled from the movies and not the original books I can't help but pray the director of the SOTR movie has something prepared for us... Maybe if the put the epilogue in the movie, we'll see Effie with Haymitch there 👀

[butterli5]

James who ran like his life depended on it when Sirius told him what he had done.

James whose only thought was Remus, and the fact that he had to save him from his own self because he knew that Remus would never forgive himself if he hurt Snape.

James who was ready to throw himself to death without another thought to push Severus away from the shack before just as moony is ready to pounce at him.

James who stays by the door the whole night to make sure moony was okay, and then by his side in the hospital wing when he wakes up.

James who holds Remus as he cries his heart out when he hears about what Sirius has done, who nurses him back to health as he becomes a shell of his own self.

James who comes learns how to take the muggle train to go to Whales every day during that summer because he can't apparate yet, even though Remus told him not to come. But he still goes and sits with hope in the living room or helps her around the farm when Remus doesn't come out of his room.

James who keeps bringing him books from Effie's library everyday since Hope told him Remus had been rereading his old books because he didn't want to go out to the library, and so he sets them by his door and sits there with his back against the wood, babbling about nothing and everything through it till the time for the last train back rolls around.

That is, untill Remus opens the door and James falls down on the ground, his eyes wide and his glasses askew as he watched the upside down face of the best friend he hadn't seen in a month.

Remus has a fond exasperated look on his face at the sight of the sweet boy who kept coming back no matter how much he tried to push him away.

They spend that summer running around in fields or sprawled under the shade of the trees as Remus read one of Effie's books and James rested his head in his lap, something that after days evolves into Remus carding his fingers through his wild messy hair, delicately removing his gold rimmed glasses as he dozed off under the shade of the trees while Hope watches them with a small smile on her face from the kitchen window, taking out her camera to capture the sweet moment because she knew that one day the oblivious pair would want it.

[eleemosynecdoche]

The scene:

I am regarding the Shrike from Dan Simmons' Hyperion and sequels. The Shrike is a big humanoid figure made of knives with four arms who can stop time and teleport and impales people on a space tree's space branches where they experience ecstatic pain for centuries.

I turn to my traveling companions. "I can fix her," I say, a casual opening gambit. Nobody meets my eyes. Not even the space furry does. I prepare my strongest ojousama laugh.

[coweye]

The Life of Victor Haymitch Abernathy x Reader

❝The games don't end when you get back home, from now on your job is to be a distraction, so people forget what the real problems are. ❝

Following the life of a district 12 victor on the slow road to the revolution.

Warning: Canon Typical Violence, mentions of non-con (no description.) Snow's Panem is hell. Eventual Smut 18+. Please don't read if any of this too much for you my sweet angels.

Act I : The before Part One

68th Hunger Games

You were 18 years old on the fateful day your name was plucked from the dreaded glass bowl.

It was no small feat, to have made it through six reapings unscathed, watching on year after year as acquaintances and strangers alike were marched to the Capitol to meet their grisly ends. 

It had been your final year and your mother had always been steadfast in her refusal for you to take tessera, meaning your name was only in the bowl six times.  The odds were entirely in your favor, until suddenly they weren’t.

“Y/N L/N.” Effie Trinket, district 12’s escort for the 68th Hunger Games calls out in her tinkling Capitol lilt.

No one leaps to valiantly volunteer in your place - after all why should they? 

You hadn’t volunteered when 13-year old Violet Swane had been chosen last year. No, you had watched on in stony silence as she whimpered her way up onto the stage, then again not six days later as she was disemboweled at the cornucopia. 

Squaring your shoulders and swallowing your terror, you make your way to the stage, doing your very best to not look back at your wailing mother for fear of allowing the horror to consume you. 

You stare blankly as your mother sobs whilst she holds you, you can only watch feeling utterly empty as she’s dragged away after a teary goodbye and then as Effie tells you how much of a lucky young lady you are.

It's many hours later whilst sitting at the dinner table that you finally face what has now become your reality.

“You’ve got a good chance, kid.” Your mentor Haymitch Abernathy praises cheerily though his voice has a hollow edge to it, his horrific words wake you from your catatonia. 

The victor from 18 years ago sits opposite you and your district partner, he’s utterly belligerent in his intoxication.  “You’re old enough to make a real difference. If we get a little meat on those bones of yours you’ve got some real potential - they’re all pretty young!”

Haymitch is animated for the first time in hours as the three of you watch the reapings from the other districts, the glass of amber liquid sloshing dangerously in Haymitch’s palm is clearly the cause of this. 

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Hazel flinching.  Your mentor's artificially buoyant words not quite landing the same for the thirteen year-old boy at your side.

Hazel sniffs, his despondent mask of bravery slipping. He stares at Haymitch forlorn, as if the man who had broken him down in the first place would ever offer him any comfort.

As expected the drunk makes no effort to fix his faux pas, only taking a deep sip from his glass shrugging at your harsh gaze as if to say ‘not my problem’.

It was only natural that Hazel’s round grey eyes turned to you. The fat tears streaking his cheeks made your stomach drop and it was a struggle to reclaim your voice.

“Don’t cry.” Your voice is hoarse as you speak your first words since leaving your home for the reaping this morning. You see Haymitch rise in his seat in your peripheral vision but you pay him little mind.

“Sorry.” Hazel sniffs fighting to regain control. You want nothing more than to indulge and join him in a sob, but you have the feeling if you started crying you’d never stop. 

“I am not killing children.” Your voice is harsh, even to your own ears. 

“You wait until those children start swinging their axes at you. Something tells me you’ll change your mind real quick. .”

As it turns out, Haymitch was right; on both accounts.

You are the only tribute over the age of fifteen in the arena, which is a definite advantage. 

Your body is bigger, your mind is clearer. You don’t quite have the muscle density of the careers, your week of weight gain wasn’t quite enough to equal the playing field entirely but they aren’t your primary focus. 

You are practically dragging Hazel behind you as you trudge through the frozen tundra that is the 68th arena, hoping against hope to put some distance between yourself and the other tributes. 

Scarlet is blossoming through the thick white fabric of the boy's winter coat from where Lux, the girl from 1’s, arrow pierced his shoulder. Your gloved fingers have gone numb from the grip they have on the fabric of his coat, but you can’t relent. 

You have done your best to treat and bind the wound, but without the sponsor gift that refuses to arrive you know Hazel’s days were numbered. 

“Y/n…. Y/N. Please… I can’t.” He begs as he stumbles in the knee deep snowfall.

“Hazel! She’s hunting us!” You gasp breathlessly at the thirteen year old. You stop for a moment to take stock. The thirteen year old is gray from the bloodloss, his eyes have gone glassy and unfocused. 

The end isn’t far off for your little ally, but you’ve never been good at facing the facts and this truth is far too awful to accept. 

“Leave me… please Y/N. I'm so tired, I want to go to sleep…” Your eyes water, though you replace your agony with rage, an easier emotion to digest in this arena. Nowhere is safe anymore, the only thing you know for certain is that death is chomping at your heels.

“Don’t be so damn stupid!” You hiss and grab at his coat to pull him along. Though the second your hand makes contact with the white fabric, red splatters in your face. 

You taste the iron on your lips as your brain struggles to consolidate the warm liquid on your face with the horror of Hazel’s throat being pierced with a black tipped arrow.

Blood spurts out, soaking your own coat ruby. The boy panics and grabs at you and in your shock you haven't the wherewithal to push him away.

Lux aims another arrow, you aren’t sure if she’s playing with you or if she’s just a bad shot as her second arrow lodges itself in Hazel’s chest. You think you have your answer when in quick succession a third pierces his spine.

Your breath shudders out of you as she uses your little friend as a pin cushion. 

The light has drained from his eyes. Hazel falls to the floor in a pool of his own blood without your hands on him keeping him steady.  

You’re on her before she can notch another godforsaken arrow.

You aren’t a born and bred fighter like her.

Hell, before this arena, the most confrontation you’d had was sharply telling the Mellark boys to stop hitting your mothers storefront with their ball. 

You are fueled by injustice, grief and above all a burning rage.

Lux, however, is a born weapon. 

With ease, she blocks your swing, utilizing her bow to keep you at bay. The two of you are locked in a stalemate, pushing against one another. Desperately grappling, you know your longer arms are the only thing keeping the fourteen year old at bay as she smirks at your blood covered face.

Instantaneously it becomes clear to you with that smirk; Lux had filled Hazel with all those arrows on purpose. 

Something happens within you at this sadistic realization. 

Animal instinct takes over as you pull back and slam your forehead against hers. In an instant you quite simply don’t care if you die, so long as you take this evil little bitch with you. 

She's discombobulated, but so are you. 

The girl grabs at your coat to steady herself, though her hands can't find purchase on the slick fabric. In her frustration Lux shoves you hard enough to make you lose your footing, though you manage to grab her fur lined hood.

The two of you tumble down the incline you had just spent the better part of an hour hiking.

Everything aches as your body finally comes to a stop at the bottom. 

You are back at the stream at the base, the one you had used to clean Hazel's wound. He had called it beautiful, as he had been utterly enraptured by the flowing water.

Your grief is agony as you force yourself to your feet, though you needn’t have bothered, as Lux swings her fist at your face. 

The punch is devastatingly accurate. Her years of training drop you on your ass as you stagger backwards, unable to find your footing, having taken far too many blows to the skull for a 24-hour period. 

Stumbling, you fall backwards, right into the stream. 

Fuck.

The water is freezing, though freezing isn’t strong enough of a word for the numbness that takes over your limbs the second it touches your flesh. Your arms are instantly heavy and sluggish. 

All of a sudden Lux is on you,  sitting on your chest and using her entire body weight to force your shoulders down below the flowing river stealing all of the oxygen from your lungs.

You can barely stand to open your eyes as the flow of the water burns at your corneas, your legs are splashing frantically in the weak current desperate to find purchase and unseat her. 

It’s of no use. Your boots slide against the silt of the river bed as if it’s made of ice. Despite your larger frame you can’t get a foothold significant enough to buck her. 

In an act of sheer desperation you heave your chest forward allowing your head to surface for less than a millisecond before she regains control and forces your shoulders back under with strength you could never hope to muster after a life-time of scraping by in twelve.

Your mad gasp for breath does more harm than good as what little oxygen you manage to inhale is of little consequence when compared to the sting of the water that follows it.

You are going to die. 

It is primal. 

That singular thought shuts down your already panicking brain. With your heart pounding in your ears there is no time to be smart, no time for careful calculations.

You are going to die. 

Your animal instinct kicks in. Your palm, the one that her foot isn’t painfully grinding into the sediment, wraps around a smooth rock about the size of a fist on the bed of the river. 

You are going to die.

With the stone in your grasp you flail your non-dominant hand wildly in her general direction. Against all odds it connects with something solid and her weight shifts allowing your head to finally surface.

Breathless but alive - you’re not sure if it's your wingspan advantage or sheer dumb luck but you don’t linger on it long enough to thank the sadistic God that had put you in this arena in the first place.

Black patches infiltrate your vision as you desperately try to refill your lungs. You’re delirious with a cocktail of fear and oxygen deprivation - scarcely a moment away from passing out. 

Somewhere in your deprived brain you notice that Lux has a head wound she’s cradling as she crawls up the river bank disorientated, trying and failing to put space between the two of you.  

You had clocked her hard, blood was gushing from her wound.

You are going to die.

She begs you for her life as you advance clumsily stumbling on the loose mud of the riverbank. 

Lux pleads with you but it’s not a rational decision you make, it's no choice at all, it’s that  fear again, consuming you entirely until there’s nothing left of the person you were.  Reduced to nothing more than the animal the Captiol believed you to be.

Shamefully, you don’t think of Hazel as you bring down the rock on her skull.

Your animal brain has taken over, the need to kill to make yourself safe has taken over. 

You hit her over and over and over again until she doesn’t look like Lux anymore. 

A scream you're not sure is even your own echoes through the arena. Your lungs burn with every breath and your hands are now once again covered in the crimson of blood, only this time there’s some brain matter stuck to your flesh.

Those black patches return though this time they’re a welcome reprieve, as the world fades away to the sound of the canons. 

The surgical smell is the first thing that hits you. 

That disinfectant aroma that burns your nostrils as you awake with a start. Somehow you’re right back in that hospital bed, your arms and legs restrained. 

You scream for help, for your mother, for anyone that can ease the burn in your veins. 

Only when you feel warm flesh against yours do you realize there are no doctors pumping their poisons into your veins, no game makers currently plotting your diabolical torture, only haymitch holding you against his warm chest.

The scent of him, grain alcohol mixed with something that smells like bergamot and home encompasses you, slowly acting as an improvised calming agent to your nervous system.

“I’ve got you.” He grunts, holding you close as frantic tears pour down your face and you struggle to orientate yourself. “Say it… say it, sweetheart.”

You attempt to gather yourself, and it takes every ounce of strength left in you to repeat back your mantra to him. “I’m … Y/N … L/N, I … I’m … back home..  in twelve … I am…  safe.”

It takes four times all the way through to ground you, for the lingering pit in your stomach to recede back into the barely-manageable anxiety that has accompanied  you through your day to day life ever since leaving the arena. 

The two of you sit like this; with your forehead buried deep in his neck for an amount of time you have no way of quantifying. 

Eventually though, his large hand begins stroking your hair offering you what little comfort he can. 

Little does he know, his mere presence calms your soul as before long your breath has evened out. 

It's a little while after that before your brain begins firing again, albeit sluggishly, partly from the night terrors but also due to the sleep syrup open capped on your bedside table.

Haymitch doesn’t say a single word in this time, he simply holds you against him. 

First your mentor, now your friend. 

In his palm he holds out a tiny white tablet from the Captiol.

“Take it.”  He grunts when you hesitate. 

You recognise this tiny pill, it's a sedative. You’re well versed in their effects in the years since your games, the tortuous three years as a mentor hadn’t helped your mental state. 

You and sleep were no longer on speaking terms.

The nightmares had driven you to seek your neighbor out, normally a reclusive man.

Haymitch had become your only family in the years that followed the games. Your mother had passed before you even made it home, there were ridiculous rumors she had died of a broken heart, but you knew the seamstress had most likely failed due to the stress of watching you fight for your life in the arena.

She had died thinking you were doomed. Part of you is glad she never saw the monster you became. 

Despite your initial and overwhelming dislike of Haymitch, the shared trauma of the arena had bonded your souls in a way that went far beyond the realms of logical reasoning.

In spite of his best efforts to dissuade you, every year for three weeks before the annual reapings you had begun taking up residence in one of his spare rooms when the empty halls of your home in Victor's Village made your nerves unbearable.

There was nothing in this world you hated more than being alone.

Your fingers brush against his palm as they pinch the tiny pill that you know will bring you the temporary abyss you yearn for.

In a decision fueled by the grief of the coming days, you reach Haymitch's hip. Your fingers wrap around the flask attached to the buckle of his trousers.

“Sweetheart-” He protests for all of a second, before your eyes meet his. He must see the desperation that lurks beneath them. He acquiesces the flask, filled with what smells like paint stripper. Yet you take a gulp or three and then swallow down the pill with the fourth.

Pulling back you’re now vaguely embarrassed of your behavior and you’re acutely aware of his tired eyes watching you. Your legs have gone to sleep and you can only assume Haymitch is far worse off as he has nearly twenty-years on you and has been bearing your weight, yet he hasn’t voiced a complaint once. 

It's with that thought that you realize you must present a truly sorry state indeed, for the snarky bastard that is your closest friend to not have tossed a single jape your way, you decide to push your luck. 

“Don’t-” your voice is hoarse when you finally gather the courage to speak, you’re terrified that uttering the words will break the spell and his warm encompassing embrace will abandon you, leaving you to the cold sheets and fear of the weeks to come. “Will you stay with me, just til’ I’m asleep?” 

Haymitch stares you down seemingly weighing up your request, his eyes aren’t angry or annoyed at your request. They give away nothing of the inner workings of his complex brain, his baby blues are quite simply exhausted in a way that goes far beyond a lack of sleep. 

Haymitch says nothing, only nods his head towards your haphazardly strewn pillows, which are a mess from your tossing and turning. You’re quick to leap across the bed to fluff them up as if this will entice him to stay, though you needn't have bothered as he throws himself down into the pile with very little care. 

He huffs out a long suffering breath as he gets comfortable and pulls the duvet up to his chest before finally settling.

“You better not get handsy in the night, Sweetheart.”

You chuckle though you’re already face down in your pillow, the tablet and booze making an excellent pairing in your descent into oblivion. 

“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself, old man.”

He chuckles at your muffled words as he crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve awoken to him holding you after a nightmare, it had become something of a tradition in the weeks before the last two reapings when your shrill screams disturbed whatever it was Haymitch did all night. It is, however, the first time that he’s agreed to stay.

To some degree you understood this distance he was desperate to maintain. It was a relatively easy logical leap to understand his reluctance to give Snow any leverage to use against him.

As a Victor, caring was a weakness, you knew this better than most and yet, you couldn’t help but watch him as your eyes grew heavy.  

⇢ Next Part✨ coming soon

[xxthefaultinourscarsxx]

the importance of Effie and Haymitch.

i love love LOVE that the only reason Effie ever got involved in the games was to help her little sister out. more important than that is i love who Effie is for Haymitch.

first we see her supporting him until the last minute as he goes into the games and for the victor celebration in the capital. for Haymitch to have someone who is looking out for him and just him. not Mags or Wiress or Beetee who have ulterior motives for his success. someone just about him.

the moment when Effie shares she knew the type of person Haymitch was when he stopped to pick up her things when her make up bag got knocked over. She was the first one to see him outside of just being a rascal, or a tribute, or from district 12.

most importantly that she becomes the constant in his life after the games. he pushes everyone else away, but every year they get forced together again for a short time while they take 2 new kids to the slaughter.

Effie becomes the only person in Haymitch’s life to TRULY know him. she knows the type of person he is, always has. she also sees the devistation the aftermath of the games has caused him. she becomes the only one to truly grasp how much the games have destroyed him, even though he won. even though he won he will never go back to being the same person he was, even if that person still exists deep inside him.