#haymitch x fem!reader

[onlybeeewrites]

Finding Magic

Request: May I request a hunger games request Haymitch x wife reader, she is a district 12 victor from the laye 50's games. She is around 4-8 years younger than him. It is set in district 13, we see him with their young daughter named after his fellow 50th game tribute and just fluff, please Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x wife!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS, characters mentioned

A/N: the first of many Haymitch requests UGH I loved this and seeing soft Haymitch. Enjoy!! <3 ~~~~~~~~

The quarters in District 13 weren’t much—gray walls, stiff bedding, and a distinct lack of anything that could be called personal. Everything was practical, assigned, and strictly regulated, from the meals to the uniforms to the way time itself seemed to tick by in rigid blocks.

But somehow, you had made it feel like home. Haymitch wasn’t sure how she did it. Maybe it was the warmth she carried with her, the way she never let the weight of their reality smother the small joys you still managed to carve out of the days. Or maybe it was the way you saw things—not just for what they were, but for what they could be.

Even here, underground, you made the world seem bigger.

Your ten year old daughter, Louella was sprawled out on the cold floor, utterly lost in the book she held, her small fingers gripping the worn pages as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

Haymitch could see the crease between her brows, the slight parting of her lips as she whispered words under her breath, tasting them as she read. Whatever world she had discovered in those pages had its hooks in her now, and nothing short of an emergency would pull her out of it.

And you sat nearby, your head bent over a needle and thread, patching up yet another hole in your daughter’s jumpsuit. It wasn’t the first tear she’d fixed this week, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Louella was always running, climbing, sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be. She had the boundless energy of someone who had never known anything but motion.

Haymitch liked to pretend he didn’t know where she got that rebellious streak from, but between your quiet defiance and his own tendency to do exactly the opposite of what people expected, the girl hadn’t stood a chance.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching them for a moment before speaking. “What’s she reading this time?”

You didn’t look up, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Poetry. About magic.”

Haymitch raised a brow and pushed off the wall, making his way over before flopping down beside Louella. “Magic, huh? Didn’t think District 13 allowed that kind of thing.”

Louella shot him an unimpressed look over the top of her book. “It’s poetry, Papa. Not spells.”

Haymitch smirked, leaning in as if she had just admitted to something scandalous. “Still sounds like nonsense.”

Louella let out a dramatic sigh and held up the book. “Just listen.”

She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and read aloud:

“The wind hums secrets through the trees,

The river sings to passing bees.

The sky bends low to kiss the land,

And leaves spell stories in the sand.”

She closed the book with a decisive little snap and looked up expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Haymitch tilted his head. “Huh. Not bad.”

Louella beamed, victorious, and turned to her mother. “See? Even he likes it.”

You chuckled, tying off the stitch with practiced ease. “Took him long enough.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but turned back to Louella. “So, you really think there’s magic in all that?”

Louella nodded eagerly. “Mama says magic is just seeing things the right way. Like when the sun looks like melted gold, or when the air smells different before a storm.”

You take a pause, setting down the sewing, stretching your fingers before smiling at your daughter. “My family always believed in magic,” you said, voice soft with nostalgia,

“We grew up in the fields, and we saw it in everything—the way fireflies danced like little stars, the hush of the earth before the first snowfall, the way seeds always knew how to find the sun.”

Louella’s eyes widened in that way only a child’s could, full of wonder and longing for things just out of reach. “I wish I could’ve seen all that.”

You smiled fondly, brushing a curl from Louella’s face. “You still can, sweetheart. Magic’s in the little things. You just have to know how to look.”

Haymitch snorted, shaking his head. “That why people used to call your family wild?”

That caused you to smirked at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Of course. You’d know that. You’d also remember that people often said we were odd for believing in things you couldn’t hold in your hands. But it takes special people to see the magic in little things.”

Louella grinned. “Good thing I’m special, then.”

Haymitch hummed, “yes you are, sweetheart,” he said glancing between the two of them—you, his wife, with your quiet strength and stubborn belief in things bigger than themselves, and his daughter, practically glowing with excitement at the idea of unseen wonders hiding in the world around her.

Louella yawned, rubbing at her eyes but still stubbornly gripping her book. “Can I read one more?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall—lights-out was soon, and rules were strict here. But sighed, a small, indulgent smile on your lips. “Just one more.” How could you deny one of the few pleasures you were able to indulge in?

Louella grinned and flipped through the pages, searching for the perfect poem. Haymitch, meanwhile, leaned his head back against the wall, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

He wasn’t much for poetry, but he liked the sound of Louella’s voice as she read, soft and full of belief. Reminding him so much of you.

“The stars will shine beyond the dark,

Their light will never wane.

A whispered wish, a hopeful heart,

And magic stays the same.”

Luella looked up, blinking sleepily. “That means magic is always there, right? Even when we can’t see it?”

You ran her fingers through Louella’s hair. “That’s right.”

Haymitch huffed. “Poetry’s got a lot of nerve making promises like that.”

Louella giggled, pressing her face into his side. “You just don’t get it, Dad.”

He smirked, pulling the blanket up over her. “Guess not.”

She let out another small yawn, and this time, her eyes didn’t open again. Haymitch exhaled, shifting to pick her up. She made a sleepy sound of protest as he scooped her into his arms, but she didn’t fight it, just curled against his chest like she’d done since she was little.

You stood and followed as he carried Louella to the small cot she called a bed. He tucked her in, smoothing down the blanket while you brushed her hair back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Haymitch stayed there a moment longer, watching as Louella breathed slow and deep, already lost in dreams. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Sleep tight, wild thing.”

She didn’t stir. You slipped your hand into his, lacing their fingers together as they stepped back from the bed.

Haymitch pressed a kiss to you temple as they settled onto their own bed. “You’re gonna turn her into a dreamer.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Good. The world needs more of them.”

Haymitch didn’t answer right away. He just held you a little tighter, his fingers absently tracing slow, idle patterns against your arm.

Even after all these years, it still felt surreal sometimes—having this family, having you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you, standing on that stage at seventeen, trying to keep your face blank as your name was called. He’d been your mentor then, five years after winning himself. And he had been forced to watch 10 kids die since then. He was sure you would be the 12th.

And so he was forced to watch as you stepped into the arena, as you fought. But this time you proved everyone wrong as you won.

He had known, back then, what kind of person would walk out of that place. What it took to survive.

But you had come back still you, against all odds. You had come back stubborn and sharp and kind in ways the Capitol couldn’t kill. You still held onto who you were. And that alone was the perfect act of rebellion.

And somehow, in the years that followed, through nightmares and rebellion and the slow, aching process of trying to be something more than just survivors—you had found your way to each other eventually. And then became more.

Then two, became three. You had sobbed in his arms when you found out, fearing the day that she too would have to be reaped from the bowl of names. With a high chance of her dying in that god forsaken arena. The guilt, Haymitch remembered, took such a toll on you.

“How could I do this? Bring a child into this world?” You had once said. But after some time you had come to terms with the baby—Luella. Light in the dark. And a memorial name after the one of the tributes from Haymitch’s games. A sweet little girl you remembered from the Seam.

But now, you all were here, in a dimly lit room beneath the earth, with the most incredible daughter who believed in poetry and magic, in a place where hope was hard to hold on to.

And yet, somehow, you still did.

Haymitch exhaled, pressing his forehead against your hair. “You know,” he muttered, “I always knew you were trouble.”

You laughed softly, shifting closer. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since you looked me in the eye after they called your name and didn’t cry.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Since you gave me an attitude that first day on the train. And especially afterward,”

Your fingers brushed against his hand, lacing together. “Guess that means you didn’t do a terrible job as a mentor.”

Haymitch huffed a small, dry laugh. “Didn’t do a great one, either.”

You squeezed his hand, tilting her head at him. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You were here. You were still you. Even after everything you both had gone through.

Maybe that was magic too.

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 32

MASTERLIST

32. Epilogue

SIX MONTHS LATER

«If we are late, I swear to Panem…» You murmur, because Haymitch has to put on a shirt and to stop kissing you.

«What are you going to do? Tell me.» He challenges, and he is right because you won’t do anything. The sight of your man is alluring, especially when he can’t keep his hands off of you.

«We have to celebrate baby Finn.» You pout, trying hard not to laugh because he looks like a teenager.

You are in Four, all of you, even Katniss who had a special permit for Finn’s celebration, and you are overjoyed. You really missed your friends, and you spent most of the holiday gossiping with Perla and Lora and, well, the other part kissing and smooching with your non boyfriend.

You won’t see him for a whole week, because you are going away with Effie and Portia at the end of the holiday. It’s time for your internship to begin, now you are healthy enough and you feel stronger than before. You spent two months in bed, revered and served and you enjoyed it when you stopped being in pain (You will deny it, but maybe you could have stayed up a week before. Or two. But you didn’t have to cook or clean and when the sex strike was revoked, well, it was like a paradise. A holiday. And he never questioned why you were able to help the reconstruction in the district and not him at your home.) 

Haymitch took the change well, if “Well” means trying to take you to bed every five minutes and kissing you in front of everybody, which is huge for him. You are not going to complain about the sudden affection. 

You know he would have preferred having you behaving like a despotic queen from your bed but at home, instead of your usual self in Capitol City, even if he won’t tell you. But once a week he can see you and after the internship you will return. 

«Only Finnick could call his son “Finn”. Egomaniac.» 

You snort but you are fast to use his distraction to wear your blue dress before he decides to rip it out. Finn is an adorable baby, always with a smile on his face and Finnick is so happy he glows. Both him and Annie are so tired they have to stop the conversation and enjoy five minutes of nap sometimes, but when they watch the baby, the look on their faces tells you it’s worth it.

«Annie chose it. And stop the charade, you are happy for him. He is another of your children. That makes you a grandpa!»

The shock on his face is definitely worth the joke, but when he attacks you, he knows you’re ticklish way too much, you squeal and laugh. 

«Say that again.» He dares you, pushing you onto the mattress with his weight. The temperature in the room changes quickly, in a moment his strong hands are wandering around the zip of your dress and you suspect you are going to be late after all. You normally hate to be late but you are going to be in Capitol City tomorrow morning, so you want to indulge yourself a little.

«You are the hottest grandpa in town.» You taunt him, your voice lower and seductive now, and you eagerly accept his kisses and the hand that goes under your dress. It’s been almost a year now, and yet you are still crushing hard on this man. You love him, of course, but you are also in love. You prepare yourself for hours to be beautiful for him, you cook his favourite meals for special occasions, and you love when he reads to you with his deep voice. You even love when he feeds the geese, calling the animals with the names of the people you really know. The most quiet one is Peeta. 

«If I’m a grandpa, Gorgeous, you are a grandma.» He whispers against your ear before kissing your lobe. 

«Oh no, I’m the sexy young girl who seduced you, don’t you remember?»

«WE ARE GOING WITH OR WITHOUT YOU.» Perla shouts from the other room. She is not a patient person, and since you are in her house you have to follow her rules. And maybe you are not the easiest hosts ever. You always sneak out to make out and you giggle in dark corners.

«We are coming!» You answer her, and you threaten Haymitch with a finger on his face. «Don’t even try to sneak away.»

He snorts. «I would never. I love a party for someone who doesn’t even know how to poop.»

You wrinkle your nose. «You disgusting, disgusting man.»

He presses a rumorous kiss on your ear just to spite you. «And yet you love me anyway.»

The party looks like something that a family would do. Jellyfishes made on paper decorate the room, and sparkly fishes are printed on the windows. You are cutting the bread for everyone - the dreadful sea bread from district four - humming a song from Twelve, while Effie and Portia are fussing over Finn who sits on Annie, Peeta and Haymitch are playing chess, and Lora, Perla, Katniss and the others are on the couch, chatting. Mags is on a rocking chair, half sleeping, half listening.

The only people who are at home are Marjorie and Ivy, and Holly. Holly and Marjorie are closer than ever, especially since she is with Ivy now. Holly loves children and Ivy is a treasure of a child, you too spent a lot of time with her, telling her stories and fairytales. 

Katniss is doing better, you think. She speaks with Prim everyday on the phone, she refuses to talk with her mother - her mother never calls her, tho - and she is in your house on a daily basis with an excuse or the other, looking for Haymitch. You wanted to tell her it’s not a problem if she wants to see his adoptive father, but he stopped you, claiming she would stop showing up because she would have been too embarrassed. 

Peeta returns to the district today after six months in the Capitol hospital, and he will be with Katniss for the first time. He is not stable yet, but the doctors say he is ready for the next step.

As for Haymitch, he is really trying to stay sober. You threw out all the alcohol in the house - actually you sell the closed bottles, because why not - and you asked Finnick not to buy it for the party. He is learning how to live without booze, and sometimes it’s so hard, but your man is strong.

It’s a miracle you are all in District Four. After Coin was killed by Katniss and you were shot, the girl risked her life. District Thirteen didn’t want to let her go. Haymitch and Plutarch fought to keep her alive, and Coin was replaced as president by Command Paylor, the leader of the rebel forces In District Eight. You quite like her, she is not a fame or power hungry person, she wants what is right. She decided to pardon Katniss for her action, she voted against the new Hunger Games and she destroyed the arenas. She built memorials, and now she claims Capitol City is a new city with her. You don’t know if you believe her, but she is helping the districts as well with the reconstruction, so she is surely better than Snow and Coin, and for now that’s enough.

«Tomorrow we will go shopping, darling girl.» Effie announces. That’s another thing you have to clear up, because you don’t have any money and you have no intention of using Haymitch’s. You are thrilled you’re going to be in Effie’s home, first because you are really curious about her house, and second because you are going to live with your friend. You would really miss Effie.

«She doesn’t need clothes, isn’t she there to make clothes?» He asks, more to engage a banter with his friend than anything else.

«She needs to mingle. A perfect fashion choice will make it easier.» You have three dresses. Two for every day and one for special occasions, that in the District were weddings, funerals or the Hunger Games. You also have a pair of trousers, a nightgown and a coat, and it’s more than most in Twelve. 

«Maybe I can wait for the first month?» You taint. After the first month you will have a salary, and after a part for Holly, you could spend the rest to “mingle”.

«I have an announcement.» Lora says, so proud. It’s so good to see Lora happy, in the mess that is the war you forget that she is nineteen. This girl with big wide eyes is the youngest among you.

«Tell us!» Perla encourages her, and maybe she needs it because she rarely speaks in the group. She is witty and funny but nobody knows it, except for Chaff who was her mentor and a little bit of a father figure, like Haymitch for Katniss.

«I’m moving to Capitol City too. I don’t know what to do, but I want to travel, and I don’t want to stay in my district, so…» She declares, torturing her fingers. She is nervous, but you are so happy.

«So we'll be together!» You finish for her and you go to hug her. «But where are you staying? In a hotel?»

«Well, I have some news too…» Perla stands up, and Cinna becomes crimson. «I’m moving to Capitol too… because we are moving together.»

«Us three! Again!» You hug them in a group hug. The trio is together again, and now for the first time it’s not for a suicidal mission or a killing machine television game. That counts as progress.

«Yeah, well, I still have my family house here, but… yeah.» You feel calmer already, you are not alone in a new city. Effie and Portia are beyond generous, but they are home there. Perla and Lora can feel what you feel, it’s a new adventure for them as well.

«For six months, right?» Haymitch asks you, hugging you from behind. 

«Six months.» You promise. 

«You are long gone, my friend.» Chaff intervenes. «This one ruined you.»

You tend to forget Chaff is there, and you feel mean because he is one of Haymitch’s best friends.

«He is not ruined!» Annie protests, «He is in love.» 

And now you know your man would want to scoff, but if it’s Annie who talks he is gentle, like with Lora. 

«Isn’t that the same thing?» The eleven victor adds. 

«Shut up.» He murmurs before kissing you again because he refuses to be embarrassed.

«Hey, do you want to go for a walk?» Haymitch asks you while you are putting on your coats, after the party ends. You think Finn liked your present, an enormous stuffed animal (a dolphin) you sewed yourself. You needed to spend time while you were in bed, and it was worth it when the kid saw it. 

You are not that happy to leave. Maybe District Twelve is nowhere to be great, but you miss your home. And it will be rare from now on to be all together, and even if you like what you are going to do, and you are overjoyed Perla and Lora will be with you, you will live in Effie’s house so you will be with her, but this is good. This, a family dinner with everybody. Finnick and Annie are living their dream with baby Finn (and they love it, they are born to be parents and you bet you are celebrating the birth of another baby soon), you want to be there for them. For Finn too, you are ready to be a cool aunt. You want your mommy near you, and she took the fact that you’ll live with Effie Trinket very badly. She feels threatened by her presence, like she is another parent or something, but for you Effie is more like an older sister.

And Haymitch… you are not ready to see him once a week, maybe twice a month sometimes. You are so used to always being in his arms, to talk to him about everything and now you have to talk to him through the phone. No kisses. No hugs. No cuddles even if he claims that “he doesn’t cuddle”. No “Come to bed, sweetheart” and you will read side by side until one of you begins to kiss the other’s neck. 

But it’s your dream, you will become a good tailor, you will learn so much from Portia and you will return to Twelve. 

«A romantic walk? With you?» You repeat in disbelief because he is not the romantic type at all. He is the one who refused to light candles - because you are not sixteen - at your first proper date in the house - because he doesn’t date. At the first mention that if he doesn’t date then you could date other people, he stated that you were his. And then he cooked your favourite meal for dinner.

«Does it have to be romantic? Can’t it be just a walk?» He complains and his voice is rough and annoyed, but he squeezes your hand tight. 

«Well it’s a walk with your girl and there’s the ocean so…» And the sight of Four is really stunning. The ocean is so peaceful you almost don’t miss the meadow, but after the shark in the Games you don’t like to be in open water. Doctor Aurelius claims you need to overcome your fear, but then again Doctor Aurelius didn’t see a mutt white shark in front of her and you need time.

«If you don’t want to, we can just go back at Perla's.» This is not his usual answer, it’s rough even for him.

«No, no, let’s go.» You wince. «Are you nervous?»

«Perfectly fine.» He lies. That liar. He can’t say that he is sad because you move to Capitol City.

«Not thrilled that I go?» You try. 

«You can go, babe, I bought you the ticket.» Babe. He uses the term “Babe” or “Babygirl” when something is wrong. You don’t like them and he knows it. 

«I know I can go, thank you for the permit.» You jump into his arms. «But you can be sad too. I’m sad. Are you sad?»

«…Maybe.» He admits.

«Good. That means you love me. And that also means that every weekend will be precious.» You whisper against his lips. «And I will sew a lot of lingeries…»

The annoyed glimpse in his eyes is replaced by pure lust.

«Don’t put so much effort on them, I’ll rip them out every time.» He closes the space between your lips in a passionate kiss that definitely doesn’t belong in a street, it would be better in a bed. You can’t help it if he flirts like that.

«Walk.» You remind him, licking your lips.

«Walk.» He agrees. 

«If Katniss needs me, or Peeta, or my mother, please call me.» Or if you need me, you want to say, but you know he wouldn’t appreciate it. You are a little anxious about the alcohol stuff and the survival guilt.

«No one will need you, Sweetheart.» He kisses your hair «Go and have fun.»

«I’ll try.» You promise. You are a little worried about your mother, and… you are scared, of course.

«Is Effie okay with the visits? I don’t want her thrilling voice to wake me up in the morning every week.»

«I think so, yeah. We can stay in a motel sometimes, or with Perla and Cinna.»

«Yeah, no. Not Perla.» 

You almost burst into laughter at his tone. When you were in a coma, Perla was the one friend who stayed with you the most with Lora. Haymitch and Holly were arguing about everything, she said, and while Lora has a sweet temper and a great patience, Perla is hot blooded and frequently snapped.

«You don’t like my friends!?» You try to sound accusing. 

«I don’t mind Lora. Perla on the other hand…» His expression says everything.

«Oh c’mon. She is great.»

«You just say that because she has blue eyes.» 

«That’s not true. She also has great boobs.» You see his glare, «What? It’s true.» It is true. Perla is stunning. Sparkling blue eyes, legs for days and you are not blind, you can see her cleavage. You are in love with Haymitch but you are still bisexual, it’s not your fault you have eyes.

«That’s it, I’m going to lock you up in the highest tower.» He shakes his head. 

«Oh, with a dragon to guard me?» 

«No, you would manage to turn it into a pet in a week.»

«I don’t know, it would be fun to be a damsel in distress…» You trace patterns on his chest with your fingers. «And you are so hot as an evil king.»

His eyes darken and he takes you in his arms to kiss you again. «If we keep doing this, we will go back now.»

«No, I want my romantic walk. No more flirting with you.»

«It’s not a romantic walk. It’s a walk. Go to Perla if you want your romantic walk.» Yes, she is the right person for a romantic anything. You are sure she prepared the “Moving to Capitol” thing for weeks before talking about it with Cinna.

«You are not jealous at all, congrats! You know I only want my man.» You indulge on his lips again, taking his arm close to you. «Plus, she has a boyfriend.» 

«He is far too old to be called “boyfriend”.» You chuckle at his displeasure for the word. He fixed on this thing. You secretly call him your boyfriend with the girls, but when he hears that he grunts. 

«And what is she supposed to call him?» You laugh. 

«I don’t know, partner?»

«Do I need to call you “Partner” too?» 

«’Was hoping “Husband”.» 

What?

You turn around and he is handing you a little red box. Not on his knee, of course, and his expression is kinda annoyed, like he really doesn’t like to be in this situation.

This situation, asking you to marry him. A marriage. A wedding. A wedding and a toasting. And a life with him, forever, and nobody could say anything. 

«Oh my…» Daisy Abernathy. Daisy Pinecone Abernathy. It suits you, you think, maybe you can sign your dresses as DPA, or Daisy A. Pinecone, and the kids in the district will call you Mrs. Abernathy. 

You, a married woman. With Haymitch. You can only imagine it. Haymitch is not the kind of guy who asks you to marry him, you are speechless. 

You put your hands on your mouth and you are completely speechless. He opens the red little box and inside there is a ring. 

Well, of course there is a ring, but it’s the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. It’s very simple, but it is made of gold and there’s even a little diamond on it. You have no idea where it comes from, there are no diamonds in the district. Well of course there are in the mines, but not on rings.

«Doesn’t need to be tomorrow.» He clarifies. «Or a Capitol thing. We go, we sign, we do a toasting and that’s it.»

«You are crazy.» You only manage to say.

«That’s the smart thing to do, you know if one of us is sick the other can take a decision and you could have my money if I die, things like that.» 

You try hard not to laugh. «You propose and then you talk about dying? Right now?»  

«Usually people say yes or now.» He is sounding a little nervous, and you remember you didn’t actually say anything. 

«Yes! Yes of course, yes!» You jump into his arms and give him a deep passionate kiss. The world stops turning just for a moment.

«Daisy Abernathy.» He whispers against your lips. «Sounds good, mh?»

«Daisy Pinecone Abernathy.»

Yes. Daisy Pinecone Abernathy.

Your name.

-------------------------

THIS IS THE ENDDDDD. I'm so saaad and happyyy we got to finishhhh.

I want to ask you, would you like a sequel? I think I'll do it, but if you are not interested I can post it only on AO3.

SO SO SOOOOO LAST CHAPTER.

taglist: @crimsonincursive

[kahlanmars]

This would totally be a Daisy creation

Cucculelli Shaheen

[cabotwife]

When The Chips Are Down

johanna mason x fem!reader

warnings: not canon compliant in some ways, blood and injury mention

word count: 1371

a/n: quick little thing before work

you can’t feel your arm.

not in the numb, cold way. you’ve felt that before, on the train staring at the capitol skyline, frost in your throat and nowhere left to run. no, this is different.

this is wrong.

you’re losing blood. you know it by the heat dripping from your shoulder, the sticky pull of your shirt clinging to the wound. the foliage blurs as you stumble through it, branches whipping your face, legs burning.

behind you the forest moans mechanically. something living and nonliving all at once.

you’ve lost count of how many tributes are still alive. it doesn’t matter anymore. they’re hunting you. specifically you.

and you don’t know why.

you fall near a moss-covered log, face first into the damp earth. the scent of rot fills your nose.

you try to move, but your body refuses. you roll onto your back, gasping for breath.

a figure makes their way out of the leaves.

you blink. once. twice.

she doesn’t speak, just crouches down beside you, axe in one hand and mud streaked on her face. her expression is unreadable. calculating. somewhere between annoyance and disbelief.

“didn’t think you’d make it this far out,” she mutters. “been lookin’ for you.”

you open your mouth to say something, anything honestly. help me, kill me, looking for me? but nothing comes out.

she rolls her eyes. “yeah, yeah. save the drama.

then she grabs your good arm and hauls you up.

you expected pain and you got it.

johanna moves fast. she slings your arm over her shoulder and half drags, half carries you through the brush like you weigh no more than a sack of potatoes. she doesn’t slow down when you groan or falter.

you’re not too sure why she’s helping. all you know is that she is.

𓇢𓆸

it takes hours to reach a shelter, a hollowed-out space beneath a split tree trunk, hidden by a curtain of leaves. inside, it’s cramped and dark, but the temperature is a few degrees cooler. the air tastes like damp moss and pine. safe. almost.

she sets you down with a grunt. “you better not die. that would really fuck up my day.”

you blink up at her, half delirious. “you’re not gonna kill me?”

she gives you a look. “why would i have carried you all the way here if i was just going to kill you? if i was gonna, i would’ve already.”

fair point.

she rips your shirt near the shoulder, exposing the wound, and clicks her tongue.

“you’re lucky. missed anything vital. mostly.”

then she cleans it. not gently by any means.

you hiss, jerking away. “careful–”

“don’t be a baby.” her hands are steady, unmoving. “it’s just a little bit of pain. you’ve felt worse.”

you want to argue, but she’s right. you’ve both felt worse.

the bleeding eventually slows. the fire never comes– she doesn’t risk it. too dangerous, she says. too visible. instead, she wraps you in some sort of foil blanket and drops a strip of dried meat into your lap.

“hope you’re not vegan.. are you?”

you manage a dry laugh. “well, not anymore.”

𓇢𓆸

night falls. the sky above you both is choked with smoke. somewhere in the distance, a cannon fires.

neither of you speak.

you lie on your side, watching her pace the tight perimeter of the shelter like a restless animal. she doesn’t look over to you even when she speaks.

“they’re watching you.”

you freeze. “what?”

“you’ve got sponsors. someone high up.” she finally looks at you, mouth tight. “they don’t send packs of mutts after just anyone.”

you swallow hard, “why?” even in your own games, you never got a single sponsor. you’re quiet and keep to yourself, they weren’t interested in you. and they certainly weren’t happy when you won.

she shrugs. “maybe you smiled wrong on camera. maybe you remind snow of someone he hated. doesn’t matter.”

“then why are you helping me if you know i’m a target?”

she doesn’t answer right away. just leans against the wall and picks at the dirt under her nails.

“because you don’t know how to play their game,” she says finally. “and i’m tired of watching good people get ground to dust.”

you stare at her. for a good amount of time.

“you think i’m good?”

she laughs, almost bitter. “no. i think you’re real.”

𓇢𓆸

the days blur after that.

you don’t heal so much as scab over. the pain stays, dull and constant, but you move anyway. you keep close to the brunette, learning her rhythms. the way she listens before moving. the way she tests berries twice before eating them or offering them to you. the way she sleeps in four-minute bursts, axe always in her hand.

johanna doesn’t talk much. but when she does it’s all bite and no apology.

you grow used to her dryness. to her muttered insults and sideways glances.

sometimes, they even feel like affection.

one night she shoves the last half of some kind of protein bar she had been sent into your hand, without even looking at you.

you say, “y’know, you’re not as mean when you’re tired.”

she snorts. “don’t get used to it. i just don’t want to waste food.”

𓇢𓆸

another day. another trap you stumble into.

this time, it’s the fog. acid, creeping in through the trees like a living thing. it burns where it touches your skin. your legs blister. your hands seize.

she carries you again.

doesn’t say a word. just throws you over her shoulder and runs.

afterward you both collapse on a rocky outcrop. she rubs salve over your arms and legs, silently. her jaw tight with restraint.

you breathe in through clenched teeth. “you could’ve left me.”

she doesn’t look up. “shut up.”

but when she finishes wrapping your burns, her fingers linger on yours for just a second too long. 

you don’t pull away.

𓇢𓆸

eventually you both reach the beach.

clear sky. salt air. reminds you a bit of home.

just a bit.

the air holds a stillness that feels unreal after days of poison and pursuit,

johanna drops to the sand, eyes on the horizon.

you sit beside her.

silence again. but it’s somehow different now. not heavy. just.. mutual.

you glance at her, and she glances back.

“i’m deadweight. i’m not going to make it,” you say, flat. just truth.

she shrugs. “neither am i.”

you blink. “what?”

she rakes a hand through her hair, like she’s deciding what to tell you and what to keep. “this quarter quell? it’s a slaughterhouse. we’re all just parts of the machine. none of us will actually make it out.”

“you’re oh so very uplifting,” you deadpan.

she gives you a sideways smirk. “i’m not here to uplift. i’m here to interfere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “with what?”

she doesn’t answer.

𓇢𓆸

that night, you can’t sleep.

she notices. of course she does.

“you keep twitching,” she mutters.

you roll onto your side to face her. “sorry. just thinking.”

she shifts closer, close enough that your foreheads nearly touch.

“you’re not dying tonight,” she says. “not if i can help it.”

you let out a shaky breath. “you always this friendly with your allies?”

she leans in, eyes flicking to your lips. “only the ones i like.”

your heart skips a few beats.

and then she pulls away, just as quick. like she didn’t just shake your entire world with one offhanded sentence.

𓇢𓆸

morning comes too fast.

the beach turns red.

there’s fighting. screaming. electricity in the air. smoke

so much smoke.

someone tries to grab you. johanna intercepts. her axe finds its mark in a skull that you cant bring yourself to recognize.

you run.

you run together.

when the lightning hits the tree and the plan unravels– whatever plan they never told you about– you’re the one who sees her fall as everything around you goes dark.

𓇢𓆸

when you wake again, it’s on a ship.

not one that belongs to the capitol.

you’re not dead, and this time there are no shackles.

you sit up. dizzy. alive.

beetee sits beside you. “you’re safe,” he says.

you barely hear him.

“where’s johanna?”

[erephene]

— , , 'Summer's Dying Light.'

⤑ Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!Reader. (Drabble)

WC : 1.2k.

Summary : Two days before the 50th Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy sits with you in the summer light, the world already mourning him before his name is even drawn. Beneath the sarcasm and stubbornness, he’s scared — and so are you. But fear isn’t the end of the story. Not if you have anything to say about it.

Warnings : Reader takes the place of Lenore Dove in this drabble, some SOTR spoilers, a bit of angst, fluff. Please let me know if I've missed anything else! <3

AO3 LINK HERE!

~

The reaping is two days away.

District 12 is already mourning like it's lost something.

The square is being swept and painted, banners hung like a child’s cruel joke. You hate the silence more than the noise — that suffocating hush that’s fallen over the Seam and swallowed everything golden about summer. Kids aren’t in the streets. Doors are locked earlier than usual. Mothers are keeping their children close, as if any of it matters.

And you—

You’re pretending not to stare at Haymitch Abernathy like you already know he’s going to be taken.

He’s sitting by the fence with his back to it, arms slung lazily over his knees like he doesn’t feel the noose tightening. His blond hair glows in the low light, and a blade of grass dangles from his lips. Smug. Careless. He looks like a boy playing at war.

But you know better.

You walk up without a word, sit next to him, and fold your legs underneath you. The hum of the fence is off, which means it’s safe. Safe to sit here, to pretend. The woods are doused in gold. Crickets sing.

“Sun looks good on you,” he says without looking at you.

“You always say that when you want me to forgive you for something.”

He grins. “Do I need forgiving?”

You pick at a blade of grass, rolling it between your calloused fingertips — hardened over the years by plucking or strumming various string instruments. “Only if you’re planning on leaving.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Almost too long.

You know the odds. Everyone does. There’ll be four tributes per district this year — double the death, double the pain. Haymitch is seventeen. He’s strong. Clever. Already a favorite with the girls and a thorn in the Peacekeepers’ side. That makes him a target. Or maybe just… visible. And visibility kills.

He finally speaks. “I was thinkin’," he says slowly. "If it is me, I don't want you comin' to the train."

You bristle. “That’s not your call.”

“It is if I don’t want to see you cry.”

“You don’t want to see me cry?” Your voice comes out smaller than you’d like. “Too late.”

His head turns then, and he sees it — the sheen in your eyes, the way your jaw clenches like you’re holding back a scream. His smugness drops away like a curtain. There’s just Haymitch now. Raw, real.

“You shouldn’t care this much about me,” he mutters, thumb brushing your knuckle. “I’m nothin’ but trouble.”

“I know,” you say. “That’s why I care.”

He lets out a shaky breath that’s not quite a laugh. “What happens if I go in?”

“If you come back, I’ll marry you.”

He blinks.

“You win,” you say, voice strong now, “and I’ll make you pancakes every Sunday for the rest of your life. I’ll braid your hair when you’re sick. I’ll kiss your scars, all of them. Even the ones I can’t see.”

“That’s an awful lot to promise someone who might not come back.”

You swallow. “Then you better come back.”

Haymitch leans in, rests his forehead against yours. He’s warm. Smells like pine and sweat and something boyish, wild, unruined.

He kisses you, slow and aching. It’s the kind of kiss you give when you’re trying to memorize someone. He tastes like defiance and fear and the end of something good.

When he pulls away, his eyes are glassy.

You’ve never seen him like this — not in the dim corners of the Hob, not under the stars in the meadow, not even on the nights he showed you how sharp his loneliness could be. He blinks once, slowly, like it hurts to come back to the world after kissing you.

“I don’t know how to keep you safe from this,” he says, voice cracked at the edges. “I’ve been running my mouth my whole life, but I don’t have the words for this.”

“You don’t have to protect me from it,” you murmur. “Just let me stay with you in it.”

His jaw twitches. He looks away, toward the fence, toward the woods he’s always talked about escaping to. His throat works around something unspoken, and you see the moment the weight settles — not fear for himself, but for you. For what you’ll carry if he’s gone.

“You’ll remember me?” he says quietly. “Even if they turn me into a monster?”

You don’t hesitate. “I’ll remember who you are. Even if they cut you to pieces and sew you back all wrong — I’ll still know the boy who steals bread just to share it. The one who learned my laugh before my last name.”

His face twists like he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how.

So you cup his cheek, thumb brushing the freckled skin beneath his eye. “Haymitch,” you say, soft and certain, “you’ll come back. And if you don’t, I’ll carry the part of you they couldn’t touch.”

For a moment, he just breathes. Then he leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours again — not with fire this time, but with something quieter. Grieving. Reverent.

“Don’t let them kill the part of you that loves,” he whispers. “Even if they kill me.”

“They won’t,” you promise. “They’re not that powerful.”

He watches you for a long, still moment. Like he’s memorizing you — not your face, but the shape of your defiance. The way you say “they” like they’re something you could one day bury.

Then his lips twitch, just barely. “You always talk like you’ve got a weapon in your chest.”

You nod. “I do. It’s you.”

Haymitch’s smile falters. His breath catches in a way that’s not quite a gasp, not quite a sob. He sits back, elbows on his knees, and stares down at his hands like they’re holding ghosts. Maybe they are.

“You’re too good,” he says bitterly. “Too good to be stuck here. With me. With this whole cursed district.”

“I don’t want good,” you say. “I want real. And I’ve never known anything more real than you.”

He swallows hard. The wind rustles through the grass, the only sound between you for a long, aching stretch. Then, quietly:

“I’m scared.”

It breaks something in you. Not because he said it, but because he’s never said it before. Because he’s always worn his fear like armor — twisted into sarcasm, thrown as barbed wire — and now it’s just here, bare in his lap like something wounded.

You slide closer, curling your fingers into his.

“I’m scared too,” you admit. “But fear’s not the end of the story.”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s just the part where everything starts to fall apart.”

You press his knuckles to your lips, kissing the scraped skin gently. “Then let it fall. And we’ll build something after.”

His brow furrows. “What if there’s no after?”

“There is.” You say it like a vow. “Even if it’s just me, keeping the pieces of you alive. There will be something.”

He closes his eyes.

You think he’s going to cry, but he doesn’t. He just nods, once. Tight. Like that’s all he can manage. And then, in a voice so quiet it barely touches the air:

“Don’t forget me.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

Haymitch lets out a breath — broken, grateful, stunned.

Then he leans forward again, resting his forehead against yours like it’s the only place he knows how to find peace.

And in that moment, before the world reaps him, before blood and cameras and Capitol lies, there’s just the two of you. Breathing. Trembling. Alive.

[sillylittlespam]

we found wonderland, you and i got lost in it. and we pretended it could last forever

wonderland (finnick odair x reader) masterlist

🐑 introducing district10!reader

catching fire

mockingjay

misc

taglist

@lunacurlclaw @anyaslittlepeanut @virtualsandwichqueen @Icvgty-4929 @volcanicwavecascade @moonb1tch @ellie-bellie-29 @marlene333 @maciejane

[maycat-19-142]

Haymitch x daughter reader

⚠️: Spoilers, drinking, ptsd, talk of suicide.

A/n: let me know if I missed anything in warnings

Definitely drunk Fling

After Lenore he never really loved like that again

You were left on his doorstep with a note from your mother

You grow up fairly normal, besides your father's drinking which he lessened but still does

And his ptsd of the games

He never really talked about the games

You knew it was bad, every year for his birthday he was horrified for your safety

You would bake with your friends family's and bring it home for his birthday

He loved it and would appreciate it more than life itself

If you ever got picked for the games he would basically end himself

He was more of a reck than normal

And going through bottles a day, effie has to hide the liquor

Your victory is the greatest and most horrific thing for him yet her has no memory

When you reunited he never wanted to let you go

You stayed away from the spot lights for years after

Then katneis and peeta

The plan with them was pure insanity

Yet they are safe

The 75th is horrific for everyone

He is begging you not to volunteer

Katneis volunteers when you are called

You are the only one to see him drying up in his hole in 13

He loves you so much, you are is life and his reason for living even after the war

Have a good day and night 🌙

Pixie out 🧚‍♀️

[moonlightkitties]

Chapter One

Summary: Your 18th birthday came by like a flash, it was your last year until you could stop putting your name in the reaping and work in the coal mine. Everything was going smooth, until your name got pulled from the cup as the female tribute for the 69th annual Hunger Games.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,596

You stare out of the window of your family's little run down shack. It wasn't the best, the wooden floors creaked each time you or your siblings walked, the windows would barely close making it colder at night, and you could hear your parents arguing from the too thin walls. You were the oldest of three younger siblings; Fern, eight. Glenn, fourteen, and Grayson, sixteen. Today marked your eighteenth birthday which always fell on July 4th, or more specifically Reaping Day. You were nervous, as always, but giddy, if you could just get through the dreaded afternoon then you would be in the clear and start your early shift at the coal mine with your father.

You glance at the worn down clock at reside in your makeshift living room, it was four hours before two in the afternoon, when the escort for District Twelve would pick the names from the reaping bowl. You hadn't expected to survive this long, though you'd always hope you would. There was something in the air that made it seem like this year it would be different, like a good different, the type of different like you didn't have to fear for your life every year and the type of different where you didn't have to rely on a slip of paper to decide your future.

You pulled yourself off of the window seal and made your way down to the bedroom where you sleep with your siblings. Outfits, which were only used for special occasions such as these, were set on your bed. A nice blue dress that reminded you of the sky on clear days, the same for Fern and matching shirts and pants for Glenn and Grayson.

After bathing in the lukewarm water your mother left out for you, you pulled on your dress and helped Glenn button his shirt.

Your mind wandered towards the reaping and if, which it was a rare chance, you would get picked, you would have to deal with...Haymitch Abernathy. Even thinking about him made you cringe. You've seen him around the hob, drinking his days away at the makeshift bar and at sometimes you felt bad for him but you've seen his drunken outbursts and the way he treated people. You shook your head and glanced at the clock, an hour passed since you got dressed. The front door swung open and your father, who got the day off since it was a "federal" holiday, walked in. Fern squealed and raced into his arms, a protective feeling and wave of anxiety rushed through you as you realized that one day, little eight year old Fern would turn twelve and have to put her name in the reaping bowl.

You took a deep breath, she would have four more years until then, you had nothing to worry about.

Your father gave you a smile and you noticed he had something behind his back. Fern tried to look behind him but he gently pushed her away and walked over to you. "I heard it was someone's birthday," he said, pulling his arms in front of him and held a black and white puppy. You gasped "No way!" you exclaimed, you picked the puppy up and she instantly started licking your cheeks, "Did you talk to mom about this?" you asked, holding the pup close.

"Of course I did, stop worrying so much," he said, scratching the puppy behind her ears.

"Where'd you find her?" Glenn asked, coming into the hall.

"A co-worker had pups and gave them to whoever wanted em'" he explained.

Your mother walked in, wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled at her husband and her eyes landed on the puppy that was in your arms. Although she looked happy for you, you could tell she wasn't happy with the extra mouth to feed.

"Your cake is in the oven, I was thinking we could have it after the reaping," you mother said, kissing your forehead. You nodded "Yeah, that's fine," you said. Your mother nodded "Right, well, what are you going to name your puppy?" She asked and you shrugged "I dunno...I gotta think about it first."

Fern pouted and stomped her foot "I wanna puppy!" she whined and your father tutted "Fern, we don't act like that, the puppy is (y/n)s gift, not yours." Fern huffed but didn't say more.

You walked into your room and set the puppy on your bed and tried to conjure up some names.

You're mind wander back to the song your parents would sing you and your brothers at night, way before Fern was alive.

"How about Willow?" you asked the pup, it's tail wagged, possibly indicating that she liked it.

"Maybe when you're older you can go out hunting we me and dad," you told her.

Every Saturday and Sunday you and your father would go out and hunt, so you could illegally sell it in the Hob and your mother could fix food for the week.

-----------

Hours passed and hugged your parents, brothers and Fern as you made your way towards the square where the reaping would take place. Fern, like every year, starts crying and holds onto you as your mother tries to get her off. You promise her you're going to be okay and make your way towards the huge group of other young women waiting their fate.

The escort, a young woman named Robin Daebreik, has been District Twelves escort for at least three years. According to the peacekeepers you regular hangout with in the hob, she is an incredibly strict and like you, can't stand Haymitch.

"Welcome, to the 69th annual Hunger Games," she began, her capital accent ran across the square, her bright colored red wig and too much makeup made her stand out between the emaciated children that stood in front of her.

You looked over towards the stage, usually the mentor, ergo Haymitch, would stand near the mayor. You spotted him, his messy dirty blonde hair was unkept and greasy and you cringed at the thought of being near him.

"As always, we will start with the girls," she walked over to the reaping bowl, put her hand in and pulled out a white slip of paper. You could hear and see the girls around you freeze and whimper in fear. Friends and sisters alike grabbed onto each others hands. You froze to and your breath felt like it was caught in your throat.

She opened the slip and her pursued lips let out nine words that you never once in your eighteen years of living would hear.

"The female tribute for District Twelve is (y/n) Nightingale."

You froze for what seemed like forever before you forced your legs to move in between the other girls. Robin gave you a smile and motioned for you to come up onto the stage of the Justice Building. You could hear your mother cries from the back of the crowd and you could spot Glenn and Grayson looking horrified as they stared at you.

You glanced back at Haymitch, who caught your eye and smirked, you rolled your eyes and faced forward, waiting for Robin Daebreik to announce the male tribute.

"Now, for the boys," Robin continued once the crowd calmed down.

She put her hand in the boys reaping bowl and pulled out a single white paper, she unraveled it and said "The male tribute from District Twelve is Rowan Novak." You looked towards Grayson, you could tell he was about to raise his hand to volunteer as tribute, but you quickly shook your head, he had to take care of them and take over your place when you and your father went hunting during the weekends.

Grayson stayed down and Rowan, whos lightly tanned skin shone and his dark brown curly hair was unkept like he didn't mind brushing it at least for this "occasion" and his green eyes held a twinge of mischief.

"Well then," Robin giggled "Lets give it up for District Twelves tributes!" she exclaimed. Your mother was still sobbing in the back of the crowd and no one clapped. You and Rowan were escorted into the Justice Building and were held in separate rooms. The door opened and Grayson quickly walked over to you, his eyes were saddened and he looked grief-stricken, like you were already dead.

"Listen to me," you began, "you're going to have to step up, okay?" Grayson nodded "I-I will, but, what are you going to do?" he asked "You've never killed someone before," he finished. You put your arms on his shoulders "I'm going to be okay, alright?" he nodded and a Peacekeeper took him away and your parents, Fern, and Glenn replaced him. Your mother wailed and pulled you into a hug, her tears were soaking your dress and Fern whimpered from behind your father's leg.

"I'm going to be okay, Ma," you tell her, hugging her back. She sniffed and pulled away "You don't know that," she whispered "This isn't fair, we were supposed to go back home and eat your cake," she hiccupped out. Your father gently pulled her away and into his arms. You bent down to hug Fern and when your mom and her both left, your eyes filled with tears as your father pulled you into a safe, warm hug. He shushed you and you felt safe for a few moments until a Peacekeeper took him away.

After the door slammed shut, you looked around, you were alone, and absolutely terrified for what the future held.

Tag List: @nevermorefanfics

[allisluv]

First off congrats on 200!!! I feel like it hasn’t been that long since 100 followers.

💍 I would like to request something with the victors ie Johanna, Finnick, Haymitch (gloss, Enobaria, cashmere, Cecelia, Mags if you want) before the quarter quell. Reader is a victor from District 8 and their talent is crocheting so they go around crocheting little animals for the other victors. Could you write something about what animal Reader would give the victors and their reaction? 😁

ooooo i love this so much!!

i think you would crochet johanna a black cat. its her spirit animal like if i cracked her soul open, that's what i would expect to see.

finnick would love a blue whale or a starfish. i think theyre his favorite animals and he would give them designated spots on his bed.

you would make katniss a copy of buttercup and she scoffs, pretends to hate it, but sleeps with it in her arms every night.

i feel like peeta would really appreciate a koala or maybe a sloth. don't ask me why because i dont have a clue, its just a gut feeling.

haymitch would recieve a grizzly bear with a bottle of alcohol in its hand. he fucking loves it

[oweninadaydream]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 ||𝐇.𝐀𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲

summary : Haymitch finds solace in a friendship with young (Y/N). Now Haymitch is outside, watching. (Y/N) is in the Arena, fighting.

song inspo: "There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair" - The Great War by Taylor Swift

pairing : Haymitch Abernathy x fem!reader (platonic)

word count : 1.8 k

contains : angst, hurt no comfort, betrayal, found family trope, violence, some gore, death, this story is set way before Katniss and Peeta's games. Also, first time writing for this character so probably a bit OC Haymitch hahaha.

a/n : Here you have my first moodboard !!! I wanted to try and capture the vibes of the story in three images and I'm pretty proud of myself. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story :) PD: shoutout to @sarahisslytherin for being so supportive everytime I have a crisis hahaha. Comments are always appreciated 🩷

“I think it’s time I have another dose of that medicine they've sent'' she said as a cue for him to get up from his spot and hand her the remedy inside the metallic jar. (Y/N) had been sick for a day and a half and, even though it was the boy's fault that they had encountered the monster that had bitten her, she wasn’t holding it against him. She knew she could trust him ; at the end of the day, the male tribute from her district had made an alliance with her and she had been doing everything in her power so that he didn’t die. He stood up and handed her the jar. 

Haymitch had awoken suddenly after falling asleep on the couch while watching the games in the room designated to the mentors. The constant worry was affecting his sleep schedule and his appetite detrimentally. Not for the boy, no ; he didn’t give a shit about that brat who had skipped all the training sessions and had dismissed his mentor every time he tried to give them valuable advice. He was anxiously picking his lips for her, for (Y/N).

People thought Haymitch had met her after the Reaping, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ever since (Y/N) was little, she roamed the District streets in solitude, as her mother had died and her father was extremely neglectful towards her. A younger Haymitch had recently become the District 12's victor and was beginning to develop a certain addiction to alcohol when, one cold afternoon, he encountered a young child by the gates of Victors Village.

Her sparkly eyes caught his tired gaze and a stare contest began. "I don't have time for this bullshit" he crankly thought while looking away. She asked him his name and that if that big house was his. He turned around and wondered whether he should engage in a conversation with the child who obviously had no better place to be at. He noticed the kid was underfed and didn't wear any winter clothes. The heart that had stopped beating after surviving the Hunger games came back to life , like a phoenix being reborn from its ashes. From that day on a very special bond was created between the two unfortunate souls. He was still very grumpy and had a little problem with drinking, but (Y/N) made him want to do better. She was incredibly smart and her sarcasm was one of the very few things that made the former tribute laugh. Their talks and dinners were a secret to the rest of the world ; he couldn't risk hurting the girl he had grown to love as a daughter.

He soon discovered her birthday was the day after the Reaping. This year she would turn 19 and the panic the Reaping used to cause her would finally end. Just one more year of not getting chosen and she could live a peaceful life, just like she had always dreamed of. The latter year Haymitch had been talking about taking her in as his daughter, as her father had also passed away. But before that could happen, the most disgustingly ironic thing happened.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)" 

One day, she only needed one more day. But it seemed useless to whine about something that would not change anyway. The other tribute was a boy nobody really talked to, so neither she nor Haymitch had any idea of what to expect from him. To say that the mentor was devastated was an understatement. But he could not show it, his face impassible as ever instead. 

He was there for every meltdown before the dozens of events, for every doubt she could have about how to make it out of the Arena alive, for every nightmare about what fate had planned for her. Haymitch observed with a worried frown how nobody approached (Y/N) during training week ; she was very astute but her mentor had stressed the importance of making alliances in order to have more chances to survive, and seeing how she was going to be all alone out there compressed his chest with acute pain.

He did everything in his power to prepare her for the multiple dangers she could be facing out there. Still, Haymitch’s mind couldn’t help but explore the darkest scenarios ; optimism was never one of his qualities. In the end, the apathetic boy from 12 decided to make an effort at the end of training season and he turned out to be a magnificent and stealthy climber ; he also started to get close to (Y/N) and they decided to team up. The change of attitude shocked Haymitch but since (Y/N) was much more calm and focused, he didn't put too much thought into it.

The District 12 mentor stared at the bright screen in front of him and watched how (Y/N) was sound asleep. The last 3 hours had been pretty dull on their part of the prefabricated habitat : he had gone out to collect some wood and after he had returned, he lit a fire and offered to watch out for any intruders while she slept. 

Suddenly, Haymitch noticed how the young male had started pacing back and forth in a nervous manner. His instinct of suspecting of everything anyone does kicked in very quickly. The tribute started sobbing heavily as he wielded the dagger he had managed to obtain from the cornucopia a few days earlier. His shaky hands lifted the weapon in the air and, with all the strength the teenager possessed, he stabbed her. 

The blade of his dagger penetrated her back with disturbing ease. He felt as if someone had put him on autopilot and, despite (Y/N) turning to feebly try to defend herself from the unexpected attack, he kept her still against the cold ground and continued to inflict the fatal wounds.

Her shuddering screams reached her assailant's ears like a distant echo. On the television, however, (Y/N)'s last words were perfectly understandable. His name. She was screaming his name. Haymitch couldn't quite detect whether the screams were a conscious call as a hurried form of farewell or a primal instinct in search of comfort triggered by a delusional pain that caused her to abandon all logic or coherent thought. If he had to bet, he would go for the second option, considering how quickly she was bleeding to death and the panicked expression on her face as she realized her life was rapidly coming to an end.

The stabs were becoming significantly weaker and that could only mean that the adrenaline rush that had originally enabled him to act in favor of his secret plan had slowly faded, only to leave him stranded in the tragic reality he had created. The screams stopped quite quickly, as she was choking on her own blood. The lack of cries caught the attention of the aggressor, who looked down and saw how (Y/N) breathed out for the last time. His shirt was a crimson mess. However,  nothing could compare with the bloody puddle that was coming out of her body. 

Leaving no time to mourn or process the scene in front of him, the Careers appeared and found the violent scene already over. Without an ounce of remorse or repulse, one of the District 1 tributes made their way towards the paralyzed teen and the corpse.

“There’s no time to waste. Give us her supplies, we’ll take them to our hidden spot in the skirts of the mountain. Meanwhile, you must go to the Cornucopia and bring some more food and weapons. You’ll join us later” The commanding voice of the male tribute intimidated the boy from 12 who obediently began to hand them what used to be (Y/N)’s : the matching axes, the food she had collected and had determined to be safe to consume, the medicine that was supposed to help her heal from the bites of the venomous creature. 

Haymitch beheld the horrific scene shown on the gigantic TV totally disassociated from reality ; he couldn’t move but the uneasiness crawling up his skin created a tight and uncomfortable feeling that he urgently needed to shake off. How could the boy be so stupid, so naive ? The Careers would kill him after he had completed the tasks they had ordered him to do; he was just a pawn in their master plan to win that hellish competition.

The camera pointed towards the interior of the cave where the body of the young woman laid still. Haymitch could barely recognize the corpse; that could not be the girl that brought light back to his life after living in the dark for so long or the young adult who respected him but also held him accountable when he messed up. No, that was not her. His brain could not assimilate the idea of her dying in such a vile and miserable way. That scum, poor excuse of a man would regret breaking his word, backstabbing his daughter like only a coward would.

He wished him a slow, painful and sanguinolent death. Actually, he wished he could have entered that damned Arena and done the job himself ; if you want something done right do it yourself, right? After a couple of seconds, the sound of the canyon and the image of (Y/N) projected in the sky appeared on the TV and as fast as they came, they disappeared from the screens, moving on to something much more entertaining for the expecting audience. 

He quickly excused himself from the room before anyone could begin to notice the grief in his expression. In the quietness of his private room, he started wailing and throwing everything in his way around, tearing all his belongings to pieces as a way to channelize his pain. After a while, he stopped only to approach the drinks cabinet provided by the generous Capitol, and he poured himself one of the many drinks he would have that night and the days to follow.

His heart began to develop another stone wall around itself, but this time it would never ever be destroyed, not like (Y/N) had managed to all those years ago. This time he would drown all his sorrow and any kind of emotion in all the types of liquors he could find. He would close himself to the world ; nobody would carve him open again, nobody would get so close to the real version of himself. He vowed then and there to abandon all hope and just let the years go by until the arrival of his final day. 

He exited the room only to sit on the balcony floor. While staring at the night sky, he felt a tear rolling down his left cheek ; after releasing a shaky breath, he raised the glass that contained his numbing remedy and murmured : 

" 'till we meet again, sweetheart"

[onlybeeewrites]

A Change of Plans

Request: hi!! could i request a oneshot for haymitch where theyre already in a relationship, takes place during the 75th hunger games and shes reaped, reader is very similar to annie cresta - soft spoken, shy, kind but emotionally fragile due to past trauma - maybe haymitch and katniss’s alliance negotiations are more desperate because he promised to get her out of the games? please and thank you!!

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader 

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, spoilers for Catching Fire 

A Change of Plans: Next

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The train hummed beneath them—too smooth, too quiet—like it had no business carrying something as ugly as death. Haymitch sat stiffly in his usual seat, a glass in hand he hadn’t touched. For once, the burn of liquor wasn’t enough. Not for this.

The reaping was over.

For District 12, at least.

Katniss and Peeta were reaped.

Well—he was. Technically.

Peeta volunteered, though it wasn’t like Haymitch could do much to stop him. Not when the Capitol stacked the deck so neatly, not when Snow already knew every move they’d make before they made it.

It was all exactly what he feared.

And somehow worse.

Because it wasn’t just Katniss and Peeta.

It was who else had been chosen.

The third Quarter Quell.

Where the victors themselves became the tributes.

A punishment wrapped in a celebration.

He hadn’t seen her yet. Hadn’t let himself imagine it. Wouldn’t allow her face to take shape in his mind—not until he had to. He thought he could delay it. Maybe she wouldn’t be reaped. Maybe, for once, the odds would lean in their favor.

Now, the screen played the recaps—district by district. A slow, cruel countdown. Effie had turned the volume up, her voice unnaturally chipper when she said they should “know who we’re up against.”

Peeta sat with his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed. Katniss sat rigid beside him, barely breathing.

A notepad lay in Peeta’s lap, filled with frantic notes and rough sketches. Names circled, others crossed out, arrows and question marks scribbled into the margins. He wrote based on Haymitch’s earlier comments—strategy, personalities, strengths. He wanted to be ready. Wanted to protect her.

They didn’t know how impossible that would be.

Haymitch sat bracing himself. His hands were already trembling, though he hadn’t taken a sip. He didn’t look at the others. Didn’t dare.

District 8.

The screen flickered.

There she was.

Standing alone on the platform, washed in that horrible blue-white Capitol lighting that made everyone look a little more ghost than human. Her hands were folded in front of her, fingers white at the knuckles. Her shoulders hunched slightly, like she was trying to make herself disappear into herself.

Just her and one other female tribute.

She hadn’t changed much. Maybe a few more lines around her eyes, a new softness in her features. But the essence of her remained untouched. The gentleness. The quiet strength. The kindness.

Even now, she looked soft.

Everything the arena was not.

Katniss inhaled sharply beside him. “Oh.”

Effie’s hand fluttered up to her mouth, her expression crumbling. “Oh no…”

Haymitch didn’t look at them. Didn’t acknowledge anything but the screen. His heart thudded slow and sick in his chest, and his fingers curled tight around the glass he still hadn’t touched.

Y/N stepped forward when they called her name. Her voice was low, trembling—barely above a whisper. But she walked. Unflinching. No dramatics. No sobs. Just the quiet dignity she always carried, like a thread sewn into her very bones.

She didn’t look surprised.

She didn’t cry.

That was her.

Always braver than anyone realized.

Braver than him.

“Won’t the other volunteer for her? She’s…” Peeta’s voice trailed off, uncertain, trying to say the right thing. “She’s not the most violent, is she?”

Haymitch’s jaw clenched. “I doubt it,” he said tightly. “The other female victor, Cecilia. Sweet woman. But she’s got three kids. If she wasn’t picked, she wouldn’t volunteer.”

Katniss was watching him now, not the screen. Her voice dropped into something softer than he’d ever heard it. “You didn’t think they’d pick her.”

“No,” he said flatly. “But then again…” He raised the glass, whiskey burning his throat. “Sometimes the odds are leaned into our favor.”

He tasted bitterness more than alcohol.

Because he knew.

He knew Snow did this on purpose.

Picked this Quarter Quell theme.

Picked Katniss.

Picked her.

This wasn’t justice. It wasn’t random. It was Snow’s hand around his throat, squeezing harder every time Haymitch dared to hope for something better. Dared to love something again.

Haymitch leaned forward and set the glass down, scrubbing his hands over his face like he could erase the image burned into the back of his eyelids—his wife, his wife, standing stiffly as Peacekeepers took her from the stage. They cut the footage just before she looked back.

But he didn’t need to see it.

He knew that look.

He’d seen it before.

The first time she was reaped, before they’d ever met.

Before she won.

Before he ever dared to let someone in again.

He had spent years protecting her in the only way he knew how—keeping her name quiet, keeping her out of the Capitol’s grasp, tucked away in the shadows of District 8. She had always felt too good for this world. Too soft for it. But she’d survived it once.

Her condition, her fragility, her gentle demeanor—none of it ever made her weak. It just made her precious. To him.

Now they were throwing her back into the fire.

“Haymitch,” Effie said gently. Her voice had lost all its Capitol shine. “I am… so terribly sorry.”

He didn’t answer. What was there to say?

There was no plan. No maneuver. No clever twist of words that could undo this.

All he could see was her. That quiet smile she gave him when she mended his clothes. The way she held his hand in bed when the nights were too dark. The smell of her hair. The small kiss to his wrist when she thought he was asleep. Her voice saying his name like it meant something.

Gone.

No.

Not gone.

Still within reach.

The plan was still in motion. The one he’d built with Plutarch piece by piece. But now… now it needed to be reshaped. Bent to save her.

He stood abruptly. His voice was rough, slurred at the edges, but solid where it counted. “She’s not dying in that arena.”

“Haymitch—” Peeta started, knowing that at the end, only one of them could get out. There was no way they’d let them get away with it a second year. 

He turned, eyes burning. “I mean it. I don’t care what it takes. If we’re—” He stopped himself. Too many ears. Too many cameras. He gritted his teeth.

Katniss nodded slowly, picking up what he was putting down. “We’ll watch her back. But you know how this works. Especially now. Only one can make it out.”

Only one.

That’s what the Capitol wanted them to believe.

But Katniss and Peeta didn’t know what he did.

Didn’t know Beetee’s plan.

Plutarch’s plan.

Didn’t know the ship hovering beyond the clouds that would be ready for when the time comes.

Didn’t know he’d already laid the groundwork to get her out. He just needed to get the other Victors on board.

He just had to keep Katniss alive long enough to make it happen.

For the rebellion to happen.

But now he had another factor to worry about. His wife was now stuck in the games. Haymitch needed to figure out a way to keep her safe. Sponsors would only do so much, and Cecelia would ensure you were looked after. The capital loved you and all the clothes you made. A Capital favorite, especially to all the designers like Cinna.

Maybe Finnick would do. He could be trusted.

Or Johanna. She liked Y/N. Had a soft spot for her, even if she’d never admit it.

It could work.

It had to.

Effie dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “She’s one of the good ones,” she whispered. “Always has been.”

Haymitch didn’t reply.

He couldn’t.

He turned and left, boots heavy against the floor as he crossed the car to his compartment. Once the door slid shut, he walked to the window and leaned a hand against it. The tracks blurred by below, the sky painted in ash and dying light.

Somewhere out there, she was being powdered, painted, packaged for the cameras. Being forced into a dress she didn’t want. Touched by hands that didn’t know her. Made to smile through the terror.

Somewhere, she was alone.

And he was here.

But not for long.

This time, he wouldn’t watch from the sidelines.

This time, if the world wanted war—they’d get it.

Because no one was taking her from him again.

Not without burning for it.

[kahlanmars]

PAPER RINGS part. 8

MASTERLIST

HIIII.

Fist of all, THANKS!! And this part contains SMUT. Please, if you are minor don't read. It starts with *ear* and it ends with *love* in bold.

This chapter is just a cuddle from me to me. And you, if you ship Daymitch.

this is the gif just because Woody looks hot here.

8. Drew a map on my bedroom ceiling

It’s not a surprise when he starts kissing you with heat and he pushes you onto the mattress, and your body is craving for his touch. It’s like he burns you with his hands when he touches your skin, and there is no better feeling in the whole world. Well, maybe there is a better feeling, but you don’t want to be crude.

«Hay, before we start…» You try to say, which is hard if he wants you. And he definitely wants you. You are proud of the way he looks at you, and you are up to whatever he wants to do to show you he missed you and he is sorry, but you are also determined to clear the situation before.

«Didn’t we start already? I missed you. I was miserable without you. When I thought I lost you…» He is attacking your neck and he is so talented with those kisses, he knows every spot to make you ache with desire, that you almost give up. But no, you are the strongest soldier.

«The thing you said about the house, did you mean it? That it’s just your house and not mine?» You have to know it. You moved into his house without really meaning to, you were in a coma and then you needed him twenty four seven, but now you don’t have to. You could find a small house in the village or take one of the empty houses in the victor’s village, even if you are technically not a victor. There is no need for you to stay in a home you can’t call yours.

He wouldn’t be completely wrong either. Who is crazy enough to move together after six months of a relationship? Courtship in Twelve is much longer.

«It was just me not being able to live with someone else. I’ve been completely alone for twenty four years, Sweetheart, I took all the decisions by myself. I want to stay with you.» He takes your hand and kisses your palm. «And what is yours is mine, don’t doubt it. Sometimes I just slip into old habits.»

«So I don’t have to move out.» You want to be sure. His eyes darken in worry.

«Don’t even think of it. I want you by my side. Always.» He even kisses you on the cheek and you melt completely. «Why? Do you want to go? I understand I'm not the easiest roommate. And it's been rushed… I rushed it. If you want-»

«No!» You reassure him. You always forget it’s mutual, in your mind he is very sure of how you feel about him but in reality he isn’t much. «I want to stay. I like our life. I like waking up with you and dinner with you, I like our routine… I want to live like this forever.» You blurt it out. You are not one for great words. I mean you are, you always say to your friends and to him that you love them, but he does not, and in your everyday life you express your affection in other ways. 

«Same for me, Sweetheart. I asked you to marry me for this very reason.»

«And just for the records, you don’t think I’m a gold digger.» You bite your upper lip. You are aware you give off this vibe. You stay with an older man, a good looking and wonderful older man but still, you like money, and you are kinda spoiled. But you are not with Haymitch for his status. You are with him because you love him. 

«I’m not exactly a catch. You stayed with me in a hole under the ground with no guarantee of a life after that, you put up with my shit too many times. No, I don’t think you are a gold digger.»

This time it’s you who attacks him with kisses. «I didn’t put up with anything, and you are a catch. You are smart, and funny, and handsome and so good in bed I think I’m addicted to you…»

«I would hope so.» He strokes your cheek. «I’ll never let you go again. Doctor Payne says-»

«Who’s Doctor Payne?» You interrupt him.

«I… I went to therapy. I figured out something was wrong and now I don’t think Thirteen is spying on us so much anymore, so I called Dr. Aurelius and she called Dr. Payne.»

You pepper his face with kisses and giggles. «I’m so happy for you!»

Going to a therapist it’s a big thing for someone as paranoid as Haymitch. And he wasn’t wrong, there were spies everywhere before the revolution and sometimes you are still afraid of it too. 

«Me too, but now please… I can’t stay over a bed and not have a bite of my lady…»

«Bite me then.» You climb into his lap and whisper in his ear. «Kiss me, taste me. I think it’s time for you to fuck me properly, my love.»

«I didn’t give proper attention to this body lately, right Sweetheart? I neglected this poor stunning body of yours.» 

He approaches you like a hunter, tossing you on the mattress like a ragdoll, and you feel like a prey, you feel his eyes on your body like he wants to eat you out in a whole bite. 

You missed it so much, he has this magical power to make you feel like you are the most beautiful woman on earth.

«I feel very neglected.» You pout. It shouldn’t be true, but living in two different cities has been so difficult for this aspect. When you are at home, you two make love at least once a day. It’s not planned, but he brushes his hand against yours, or he reads to you with that deep voice that tickles your belly, and you aren’t without fault, you wear skimpy pyjamas and you giggle in a flirty way like you didn’t conquer him yet. You are the epitome of a coquette girl, when it comes to him.  

«I should always cherish you… your legs, your lips, your neck…» 

He is over you and he starts going south, until he reaches your tights. He smirks, he likes to undress you like he is unwrapping a present. He is careful not to break the tights and he tosses them away when your legs are free.

«So beautiful, Gorgeous.» He starts peppering kisses along your ankle, up and up on the leg until he meets your thighs. He avoids your panties to place wet kisses on your belly and he smirks against your skin when the bra is on the way. You are a painting mess, because while he is busy doing this you are shivering from his mouth and wondering hands.

«Let me taste you, my love.» You ask and you suddenly realise he is completely dressed, while you are in your panties and bra. Unfair, unfair! You want to see your man in all his glory. You love his body, he is firm and muscular in a manly way, he is so virile and strong. You almost sigh at the thoughts. 

«No protests from me.»

You quickly remove his shirt and start to trace a line with kisses along his taurine neck, his chest, his black boxers you bought him when you found out he was sleeping naked and you two were on a sex strike.

«I’m so happy you are mine, Haymitch, all mine.» 

«All yours.» He closes his eyes and you have to admit that this is one of your favourite feelings in the world, Haymitch completely broke, in your power, a shivering man who begs for more and more of you. «Babe, you are a view. Stunning.»

You blush, and doubt you are a view with your lips wrapped on his cock, but you love how powerful that makes you feel, and Haymitch is so handsome you almost whine in anticipation for what he will do to you.

«If you keep doing this I won't be able to resist for long.» He warns you, but he is guiding you with his hands on your scalp - and it’s hot, you don’t know why but it’s so hot when he does this - and you take the opportunity to look at him in a seductive smirk.

«And what’s the problem with that, darling?» You purr. 

«I want you to… to enjoy… Daisy, please.»

«Shh, just let me do this.» You suggest.

He gives up his protests almost immediately when you start to bob your head and you enjoy his moans very much, he cries in please and he claims your name on his lip like he is praying to a personal goddess.

You are his personal goddess, right now. 

When you finish you are satisfied and he looks so lost he is almost cute, his face open in a dumb smile.

«Shit, Sweetheart.» He pants, and his hands go to massage your neck. He loves your neck, you know that, he always bites it or kisses or, well, he does like to choke sometimes. Just as much as you like his wide hands wrapped around your skin. And you are not that innocent either, you clearly remember bites that needed medical attention after. 

«I think what you mean is “Yes, I’m going to marry the right woman”.» You climb into his lap again and you hide in the crook of his neck.

«Damn right.» He whispers, still a bit puzzled, «Give me a minute and then-»

«I didn’t do it to have anything in return. I did it because I like it. I quite like you.»

«Sweetheart, if I’m not in you in ten minutes I’m going to die from abstinence. Again.»

You laugh, and you violently blush because he is very blunt when he wants to. «So you are addicted to me now?»

He takes your lips in a fiery kiss. «Good thing you are with me.»

«Always, my love.»

Haymitch Abernathy does not disappoint, and you end up seeing little stars on the ceiling. It takes almost five minutes for you to remember how to talk again. You honestly regret him being your first time, because you have no idea if it’s normal or if he is particularly good at what he does. Is it normal to forget what your name is, is it normal to just want to whisper his when you are ecstatic?

«Did you see the article?» You ask, giving his shoulder a sleepy sloppy kiss. You don’t have the stamina to do something else and he is completely broke, but… his body is there and what are you supposed to do, not enjoying what is yours?

«Yeah. Didn’t believe it.» He reassures you. Then he begins to stroke your raven hair with his callous, big hands and you close your eyes feeling in paradise.

Yes, this is paradise. A post sex cuddle with the most handsome man in the entire galaxy.

«Good. I was just crying, he was consoling me.» You justify yourself. You don’t need to, he is the one who kissed someone else, not you. And yet.

«I’m sorry you cried, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.» He strokes his hand on your cheek. You see regret in his eyes.

«Don’t worry. You are here now.»  You let out a content sigh, but then you remember something. «Haymitch, where is your kitten?»

Stew is too little to be alone for more than three hours, let alone a day. But it’s Haymitch you are talking about. The guy who made a fence so strong that wolves couldn’t pass through it to get a geese. The guy who never once thought a cat could survive in the wild and was willing to take him in. The guy that, when you laughed he got the kitty a cat’s bed, replied “Where do you think it could sleep, on the floor?” in an annoyed adorable voice.

«With Peeta. And, babe… our kitten.» Peeta makes sense. Katniss wouldn’t, she is not a big fan of animals, but Peeta has always been tender and kind. 

«She hates me, for now it’s your kitten.» You smile. You’ll win the kitty over, but you can understand she is totally in love with your almost husband. 

«She doesn’t hate you. She is jealous, possessive and spoiled. I see a resemblance.»

You pretend to gasp. You are not possessive… not really. You just like to joke, and when you play jealous you get kisses and reassurances. And he is not either, but he is insecure. Of his age, of his status, scared that somehow someday you will leave him.

«I’m prettier.» You smirk, your nails digging on his neck. «And my claws are sharper.»

«Let me see your claws, pretty kitten.» He laughs and you pull him in a kiss. 

«Try to kiss another woman and you’ll see them.» You warn him. You didn’t forget it just because you love him and you want to be with him. He dismissed your concerns and that was the result.

«She kissed me.» He reminds you, guilty flashing on his face.

«You let her.»

«Hey, never again. I promise you. Plus, I think Finnick will want my head.»

«So you are not just a bit jealous of the magnificent Finnick Odair? With his shining blonde hair and his charming smile and his chiselled abs and a pretty fine a- ehi, come here!» He tries to get out of the bed, but you put him down with a long kiss and you start peppering other pecks on his chest.

«You wanted Finnick so bad, I was going to get him for you.» He jokes. «I know I don’t have… chiselled abs or a charming smile. But I intend to make you happy.» And you believe him and his strangled voice.

«I don’t want Finnick. I never wanted him. I want you. And you don’t believe me, but you are a good looking, attractive man and I’m lucky to be your lady.»    

He can’t answer that, but his eyes are now a little flashy and watering and his lips are on yours.

«Don’t you have to go make dinner for Effie?» He asks because this is the routine. You do that even on the weekends when he is in her house. Effie has been magnificent and patient with you, and even after her delusion and your blackmailing little problem, she is worried about you. She is worried if you sleep enough, and she checks if you are in bed at a reasonable hour, and she controls if you eat enough. This is huge, Effie Trinket, who grew up in a strict house when it comes to food. She confessed to you her mother used to be severe, she went to model school when she was just a teenager because of her mom, and the situation was pretty abusive.

«She forced me to rest on bed.» You confess. 

«Great idea…» His hands go on your breasts and you giggle when he squeezes them. Sometimes he is not forty one, sometimes he is thirteen. And you love the childish side of his nature.

«That’s not resting.» You point out. Not that you mind, really. But he is forty two, how can he be so eager already? You don’t dare to ask if it’s normal but maybe you could drop the topic with Perla when she feels better.

«That’s relaxing.» He deadpans, and he starts to put little seductive kisses on your neck. «I missed you… your scent, babe, there is nothing like it.»

You blush, because you can’t help moaning a little. It’s like electricity. «I love you.»

«What about you two girls have a nice dinner together and I cook for you? You are both exhausted.» 

You close your eyes, enjoying the sensation of protection he always gives you when you are near to him. His cooking is something you love about him. You don’t mind the cooking part of your maid job, it’s better than scrubbing the floor or cleaning the clothes, but he loves it. He really enjoys it.

«That sounds like a wonderful idea. And then you eat with us?» 

«Nope. I eat here with peace and quiet.»

He needs his space. You are aware, he told you, and yet you feel like it’s wrong, as if you were doing a bad thing to him. For you it would be terrible not to be included, for him it’s the opposite.

«I don’t want you to tire yourself without a reward…»

You thought he was going to ask something sexy, but he surprises you. «Then give me a reward, cutie. Afterwards we can watch a movie or read a book together.»

You laugh and kiss him again. «A reward for a nice dinner. How domestic.»

«I’m going to spend all my life with you, Sweetheart. We will have plenty of domestic moments.»

This sounds so good you might cry. He doesn’t understand it, but it’s so good to be around him. You feel cuddled and protected and sure, he is your little piece of peace in this world. Your home.

«I can’t wait.» Your kiss is lingering on his lips. «We will be old together.»

«Impossible. I’m already old.» 

You burst into another laugh, and then you flirt, because he is your man and what’s more fun than flirting with your man? Nothing. You let a finger slide through his chest. «So you will be this sexy forever? I have to keep up.»

«Something tells me it won’t be that hard for you.» 

His hands are already on your butt but then you remember you have to eat with Effie, and you laugh against his lips. «Later. We have all night.»

«We have all our life, Sweetheart.»

The next morning, regenerated from your night with Haymitch - who wants to talk to Finnick - and relieved about Effie, you are ready to talk to Lora.

You are hosted just like me. Your whole world is collapsing and you don’t even help me for me! You are doing it to distract yourself!

You have to admit you didn’t like her words. She was cruel two nights ago, at the party. She aimed to hurt and she succeeded. You could have expected it from Perla or maybe Effie, because you bicker with the Four girl all the time and you know Effie’s comments are sharp, even if they are not directed to you. Lora has always been sweet, though. The kind girl from district Eleven you learned to know better. She thinks you have been helping her to distract yourself. She still thinks that. She didn’t call and you didn’t see her when you went to Perla, so she must still be mad.

This time you don’t bring pastries, because the comment stings. 

It’s Cinna who opens the door, again. You forget he has his office at home, partly because it’s cheaper to pay one place instead of two, partly because he wants to keep an eye on Perla. 

You are a little shocked by Perla, and you feel stupid you didn’t catch the signals before. And you feel powerless, impotent. What can you do for her? How can you say it without being disrespectful? Perla is always so eager to make everybody think she is the strong one, she would be offended.

«Daisy! Come, come. Do you want a coffee? Tea?»

Cinna is in a good mood today, and that makes you feel a little better towards Perla. He loves her so much that he is miserable when she is not okay.

«No thanks.»

You follow him to his office, and you are stunned. Portia’s office is linear and everything is in its place, but Cinna’s office is an explosion of colours. He has sketches up on the wall and on the desk, crayons and pencils and watercolours. It’s so pretty, like a studio for a child. This is how you want to have an office.

«Sorry about the mess, you know it. You missed Perla, she is better today so she decided to go to work. Silly decision if you want my opinion. Oh, you are here, you can take these to Portia… these are the drawings for District One.»

You always forget Cinna comes from District One and not from the Capitol. He was one of the few that climbed from a district to the Capitol thanks to his skills. It was almost impossible, but he is a legend, very good in what he does, and he played his game when he decided to offer himself for district Twelve, the only district that needed a stylist so badly because no one wanted to be associated.

Meanwhile, when no one knew it, he was a part of the revolution. And he met Perla through Finnick.

«I was actually looking for Lora.» You confess. «But these are beautiful. Mine are not… are not like that.» You are a little scared now. You were proud Portia decided to include you, but you are not her or Cinna.

«I would hope so, you are Daisy and I can’t wait for a Daisy original.» He tries to reassure you. «Lora? She doesn’t live here anymore.»

That shocks you. In two days?! Or she didn’t tell you? You try to relive the last conversations with her. You were aware she was guilty about living with them, but she doesn’t have a job.

«Excuse me, she what?» 

«She moved out last night, she said she was moving in with her model friend.»

Oh no. And… she moved in a night? That doesn’t make sense. Then again, she doesn’t have that much, she could probably just fill a suitcase, and if you know her better she also always kept everything in the suitcase just in case. 

«Lavinia?» You easily guess. Lavinia Crane is the only friend Lora has apart from you. But, for what you know, Lavinia is also a wealthy model from Capitol and that doesn’t add up. How is Lora paying? Chaff is not that rich. 

«Yeah. Perla was not happy about it, she doesn’t trust her.» Perla is right. Perla is right most of the time, you shouldn’t have questioned it.

«I can understand why. Do you have an address?»

«On the fridge.»

Maybe it’s just a stupid doubt, but you want to check. You don’t trust the blonde Capitol girl and you don’t want to abandon your friend again, so you guess you are going house-hunting this morning.

[k-sunstar]

☼ ⋆ The Hunger Games Masterlist ⋆ ☼

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☼ Finnick Odair ☼

🤍COMING SOON🤍

☼ Coriolanus Snow ☼

🤍COMING SOON🤍

☼ Peeta Mellark ☼

🤍COMING SOON🤍

☼ Haymitch Abernathy ☼

🤍COMING SOON🤍

[gnarly-words]

left in flames

pairing: peeta mellark x reader

description: being best friends since you were five, how do you cope with your lifelong crush being reaped for the games.

warnings: blood, graphic violence, child death, mentions of starvation & poverty, canon-typical violence

word count: 2,468

masterlist

Your heart broke as you watched his shaken form climb the steps of the stage. His eyes scanned the crowd with terror deep within them, his hands clenching tightly at his side. A tear fell from your eye as he shook his hand with hers, his fate sealed with the simple action. The district remained silent in unspoken protest, Effie awkwardly stepping away from the mic. You tried to reach his eyes before the peacekeepers guided them into the justice building. His head turned back towards you, his eyes holding the pain he felt being dragged away. 

The crowds began to disperse, but you remained locked in your place. Shock had rooted your feet to the ground, even the shoves of other girls your age not making you budge. Your eyes remained locked on where he’d just disappeared, Haymitch stumbling back up the steps to follow the pair. 

Your mother was the only one who had been able to coax you from your trance, pulling you with her towards Peeta’s parents. They pulled you in for a tight hug and assured you you’d get your goodbyes with him as well. You were numb as you nodded along to their words, following as the peacekeepers dragged the two families towards the justice building.

You stood outside the offices as their families said their last goodbyes, remaining even as the mayor’s daughter walked out of her room. You only entered the room on the left after you knew you were the last to visit, creaking the door open with a sad smile. 

You didn’t wait for him to turn before you were launching yourself into his arms, sobs shaking your body as your tears soaked through his shirt. His hands gripped you tightly, his broad arms wrapping you up as close as possible. You stayed like that for a moment too long, almost using up all of your time in each other’s arms. 

“You have to win,” you mumbled against his shoulder. “You have to come back.”

“We both know if anyone’s coming back, it’s her.” he shook his head against your own, his tears starting to land on you.

“Then try, try and come back. For me.” You pulled back, locking eyes with him.

You were so close you could see the different shades of blue in his eyes. You could count every freckle across his cheeks, see the faint scar above his eyebrow from falling over when you were kids. His eyes flickered from your own to your lips, his breath hitching as you leaned closer. Your lips pressed firmly against his own, years of emotions pouring into one simple moment. 

You were dragged out of the room before you even opened your eyes. The last image you saw of him was him fighting against the peacekeeper, taking him towards the train. You raced to meet his family near the train station, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pair before they left for what might be forever. 

You never got your chance to see him again, your final memory being the image of you both being dragged away from one another. The next time you saw Peeta was as they were paraded around for the Capitol, burning flames surrounding their bodies as they raised their hands in solidarity together.

His cheeks looked fuller than before, clearly having been well fed with the luxuries of their oppressors. His blonde hair was swept to the side more handsomely than you’d ever seen him do himself. You hated the jealous green monster that ticked in the back of your mind at their closeness. You had to remind yourself it was all for their survival. It was all for show, nothing more.

The district was abuzz still the following morning from the spectacle the duo had put on. Corners of the hob were secretly placing bets on which of the pair they reckoned would last longest in the games. Even the rich, merchant side of town was talking about the prospect of the district having a chance at winning. 

You remained at his family’s shop for most of the day, helping Mr. Mellark out at the register whilst Mrs. Mellark and her other sons were in the kitchen preparing another batch of pastries. You greeted each customer with as warm a smile as possible, nodding along as they rattled on at the spectacle the tributes had put on at the parade the night before. Each passing customer merged with the next, their faces not even registering as you passed them their orders and waved them out of the bakery. 

By the following morning, it seemed everyone’s excitement had finally dimmed slightly. The bookies were still taking and placing bets, just not as in the open and joyously as before. Customers asked less about the Mellarks’ opinions of their son’s survival. And by the next day, the district was almost back to normal. 

It all changed when the training scores were revealed, hope rippling through the crowds as they were forced to stand through Caesar's overly chipper announcement. The careers were mountains ahead of the other districts; only the male from eleven seemed to come even marginally close to their scores. It all changed when twelve’s scores were revealed, and the crowd of their district didn’t know what to do with themselves. 

You couldn’t help the grin forming on your face as you saw his score. An eight. It wasn’t the best, but it was good. He had a chance. And with Katniss’ record-breaking score of an eleven, if they teamed up, there was a chance twelve could have a victor for the first time in nearly twenty-five years. 

Your family and the Mellarks tried to celebrate the moment that evening. Your father bought a couple of rabbits that Gale had shot to roast. Your mother made a pie for dessert, using the apples that had finally managed to grow on the tree that had been in your garden since you were a toddler. It was the closest to normal both families had been since the reaping, the absence of the golden boy still obvious despite both Mr. Mellark and your father’s best efforts. 

It was the first time you’d truly smiled since he’d been forced to leave. Your cheeks were hurting from how hard you were laughing, your stomach full with both food and the love your families had created together. 

It all fell apart as you sat on your family’s only sofa, your parents on either side of you. You couldn’t believe the words coming from his lips. He’d never said any of these things to you before. He’d never expressed the way he truly felt about you besides the brief kiss before he was dragged from you to his death. 

A blush formed on your cheeks as he spoke so fondly of you, his cheeks matching the redness of your own. Your parents shared a knowing look over your head as you watched the interview, having long known of the pair of you’s unspoken love for one another. Your father would have to pay his mother for losing the bet on who would confess first, a sulking out forming on his face.

You were the happiest you’d been since Peeta had left. But it all shattered when he said those words that tore your heart into a million pieces. How could he do this to you? How could he break your heart after everything you’d been through together? Was the kiss just a final goodbye? Did he even mean it?

You didn’t stay to watch the interview any longer, storming to your room to cry into your pillow. Your parents left you alone for the rest of the evening, knowing you needed space to process the feeling of betrayal from your best friend. You didn’t even know if you wanted to watch the games tomorrow. If he was going to die, did you really want to watch? Was his death going to be any more painful than the heartbreak he’s put you through with his words?

Sleep evaded you that night, your mind too full of the fears you felt for Peeta and your heart overflowing with the betrayal of his confession. By the time the district began waking up for the day, you were just starting to drift off out of pure exhaustion. You awoke to the sound of talking coming from the kitchen, your parents holding one another.

They silently turned to you, pulling you into their group hug. You all stood in your kitchen until you heard the sirens chiming, alerting the district of the upcoming mandatory viewing. You were expected to stand in the square until the end of the bloodbath, no matter if your district survived or was eliminated in the first thirty seconds, as had been the fate for many of twelve's tributes.

Your family found the Mellarks standing near the edge of the crowd, welcoming your small family into their own. You tried to ignore the pitying stares of those around you, this being the first time you'd been with the majority of the district since the reaping a week earlier.

The anthem blared through the square as the capital seal shimmered onto the screen, larger than life above the stage. The crowd stilled, no more whispers, no more staring at the emotionally grieving family, only the tense, unified breath of the district waiting to watch their children die.

You stood between your parents and the Mellarks, your hands clenched in your coat pockets to hide the way they trembled. The burning sun scorched your skin, but you barely registered it. Your entire being was focused on the screen. On him.

The cameras scanned the circle of tributes, your heart lurching as you spotted Peeta's worried eyes darting across the arena. He was flanked by the girl from seven and the boy from five. He was positioned in a good place to grab a bag and run into the woods before anyone could try and attack him, or he could just escape the bloodbath before it even began and run before anyone even reached him.

You breathed a deep breath out as the countdown began, your parents wrapping an arm each around you. Their hands squeezed you tightly between them as the number grew closer and closer to zero. They felt their hearts break at the pain you were going through, watching the boy they'd grown to love as a son fight for his life.

The crowd grew tense as the screen displayed one final look at the tributes before the final countdown illuminated above the cornucopia. You could feel your heart beating against your rib cage, a painful thump that echoed louder than the sirens had. You scanned the screen desperately for one last look at him, eyes darting between the figures atop their pedestals.

The camera finally panned to him once more, his blonde hair tucked neatly back, face hard with determination or fear. You could see him shake his head at someone off screen, your already broken heart cracking as you realised he was looking at Katniss. He was telling her to survive, to not go into the bloodbath so his love could survive.

Mr. Mellark gripped his wife’s arm tightly, their two sons supporting their emotional father as his wife stared on hardily. Your mother crossed herself, whispering a prayer under her breath, something barely anyone in the districts still did.

You couldn’t breathe. The entire district couldn’t breathe. Not as the numbers finally reached zero and the gong rang out like a cannon.

Chaos exploded across the screen.

The bloodbath truly lived up to its name. Tributes screamed and blades flashed with light and blood. A boy from district four went down immediately, his body limp before it hit the ground. Someone, maybe a career, drove a spear clean through another’s chest. Blood splattered across the ground in a halo around their fallen body.

Your hand shot to your mouth, a stifled sob escaping before you could stop it. You frantically searched the screen for him again, praying that none of the fallen bodies was his.

Finally, the screen cut to his golden hair disappearing into the woods, sprinting away from the cornucopia, empty-handed. Coward, someone muttered behind you. But you didn’t care. He was safe, that's all that mattered. He wasn't fighting for his life; he was disappearing into the trees. Alive and not in danger.

Katniss was not having the same luck as her district partner. Having a knife thrown at her that was narrowly avoided by the backpack she held in her hands, she followed Peeta's idea and ran straight into the woods. She left the seething girl from two who complained to the other careers at losing one of her knives.

The camera didn't linger on the tributes that escaped the bloodbath. It cut back to the carnage that still raged on. A girl from six was slammed into the ground, her scream cutting short in her throat. You looked away, chest heaving. The peacekeepers nearby shifted but said nothing.

You weren't supposed to show emotion. Not this much, at least. You were to watch the games and return to your homes like you hadn't just watched twenty-four children murder each other for entertainment.

The screen finally dimmed after what felt like hours, cutting back to Caesar’s too-bright smile and chipper voice announcing the twelve fallen tributes. Twelve lives that were lost in minutes, never to return to their families. A third of the arena, gone in less than five minutes.

Your knees buckled slightly as Caesar finished his list without saying his name. Relief crashed into you like a wave. It seemed you weren't the only one, Mr. Mellark letting out a breath that sounded like a sob. Mrs. Mellark was still standing stoically beside her husband, the only evidence of her emotions being the lone tear that slid down her face.

The crowd began to disperse again, quieter this time. There were no shoves or murmured bets, just the heavy silence of what they'd all just watched. You didn’t speak as you walked home with your family, still trembling with adrenaline and grief. You didn't even speak when your father had offered to let you go round the Mellark's to watch the rest of the games that day, only shaking your head and returning to your room.

You stared at the ceiling above your bed, wondering how many more mornings you’d wake up to find he was still alive. Wondering how many more nights you'd have to go to sleep not knowing. Wondering if the love that had blossomed when he'd kissed you would last, or if it had already died the moment he stepped into the arena.

[writersblockiskillingme]

The Hunger Games Taglist

All -> @caroline-books @justgayloringeverthrone @superlegend216 @hiireadstuff @leftmooncollector

Finnick Odair -> @prettyinsatiable @randomgurl2326 @hellonheels-x @livingdead-reilly @writesleah @justgayloringeverthrone @paigehughes28

Katniss Everdeen -> @f4riedimples @justgayloringeverthrone

Johanna Mason -> @justgayloringeverthrone @katiemay-025

[elflowpatosworld]

Hi everyone! This is my first time posting on Tumblr, and I'm excited to share my first fanfic with you all. I've been a big fan of The Hunger Games, but especially of Haymitch Abernathy. So, I decided to take the opportunity to write one from the heart. I hope everyone enjoys it!

Prologue: The Shards of Ava

°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°

The bottle was half-empty. Or half-full. Haymitch didn't give a damn either way.

The transport bus rattled as it passed over a cracked ridge near the edge of District 12 one of the few remaining roads, worn down by the time and neglect. Like everything else around here. Like him.

He sat hunched in the corner of the bus, parked behind the Justice building, barely moving. The cushion beneath him was thin and squeaked when he shifted, doing little to ease the cold pressing through the metal wall at his back.

A Capitol, issued screen buzzed above the driver's seat, flickering with static. The colors were too bright, the smiles too wide. Normally, he'd tune it out. But the volume had been left on.

And then he heard it.

"Welcome, welcome, Panem! It's a bright day here in the Capitol, and we have a very special guest joining us tonight on the Caesar Flickerman show- Gamemaker Seneca Crane!"

Cheers erupted from the screen. Laughter. Music. Glitter. Fake smiles.

Haymitch groaned and ran a hand through his unwashed hair. "Great," he muttered. "The beard himself." Haymitch leaned back with a grunt and took another swig.

Seneca Crane sat down, polished and smug. His perfectly trimmed beard curled in sharp lines along his chin, every inch of him controlled and rehearsed. His suit was blood-red velvet with black lapels, Capitol fashion at its most pretentious.

"Seneca, Seneca," Caesar said with a grin that could split mountains. "The Games are just around the corner, and the citizens of Panem are dying for a taste of what's to come!"

Seneca folded one leg over the other. As he adjusted his seat, looking calm. Confident. Arrogant. "This year's Games are different," he said, eyes glinting. "I've worked on them harder than anything I've ever done. I want Panem to feel everything. Suspense, heartbreak, awe. These Games will make people feel again. This isn't just a bloodbath, it's a spectacle."

"Ohhh, chills!" Caesar clutched his arm dramatically. "You hear that, folks? You'd better hold onto your seats!"

The audience whooped and clapped.

Haymitch snorted. Feel, huh? That's rich. They never feel what the districts feel. They only cheer when the blood spills. He grabbed the tin cup beside him, reached for the ice tray on the floor, half-melted cubes floating in tepid water, and dropped three chunks into the metal. Clink. Clink. Clink.

"Seneca's going to give us a real treat this year! But wait, Seneca. Before we dive too deep into the slaughter and suspense, I hear you've had a little... romantic development in your life?" Caesar wiggles his brows.

Haymitch didn't look up. He rolled his eyes and uncorked the bottle.

"Tell me, tell all of us are the rumors true? Is our brilliant Gamemaker off the market?"

Seneca Chuckled. The crowd giggled and swooned.

Haymitch frowned as he poured his drink, pausing mid-motion.

Seneca went on, voice silky. "I met her about 13 years ago. She changed my life."

"Oooooh! You sly devil!" Caesar fanned himself. "Do tell, do tell. Is she from the Capitol? A fellow creative? A stylist? An actress?"

Seneca shook his head, grinning like he had a secret too good to keep.

"She's from District 12."

The cup in Haymitch's hand trembled. He stood there, heart hammering in his chest as he stared at the screen, lips parted slightly.

"That's right," Seneca continued, "I was in District 12 with President Snow's blessing. I went there to... absorb the essence of the place. Find inspiration. I wanted to do something raw. Real for when I would be a Game maker."

Haymitch's fingers tightened around the bottle.

"She was quiet. Captivating. Everyone in the district seemed to know of her but not know her. I saw her once in the market square, and she stuck with me. I couldn't get her out of my mind. I asked the local Peacekeepers to help me find her. The mayor himself arranged it."

The bus seemed to shrink around Haymitch. Haymitch's jaw clenched. His vision blurred, but not from the whiskey.

"And when she stepped into the room," Seneca said, eye glowing, "I knew. She was the one."

"And now," Seneca said, standing from his chair and gesturing toward the audience, "She's here with me tonight."

The camera panned across a sea of glittering Capitol citizens until it landed on her.

The lights dimmed around the theater, a spotlight falling gently on a woman seated in the third row.

Her hair was longer now, coiled into soft waves, laced with gold dust. Her dress was midnight blue and shimmered like river stones. Her expression was calm, perfectly composed, just like the Capitol liked their pretty things.

Haymitch froze. His hand suddenly went numb.

CRASH!

The glass shattered, but it didn't startle him.

The sound rang through the empty bus like a gunshot. The bottle struck the floor at an angle, cracked along its neck, then exploded in a splash of whiskey and shards that danced across the floor like glittering fragments of memory.

The reflection of her face—delicate, unreadable, stared back at him in the shattered shards.

His chest heaved, but the breath never came.

He stood there, frozen watching the reflection in the glass.

Her reflection.

Not a memory. Not a hallucination. Not the distorted dream he used to wake up from.

On the screen, Caesar's voice faded behind the sound of applause and camera flashes.

"There she is, folks! Look at her, isn't she stunning?"

The screen zoomed in on her face wide Capitol lashes, glimmer across her cheekbones, lips curved into a soft, obedient smile. Her eyes were lined in gold, but they hadn't changed. Still deep. Still dark. Still carrying something ancient in their silence.

And Haymitch felt every wall inside him collapse.

And it was her.

The same girl who once sat beneath the old willow tree near the mines.

The same girl who used to sketch quiet things in her journal while the district roared behind her.

The same girl he learn to love.

His eyes burned. Not from alcohol this time.

Then something in him snapped.

He took a step forward. His foot came down hard on the glass with a sharp crunch pain flaring up his leg but he didn't flinch. He stepped forward again. And again. Shards struck to the skin of his feet, slicing the skin, into memory.

The memories hit him like a wave breaking open his chest. Her laughter—quiet, rare. Her silence. Her presence beside him when words failed. The only person who didn't treat him like a trophy after his Games, who didn't fear him, or praise him, or ask him for stories. She just... saw him. The broken, scarred, hollow version of Haymitch Abernathy that no one else wanted.

Until Snow stole her.

Ripped her from him just like his family. Just like everything else.

But now she was right there.

Haymitch reached out toward the screen, hand trembling. Her face filled the frame. So close, but already gone again. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

Then without thinking, Haymitch whispered her name.

"Ava..."

The same moment it fell from Seneca's lips on screen.

"Ava," Seneca said proudly, beaming at the crowd. "And she's the love of my life."

Haymitch's fingers curled into fists. His knuckles turned white. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until it tore out of his chest in a rasp.

Ava.

She was supposed to be dead.

He wished she were dead.

Because this? This was worse. So much worse.

Alive but owned. Clothed in Capitol silk. Sitting beneath golden lights beside a man who had no idea what it meant to love her. To love anything.

The reflection of the light caught her face, and it felt like time folded in on itself.

Ava beside him the night he screamed in his sleep and woke to find her hand resting gently over his no words, no questions.

Ava, in the dark whispering, "You don't owe them joy."

The Capitol audience clapped and laughed and cheered as if they were part of some romance novel they didn't understand.

He pressed his hand to the screen like he could reach through it. Like he could touch her one more time. Like he could rip her out of that world and take her back to the girl who used to draw stars in coal dust.

His lips trembled as he whispered her name.

"Ava..."

The screen didn't respond . Just more applause.

Seneca smiled, then lifted his glass to toast her.

Haymitch dropped to his knees.

Blood seeped from his foot into the spilled whiskey, staining it red.

He didn't even notice.

The ghosts were screaming now memories crowding behind his eyes, pressing against his ribs.

All this time, he had buried her deep convinced she was gone.

But she wasn't.

She was alive. She had been taken. And now, she was displayed.

And all of it every ounce of his pain—looped back to one man.

Snow.

The man who took everything from him.

°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°☆••°

To be continued...