#goodbye wip may we meet in fandom hell

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

On A Scale Of One To Wine How Are You A Venti?

Diluc X Venti

CW: Mentions of alcohol. THIS IS AN UNFINISHED PIECE

A/N: Title make no sense but it’s funny to me so we keep it. Is this set in the same universe as my fic “Sea Foam and Lava Rock”? Nah not in the slightest. Is does still DiluVen? Yes! :D

Under the read more cause it’s a mess

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One of the things Diluc plans for is theft. His family wine and fruit are famous for their quality, that many rival brands or even those desiring to make a quick buck would try to steal.

The problem was that his thief had good taste. Another was that they left all sorts of odd...treasures in place of the stolen goods. Pearls, gold, jewelry, and more that must've been found on the sea floor.

Of all the things Diluc expected to be pilfering through his merchandise, he didn’t expect it to be a mermaid of all things.

Rats? Sure.

A stowaway? Possibly.

A mermaid? Not a chance. 

Mermaids weren’t real and if they were they must have kept well hidden and steered clear of human activity, especially if those legends of humans hunting mermaids had any merit.

But here they were anyway, with a pale thin webbed hand holding a rather expensive bottle of grape wine and a half eaten apple in the other. The light of his lantern reveals their iridescent teal tail, half dipped into the sea below the dock.

Now he doesn’t know much about mermaids- again they weren’t real so why would he bother- but clearly- and he’s making a guess here- but he could definitely be wrong.

Mermaids live for thousands of years if he remembers right, so despite them looking so young they could be anywhere from twenty to a thousand years plus.

Their confidence though admirable is foolish. Diluc knows that even if he's not the sort to capture or harm a creature - again they didn't exist until just now- if those tales were true shouldn't they be more careful?

Diluc’s eyes scan the docks, quiet as usual this time of night, not a soul except for the occasional light from the look outs. His eyes look back down at the mermaid- merman? He doesn't know if human gender terms even apply at this point.

Their curious yet mesmerizing teal eyes glimmer in the lanterns light as they chew their stolen apple slowly.

He needs to deal with them, mermaid-merman-whatever, he might not be strapped for cash but profit loss is profit loss.

-------- End

Thanks for reading! Not sure if I’ll ever continue this piece but if I ever do here’s my notes below I guess???

______

OG Idea:

Little merman Venti gets caught in Diluc’s net after stealing one apple too many from his ship, Diluc let’s him go only to be stuck with a merman who keeps flirting with him poorly...but is it really poor flirting when it’s working even with the language barrier? (if this ain’t a cute comedy I will riot and fight you(me))

Of course this did not happen but this little thing inspired “Seafoam and Lava Rock” and honestly I just wanted to see some cute merVenti and Diluc that’s really why I wrote those.

vvvv what I wanted to write to continue the current fic but didn’t cause brain hurty for a whoooooooooooole year+ D:

< What Happens Summed Up: Venti confesses to not having enough to eat because the sailors have fished far too much/are too close for comfort and how he's been hungry for a while and saw that the humans eat these fruits and such and diluc is like ugh I guess I'll feed you now can you like transform or something or is that a- o holy shit you have legs and are very naked oh my god...then they stay together for a while as venti decides to be a singer for his ship since he does work part time as a bard for some ships but got thrown over for insulting the captain for being a buffoon and braggart with no actual claim that or just make it him irritating Zhongli cause that’s funnier and then it’s just cute fluff forever I just want them to be happy and hold hands very softly at the end with like a cute promise or something I’m not crying you(me) are every second you’re(me again) not writing this aaaaaaaaaaaa ;v; >

<A line that’s suppose to be in the story vvvv

Curse my bleeding heart-

"Alright you can stay”

And he begins to cheer [insert bard talking grumpy bird man here]

-----

If I ever decide to finish this well...you’ll all know cause I will make a nice post :D

[thewritingginger]

Valentine’s Day In

This is a bit late to say the least, I was hoping to post this on Valentine’s Day but school work had my ass occupied so for the past week I was going back and forth between school work and writing 😒 

Also I know I have a bajillion wips todo, a few of which are Valentine’s Day prompts 

bUt

I got a super cute fluffy idea for Valentine’s Day and the motivation came to me so I hope we can let it slide for now. Right?  😅

Anyways I hope you enjoy ~ Also I wrote this while listening to THIS, so if you want you can listen to it while you read as well :3

Fandom: Obey Me! Pairing: Satan x GN! Reader  Word Count:  2,866 words Warning(s): Cheesy, kinda rom-com-y, probably not perfect lol

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The forecast was said to be sunny with slight cloudiness. When you opened the window this morning the sky was indeed cloudy, but instead of sun it was matched with a downpour.

You and Satan had planned the whole day together.

Starting with a relaxing morning of talking and reading in eachothers arms. Then to go for a walk around town, window shopping till dinner time. But since it was stormy outside and you weren’t really in the mood to get dressed up to then get soaked.

But although going out wasn’t really an option anymore, you were still going to spend your day relaxing with Satan as you’ve already planned.

The agenda was already in motion as you and Satan started your day having breakfast together, followed by hanging out in his room reading and cuddling. When it came to be around noon you went to take a shower. Once you were out, your hair still damp, you headed back to Satan’s room. But when you knocked on his door and opened it, the room was empty.

“Hmm.” Since he wasn’t in his room, you went to the study. But came to find he wasn’t there either, infact, he wasn’t anywhere in the house. ‘Where the hell is he?’ Letting out a sigh, you headed back to your room and texted him.

Y/n: “Hey, where are you?”

Satan: “Sorry, something came up and I didn’t get a chance to tell you. I should be home in a couple hours. 💚

Closing your messages you sigh, falling onto the plush mattress of your bed.

Since Satan wouldn't be around for a while you spent your time doing some work. In the time waiting for him you finished up an assignment for class and tidied up your room a bit. Nothing too exciting but it beat just sitting around. While scrolling through Devilgram you got another message from the awaited demon.

Satan: “I’m probably gonna be another hour or so.”

Sitting up in bed, feeling a bit defeated, you leave to go downstairs. On your way down you ran into Beel and Belphie. “Hey, Y/n.”

“Hey, Beel. Whatcha guys up to?”

“Nothing much, actually we wanted to see if you wanted to come hang out for a bit.”

Considering the request, you accept. “Sure, why not. Satan won't be home for a bit longer anyways.” You say, a bit sadder than you intended.

“Great! I got some new snacks I want you to try. Come on.” Beelzebub says with a smile, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

~~~

It had been awhile since you’ve entered the twins room. The time was spent eating different treats and chatting. Feeling ready to leave you stood up, “Well I think Imma head out. I had a lot of fun with you guys but I don’t want to intrude anymore.”

“Wait!” Beel says. Belphegor sighs at his brother's outburst.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong.” Belphegor corrects. “It’s just that we don’t get to spend much time with you it seems. With you dating Satan and all, Beel just thought we could have you around a bit longer.”

You frown a bit. “I’m sorry guys, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just sit back down.”Belphie sighs, making you laugh.

~~~

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Door’s open.” Beel hollars, not looking up  from the card game the three of you are playing. The door opens,

“There you are.” You turn towards the familiar voice to see the man you’ve been waiting for. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

“You should be.” You sass.

“Mind if I take her from you guys?” Satan asks his brothers. They nod their heads, engrossed by their game. Putting your cards down you say your goodbyes to leave the room with Satan. Once the door is closed you smack his chest, causing him to laugh. “Woah, easy.”

“You know, you left me high and dry, right?” You cross your arms, brow raised.

“Yes, yes I did. Won’t you forgive me?” Placing his hands on your hips, he looks down at you with his gemstone eyes.

“Fine! But don’t think I’ll let it slide again.”

“I wouldn’t expect it.” He smiles, punctuating his sentence with a chased kiss.

Back at your bedroom, you walk in while Satan stays on the other side of the door. “Well, aren’t you gonna come in?” You say.

“Nope. That’s because I’m leaving you to get dressed.”

“Wait, why?” You asked, confused.

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you.” He grins, “Now get dressed. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” Before you can say anything else, he closed the door. And with that you spent the next hour getting ready.

Stepping in front of a mirror you take a look at your work. Wearing your best outfit, admiring how the rich green fabric accentuates your body perfectly. Your hair styled. Face fresh. Brushing the invisible wrinkles from your front you head to the stairs. From the top you see Satan standing at the bottom, dressed in his finest suit. His eyes light up when they land on you, a smile accompanying the starlight gaze.

Descending the staircase you take your time letting your eyes wander down his frame.  His hair is combed back, allowing a clear view of his shape features. His body’s adorned with a well fitted suit, the breast pocket housing a pocket square in his signature color. Trailing your vision down to where his hands join at his stomach. A bouquet of peonies resides between his palms.

Nearing the end of the staircase he extends his hand, guiding you down the last few steps. Standing before him he looks down at you, words yet to be spoken between you. Bringing your hand to his lips he places a kiss on your knuckles.

“You look perfect.” He confesses, almost in a whisper as if speaking to himself. “These are for you.” Offering your hands the flowers, he smiles.

Looking down at the bouquet you admire the layered petals in variants of blush pink. Taking a breath of the sweet smell you sigh. “They’re gorgeous, Satan. You didn’t have to get me any~.” You’re cut off by a strong arm taking yours.

“Of course I did. Every beautiful person deserves the small treasures of life.” His voice is like butter. The way each syllable rolls off his tongue effortlessly, always seeming to have an answer for everything.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.” He says with a wink.

Reaching the back of the house you are led to a door that leads into another study of sorts.

Upon opening the door you hear soft jazz and the fireplace crackling in the air. Looking around you see candles lit and flowers everywhere. A few vases of the same pink flowers in your hands scattered around the room and petals trailing a path through double-doors that lead to a patio area that has a full view of the lush garden with a pond. Outside under the covering you see a table set for two with more candles littered about. A bottle of wine and two glasses reside there waiting for you. Breathing in the smell of the earth mixed with the rain you sigh.

You’re speechless. The music. The setting. Him. It’s all perfect.

“Oh, Satan. This is… amazing. How~ When?” Your mind is racing.

“I’ve been working on it all day. Since we couldn’t go out for Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d bring it to us. Do you like it?” He asks, worried he might have done too much.

Placing your bouquet on the table, you turn around to wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing him in for a kiss.

Pulling back you gaze into his eyes, your fingers gently raking through his golden locks. “I love it.” Satan smiles, relieved. ”So, I’m guessing that’s why Beel and Belphie asked me to hang out. You just needed a distraction, and here I thought they actually missed me.”

“Well, truthfully, I did ask them to make sure you didn’t come downstairs. Though, what they did to accomplish that I had no part in. But enough about that, please ~.” Satan says, gesturing at the quaint table. “Would you like to sit down?” Satan asks, pulling out your chair. Accepting his invitation you sit down. His fingers linger awhile after  pushing you in, as he makes his way to the other side of the table. Handing you a glass of wine he poured, your fingers hold his for a moment before separating once again. “You’re not cold are you?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m fine.” You were definitely more than fine, you actually began to feel a bit warm. The way his eyes look over you. Unable to read what he must be thinking. Your guesses and wishes of what those thoughts may be only made you warmer. Shaking yourself from those thoughts you relax into your chair.

Sitting in comfortable silence. The music playing, lulls you into a trance. Sipping your wine you sway to the mellow notes. You don't notice right away how Satan is watching you. His chin propped on his hand, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. When you see him eyeing you, you sit up straight and laugh a bit. You feel your cheeks heat up slightly. 

Getting up, Satan offers you his hand once again.

“Won't you dance with me?”

“Of course.” You say, taking his hand.

Standing in the middle of the covered area, your left hand enclosed in his as your right rests on his shoulder. His strong arm wraps around your back holding you close. Swaying to the notes playing in the air, you rest your head on his chest. Breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with his natural musk. His cheek rests upon your head, pressing a gentle kiss in your hair.

Looking up, your eyes meet, foreheads touching. His eyes alone are enough to speak a thousand words for him. They tell you everything he doesn’t.

They compliment you. Say how much they adore you. They say, ‘I need you!’

In this silent conversation your free hand moves to cup his cheek. The sweet touch makes him sigh into you. Reachin up he holds your wrist to kiss your palm. His eyes, never leaving yours. You can’t help the giggle that leaves your throat. The sweet yet sensual motion creates butterflies in your stomach.

Releasing you, allowing your hand to resume its place on his shoulder as his, goes to rest on your hip.

“You know I love you, right?” He says. A flirtatious glint in his eye.

“Well of course you do. It’s only natural.” You say playfully making him laugh. His toothy grin makes your heart flutter.

“Is that so? Then tell me Y/n, what else is ‘only natural’?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. No matter how long you’ve been together he still somehow manages to make you flustered and giddy. Biting your lip in thought, you smile.

“Well, ignoring the fact you’re a demon and I’m a human.” You start. Pulling another low chuckle from the blonde. “I’d say, this moment and every other moment shared between us is. Being with you, whether in sweatpants on your bed or dressed up like we are now, every minute spent with you is perfect.”

“So you’re telling me I didn’t have to do all this then? I wished you told me sooner, it would’ve saved me a lot of time” He says with a chuckle and slapping his shoulder only made him laugh harder. But you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“Well I’d like to think I’m quite humorous” He says, pulling your waist into his. Leaning down for a kiss but you pull away.

“Is that so? Then prove it.”

He studies your challenging eyes. Kissing his teeth he accepts your jab. “Ok. Then how do you suspect I’ll do that?”

“Hmm.” You look to the side, pondering the question. Then an idea popped in your head. “Ok Mr. Humorous, why don’t you prove to me just how fun you can be by jumping into the pond.” You say, holding back a smile. Seeing him process your request, you are about to laugh when you see him beginning to take off his blazer. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m doing as you asked.” He says with a smirk.

You watch him remove his blazer and button up, followed by his shoes and socks. Standing straight in all his shirtless glory you take a moment to appreciate his physique. His smooth skin stretched over toned muscles. The flexing of his arm as he moves to sweep his hair back to look at you.

“What are you waiting for? Take off your shoes, unless you want to get them dirty.” He says. You let out a hum as his words shake you from your thoughts. He laughs, as if knowing what had you distracted. “You didn’t really think I’d be walking out there alone did you? I expect you to help me out since you’re the reason I’m going to be in there.”

“Fine. But only if I get to push you in.” You say taking off your shoes. He smiles at your requirement.

“Fine by me.”

Holding your jacket over your head to shield yourself from the rain as much as possible you and Satan begin to walk across the grass.

At the pond Satan turns to you, “So are you gonna push me in or do I have to jump in?” Laughing at his question but mostly at his appearance. Already drenched without stepping a single foot into the water.

“Oh I’m gonna push you in.” You say. Inching to the edge of the pond, ready to push Satan in. When your hands make contact with his hot skin a hand wraps around your wrist and before you knew it you were going down with him.

Splashing into the water you come up gasping at the frigid temperature. “Satan!” You say splashing water in his face. All you can hear is the rain and the hearty laugh coming from the demon’s chest. Slicking your hair out of your face you look at the man still laughing. “It’s not funny!” Though despite your words you couldn’t suppress the laugh that comes out of your mouth as well.

“It’s pretty funny if you ask me.”

“That was not part of the deal.”

“Well actually, our deal was you get to push me in. Nowhere in that agreement did we state I couldn’t pull you in with me.” He says, stepping closer to you. His strong arms holding you close edging away the cold around you.

“Well remind me next time to cover all bases because that was cheap and you know it.”

“They don’t call me a demon for nothing.” He says. His voice low, a small smirk playing his lips. Droplets of water fall from the loose strands of hair around his face.

“You look like a wet dog.” You say, pushing his wet hair back.

“I think we both do but that doesn’t matter, right? What was it you said earlier? No matter where we are, as long as we are together, it's perfect? Well to that I couldn’t agree more.” His words make you smile, warmth fills your chest. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. Once your lips touch the arms around your body tightens, lifting you up. Encircling your legs around his waist your kiss deepens. Your tongues dancing with one another. The taste and feeling of him sends electricity through you. Your fingers coil in his wet locks. Everything around you faded away. You couldn’t feel the rain or hear the music playing in the house anymore. Your senses are completely consumed by him. His touch. His smell. Everything. You wanted it all. You couldn’t care less where you were at this moment. You’d sooner let yourself drown in the water around you than let go of him. How can one person have such an affect on you?

Pulling away, both catching your breaths, your foreheads resting against each other. Though separated, the heat between you two is ever-present. His large hand cradles your cheek, keeping you close. His eyes shut for a moment to collect himself before looking back to you. His gaze is softer than before,

“I love you more than you know. Thank you for being mine.” Your chest swells. Stocking his cheek you kiss his lips once more.

“You don’t need to thank me, Satan. But I will ask you to warn me next time you decide to throw me in water.” You tease, but you both know you don’t really mind how things turned out.

“Let’s go back inside and warm up by the fire.” He smirks.

“I’d love that.”

Satan carried you back to the study where the rest of the night was spent by the fire where many more heated touches were shared. Maybe getting soaked in the rain wasn’t so bad after all.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oh lord she can never post anything on time or in a timely manner huh? . . . Nope! :)

But I hope you enjoyed this somewhat. I know it’s not perfect but I still think it’s pretty cute. Cheesy ... but cute :3

I hope you had a good Valentines day with your 2D or 3D baes.

Till next post ~ 💛💛💛

[whiskeykneat]

The West Wind [1/?]

ONE ~ Like Clockwork

Notes: I am rewriting this fic, the original of which you can find under the pen name “whiskeyneat” on ao3 and ffn. I will be editing the one on ao3 to reflect these changes, however, the ffn one will eventually be deleted and replaced. Updates will be staggered as I primarily write for another fandom and have to balance my multiple WIPs with my regular life. // Words: 2278 // Rating: T for mention of prostitution and war violence. Chapters which are explicit will be tagged as such.// Tag list: want to be tagged? Comment and I’ll tag you on the next update!

1875, Dakota Territory.

 "There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls." (George Carlin)

 "You're what?" Gale's thoughts are still muzzy from the night before, and they take awhile to form and connect. Delly Cartwright, his right hand gal, is standing over him, a smile playing on her plush pink lips. She looks as fresh and pure as if she just stepped from the pages of a ladies magazine, the kind the soiled doves at Madame Coin's pore over (though they are no longer ladies), come all the way from Richmond with the mail coach. 

The last time I saw Richmond, it was burning... He can still hear the roar of the flames some nights, when the moon is cool and round as a silver dollar, and he's alone with his memories, of a boy and a war and the terrible things a boy must do to become a man. 

"Drink up, soldier." Delly leans in, and Gale catches a whiff of her scent, green and cool as spring water, and he wishes for the thousandth time that he could be the man she needs, a good man -- but that man died somewhere between Gettysburg and the Battle of the Crater -- yes, he died long ago, in Twelvetrees, when the world was crisp and new and the sun rose over the blue mountains. 

"What is it, Miss Cartwright?" He's wide awake now, and his head is pounding louder than a Sioux war drum. Wordlessly, Gale accepts the willow pithy from her hand and chews it dry, swallowing it down with a gulp of water so gritty it makes his teeth ache for just one sip from the ice cold spring that flowed beside his boyhood home, back in the mountains, lost to him now. "What's so damn important you had to wake me up?" 

"That chair is bad for your back." He looks down at Delly's hands and realizes she's holding a pillow, embroidered with a stitch so fine that it makes his eyes water. She places it between Gale and the hard back of the chair, and as he sinks against it, he wishes again that he was the kind of man who could marry her, but she's too good for this place. 

As if on cue, there's a sound like cannon fire from the hill just above town, and Gale vaults upright, reaching blindly for a rifle that isn't there. The Yankees are coming. The world blurs and he's back in Gettysburg, just a boy, watching as a sea of blue pours down the valley towards him, his hands sweaty on his bayonet, until beside him Finnick begins to yip a wild war cry, and all the men up and down the line join in along with him. Give 'em hell, boys!

"Mr Hawthorne! It's all right! Mr Hawthorne!" Delly snaps her fingers sharply in front of Gale's face, and the world rights itself, coming back to the stark lines of reality. "That's just the General's cannon, signaling break of day." Delly's soothing Virginia drawl reels Gale back to 1875, twelve years on and a world away from the blood soaked earth of the place that was once home, the one place -- the one person -- he yeans for, above anything, but to whom he can never return.  

She's married to someone else now. The thought still hurts as much as if it were yesterday that he stood in the gloaming and watched his girl brush her hair by candlelight through the window, only a tiny smile letting him know she knew he was there. The next day, he'd been on his way to the War, with her red ribbon wrapped around his wrist, marking him as hers, forever. He didn't know, then, that he'd never return. 

"Mr Hawthorne. Sit down." Delly pushes on his shoulders, and he drops back into the chair, his surroundings coming into focus, bare and stark. "Coffee." She places a mug of thick black gold on the desk before him with a thunk. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

But not this. No, he isn't that boy anymore, and he hasn't been for a long time, but he's still a man who's done dark and terrible things to get to the place he is now, and even though he regrets them, he can't share it with anyone except the ones who were there, the ones who stood in that valley with him as the mud turned red with their blood. "It's nothing." 

Delly looks away, she crosses to the window and throws the curtains open. Somewhere, across the sunrise, a cuckoo is singing, ku-ku-ku. "I may have fought a different war, Mr Hawthorne, but I was in it all the same." She inhales a deep breath, then turns around. "I'm leaving." 

Gale is struck dumb, the shock stripping the words from his tongue. Some things are a given in Panem: every morning, the General's cannon booms, signaling another day in hell to the miners; Haymitch Abernathy will always stagger into The Hob demanding a bottle of rotgut whiskey; and Delly Cartwright is Gale Hawthorne's secretary and stage manager, keeping The Hob from running itself into the ground. He couldn't have a better right hand woman: she balances the books, she keeps the place running like clockwork, and the miners all adore her. 

"Leaving?" Gale's words are hoarse, they come out in a croak, and he throws back a revitalizing gulp of thick, hot coffee (real beans, all the way from civilization, not the chicory they used to drink of a morning back in the lines), scalding his tongue. 

Delly twists her hands, looking at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at her employer -- former employer, as of today. When he stands up, she shivers, like a prairie hen sighted by the fox. "Yes." A note of deep reluctance has entered her tone. "Wheatley Mellark offered me marriage, Mr Hawthorne, and we're headed to San Francisco." She swallows, and lifts her chin. Tears sparkle in those big blue eyes, and he knows that if he gave her a single sign, her resolve would crumble at once. "We're leaving today. In an hour. I'm sorry." 

As if on cue, there is a sharp rap on the door, and Gale's hand goes reflexively to his holster. His eyes meet Delly's, and he drops his hand from his gun, reaching out to stroke her cheek instead. Neither of them will ever know what he might of done next, how he might have changed all their fates in a single instant, because the door creaks open and Gale drops his hand as though burned, a deep blush spreading over Delly's freckled cheek. 

"Miss Cartwright!" Wheatley Mellark steps into the room, brows drawing together in consternation at how close Delly and Gale are to one another at this moment, and Gale steps back to a respectful distance. After all, it's not as if he has a tendré for Miss Cartwright. It's only business between them, that's all it's ever been. 

He tries not to think of how he almost touched her just now, he pushes that beyond him. It's too late for that, it's gone with the song of the cuckoo, melted into the heat of the morning. He spends far too many nights in the company of Comstock Hanna for this to ever have been anything other than what it is, even with all that lies unspoken here in the upper rooms of The Hob; the air simmering with something he dares not put a name to. 

"Mr Mellark." Delly ducks her flaxen head, stepping back from Gale and looking at her fiancé from under darkened lashes. 

Gale can almost see the wheels turning in Wheatley's brain as he looks between the two of them, and he holds out his hand. "My felicitations on your upcoming nuptials, Mr Mellark." 

Wheatley lets out a puff of air, shaking Gale's hand, his grip tighter than Gale would like, both men baring their teeth as they pump up and down with a grip like a vise between them. "Thank you kindly, Mr Hawthorne." There is a hardness around Wheatley's mouth, and Gale wonders if Delly knows just what kind of a man she's about to marry, or if she would have married anyone just to escape Panem. To escape this. Him. 

He runs one hand over his unshaven chin, studying the pair of them. Delly reacts first, she tucks her hand into Mellark's elbow and kisses his cheek perfunctorily, like the best damn Sarah Bernhardt impersonator this side of the Mississippi. "Mr Mellark." 

"I'll be waiting downstairs, Miss Cartwright. Don't be long." Gale doesn't like the warning tone in Wheatley's voice, but he can't do anything about it. She's made her choice -- just like Katniss, both of them leaving him for Mellarks. 

"Yes, Mr Mellark, I'll be down shortly. I still have to say my goodbyes to Mr O'Dair and Mr Thresh, and --" Wheatley cuts Delly off with a firm kiss on her those lips, a mouth made for sin, his eyes flicking at Gale as he stakes his claim. Then, running a hand over his waxed mustache and elaborate muttonchops, he sharply nods to Gale, and exits the room, his boots clomping loudly down the stairs.

From the ground floor, Gale can hear the piano tinkling off-key, and loud cursing as Haymitch Abernathy stumbles  through the saloon doors, there to fetch his first bottle of rotgut for the day. Yes, it's like clockwork: the cannon, the rotgut, and Delly... "You're leaving," he says gruffly, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of his desk and tipping it into his coffee. Today calls for something stronger. 

"We can't be beholden to this town, Mr Mellark and I." There is a new thread of resolve in her voice, and he's not surprised. She always was one of the strongest women he's ever met, with a core of pure steel. "General Snow was putting pressure on Wheatley for protection money. A baker! Needing to pay for protection! Have you ever heard such a damn fool thing?" Delly begins to pace, her sprigged muslin skirts rustling. "Me and Mr Mellark don't mean to spend our lives beholden to the grace and mercy of the General. That's no life at all." She crosses her arms, staring out the window, as though willing the sun to never rise on the dusty streets of Panem. "And I can't stay here, Mr Hawthorne. Everything I want..." 

I can't give it to you. He doesn't have to say it. It's there in the room as though he's spoken it aloud. If he had a heart, he lost it long ago, to the girl with the stars in her eyes, lost now to the memories of the mountains he can never return to, to the man he never could have been, and the life that will never be. "Delly..." he breathes out her name and she's there beside him, sitting down on the desk and taking the bottle from his numb fingers to tip it into her mouth. 

She coughs, wiping the back of her hand over her lips, and takes another swig. Forget if Delly knows who she's marrying -- he wonders if Wheatley knows who he's marrying, just what kind of a diamond he's mined from the grit of this dark town. "It's not my fight any longer, and God willing, you won't let it become yours. There's more to life than vengeance, Gale. Katniss may not understand that, but don't let her fight become yours." 

Doesn't she understand that he's been fighting since the day he was born, that family trumps all, that the bonds of blood and bone will never leave him? "I can't change Panem, Delly -- I know that. I'm just one man." And if he could -- would he? But he knows the answer. 

General Coriolanus Snow owns the mine, and in a sense, he also owns the town. Hell, every saloon on Main Street owes fealty to Snow, and they all pay the devil his due -- or else they find themselves six feet under. Only a fool would take on a madman like Snow alone, and Gale has never been a fool. 

"So you say." Delly hands the bottle back to him, and wordlessly begins to fix his collar. Her hair brushes his nose, and that clear green water smell is softer and sweeter than ever, and if he closes his eyes for a single second he can imagine he is back in Twelvetrees, and that there's a different girl before him, a name that lives on the tip of his tongue in that aching place between waking and dreams. "A man would need an army behind him for that... Captain." She places his hat on his head, tugging down the brim at a rakish angle. 

"Delly..." Gale swallows his words, he doesn't know what else to say. I want...

"Everything I want has never been mine to have." She smiles, a sad, wistful smile, and pats his chest, surveying her work. "She's out there, Mr Hawthorne. Somewhere. I know she is. And you'll find her again, I know it." 

And then she's so close that he can swear he'll know just how those pink lips will taste, and he closes his eyes. Delly's lips brush his cheek, and when he opens them again, she's gone.  

He is in The Hob, his pride and joy, the saloon he built with his own two hands. This is the mining town of Panem, nestled in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and none of them are any longer the people they used to be. 

Once. Long ago...