#capitol punishment

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment Prologue (II)

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 4.2K

Prologue | Masterlist | Part I

As you and your mentor entered a room with the tube that would put you into the arena, your fear finally came to the forefront of your mind. Your breath became erratic as you confronted your almost guaranteed imminent death. Haymitch noticed your sudden stiffness, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re smarter than any of them. You only have to do this once. Okay?”

Seeing his sincerity and hope, your facade broke. “I don’t wanna die,” you finally admitted, tears pricking your eyes.

That broke his heart. You had spent so long convincing yourself and everyone else you were okay with dying. As upset as he had been because you were so willing to leave him, he admired your composure. But now there was a scared girl in your place. Haymitch knew you couldn’t win. You had only scored a 3 in your training. No one would bet on that. And while you had managed to survive alone in 12 for eight years, maybe you had been right. Maybe you were only able to survive in the Seam where people were indifferent and sometimes even kind. Here, your death would only benefit others.

Pushing all those thoughts aside for your sake, Haymitch gained the slightest smile. “There she is,” he murmured. “I know you can do it. You’ve actually struggled to survive on your own. The others probably can’t say the same. C’mere,” he said, pulling you into a hug. You reveled in the first comforting touch in god knows how long. His chin rested on top of your head. “You’re gonna run away from the cornucopia and then steal supplies. No fighting, okay? You’re gonna fly under the radar. That’s how you survived in 12, right?”

“Thirty seconds,” an automated voice came over the speaker, telling you that you had to get in the tube.

Haymitch finally pulled away. “I’ll see you soon,” he tried his hardest to smile, wiping away your tears. You returned his strained smile before unsteadily making your way to the tube.

Haymitch kept his facade up until you were out of view, having been lifted into the arena. He almost immediately pulled out his flask, taking a deep swig.

~

Being pushed up into the arena you were blinded by the sun and immediately confronted with a nearly unbearable heat. Gathering your bearings, you observed the arena. It looked like some sort of canyon. From what you could see, it wasn’t very wide in some spots. The largely empty field surrounding the cornucopia looked to stretch about a mile behind you before you could spot some trees. It’d be a long time before you could get cover, you just hoped that the others would be too distracted fighting each other to notice you running for a mile.

Turning your attention back to the cornucopia you spotted all sorts of weapons and supplies. Based on the heat you were tempted to try to grab some water but you kept Haymitch’s words in mind. Not to mention that if you went towards the cornucopia you lost valuable time to get to cover.

15… the timer read. 10… 5… 3, 2, 1! The buzzer went and you immediately turned, running for the trees.

You ran for god knows how long. You weren’t sure if anyone was following you but you were too afraid to look back. Afraid of turning around to see your fellow children slaughtering one another. Afraid of seeing someone chasing you, and even worse, slowing down enough, incidentally, so they could catch you. So you kept going until you finally reached the trees and even further after that. You finally let yourself slow to a stop in order to catch your breath.

Completely alone and without any supplies, you knew you needed to find someone soon so you wouldn’t die of exposure or be completely defenseless. But upon hearing a twig snap, you came to the conclusion that you weren’t in the position to run anyone yet so you continued running.

~

You eventually moved to the edge of the forest, figuring that if any singular tribute had set up camp in the open you’d be able to spot them easier. You had spent the better part of the afternoon learning to climb trees. While you lacked the muscle to actually climb, you made up for it with a malnourished frame that allowed you to climb up tree limbs that would snap under a career’s weight. You eventually figured it out, fortunately in time to see a fire spark up about a hundred yards from you.

But as you were watching the fire the Capitol music began to play, blue light flooding the sky. Looking up, you could see the fallen being projected onto the night sky. You counted as they went. The District 3 girl, District 4 girl, District 6 boy, both tributes from District 8 and 11, and finally Alder. Eight in total. Fairly low bloodbath, you had seen as many as 3/4 of the tributes get wiped out in the first 10 minutes before.

You weren’t sure how to feel about Alder. Yeah, he had been a dick but he was still a person. A person you knew. Who had a life and a family. You were sure those who knew him were wishing it had been you instead of him. Hell, you were only alive because Haymitch had only mentored you. And he had told you to run away. You were also relieved you wouldn’t have to kill him. Trying to shake off the knowledge of your district-mate’s demise, you turned your attention back to the fire.

Whoever had started a fire in the middle of a field wasn’t completely stupid. They were surrounded by a few boulders and rocks, judging by the weakness of the fire you wouldn’t have spotted it if you weren’t up in the trees.

You waited for a while until the fire was out, signaling that the tribute was asleep. So you crept from the trees, praying that this poor child you were about to kill had supplies so it’s be worth it. You couldn’t really afford to let your humanity get in the way if you were going to have any shot at getting home.

~

Haymitch watched the games from the penthouse. This had been the first year in a while he had actually sat down to watch the games. He never bothered to watch the hopeful kids he was forced to meet get slaughtered. But he watched this year, proud of you for running away and figuring out how to climb.

The cameras had only been focused on the careers ever since night fell. He supposed everyone was alone because when no fighting was going on, they only played the footage of ally interactions. The careers had formed a group. All of them except for the District 4 girl who had been killed with a spear to the chest while fighting over it with the boy from 7 during the bloodbath.

The careers had set up camp, the boy from 1 already establishing himself as their leader, having killed the boys from Districts 6 and 11, and then both tributes from 8.

But the coverage of their little bonding session was interrupted by cameras focused on the sleeping girl from 5 and you, creeping across the field.

“What do we have here?” Caesar asked the audience and Lucius Caecilius, this year’s other announcer, rhetorically.

“It looks like the District 12 girl, Y/N L/N, is on the move. The question is, if Necole Carrick wakes up, who will win in a fight?”

“My money is on Carrick. She has supplies, L/N is completely defenseless,” Caesar explained.

“Let’s see,” Caecilius said as you finally reached the girl from 5.

Haymitch watched in anticipation as you perched yourself on a rock, just above the sleeping girl. He held his breath, could you actually do this? His heart stopped as you carefully reached down, slipping the knife out of the girl’s hand. He watched you sigh in relief as you grabbed it. The camera was focused on your face as you seemed to steel yourself before softly leaping onto the ground next to her before quickly swiping the blade through the girl’s carotid artery. You jumped as the canon went off, showing the audience how shaky you were. Tears were pouring down your face as you grabbed the backpack and any other supplies before running out of the field, safely into the trees.

~

By the time the sun came back up, the tears on your face had dried and there was a puddle of vomit at the base of the tree. You had found some dried meat in the pack so you had nibbled a little on that, careful not to waste your rations. But eating had helped you stop shaking enough to climb down the tree. Unfortunately, the pack hadn’t contained any water, but it did have an empty water bottle so you set off to find water.

You had stuck to the walls of the canyons, figuring that if you had to climb them, you could. There wasn’t much room to grip them but it was possible. Fortunately, the trees still provided enough shade for your pursuit of water to not be dire.

As you continued on you became less confident until you noticed something. You couldn’t be sure but you were pretty sure you had reached a point where the walls of the canyon were curving into you. But as you continued on, you found an opening in the wall. It was mostly covered by vegetation and would go unnoticed had you not been following this wall for hours. Seeing as there were few reasons for you not to go in, you went, finding that it sloped down into the ground. Continuing on, it became lighter. Streams of light came from thinly covered holes in the ceiling, up into what you realized was the main arena. It was a miracle you hadn’t fallen down here.

As you were realizing this may be a good place to hide, you could hear it. Running water. You practically cried in relief, moving closer to it. As you reached a small stream, you immediately kneeled to the ground, scooping the water into your hands. You had learned that running water was less likely to contain dangerous pathogens or bacteria but you should still boil it. Regardless, you didn’t care. You finally had water.

After cleaning yourself off a little and filling your water bottle you continued on, following the stream. But as you went, you heard footsteps above you. Making sure to stay out of view from the streams of lights, you waited for the footsteps to be gone. But they never went away, instead, the boy from District 10, the boy who had ogled at you in the elevator, fell into the cavern. You didn’t waste a second jumping on top of him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as disoriented as you thought he would’ve been because he tossed you off effortlessly.

The next thing you knew he was on top of you, his fists wildly hitting you. Getting your feet under him, you were able to kick him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Distracting him enough that you could kick him off of you. You fumbled for the knife in your pack as you noticed him crawling towards his fallen sword. Seeing him, you disregarded the knife in your bag, going towards the sword. You managed to reach it before him but just before he could grab the handle, you had to grab the blade. You nicked your hand but were too high on adrenaline to notice. You slipped it from his grasp before grabbing the handle, swinging it down into his head before running off.

You could hear his screams of agony as you ran back to the entrance, afraid his screams would draw other tributes. You certainly didn’t want to be trapped down here with the careers, being trapped in a canyon with them was bad enough. But by the time you reached the surface, a canon went off. Unless another tribute had been killed, at least District 10’s suffering had ended.

You no longer felt safe on the ground, you couldn’t just stay in one tree, and you certainly wouldn’t be able to just jump from tree to tree so you began to look to the canyons. There were ledges higher up you could theoretically walk across, it would just be a struggle to reach them. So you prepared yourself, subjecting yourself to bleeding fingers until you finally reached a ledge you could actually stand on. It was about 10 feet off the ground and went decently far. So you walked back towards the Cornucopia, occasionally climbing down and up as ledges got too thin and you had to go to another one.

You continued on like this for a while until you spotted the blonde hair of District 4’s male tribute. He was alone, unusual for a career tribute. You made sure he was alone before silently making your way down the canyon. He didn’t notice you as you followed him for a bit. Eventually, he stopped, turning to the canyon wall before unzipping his pants. You hesitated for a second, not wanting to be put in that position but this was your best opportunity so you took it.

As he finished, you crept up behind him, quickly wrapping your arm around his head, pulling it back so you could easily draw your knife across his throat. He tried to scream, but you cut so deep he couldn’t. This time you watched, blood pouring from his throat as the life left his eyes. Once the canon went off, you knew you wouldn’t have much time so you quickly took the belt lined with blades before running off, not wanting to risk the other careers seeing you as you tried to climb.

Reaching another remote area, you slung the blades around your hips before climbing up into a tree for the night. You hadn’t slept in nearly two days so you knew you’d have to figure something out tonight.

As you were settling down you heard chimes from above. Looking up at the sky you found a silver parachute floating down towards you. It got caught in the leaves of the branch you were on, forcing you to precariously balance on the end to reach it. How ironic it would be if you died in the Capitol’s game while reaching the thing the Capitol gifted you to survive.

You managed to grab it, settling back where you had been before opening it. First, you saw a note.

Good job, sweetheart - Haymitch

You couldn’t help but be embarrassed of the heat building in your cheeks but you tried to ignore it. Opening up the container you found some sort of salve. Unsure of what it was you reached a finger into it, immediately noticing a soothing sensation on your torn up finger. You looked at it, noticing the blood was stopping so you quickly spread it over your marred hands and any other random scrapes you had gained from all the climbing practice.

You sighed at the soothing relief, resting against the grunt of the tree.

~

“Well, it’s been an unusually bloody second day, this looks like this may be the quickest Hunger Games in a while,” Caesar recapped for the audience.

“Yes, it has,” Caecilius agreed. “For those of you unable to tune in today the allies from Districts 1, 2, and 4 decided to split up today. Unusual behavior for this alliance as usually the members of this group, known as the careers, stick together until they start fighting one another. But they had a fairly successful day. Collectively they eliminated the male tributes from Districts 3 and 5, the girls from 6, 7, and 10, as well as both tributes from 9.”

“And in a surprise, Y/N L/N has eliminated the males from Districts 4 and 10. I’d like to remind everyone that she scored a 3 in her training evaluation,” Caesar reminded, looking genuinely surprised at her success.

“Clever one, she is. She kept the careers’ focus away from her. Only a matter of time before the remaining careers figure out she’s the one who killed their ally.”

“They seem to be figuring it out right now,” Caesar laughed as the cameras focused on the remaining careers.

Today's deaths were being projected into the sky and they had noticed their ally’s death. They were currently trying to track the canon fire today to figure out who could have done it. Trying to determine whether or not the killer had already been eliminated. But as they discussed they failed to mention the possibility of District 12’s female tribute.

“Oh, seems they’re forgetting someone,” Caesar laughed.

“Can you blame them?” Caecilius laughed along with Caesar. “I don’t believe a female tribute from 12 has made it past the first day since the 50th games when Haymitch Abernathy won.” Caesar murmured in agreement before he changed everyone’s attention to recounting today’s deaths, playing them on the screen.

“I’ll just say, everyone better watch out for L/N, she’s a sneaky one,” he commented as the video of Piers’ death was played.

~

You were woken up by a canon. Based on last night’s light show it was just you and the careers. Fuck. You were their target now. Unless they were stupid enough to think they were the only ones left and they were killing each other right now, saving you some trouble. But you weren’t quite that lucky as you heard voices.

You cursed internally as you realized the careers were literally walking below you now. You could hear them. “Who the hell is left?” a female voice demanded. “I’m pretty sure everyone else is gone.” You rolled your eyes, why would she admit that?

“No,” a male voice interrupted. “There’s one person left. I’m not sure who but eight died the first day, ten yesterday, and we just killed one more. There’s one more person left.”

“Well then, who the fuck is it?” She then began listing both tributes from each district, including you. “Who else is left?”

“I don’t know, but the math doesn’t lie. Eight plus ten plus one equals nineteen. Twenty-four minus nineteen equals five.”

“Whatever,” another male voice interrupted. “We’ll do what we did yesterday. If we split up, we can find whoever is left.”

“But that’s how Piers died!” the other girl protested.

“You know only one of us get out, right?” the last male who spoke corrected her. “If we kill whoever else is left, we ensure it’s one of us. And we all know one of us deserves to go home more than this last pest, right?” The others murmured in agreement before splitting off to find you.

As you waited to ensure you were alone you steeled yourself. You’ve already killed three people. If you just left everything behind and killed four more people, you could end this today and go home. But before you climbed down, you heard the chiming of another parachute. Looking up, you found another silver parachute floating down towards you. You reached out, letting it fall into your palm. Opening up, you found a note.

Get your strength up before you win this thing - Haymitch

You couldn’t help the smile that crept over your lips as you opened the container, revealing a stew. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were as you quickly ate, uncaring that you didn’t have any utensils. By the time you had finished, you had calmed down enough to set off on your mission.

It didn’t take long before you found the girl from District 2. Unfortunately, she wasn’t as dumb as District 4’s male tribute because she noticed you coming. She immediately chucked a spear at you as she turned to face you. You were able to move enough so it wouldn’t pierce your torso but it did manage to graze your shoulder.

Seeing as she didn’t manage to kill you, she immediately began running. She was fast. So, doing the only thing you could think of, you threw one of the knives in your belt at her. You were surprised the blade found its mark, sinking into her back. She fell but she wasn’t done yet so you walked over, taking her spear and stabbing it into the back of her neck.

As you continued on you noticed the thinly covered spots in the ground. Realizing that moving around unseen was a tremendous advantage, you slipped underground, ensuring you didn’t break anything in your descent. You first located the stream, replenishing your water before continuing on. You listened for footsteps as you went, almost giving up until you heard the light footsteps of who you assumed to be District 1’s female tribute.

Following the path of her footsteps, you tracked her, waiting until she was close enough to a hole for you to make your move. As soon as she was, you jumped, pulling yourself out of the earth. You had been planning to drag her underground but based on her scream, she saw you. You cursed as you dragged yourself up, giving chase to her.

She wasn’t nearly as fast as the girl from 2 because you caught up with her easily, tackling her to the ground. She struggled against you, starting a flurry of swinging limbs as both of you tried to get the upper hand. She was a lot bigger than you, attributed to her better nutrition, but she still struggled against you, screaming the names of her allies.

As you continued struggling you realized you’d have to shut her up quickly and get the hell out of there before it became two or three against one.

You found the strength to pin her, sitting on her back before sending a knife into her jugular. Just as the canon went off, you heard a yell. “Historia!” the boy from District 2 called in horror. Shit. He was huge. You’d never be able to beat him by brute force. So you ran. You went for the nearest tree that didn’t look impossible to climb but once you were about three feet off the ground, you felt a yank pull you down to the ground. Hard. You fell with so much force you were pretty sure he broke a rib because your chest exploded in pain.

You watched in horror as he swung his sword up, poised to lodge itself in your head but, with much effort, you rolled away just in time. You struggled to your feet, still holding your ribs. You threw a knife as best as you could which lodged itself into his arm. But he just ripped it out before running towards you with a sword. You jumped out of the way, once again, just in time. You knew this wouldn’t last, you were way more injured than him. As he ran at you again, you prepared to accept your death until you heard a yell. Opening your eyes you saw half of him was underground, leaving only his torso still above the earth. The only reason he hadn’t fallen completely through was because the sword sticking through his chest was lodged in some rocks, keeping him propped up.

You gasped at the sight. He looked up at you, tears in his eyes. “What are you looking at?!” he yelled. “C’mon, you did this! Kill me!” he demanded. His face was full of rage and pain, so much so you couldn’t tell if he genuinely wanted you to end his suffering or not. You would have if it weren’t for his flailing arms you were sure would try to drag you to death with him. So you turned, leaving him screaming as you stumbled towards the cornucopia to finish this.

You continued on for what seemed like forever. The pain in your chest was only getting worse as breathing became harder. The only, very slight, relief was the sound of the canon as the boy from District 2 finally died. The only question was whether he had succumbed to his injuries or if the final tribute, the boy from District 1, had put him out of his misery and told him to be careful of you. Either way, you knew you had to get the drop on District 1. You couldn’t beat him by brute force, especially in this state. So you went to the Cornucopia, waiting for him inside and trying not to fall asleep.

~

“C’mon, don’t fall asleep,” Haymitch murmured to himself as he literally sat on the edge of his seat.

The sponsors who had sent you food and medicine sat around him, watching too. Everyone was shocked when you started picking off the careers, even more so when you managed to avoid death at District 2’s hands. He had nearly let the tears fall when the boy had dragged you to the ground, clearly injuring you severely. But you managed to survive and now you just had one more obstacle to overcome.

“Oh, here comes Blackford,” Caesar announced as the boy from District 1 ran out towards the cornucopia.

He stood in front of it, arms stretched out, with a sword in one hand. “C’mon! I know you’re out there,” he bellowed. “Let’s finish this!”

“Here she comes,” Caecilius announced as you slipped out of the cornucopia. You stepped up behind the boy, wrapping your arms around him, blade poised exactly like you had when you killed Piers.

Murmurs of excitement grew the closer you got to him, and cheers exploded as the canon went off and the boy from 1 fell at your feet. There were several congratulations to Haymitch and your sponsors as he tried not to cry in relief. You were alive. You were gonna be okay.

Prologue | Masterlist | Part I

[madamshogunassassin]

Still Not A Player - Big Pun (1998)

I low-key prefer this version to the Joe remix version 🤷🏻‍♀️

[i-eat-worlds]

Starcross Part 5

Flashback! This is shorter, sorry, I was going to work on lengthening it but Clonebang happened.

Content: explicit murder and violence, space imperialism, capital punishment, death, nationalism, conditioned whumpee

KM-4862 ran behind one of the simulated combat center’s many moveable hunks of cover, crouching down by the large block of white metal. The knife’s pulse blade was activated, energy radiating all the way up into the handle. It was thrilling.

Around the corner, it could hear footsteps. They were quiet, more so than would’ve been natural, but not quiet enough. Not like one of its compatriots would’ve been. That was the sound of prey.

A traitor to Yera, who had been sentenced to execution. Well, technically, it was a ght for their life. But they would lose. The weapon would make sure of that. Traitors to Yera deserved nothing but a slow, agonizing death.

It smiled as they rounded the corner, rolling the knife in its hands. Show time. They stepped out from around the box, and it pounced. Body slammed into body as it tackled the traitor to the ground. They screamed, pinned under the weapon’s legs, crying out for some deity it didn’t know in a language it didn’t speak. Nothing would save them, though.

Mercilessly, the weapon sank its knife into their chest. It slid between their ribs like they were made of butter, drawing another scream from their already wide open mouth. They bucked wildly, kicking their legs and scratching at it in an effort to get free, but it was all in vain.

It twisted the knife in their chest, wrenching it inwards towards their sternum. The traitor went silent, eyes shimmering as tears started to flow. They mouthed something that the weapon didn’t understand over and over again.

Every detail of their face was cast in agony. Eyes wide, mouth gaping open, trying to scream but unable too. Not a single speck of the horror on display escaped being burned into KM-4862’s mind. For a brief moment, a microsecond, it felt a tinge of guilt.

Maybe it didn’t want this.

There was no room here for “want.”

The weapon ripped the knife out, blood splattering over everything around it, and over its entire frontside. It rose, knife gripped tightly in its hand, ready for its next target.

Taglist: @whump-snob @whump-kia @itsoundslikeafury @blackberry-bloody @snakebites-and-ink

@whumpacabra @cepheusgalaxy @softvampirewhump @my-little-versaille @pigeonwhumps

@whumped-by-glitter @snaillamp @rainydaywhump @platysaurus @whumpy-daydreams

@whiskygoldwings @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @rainbowsandwhumperflies @risk606 @starfields08000

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

UK POST-PUNK SPOTTED IN THE WILDS OF EARLY '80s CENTRAL VALLEY CALIFORNIA HARDCORE.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on the true "first line-up" of Fresno hardcore punk band CAPITOL PUNISHMENT, performing live at Roeding park, c. 1981, with the guitarist rocking a "Killing Joke" 1980 debut album band tee.

Dale Stewart-guitar

Keith Johnson-drums

Eric Tsuda-vocals

Joceylin Fedrau-bass guitar

Sources: www.stagedive-records.com/capitolpunishment.html & High Notes (Coffee+ Vinyl).

[masterofpupiez]

MEGADETH AND THE CAPITOL PUNISHMENT.

[hatecomeseasy]

CAPITOL PUNISHMENT - Jody Is My Bloody Love

[thenewdemocratus]

Firing Line With William F. Buckley: Norman Mailer- 'Crime & Punishment: Gary Gilmore'

Source:Firing Line With William F. Buckley– Author Norman Mailer, talking about his book about convicted murderer Gary Gilmore, in 1979. Source:The New Democrat “Episode S0390, Recorded on October 11, 1979, Guest: Norman Mailer” From Firing Line With William F. Buckley This is about convicted serial murderer Gary Gilmore who was obviously guilty of multiple murders out in Utah in the mid 1970s.��

[teachanarchy]

Watch "The Trolley Problem Is A Joke" on YouTube

[farosdaughter]

“Coryo only cared about Lucy Gray’s survival for his own selfish reasons”

Coryo thinking about Lucy Gray’s survival:

Before any thought of his own well-being or the incumbent threat of his family’s imminent homelessness, comes Coryo’s desire to help Lucy Gray survive the Games. Those worries don’t negate the sincerity of his intentions towards Lucy Gray, just like Katniss cared both about the survival of her family and keeping Peeta alive. Personal, ‘selfish’ needs can and do coexist with altruistic ones in most people. Not to mention that Snow being willing to do anything to ensure his and his family’s survival doesn’t scream villainous mastermind. He’s an underdog whose only concern is staving off hunger and doing a good enough job to achieve some sense of security.

His determination to keep Lucy Gray alive is born out of gratitude, honor as well as selfless love. Coryo’s motivation here is entirely altruistic: he risks everything he has at stake (his reputation, his chance to save his family from ignominy and hunger, his entire future) to give Lucy Gray a bigger chance at survival.

If it had only been a matter of getting the Plinth money, he would’ve focused all his efforts on endearing himself to the Plinths (as he ends up doing at the end of the story). On the contrary, violating the Academy rules and basically challenging the purpose of the Hunger Games could only result in Coryo’s fall from grace.

It’s not the cheating itself, but the circumstance that he did so for the love of one of the tributes that lands Coryo in exile. If he’d cheated simply to show off or for any other selfish reason, you can bet his punishment wouldn’t have been as extreme. Dr Gaul sees how having a soft spot for Lucy Gray will eventually compromise his allegiance to the Capitol: it’s one mistake that cannot be tolerated in the future elite of Panem.

[bluerevs-a]

ﾟ ✧  plot: joel just got d*mped and is trying to get sloppy drunk. any connection. open to: f / nb .

          “don’t look at me like that,” joel begs, “no judgement tonight." the amber hue of his whiskey neat was skewed in the bar's dim light, and he could finally begin to feel his head swim from the alcohol. “i’ll get over it. it’s fine.”

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment Prologue

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book, suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 5.2K (sorry)

Masterlist | Prologue (II)

“Y/N L/N!” Your heart dropped and your blood ran with ice. No, no. You were 18 fucking years old for god’s sake. You were so close to being out. Six years of reapings and even more slips with your name, because you had to take out tesserae, had finally caught up with you.

You realized the girls around you were backing up, leaving you to stand in the middle with nowhere to hide. You had always felt bad for the kids being singled out like this but now you realized just how isolating it already was. You looked up to the stage, your face already projected onto the screen. Just below that, your district escort, Salvia Vala, was beckoning for you to come up on the stage. You were already so close you could see the flaws in her caked on makeup and artificial… everything.

Realizing that just standing there would neither give you a better chance nor keep you from going into the games, you made your way to the stairs. As you were pulled towards the center of the stage, you tried desperately not to look at the people of your district. You were a bit of a loner in 12 so you weren’t avoiding the gazes of those who cared about you, you were avoiding the pity in the eyes of the people who never bothered to help you.

Next was the boys’ reaping. “Alder Oakly,” Salvia called out. You didn’t look at the boy until he was facing you on the stage, trying to give him the slightest bit of dignity. You shook his hand when prompted, observing him. He was clean, unlike the people you knew in the Seam. He probably came from the wealthier part of 12 but he was still pale like a lot of 12. His dark hair had the slightest bit of coal dust, also very common in 12 despite his wealthier status. His clothing was pristine in contrast to your best dress which was covered in coal dust and faded with age.

You were quickly ushered into the district capital building, into a nicely decorated room. One of the few buildings the Capitol had actually built in the districts so when they had to grace the poorest district with their presence, they wouldn’t immediately go running for the hills.

You sat quietly. This was supposed to be the room people said their goodbyes to you in. But there was no one to wish you luck or mourn you when you died. So you sat with your thoughts. Your head was simultaneously empty and racing with thoughts. Across the hall, you could hear sobs of presumably Alder’s mother. Maybe his girlfriend. You had no idea. You were kind of relieved no one came to see you. At least you knew you wouldn’t cause any pain to anyone when you were gone.

You were then jolted from your thoughts by the door opening. You recognized Haymitch Abernathy, the victor of the 50th Hunger Games. Apparently, he was supposed to attend the reapings but, after being so drunk one time, he fell off the stage and they had stopped requiring him to be there. You had seen him a few times at the Hobb buying alcohol but other than that, the only things you knew about him were rumors. That he had won the “wrong” way and the Capitol had killed his family for it.

He made his way into the room, only stumbling slightly until he slumped on the chair. As he sat he took a moment to observe her. Rather than a tear-stained face or eyes wide with fear, she just stared at him quizzically. Clearly taken off guard by his presence. Her eyes were filled with curiosity, giving her a look of innocence he knew the Capitol would love.

You were unsure what to say as he took a deep swig from his flask. “Okay,” he slurred out, his tone as if he were correcting you, “I don’t normally do this but I’ve seen you around the Hobb, and that Al kid has more than enough support.” You still didn’t know what was going on, given that he was the only living Victor in 12 you thought he was supposed to prepare you together. “My advice? Start drinking now. You wanna start?” he asked, holding out the flask to you.

You took it hesitantly, still unsure how to react to the situation. You took a whiff first, your nose burning. But seeing as you had nothing better to do, you pressed it to your lips, tipping it back tentatively. There was a surprising amount in there based on how inebriated he already was so you got a full swig. You immediately began coughing, hating the burn that seemed to course through your body as you swallowed.

Haymitch chuckled a little. “What? You never have whisky?” You only shook your head. “Seriously?” he stopped laughing. “I thought they said you were 18. I’d understand if you were 12 or even 14 but 18 years and you never got drunk?” He looked shocked. Despite alcohol being technically illegal it was probably the most popular thing sold on the black market.

“It was either buy food or liquor,” you explained. “And when it came to stealing, it was either risk getting caught stealing food or liquor.” Haymitch hummed before pulling a roll wrapped in a napkin out of his jacket pocket, holding it out to you. You shook your head no, “Can’t even think about eating.” For the first time in god knows how long you didn’t feel the lingering hunger.

“My real advice? Eat. You’ll need it to keep you going in the games.”

At that you laughed. “You think I can win? The starving girl, from 12, with no prospects, winning the fucking hunger games? I don’t know, maybe someone like that hunter girl could win but I have no skills.”

“Can you hold a knife? Can you point it at someone? You’ve got skills,” Haymitch shrugged.

You rolled your eyes. “You and I both know it’s more than that. It’s about survival, sponsors, fighting skills, the ability to actually take a life.”

“Don’t assume what I know. I actually went to the games. I know what it’s like. You don’t.”

“Yet,” you added. “Maybe I‘ll never know. They have bombs in the arena, right? If you step off the platform early? Instant death has to be better than getting hacked apart by a career,” you mused.

Haymitch was horrified by the calm she exuded while talking about how she was planning to kill herself.

Haymitch shook his head. “If you jump off that platform you just give them what they want. Submission. Fight to survive. Be the first female victor from 12 in 57 years.”

“Why do you even care?” you asked, sick of being told what to do. “I know you’ve never exactly been mentor of the year. Why are you going out of your way to talk to me? Convincing me to try?”

Haymitch opened and closed his mouth a few times at a loss for words. He then just sighed, downing another swig of whiskey before standing up. “I’ll see you on the train.”

~

You sat on the train, staring down at your empty plate. The train car was full of food you never dreamed you’d get the opportunity to eat. But you still couldn’t bear the idea of actually eating. Then, the door opened and Alder came in. He sat down and immediately began serving himself, digging in. “You can eat?” you asked. “I haven’t been able to stomach the idea of eating since…”

“I wasn’t able to either, at first, until dinner last night. I forced myself to take a bite and ever since then I’ve had an appetite,” he explained. You turned your attention back to the food, contemplating his words. Reaching for a muffin, you pulled a little off, popping it in your mouth. “Have you met our mentor yet? He came to dinner and asked about you. When he realized we weren’t both here he just grabbed some food and left.”

“Uh, no,” you lied, taking another bite of the muffin. It was nothing like you had ever had before. It was sweet and filling but also light and airy. “He’s a drunk. Only here because he had to be.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” a voice cut in from the door. You didn’t even turn around, just waited for him to walk into your eyeline. “I’m here for the desserts,” he picked up a pastry as he sat down, “and refreshments,” he held up a glass of brown liquor.

“So what do we do? How do we survive?” Alder asked.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. “All you wealthier kids are all the same. ‘How do I survive? How do I win?’ You know who wins? The kids who have struggled. Who’ve provided for themselves and their families,” he ranted, looking at you over the rim of his glass.

You watched Alder visibly deflate. Clearly he wasn’t ready to die. “You’ve had kids from all over 12, right? Where are they now?” you asked. You knew it was wrong but you were already sick of this drunk’s disparity in attitudes.

Haymitch just pursed his lips, getting up and taking his drink and plate with him.

“Why’d you say that?” Alder asked angrily. “He’s our best shot at getting out of that arena.”

“I said it because he was being a dick. Besides, he’s lost every tribute in the past 17 years. That’s 34 kids he’s had the opportunity to save but he was probably too busy drinking.”

“I mean… it’s not entirely his fault. There are factors out of his control.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Get off his dick, he’s not gonna give you anything more just because you’re kissing his ass.” Standing up, you left Alder alone, heading towards your room on the train. Maybe you could get at least some more sleep. But as you made your way there, Haymitch appeared in the hall, looking stern.

“You have something you wanna say?” he asked, expecting an apology.

“Not really,” you dismissed, trying to walk past him. But he reached out, grabbing your bicep in a surprisingly strong grip for someone so drunk all the time.

“What is your problem?”

“You’re the one with the fucking problem!” you practically yelled. “Why’d you have to scare someone who actually wants to fight? Why are you so insistent on wasting your time with me?”

Haymitch once again opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. He finally clenched his jaw before shaking his head, changing the topic. “You need sponsors if ‘the starving girl from 12’ is gonna win.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “I’m not playing their fucking game. I’m not going to win.”

Now Haymitch rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “Don’t you get it? By winning you defy them. They are trying their hardest to kill you. Win,” he was now practically pleading. “If you’re so eager to kill yourself now, why didn’t you just give up a long time ago? I’ve seen you around 12, I know you’re resilient and if you really wanted to die, you would’ve frozen or starved to death by now.”

You were so taken aback by his words all you could do was tug yourself away from his grasp but he held firm. “Let go of me,” you demanded.

“Promise me you’ll try to get sponsors and actually try to win.”

You stared at him, finding sincerity in his eyes. “Fine,” you agreed.

He nodded, satisfied, before letting you go.

~

The first thing the Capitol did to you was wax and scrub your entire body. This was probably the cleanest you had ever been but the lingering sting all over your body was not worth it. You had overheard a few stylists whispering about being short on time. Apparently your train had arrived late. So you only got a few brief minutes to revel in being clean because soon you were dressed in a black, tarp skirt that barely covered you, and a sheer bandeau top before being powdered with black dust, clearly meant to be coal dust.

You coughed repeatedly as they dumped a bucket of it over your head. They had told you repeatedly to stop moving but you couldn’t help it.

“Ah, isn’t this the most beautiful outfit you’ve ever worn in your life?” a cheery voice came from the doorway. “It’s a fashionable take on the drab coveralls you people in 12 wear.” You opened your eyes, hoping more dust wouldn’t fall into them. You finally caught a glimpse of who you presumed your stylist was. She had a big mess of green curls and everything else about her was as outrageous as her hair. “I’m Vodka, I’ll be your personal stylist while you’re here,” she smiled brightly.

You tried to force a smile but another powder of dust over your face stopped you. “Hold still,” the woman reprimanded you.

When they finally deemed you “covered” enough you were sent out to the chariots. You walked in hesitantly, not finding Alder there yet. Heading over to the very last chariot you could feel the gazes on you but you just kept walking, trying to cover yourself as much as possible. You weren’t the only one subject to the leering gaze of teenage boys, the girl from 4 was only wearing a net.

Soon enough Alder joined you and you were off, being pulled down the chariot line. Alder and all the other tributes were smiling and waving but you just stared ahead, refusing to acknowledge anyone even when Alder tried to make you smile and wave.

Once you were finally back inside, out of public view, you spotted Haymitch. He clapped for you and Alder as he approached. You noticed the way he kept his gaze firmly locked on your face. When he did look away from your face it was firmly above your chest line. “Al, good job. See that Y/N? He’s gonna get sponsors while you starve out in the arena because he’s likeable.”

“I’m not a huge fan of smiling at the people ogling at me but I’ll keep that in mind,” you answered sarcastically. You headed for the elevator, arms covering yourself, avoiding the gazes of the smirking boys as you passed. Upon reaching the elevator, the District 10 tributes and mentors joined you along with Haymitch and Alder finally catching up. Once the metal doors opened, you stepped inside, trying to ignore all of their presences. You held yourself tighter noticing the gazes of the District 10 people. Haymitch must have noticed it too because he stepped away from the wall of the elevator, placing a gentle hand on your hip to push you back so he could step in front of you. You just stared at Haymitch quizzically, touched by his simple reaction, even though you knew he couldn’t see you.

Eventually, District 10 got off the elevator and you were able to leave the tense elevator too. Alder immediately headed to his room, you following behind. But while he continued on, you stopped before disappearing into the hallway. Turning, you found Haymitch already at the bar cart. “Uh thanks,” you said weakly. “For um…”

He just waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” He then turned his attention to his glass, “Didn’t like the way they were looking at you anyways,” he mumbled mostly to himself.

“Sorry, what?” you asked, unable to make out his words from across the room.

“Nothing,” Haymitch brushed off again. “It was nothing. Get some sleep. You start training tomorrow.” Unconvinced but knowing you wouldn’t get what you were asking for you just nodded, turning to head to bed.

~

The next morning you stood lined up with all the other tributes. You noticed everyone was sending each other glares and eager smiles. Well… the careers were. That was sort of the nice thing about being a career. They have built in friends for the days they spend in existential dread and isolation in the Capitol. Until they all turn their backs on one another and go on a murder spree, slaughtering their fellow children.

You noticed they spared the occasional glance at Alder along with some of the other tributes. Whether they were determining their fellow allies or their first victims, you weren’t sure but you were just glad they weren’t looking at you now that you had all your clothes on.

“In two weeks, 23 of you will be dead,” the head instructor announced, catching everyone’s attention. “One of you will be alive. Who that is will depend on how well you pay attention for the next four days. Particularly to what I’m about to say. First, no fighting with the other tributes. You’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena. My advice is, don’t ignore the survival skills. Everyone wants to grab a sword but most of you will die from natural causes. About three of you will die from infection, and about five from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife. You’ll begin with combat training, then survival. After today, you’ll be free to practice whatever skills for the remaining three days before your individual evaluations.”

Being the girl from 12, you were the last to practice everything. You learned quickly that while the careers may laugh at those who failed whatever the exercise was, they dismissed them. You could faintly hear their mumbles as a non-career tribute excelled in any particular skill. Deciding to take a little public humiliation over a target on your back, you purposely failed at every skill. You barely struggled your way up a net, let your arms shake as you picked up the axes, failed miserably at starting a fire, and repeatedly chose poisonous plants to eat.

You weren’t alone in your struggles. The question was, is everyone else faking too?

~

After your first day of training, you went back up to the District 12 floor, straight to your room. You were exhausted as you stepped into the shower, reveling in the luxury of warm water.

After probably far too long you finally got out, wrapping a towel around yourself. Heading out to the main room you didn’t spot your mentor until you were fully out of the bathroom. “Holy shit,” you exclaimed in surprise, seeing him seated on your bed. You immediately pulled the towel tighter around yourself, not missing the way his gaze lingered on your legs for a second.

“Uh, sorry,” he quickly tried to disguise where his attention was. “I- uh… just…” he looked to be seriously trying to figure out what he had initially been here to say before breaking out into a chuckle. “Sorry, I completely forgot what I was gonna say.” He then snapped his fingers, pointing at you. “I know what I was gonna say. You fucking suck. I was watching you. You somehow managed to fail every possible skill. You’ve survived god knows how long without your parents. I find it hard to believe you don’t have any survival skills. Your score is impacted by this training time too. Sponsors don’t send money to tributes who don’t score well.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? For whatever reason I can survive in the Seam but it’s not exactly the same as the fucking wilderness where I’m actively being hunted. Besides, before I came here I don’t think I had ever had a full meal so I can’t exactly help that everyone else is stronger than me.”

Haymitch sighed, standing up. “Look, I get it, a lifetime of malnourishment can’t be fixed by a few days in the Capitol so that’s why you learn how to survive. I’m begging you, figure out your survival skills so the cold or dehydration or even hunger don’t kill you.”

“Why do you care so much?” you asked again. “You don’t treat Alder like this. As far as I know, you haven’t given a damn about any of your tributes.”

Haymitch just sighed, shaking his head. “Get some sleep,” he dismissed, stepping towards the door.

Sick of not knowing what was going on and being treated like a doll, you blocked his path. “No, you’re gonna tell me what’s going on. You’ve been weird like this ever since we met.”

“You don’t know me, you don’t know what’s weird for me. Maybe I'm just looking out for the kid who was raised in the Seam just like me,” Haymitch bullshitted a response. He was desperately hoping she’d accept that because he wasn’t about to tell her he’d been keeping an eye on her the past few months.

He could see it in your eyes, you didn’t fully believe his lies but you let him go anyway. Stepping aside, still in only a towel, water dripping from your hair down your neck and chest, you let him pass, feeling his arm brush against your shoulder.

~

“What do I say to him?” you asked Haymitch frantically as the stylist did your hair.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he tried to assure you. “He'll just ask you a couple questions so the audience gets to know you.”

Over the past few days, you and Haymitch became closer. He wasn’t nearly as perpetually drunk as he was when you first met him. He was actually helping you rather than just yelling at you to be better. And because of that, you were more open to talking to him instead of just giving him sarcastic remarks.

“Up,” the stylist told you. You complied, not questioning it until he began undoing your robe.

“Woah,” Haymitch reacted to it even before you did, gaze averted up to the ceiling.

“Hey-” you protested, holding the robe to your body.

“Vodka wants you dressed,” he explained.

“I know but you’re just doing it in front of him?”

The man gave you a look that said ‘seriously?’ “Your tits were just broadcast on national television a few days ago,” he dismissed, taking off your robe. “Besides, this outfit isn’t much more conservative,” he smiled. Completely unsure what to say you just allowed him to help you into it.

Upon getting the outfit on you knew it was absurdly impractical. It was a black dress, the skirt was long but any modesty was thwarted by a part on your left leg, exposed by the fact that the skirt was only actually on one side, the rest of the fabric was cut short at the hip. This left the bodysuit connected to the corset top exposed. As for the top, the only thing not sheer about it was the boning which did actually provide you a little modesty.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” the stylist asked Haymitch with a smile. He finally looked away from the mirror, jaw genuinely slacked upon seeing the dress. You were gorgeous, anyone would say the same. But he cringed as you were clearly uncomfortable being on display so much.

“You look great,” Haymitch smiled awkwardly. He noticed a slight blush coat your cheeks despite the caked on makeup covering your skin.

Then the door opened and the human equivalent of a tropical bird entered. Vodka literally squealed upon seeing you. “Ah, isn’t the dress just stunning? All the men in the audience are just gonna eat you up,” she gushed. “Come, come,” she ushered, “you have to start lining up for your interview.” You looked back at Haymitch, silently pleading for help as you were practically dragged away.

~

Taking his spot with the other mentors, Haymitch turned his attention to the screen as his tribute walked up on stage. He admired the grace you walked with despite the impossibly tall shoes. Caesar also noticed your outfit as he stood, reaching out a polite hand to you. “My, my, my, Y/N, don’t you look like Capitol royalty,” he complimented. “Doesn’t she look fabulous?” he turned to the audience. They erupted into cheers, a shocking amount of engagement for a District 12 tribute.

The pair sat down and the interview truly began. “It’s hard to believe such a pretty face comes from the coal mining district. Tell me, have you ever been inside or worked in the mines?” Caesar asked.

You nodded, looking down at your lap, fiddling with your hands. “I did work there. I was younger than most but I needed a way to provide for myself.”

“How come?”

You looked like this was the last thing you wanted to talk about but answered anyway. “My mom died giving birth. Mine explosion killed my dad a few years later.”

The crowd made noises of sympathy. At least that was something. But Haymitch already knew your story.

He had been buying booze at the Hobb when he noticed you.

“Come on, I come here every damn week and the first time I’m a few cents short you won’t give me a break?” you had asked the Hobb baker. “You gotta help me out,” you pleaded, “I’ve got nothing else this week. With the northeastern mine collapse no one’s getting paid until they figure it out.”

‘This girl is already working in the mines?’ he has thought to himself. Looking at Lou, who had just sold him alcohol. “Who is she?” he asked, nodding over towards where the girl stood, arguing with the vendor.

Lou took one look at you. “Y/N L/N, she’s been coming since she was about ten after her dad died. Never talked to or sold to her but the others say she’s sweet. Too bad such a young thing is already working. Has been since she was 16.”

Haymitch fished a few coins out of his pocket. “Make up the difference for me, will ya? And don’t mention me.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Caesar sympathized. “Well, in contrast to the dreary District 12, how are you finding the Capitol so far?”

“The, uh, food is really good,” you offered with a weak smile.

“That seems to be a popular answer among tributes,” the interviewer smiled. “Any boys back home?” Haymitch didn’t know why he held his breath at that.

“No,” you answered with a gentle shake of your head. “Too busy trying to survive to think about boys.”

“Well I think everyone in the Capitol is in love with you right now,” Caesar laughed, gesturing to the dress again. “And if you win, you’ll have any pick of Capitol men.” You smiled as Caesar took your hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, Y/N L/N,” he reintroduced you before you walked off stage.

~

Out of public view, you stumbled off the stage, headed back where all the other tributes and mentors were watching the remaining interviews on the screen. You made your way over to Haymitch, standing next to him as you turned your attention to the screen where Alder was being introduced.

“Nice job not puking,” Haymitch ‘complimented.’

“Thanks,” you smiled briefly. “He got really personal,” you tried to laugh off the dredging up of all your personal trauma.

Haymitch hummed, trying not to let on that he knew your story already. He sensed that you were somewhat private with your life given your lack of interaction with anyone in 12. “He made you look sympathetic. Sometimes that’s all you can ask for.”

You hummed in agreement. “Or pointless. I don’t have anyone to go home to. No one to fight for.”

“Hey,” he immediately reprimanded, “remember what I said, win out of spite. They want to kill you.”

“‘S that why you won?” you murmured.

“Sort of,” Haymitch relented. “I had a family to go home to but I was so angry I wanted to win just because everyone says District 12 can’t win. I was also the second name drawn and…”

“And if it weren’t for the quarter quell you wouldn’t have gone in,” you finished for him.

Haymitch nodded. “My family would still be here and I wouldn’t be such a…”

“I’m sorry,” you sympathized, placing a comforting hand on his arm. As you remembered where you were, you drew back your hand, returning your attention to Alder who was being dismissed from the stage.

“Go on ahead to the elevator, Alder and I will be right up,” Haymitch suggested. You nodded, walking over towards the elevator.

You got on it with a few other tributes and mentors, groaning internally as you stopped on nearly every floor. But upon reaching the penthouse you went straight to bed. Not because you were tired but because you were drained by your anxiety about tomorrow.

Requesting sleeping pills you took double the dose before laying down in the first comfortable clothes you could find. But after a few hours of tossing and turning, you gave up. You headed to the kitchen that you were sure had never been used as Avoxes brought your meals up to the penthouse. Probably from a bigger kitchen somewhere in the building.

As you were getting a glass of water you noticed someone’s presence. Looking over, you found Alder glaring at you, giving you a start. “Alder!” you said in surprise. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“What’d he tell you?” he asked.

Completely and utterly confused you just stared at him. “What? Who?”

He rolled his eyes. “I know Haymitch has been training you without me. I know that technically we should have two mentors but just because I'm not fucking him doesn’t mean I don’t deserve help.”

“Woah!” you cut him off. “I’m not- Haymitch and I aren’t-”

“Don’t play stupid. I see the way he looks at you. God, you don’t even have a family. You have no one worth living for so why is he helping you?” He paused as if waiting for an explanation but you couldn’t exactly give him one. “If you’re going into the arena with more knowledge then I think it’s only fair we level the playing field,” he said menacingly. Seeing as you were backed against the wall and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fight back without sustaining any injuries yourself, you screamed.

“Shut up!” he screamed, knocking you into the wall.

Hardly a second later, Haymitch’s voice pierced the air. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled, ripping Alder away from you. The boy tried to stammer out an explanation but Haymitch was too angry to listen. “I don’t wanna hear it. You have plenty of time to fight in the morning. Go to bed.” Alder looked angry but walked off anyway. Haymitch then turned to you, his expression softening with genuine concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, pushing yourself off the ground. “I’ll be taking a lot more than just a shove tomorrow.”

Haymitch looked like he wanted to say more but he just bid you goodnight before heading back to bed, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

Masterlist | Prologue (II)

[dickheadcanons]

Bats and Killing

Something that I think bat fandom doesn't separate well enough is the difference between someone dying in a fight, and killing someone as a punishment.

When Dick beat the Joker to death in Last Laugh, he wasn't upset because the Joker died while he was trying to save Tim. He was upset with himself because he though Tim was already dead; the violence was pure anger. Pure punishment. He wasn't protecting anyone.

Same with Blockbuster. Blockbuster was making threats, yes, but Dick wasn't pushing someone out of the way of the bullet. Catalina killed Blockbuster executioner style in Nightwing (1996) #93. He's unarmed, laying on the floor, already had the shit beaten out of him....and he dies from a bullet to the back of the head.

On the other hand, the much discussed issue of Nightwing (1996) #146, where Dick lets a man get electrocuted in order to save a baby, doesn't effect him very much. Because they were literally in the air, and he had to hurt that guy so he could pluck an infant out of the air.

Like, people have always died in comic. Heroes watch bad guys die pretty often in the course of an active fight. But they're supposed to be the best of the best; killing someone who is unarmed and not actively threatening anyone is so different.

It's the difference between Bruce leaving Joker to die in the helicopter in Death in the Family because he doesn't have time to save him, and Jason demanding Bruce not lift a finger as the Joker is shot in the head. Regardless of whether you think the character deserves to die, or whether they were right to do it, not acknowledging just how different these things are makes the whole conversation pointless.

[watermelinoe]

and people wanted to punish the democrats over bernie losing the nomination to hillary in 2016 which gave us the revolution we were all waiting for right

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

THE GREATER CENTRAL VALLEY FINALLY GETS THEIR DUE IN THE HARDCORE PUNK SCENE.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on "Fresno night" at the Mabuhay Garden nightclub in San Francisco, CA, on January 14, 1982. Flyer artwork and/or design by the late, great Tim Yohannan. Flyer unearthed by @artpunkkill.

GIG OVERVIEW: "Without Tim putting on this show and inviting us Mickey Mouse Fresno bands to come and play it would have been nearly impossible for any of us to get booked at this nightclub. Typical of the way he did things. Always spurning the rules of promotion of musical acts."

-- MANIAX (Fresno '80s hardcore punk band)

Sources: www.picuki.com/media/3080804842972626613 & www.stagedive-records.com/capitolpunishment.html.

[allthebestcowgirls]

why should i fucking care that gale wanted to blow up capitol medics trying to aid peacekeepers or capitol fighters. like i don't fucking careeeee and within the context of the books i think he was right for developing the bomb😭😭 fuck them like

[simonespeaks]

i can’t tell whether he should know this is fucking stupid, but his delusions of grandeur are highjacking his brain or if he’s just this simple minded