#litterally anything where Frisk grows up people

[deadlyswarm]

So dissapointed

of all the things, aging Frisk up disappoints me the most. you could have them as a doctor, a lawyer, FBI, CIA, military, a police officer with LV...OR A FUCKING ASTRONAUT.  Yeah yall are too busy putting frisk into a pair that you dont think about the possibilities! THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS YOU CAN DO WITH AN ADULT FRISK BESIDES SHIPPING! (Though don’t get me wrong, shipping can certainly be a part if you wish.)

but picture an astronaut Frisk who takes Sans to the moon, THE FUCKING MOON, WITH SANS, WHO LOVES OUTER SPACE. you could make the trip romantic OR platonic. but it’s a beautiful moment either way! 

make frisk a doctor that gets taught green magic by Papyrus or Toriel! and she becomes the best doctor.

make frisk a police officer with LV, how do you think Sans would react? what would be different? SO MANY OPTIONS!!!!

and TO you sans x Frisk shippers,  I challenge yall to make a fic or some art ( I f you are so inclined) where you dont age frisk up JUST to have them date Sans, but to also explore the possibilities of an adult Frisk. hell, when you do, let me know! bc that would be really interesting!

[jacks-jester]

Silent Treatment

[Jerome Valeska x Reader]

Words: 1,675

Warnings: Murder, violence, attempted sexual harassment/assault

Requested: Yes / No

Request: “ Hello Beautiful Person! I'm your new follower. Requests are opened right? Not sure how violent or graphic asks can be so I just give it a shot ok? Can I get Jerome x reader in Arkham but no one knows why she's there cause she seems too innocent and totaly normal, but she's more dangerous then they think. After killing a guard in front of everyone for harrasing her, she confesses to being a serial killer but she only kills other killers? (I was watching Dexter) J has a crush on her from day one. “ - Anonymous

Summary:  Jerome tries getting to know Arkhams newest victim, a young girl who seems too innocent to be stuck in a place like that. He is quickly proven wrong when her crimes come to light after attacking and killing a prison guard.

A/N~ Love Dexter, love this prompt. Thanks for the response, I hope you enjoy!

Arkham Asylum held the lowest of the low, that included the staff, inmates, and anyone else who dared venture into the shitty institution. Gotham held a lot of bad apples, most of which were comfortably tucked away inside of the padded walls of this penitentiary. Arkham Asylum was disgusting place, the city clearly not caring about the upkeep of the rotting building. The state of the building was laughable, mold growing in every shadow and crevice, rats and cockroaches littering the halls, half the food was rotting in the cafeteria, the guards had no repercussions or supervision, the walls were literally crumbling, and most locks were broken or malfunctioning. The only thing they made sure of, was that guards were armed at all times, assuring brutality between patients and guards, because lets be honest, who would care if an insane inmate of Arkham Asylum was found dead. It was easy for stories to be twisted where guards were the victims of the whole operations, the mentally ill always being the villains. 

Arkham’s inmates mostly consisted of men, all ages, all sizes, all different types of fucked up. Arkham accepted anyone deemed a danger to them selves of society so Arkham became a big mixing pot of problems.Serial killers next to muggers, cannibals next to rapists, even some innocents mixed in with the bunch. The few innocents in Arkham never lasted long though, either being killed or becoming corrupted themselves. See that was the thing about Arkham, nobody got better by going there, if anything it reaffirmed their anger and resentment towards the corrupt city and its inhabitants. 

Arkham was it’s own special breed of poison for the mentally ill.

───※ ·❆· ※───

You were fairly new to Arkham Asylum, only having been there a week so far. It was no surprise that several of the more lonely inmates had taken to trying to flirt with you,claim you as their property, you didn’t take the bait though. You opted to follow the same route as some of the other female inmates: stay the fuck away from any other inmate in this god forsaken hell hole. You weren’t crazy, you knew that, nobody else here did though. To guards an inmate was an inmate, all the other prisoners having the same mindset as the guards. To everyone in here, you were just another loony who got caught and locked away.

The only thing that seemed to catch people off guard, was your quiet and respectful nature. You never got in fights, never had a melt down, and always were compliant with the prison rules. Most people were the most defensive their first week here, you were the exact opposite of the usual response to being locked up. This had peaked the interest of a particular red headed carnie who had just been locked up himself. Jerome was a curious person by nature, a quick learner, and a very big people person - granted he despised most people though. 

Your demeanor drew him in from the start, your physical attractiveness also helping though. Jerome had attempted to talk to you several times, each time being completely ignored or dismissed at the wave of a hand. You always had a book on hand, opting to sit in the far corner of the leisure room and read to yourself while the other inmates played amongst themselves. You were never one to snap easily at people, having learned to bite your tongue to avoid conflict.

Jerome still persisted though, every day opting to sit near you and talk to you, though her never got a response. You’d think a person like Jerome would get worn out and tired of the routine, but if anything he saw it as a game. He wanted to be the first person to get you to talk, he wanted to break your quiet, it helped that he had a bet going with Greenwood though. Greenwood said Jerome would never be able to crack the quiet girl, Jerome begged to differ, and Jerome was never wrong.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It was another day at the Asylum: same shit food, same worn out clothes, same awful staff members, same boring routine. You made your way towards the leisure area, relieved to get a break from your cell. The asylum ran in shifts: high security offenders had the third break of the day - the break you were taking now. You were growing tired of the sorry excuse of a bed the penitentiary gave you, a metal sheet, a blanket, and a flat pillow. It was impossible to get a good nights sleep on those cots, leaving you in an annoyed state for the day. You had gotten no sleep last night, between uncomfortable sleeping conditions and the loud screaming of one of the patients down the hall, it was impossible.

You finally made your way to the checking station, guards typically frisking down patients to ensure that they do not have any weapons on hand. More than once had you seen patients try bringing in pens, wires, sometimes even getting their hands on shards of glass.  You approached the guard station, holding your arms out in a T position and separating you legs slightly so they could ensure nothing was tucked in your pants. You had refused to wear the Arkham dresses, not wanting to deal with peoples stares, specifically Greenwood and Sionis. 

It didn’t take long for the newbie guard to begin frisking you, his hands gently patting you down to ensure there were no potentially dangerous items on your person. You watched him closely as you felt his pats becoming more prolonged, seemingly taking his time - most guards barely graze an inmate before allowing them in, this new guard seemed to be getting to familiar for comfort. You tensed slightly as he began running his hand up your leg. “Watch it.” You said it with a venomous tone, warning lacing your voice. 

The guard only looked at you with a narcissistic smirk, “Mind your manners, you gonna do something about it?” You could feel the rage boiling over in your stomach, “Last chance, knock it off.” You snapped the moment you felt his callous hand brush over you ass, his finger groping lightly, “Try something, I dare you.” You closed your eyes and sighed, “I warned you.” Without another word you brought your elbow, crushing into his face, immediately snapping his nose. Almost instantly blood began gushing from his pig like nose, misshapen and red. He clutched over, his hands both going to his nose as blood freely poured from the new injury. “You fucking bitch!” 

You watched as his hand went to grab his gun, the pistol hanging loosely off his left hip. His movements were clumsy however, his hands slipping anxiously off the pistol, you figured it was the shock of having his nose caved in, a headache more than likely forming. Your eyes widened as he went to reach for the gun, your instincts quickly taking over your rational thoughts. Your leg quickly slung over his arched back, getting in a piggy back position as your hands found the curvature of his neck, your hands quickly twisting in the most unpleasant way.

His body instantly slumped beneath you, falling ungracefully to the floor with a sickening thump, your legs catching you before he could pull you down with him. His head was jarred at a strange angle, his jaw slack, eyes wide with shock, hand resting against his holstered gun. Your eyes widened as you came to grips with what had just occurred, you’d broken your code, well kind of. You didn’t consider yourself a criminal, you simply took out the garbage, only killing criminal who were walking free. So in a way he did fit into your normal range of crime, he was obviously someone who delved in sexual assault and harassment so you didn’t feel guilty about it. 

You only turned around upon hearing a low whistle from behind, a whistle you knew all to well. You swore under your breath before turning to face Jerome who took to slowly clapping his hands together, as if to show his gratitude for the act just displayed in front of him. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He let out a laugh, kneeling next to the fallen guard, quirking his head to make ye contact with the security guards wide eyes. “Did quite a number on him, didn’t cha?” You rolled your eyes, your gaze flicking to the corpse. “Fucker got what was coming to him.” Your voice was quiet but loud enough for Jerome to hear.

He turned to you with feigned shock, his jaw open as he looked at you with wide eyes. He placed his hand over his chest as his mouth formed a wide grin, “I’m honored doll, finally got you to break after a week.” You rolled your eyes at the excited red head, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement, though there was a small hint of genuine surprise within his ebony pools. He circled you for a moment, “Maybe you’re not as boring as I thought you were, not so innocent.” You raised an eyebrow, “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

He only nodded with that same impish grin, “Not yet.... not yet.” He reached down, grabbing the keys from the guards body, opening the leisure room door for you. “After you, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” You looked at him for a moment before sighing, going with him for one reason or another. Death wasn’t uncommon at a place like this so after everyone was securely in the leisure room, the guards body was eventually dragged away and to be disposed of. You and Jerome had taken to sitting in a far corner of the room, a game of Candyland splayed between you two. He made his move before resting his cheek on his fist, peering over at you. “This is gunna be fun.Now then, I want to know everything.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

Time: 2 hours 38 minutes (Mania made it incredibly hard to focus, I kept getting stuck)

[frostburnx]

AngelFell part 19

Frisk gestured for Undyne to follow him and she did. Together they left the castle and started off to the mountain range in which Chara was hiding. 

“You don’t have to be so tense, Undyne,” Frisk said to her, still looking ahead as they walked.

“What?” She asked a little confused on why he thinks that. 

“You just seem tense, you can relax you know,” he gave her a quick glance.

“Oh.”

“Is part of the reason because you think I am going to go against the heaven side and join Chara?” Frisk asked with a calm voice.

“No, I can’t stop you even if it isn’t a good thing, but I can sure try.”

“Well, you could just put those cuffs back on me and make it so I can’t use my abilities like the ones on Chara right now,” Frisk made that point without a single waver in his tone.

“If that happens, I’ll be starting a riot!” Undyne had a fiery look when she made that exclamation. 

“But it would be preventing me from harming people.”

“Still, I know you wouldn’t hurt people,” she said, calming down.

Frisk merely nodded and looked down at the ground in thought. But shortly they made it up to the cave entrance and he pushed his thoughts away, “This was where she was hiding.”

Undyne stepped forward craning her neck and peering into the gap looking over all the things that were littered around in the back of space. From food to jewels, she had stolen anything she could get her hands on. 

“She did all of this by herself?!?”

“Yeah, she has always had really good agility and is pretty sly but it got better over time,” Frisk stated.

Undyne nodded, grabbing a radio-like device on her shoulder and calling for a team to come and collect the items inside of the cave and redistribute them to their correct owners.

Frisk took a few steps inside and stepped on something that crunched slightly under foot. He looked down to see the page from the other night that he had written on. He picked it up scanning over what it said with a saddened feeling. He then pulled the feather she had given him and stared at it for a moment with the feeling increasing inside of him before putting it back and crushing the sheet of paper into a tight ball. He then walked out of the cave just in time for the break of dawn. The piercing light went onto him and he let out a soft breath. 

Chara stared forward at the large wooden door and narrowed her eyes. After a second her eyes widened and fire erupted out of her. Looking down at the cuffs on her wrists she stayed on fire for a moment, but nothing happened. If anything the cuffs just started glowing brighter. At least her powers weren’t blocked, so there was still something she could do to break out. She let her fire extinguish and looked around for anything she could use or would spark a plan for escape. That water from the ice really drained her from all that pain and regeneration. With a deep exhale she looked up at the ceiling at the couple of holes in the ceiling that were just now filling with light from the rising sun. A cold breeze blew in whistling slightly. That was it, she was going to let the chains cool from the cold outside and then when she got her energy back she would break the chains by heating them rapidly. It was a waiting game at this point, she just needed enough rest to create a small explosion and it would be easy to get out. The wall would most likely be broken in the process which is an easy exit, but this was a golden opportunity. If she broke out then she would be able to get what she truly came for. All of that practice of stealing from the citizens would finally pay off for the true prize. She giggled and looked down, she wasn’t normally a patient person, but she would have to be for this to work. It was just a matter of time.

Finally looking away from the rising dawn, Frisk dove off the side of the mountain beginning to fly after a moment. The wind caught his wings and he shot through the air like a bullet. Instead of flying back to the castle however, he started flying to the barrier with a purposeful look in his eyes. Soon after crossing he began scanning the area until his eyes locked on a small wispy black dog. 

Frisk flew down to it landing and running up to the dog. Doug was there laying on his back on a black obsidian rock. The unsuspecting dog just stayed like that not even reacting to the approaching footsteps going up to him. When Frisk made it up to the rock he began rubbing his belly.

“Sorry I haven’t been over here buddy.”

At the sound of Frisk’s voice the dog shot up and jumped at him excited to see him again. 

Frisk chuckled and kept petting the ecstatic dog and after a moment spoke, “Right now Chara is locked up, I might release her...She doesn’t deserve to be chained like an animal.”

Doug seemed to understand what he was saying and his happiness faded into sadness. 

Frisk kept petting him trying to reassure him, “Well, they said they were going to bring her back once things were repaired, but who knows when that will be.”

He paused before continuing, “Well, I just wanted to let you know about your owner, I’ll be back later, okay?”

Doug stood there for a moment before laying back down on his rock with a sigh.

Frisk smiled at Doug for a moment before turning and taking off again to the heaven side. Soon he arrived at the castle again and walked through the large doors making his way to the room in which Chara was being kept. 

Chara was staring down at the ground when she heard the doors to her room open. Her ears perked at the sudden noise breaking the silence she was previously stuck in. She looked up to see who it was with a calm and poiseful expression. Frisk was walking up to her and she glared at him. But he didn’t seem to even acknowledge her eyes burning into him and grabbed the chain that all the others connected into on her back. Chara tried to look at what he was doing but couldn’t quite turn enough but soon she understood. A crunching and crackling of ice was coming from the chains, he was trying to freeze them. Her eyes widened and her wings moved slightly behind her but soon she could hear the door opening again. 

“Frisk?” It was Undyne, figures.

Chara once again turned her attention forward at the imposing sight of the captain of the fire kingdoms guard. 

“Yes?” Frisk asked.

“Stop, what are you doing!?!?”

“I’m trying to see if I can break these chains,” he admitted.

Chara rolled her eyes at his honesty. Sure he had been caught in the act but at least he could have tried to hide or lie about what he was doing. 

“It isn’t safe to have her out of those chains!!” Undyne said sternly, raising her voice slightly.

Chara turned back towards Frisk and began staring at him. Was he going to disobey or was he going to leave her there. Either way it didn’t matter what happened now, she was planning on escaping with or without his help, but it would be interesting to see him go against the side he was meant to protect.

He just stood there looking between Chara and Undyne seemingly conflicted on what he wants to do next. His grip tightened on the chains and ice began spreading down them as well as up his arms. Soon there was more ice on him than there was on the chains. 

No, this was a chance at escape and could work a lot better than her original plan. But, why didn’t she, she could just use her ability right now but then Frisk would be caught in the blast. He wouldn’t die..but she for some reason couldn’t bring herself to do it. Chara’s eyes widened at the ice that was spreading on Frisk and in a split second decision she lit on fire. 

The ice began to melt and Frisk just continued standing there not moving even as the flames grew in front of him burning him slightly. But after a moment the flames disappeared. 

Undyne quickly ran up to Frisk after the flames were gone, “Are you okay?!?”

“Yeah, I’m fine..”

“Let go of the chains Frisk!” She demanded.

Now that the flames weren’t keeping the ice at bay it started spreading again. In response Chara once again caught fire which made Undyne step back from the heat.

“Frisk!!” Undyne yelled over the sound of the fire.

This time the flame was much weaker and Chara shifted in place trying to get it to grow again but it only slightly got stronger. Since the fire was weaker this time the ice only slowed on its progression of coating Frisk. But Chara’s struggle was in vain because soon the ice completely covered him head to toe.

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, Chap. 21

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

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

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

Chapter 21 The betrayal

*ring ring*

… What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haymitch…

That’s my name.

I really must speak to you. It’s im…

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

I’ve never called…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sobs* I’m so stupid.

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

*toot toot*

xXx

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

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

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

“I’m going to the bakery.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anywhere but home.

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

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

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

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

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

And it wasn’t the only thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just leave him be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost everyone.

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

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

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

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

But even that came to an end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What for?

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

And Effie, how was she doing?

xXx

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

Reaping day’s almost here!

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

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

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

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

A phone. Ringing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck me,” he wheezed.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not her.

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

“Hello?” someone called. “Helloo?”

He brought the phone closer.

“Who is this?”

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

Haymitch drew a silent sigh. Of course.

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

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

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

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

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

And her brilliant laughter hammered his head.

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

She had a sip of something and then rallied on,

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

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

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

That finally silenced her. For about three seconds.

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

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

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

And she slammed the phone in his ear.

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

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

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

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

The liquor numbed his worries like they numbed everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A good day in an ocean of bad ones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On the train.”

Katniss stopped, eyebrows lifted.

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

Gem of Panem Heart of justice Wisdom crowns your marble brow

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

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

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

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

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

Protect our land With armored hand Our Capitol, our…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, the joke’s on him.

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

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

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

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

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

But she’s not back on pills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eff?”

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

“She’s not here,” a voice rung out.

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

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

He crossed the road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mrs. Quinlan.”

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

Mrs. Q.

“You’re Eff’s landlady.”

The woman shook her head.

“Not anymore.”

“Because you kicked her out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

“They won’t even…”

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

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

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

Right on cue the bell rang.

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

It rang again, on her way through the hallway.

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

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

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

He didn’t let her finish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabel had followed inside and he turned on her again.

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

“I’m not lying to you.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s resting.”

“Well, go and wake her up!”

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

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

“Not until you’ve calmed down!”

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

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

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

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Haymitch, what are you doing!?”

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

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

What have I done to her?

xXx

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you were on the pill?”

“I was.”

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

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

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

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

“What, Eff?”

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

“We’re what?”

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

No! No, I don’t wanna hear it!

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

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

“I can’t do this.”

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

”I need some air.”

xXx

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

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

He didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Euphemia.”

Effie looked up, startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Euphemia.”

“Must be something I ate.”

“Euphemia, look at me, please.”

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

“Are you with child?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had never felt so safe.

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

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

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

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

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

Haymitch Abernathy.

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

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

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

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

“Nine weeks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s OK.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”It’s pennyroyal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I didn’t drink it. I never drank it.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haymitch…”

“That’s my name.”

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

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

“I’ve never called…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so stupid.”

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

And she was left with just the flat audio tone.

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

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

[csforscience-blog]

When You Wish Upon a Star

Post Season 7 AU. Based on my theory that the Wish Realm wasn't actually created by a wish, rather Emma's wish had transported her to an alternate universe and the actual Princess Emma from that realm was kidnapped.

After the curse is broken and he is sent back to his realm in search of a cure, Wish Hook finally meets the blonde woman who has haunted his dreams. Because in every world, in every time soul mates find each other. RATED T. (Now on ff and ao3)

"The King and Queen are dead."

He expected chaos when he returned. The other version of Regina and the Swan girl had left the kingdom in shambles with King Charming and Queen Snow to be mourned and young Prince Henry confused and orphaned. No one understands that Princess Emma wasn't actually their princess. They watched her grow up, they saw her rule. In fact the people of Killian's realm do not think they are just the product of a wish. Neither does he. He is just as real as his younger counterpart.

So is his daughter, the one true thing that matters in his life. And yet as Henry Mills and Cinderella broke the curse in Hyperion Heights, he could not go to her and tell her how much he loves her, to tell her he's sorry that his cursed self was not there for her.  He could not hug her as Henry did with Lucy, Cinderella and Regina, not the way Zelena did with Robin. Not the way the more superior version of himself did when he arrived with his lovely wife and their young brown haired daughter with green eyes in his arms. He envied the other version of himself as the younger man kissed the Swan girl and held his own daughter close.

No Killian could not walk within ten feet of his teenage daughter. He could only look at her from a far and hope that that look was good enough to tell her how much he felt. 

He left her a note before he left, saying that he would do anything and everything to get back to her with a cure for his poisoned heart. 

Not that he is back, however, he doesn't know where to start.

Prince Henry has put a strict ban on magic after witnessing his grandparents demise, so acquiring any magic would become a real adventure in itself. Killian does have a lead though, courtesy of the Swan girl and the Mills Sisters, and with his newly rejuvenated look he can avoid any bounty on his head, even pretend to be someone else. The item he is looking for is white magic and it is said that a noble has come to possess it and has been using it to cure ailments at a price. This information has been well hidden, known as only rumors to the public, but Killian knows better. 

 And its not as if he has any choice. He is a desperate man and desperate men are willing to fight for what they want.

The journey to the nobleman's fort is a long one. It is deep within the forest, on a jagged path that seems to go nowhere. Killian holds onto the rook in his pocket as he urges his horse through the deadly route, hoping that this lead is not as much a dead end as it seems. 

Finally the fort comes into view. It looks to be an abandoned military warehouse as it is smaller than he expected and lacking any windows. An eerily familiar tower that reaches the heavens is the only part of the structure that has a window. Killian doesn't stare at it too long, wretched memories of another tower invading his mind.

Guards in dark uniforms meet him at the door, frisking him for weapons and taking his horse before slowing him to step into the door. Inside it is just as dark, with silver and pewter bringing shine to the otherwise dull and empty room. An unnecessarily large oak table sits in the center of the room with papers and books littered across it. A man, no older than Killian appears, sits at the table, his face looking stern and bored as an elderly woman stands in front of him pleading for him to here him out.

"Please, Baron Von Rothbart! I beg of you. My daughter is on her death bed."

Killian flinches at the old woman's words, his mind immediately jumping to Alice and what he would do if she were ever in that position.

"The terms are quite simple, Madame." Rothbart states, bored. "I provide you with the white cure and you provide payment. You have failed to procure the desired sum and therefore I cannot help you."

"Please, Sir! It's all I have. Have mercy! She is only 18!"

"You knew the deal. You failed to honor it." Rothbart snaps, growing impatient. "And in doing so, you failed your dear daughter."

Hook's throat tightens. He knows he is carrying a small fortune but he only has a little more than what the woman is offering. She wails, collecting her gold back into a pouch with shaky hands and is dragged away by one of the guards. 

"You." Rothbart says, not bothering to look at him, his eyes glued to the parchment he is writing upon. "What is your business here?" 

"I seek a cure for a poisoned heart." Killian says in a firm voice.

"Hmm... Don't we all." The menace sneers, looking up at him. He's handsome but with wicked harsh features that would make any woman cower. "What I am interested in, is what you have on your person, pirate."

"Two-hundred gold pieces." Killian growls. "Which can be yours once I have the cure." He plays with his hook, drawing Rothbart's attention to it, and does not dare break eye contact with Rothbart, refusing to show fear. 

"Luckily for you that just meets the price for my cure." Rothbart motions to a guard who approaches bearing an open chest containing 3 vials of white glowing liquid. He picks one up and hands it to Killian.

"This will cure a poisoned heart?" He asks warily.

"It cures all. It's white magic in its purest form. Now the payment if you will."

Killian hands him the pouch of gold. "If this doesn't work. If this is a sham, I will be back." 

"I don't doubt it, Captain." Rothbart says counting the good. "But I think you will find yourself satisfied with the product."

"What's this bloody made of anyway?" Hook pockets the vial.

"The purest magic: True love. A savior for all." Rothbart chuckles wickedly. "Now unless you want anything else, I suggest you be on your way, pirate."

Killian glares at the man but says nothing, turning around to the doors. 

I'm on my way, Alice. He thinks

The guards let him be as he mounts his steed and rides towards the exit. As he enters the woods however, he hears sobbing to his right. The odd woman from before is crouched down crying on the ground.

"Milady..." Killian begins.

"Two blasted coins." She says. "I was off by two coins. And now my daughter will die." She wipes her eyes and looks to the fort. Hook chokes up, feeling the weight of the vial burning a hole through his chest. "I thought that because he has an endless supply of white magic that he would be lenient."

"Endless?" He perks up. "What do you mean endless?" 

"He has access to a pure creature. The embodiment of true love itself. He drains it of its magic and makes profit off of it to those desperate enough for an all cure." She sniffs. "I sold everything I had. But it still wasn't enough for the Baron."

Bringing his fingers to his brow he sighs loudly, once again he is going to fail her. Some father he is. But looking at the sobbing old woman he can't help but pity her. No. Alice would want this.

"Give this to your daughter."  The woman stares at him in shock as he hands her the vial of glowing white. "Go on. Save her."

"Oh thank you, kind sir!" The woman sobs, in relief instead of despair. She quickly reaches under her cloak to the pouch of coins attached to her belt, but he puts his hand up to stop her.

"No, keep your money."

"But why? What about your ailment?" 

"As much as it pain me, your daughter's life is worth more. I will find another way." He sighs.

"May Athena bless you, sir." She cries in delight, taking the vial from him. Ready to dash away, she stops a moment and turns back towards him seeing his gaze upon the fort. "I can only guess what you plan to do, but beware. They say the Baron holds power unlike anything else."

"Thank you ma'am." Killian smiles sadly, watching her scurry away into the darkness of the forest. 

He leads his horse off the path and ties her to a tree, loading his person with weapons. He will not leave this fort without a cure. He will not.

Killian approaches the fort once more, this time as carefully and quietly as possible. As far as Rothbart and his men know, Killian got what he wanted and was on his way, and maintaining that pretense is more than favorable. His guards don't look as intimidating as they should. One is leaning against the wall by the door yawning away while the other kicks stones around. The problem is that they are by the main and, by the looks of it, only door. The entrance.

But like a bright star shining light in the darkness and guiding sailors through the vast sea, a white glow emanates from above. It draws Killian's attention to the tower where a white light flashes magically... magic... White magic!

That must be where the wretch keeps his source of white magic and if Hook can get his hands on it, he can cure his poisoned heart. The only problem is getting to it...

Scaling walls is not as easy as it looks. Despite Killian's experience doing so and the gift of a more limber form, its still tricky. Unlike Rapunzel's tower, the walls of this fort are of smoother stones that are more compact together, making it difficult to find a foot hold nor pull himself up. It makes the entire thing trickier, slowing him down, increasing the chances that someone might catch him trying to break in. The guards are thankfully unaware of his misdeed, sharing a bottle between them. Bad form, he thinks, although their bad luck is what's aiding him on his quest. 

The only way that he can gain entry to this place is through the window at the highest tower. Of course that would be the only way in, he snorts, heaving himself up with his hook.

It takes some to finally reach the windowsill, his muscles protest as he heaves himself up one last time. With his forearms on the ledge and foot planted against it he jumps in through the window, his blue eyes immediately scan the small room it reveals. It is plain and matches the rest of the fort, but the most striking difference is the almost home-like and cozy appeal to it, with a lounge chair against the wall and several pillows propped up upon it and a slate gray woolen blanket at the foot of it. There are several art supplies at a small table and papers with intricate drawings of the sky, sea, buttercups and swans. There is something bright about this room and it has nothing to do with the color scheme. 

Killian slowly traverses across, looking for vials of white magic. It has to be here, he saw the white glow come from this room, but there’s no sign of any magic, not even a speck of fairy dust, it is just an empty room. He sits by the table hoping that the sketches may provide some insight to what the magical source may be. It is white magic, so it isn’t likely to be dangerous, however all magic comes with a price as he has come to learn, so he peruses the area with caution.

Some scuffling can be heard coming from the door a few feet away from him. His brain switches into high alert and he quickly finds a place to hide behind the head of the lounge chair, his hook and sword at the ready, The disturbance grows louder. It’s a combination of metal colliding and feet stomping and muffled voices that become crystal clear as the door is flung open.

“There, there, now my darling.” Rothbart’s voice cuts through the air. “That wasn’t so bad. Maybe next time you’ll be less resistant. You know your efforts are futile, why do you still fight me?”

A smack echoes through the room followed by a whimper.

“You silly creature!” The terror roars. “You could have it all! Everyone you love is dead. No one will come to save you.” The whimpering intensifies “Either you learn to be more pliant, more willing, or you’ll remain in this tower for eternity.”

“I will never submit to you.”

Killian almost jumps out of his skin at the sound of that voice. He knows it so well, a siren’s call within his dreams, a taunting nightmare of what he could have had if fate had altered her course. But as he peers from his hiding place, he sees the unmistakable golden waves over slim shoulders of a woman crouched onto the cold floor.

“I will never marry you. I will never willingly give you my magic. I will never love you, Rothbart. You are a monster.”

“I may be a monster, Princess, but you are weak and have no other choice. I will get what I want sooner or later.” With that, Rothbart spins on his heels and marches out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a bang, followed by the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Soft cries begin to fill the small space, finally drawing Killian out of his shock. How is she here? Was there another curse? Another wish gone wrong? How can she be back, especially here in this wretched place? He had just left her and his other self back at Hyperion Heights with Henry and the rest of his family. She’s the one who told him to come here! So how was she here? And the condition that she is in? No woman in her position should be exposed to such environments.

“Swan?” Killian croaks, emerging from his hiding place.

She turns around quickly and stares back in silence, giving him a chance to examine her. She’s a little different. Her golden hair is matted, part of it still in a braid that seems like it was done in a haste days ago. Her red jacket has been replaced by a ragged dark linen dress and torn brown cloak. The once glowing skin is now pale and her cheeks are slightly hollowed. Her muted green and wet eyes continue to dash across his figure, her dry rose colored lips parted in awe.

“Love what happened? How has Rothbart come to capture you? Where is Killian?” He takes a step towards her, stopping as she retreats. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Who- who are you?” she croaks.

“You- you don’t remember who you are, love?” His shoulders sag. So it is another curse, or some sort of memory loss that is clouding her mind. I guess she won’t be able to help me, bloody hell! He rubs his temples to relieve the ache that begins to simmer.

“I know who I am!” She says defiantly. “I am Princess Emma of Misthaven, heir to Queen Snow and King David, mother of the crown Prince Henry. Who are you and what do you want?”

“Easy, love.” He puts his hand and hook up in surrender. She gasps at the sight, and backs up even further. “Relax love. I am not here to hurt you!”

“Then why are you here?” She hisses. “Come to see what Rothbart’s special treasure was? Come to steal my magic too?!”

“Your magic?” Killian exclaims. Everything starts to make even less sense then it did before. How could she be the source of magic when Rothbart’s special potion has been around for over a year? In fact the rumors claim he gained power right around the time that the Swa... No.

“Love, how long have you been a prisoner here?”

“I am not your love!”

“Please, your highness, answer the question.”

“Three years.”

Three years. Three years ago he encountered Emma Swan along with the woodcutter in the forest. Three years ago he foolishly attempted to be her hero and was thrown on his sorry arse with a blast of magic, and woke up on the deck of the Jolly feeling like utter shite. Two years ago, he had heard Henry’s voice through the magic bottle on his person calling for Emma Swan, Regina and Captain Hook. Two years ago Lady Tremaine granted him his younger self’s physique and brooding appeal as he attempted foolishly to con Emma into believing he was the man she fell in love with, the man who’s child she was carrying.

They told him he was part of a realm created by a wish, that he was not real. But he felt real, he knew he was real. He knows he is real. Could the lost woman in front of him be his princess?

“How did Rothbart capture you?” He croaks.

“I don’t know, a cloud of smoke surrounded me and I ended up deep in the woods. Rothbart found me and offered me a place to stay. He knew I had magic and when I tried to leave he forced these on me.” She shows him a pair of leather cuffs around her wrists. “They dampen my magic so I can’t escape, not that I knew how to use it. My parents they...” she begins to whimper. “They never wanted me to get lost in magic, they didn’t want me to become like the Evil Queen.” Her green eyes peer up at him as she takes a brave step forward. “Please, sir... is it true? Are they really dead?”

“Aye, love. I am sorry, truly.”

She falls to the ground and weeps gently. He does not think, the instinct to protect her overriding all else, and he sinks down to her level, putting a comforting arm around her, bringing her into a tight embrace. She melts into his touch, burrowing her face into his neck as he rubs her back soothingly. He doesn’t understand his need to hold her as she mourns, but he vows to have a chat with Regina when he returns to Hyperion Heights.

“Swa-Emma, please love. We must leave soon before Rothbart returns.”

She lifts her head to look at him confused, and as if just realizing the position they are in, untangles herself from his and backs away trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

“Why?” She demands, authority oozing through her. “Why would you help me? Why would I trust you?”

“I know your son.” It’s not a complete lie. He does know and is close friends with Henry, well a version of him anyway.

“My son, is an acquaintance of a pirate?” she asks in disbelief.

“Aye, Captain Killian Jones at your service.” He gives a little bow. “Now do you want to escape or not? We’ve not much time.”

She looks between him and the door behind her, worrying her lips as she contemplates. He feels a strong urge to bite the lip but then shakes himself out of that thought as she turns back to him.

“Fine. But don’t think I’m taking my eyes off of you for one second.”

“I’d despair if you did.”

They wait until Rothbart comes again to restock his magic supply. Turns out the magic dampeners not only prevent Emma from using her magic but also limit the amount he can take from her, which is only three vials worth at a time. He uses an enchanted crystal bottle which extracts magic from anything it touches and converts it into a potion. Because Emma is the product of true love, her magic is capable of combating various forms of dark magic, and the potion Rothbart is capable of extracting is thus powerful enough to cure hexes, curses and many poisons, something that make Killian’s ears perk up. He plans to steal a vial during their escape.

He doesn’t know why he is so compelled to save the Princess instead of getting what he came here for. Maybe it has to do with his his brother’s voice screaming in his head to stick to good form and save the damsel in distress. Maybe it’s the newfound compassion he acquired from being Officer Rogers. Maybe the fact that the alternate versions of themselves share true love is forcing him to feel responsible for her. Or maybe you just fancy her you daft fool!

The door handle begins to rattle as Rothbart unlocks it from the other side. Emma is sitting at the center of the room, her hands in her lap, and Killian at the other side of the door ready for her to attack. The second the Baron enters the room, Killian knocks him out with his hook, causing Rothbart to drop the enchanted bottle to the ground. Emma can’t say that she sheds a tear as it shatters into millions of tiny fragments, never to be used to harm ever again.

Killian drags the wretch’s limp form further into the room and ties him up. He looks to see the princess glaring at Rothbart but also shaking.

“Are you alright, love?”

“Yes.” She says quickly. “It’s just... I am a coward. I could have done this myself and maybe saved all of the people he was stealing from... but...”

“Hey. Do not blame yourself.” He approaches her and tilts her head up to meet him. “He won’t hurt you anymore, or anyone else for that matter. Now come on, let’s stick to the plan and get you home, aye?”

She nods and gives a kind smile back to him.

They lock the door before they leave and make sure to break the key in the lock so that it’s almost impossible for anyone to unlock it for him. There are only two guards in the entire fort. The Baron was too cheap to pay for more people and he did not need anyone else. Most feared the rumors that a deadly beast was the source of his powers and never bothered to steal from him... that is until Killian came along.

They did not expect the guards to remain too blissfully unaware for long, the two fools running up towards the pirate and princess as they began descending the long spiral staircase in the tower. Emma freezes slightly at the sight of the two burly men and Killian steps in front of her, readying his sword. She watches in complete fascination as he thwarts them, knocking them both easily to the ground with well practiced footwork and a couple of swipes of his sword and hook. She is even more impressed that he leaves them alive, falsifying all the stories she heard of pirates being evil and ruthless killers.

As he sheathes his sword, he looks up at her, giving her a once over to ensure that she is okay. He holds out his hand and she takes it without question, being lead around the two bodies napping on the steps and down towards her freedom.

When they get to the main entrance, Killian pauses, looking to the Rothbart’s large desk longingly.

“What’s wrong?” The princess asks, turning back to him.

He looks back at her and dons a well practiced smile that he has used countless times on Alice when he did not want her to share his burden of worry.

“Nothing, Princess.” He looks back at the desk. “I was thinking, maybe we should destroy the remainder of Rothbart’s stash so that he may not use it to exploit your subjects anymore.” “Good idea, Captain.” Emma says, and it’s permission enough for him to hurry behind the desk and grab the vials. There’s two of them, filled to the brim with glowing white, and he takes them from the chest they have been stored in and throws them into the brilliant fireplace.

“Good riddance.” He smiles sadly, and Emma nods in agreement. “Come, Princess, let’s get you home.”

The moon is at the highest point in the sky as they leave the fort. Killian mounts his trusty stallion and offers Emma a hand to help her up behind him. She takes it without pause and he can’t help but feel over zealous at the warmth she provides at his back, the way her soft breaths tickle the skin at his neck and the way her hands feel circled around his waist. The ride hard for a few hours until they are well out of the dark forest and into a new, less dense area of the woods. He can tell that she is tired as he halts his horse. She has been resting her head on his shoulder for the last few minutes trying to catch some shut eye, and he himself is no better, the strain in his own eyes causing a migraine to brew in the back of his head.

Emma lifts her head as he begins to dismount.

“Wh-why have we stopped?” she asks, taken his hand to follow suit.

“It’s been a long night, you need to rest.” Killian replies. “This area will do quite nicely for a short slumber. I will take first watch.”

“First watch?” she repeats confused. Her hand comes out to grip the cloak tighter.

“Aye, we should take turns keeping watch for anything that might harm us, or anyone who might have followed us out.” He starts collecting twigs from the ground, putting them in a pile near a fallen log.

“You think they might have followed us?” She asks in a small voice.

“I wouldn’t put it past the bloody sod.” Killian replies. He looks up to see her worrying her lip once more. “Darling, if they dare come across us again, I will protect you.” He assures her.

“And why would you?” She snaps. “How do you really know me?”

“Love.. I”

“And don’t say Henry sent you. I know you are lying.” She crosses her arms, just as defiant as her counterpart.

“I wouldn’t know how to begin, Swan.” Killian groans, slumping on the log.

Emma kneels in front of the pile of twigs and grabs two stones, hitting them together until a spark is born and a small flame ignites.

“You can start with why you keep calling me Swan.” She says, catching him stare at her curiously.

“Caught that did, you?” He laughs nervously.

She glares at him. 

“It��s a really long story... bloody hell.” He groans.

Emma sits beside him on the log, giving him a pointed look.

“We have enough time for you to start.”

“Aye.” He sighs. He stretches his legs out in front of him. “Long story short, there are other realms similar to ours yet alternative, where we have taken different paths and ended with different futures. I encountered another realms version of you. Her name was Emma Swan.” He looks into her green eyes, trying to assess her response. She probably thinks he is crazy, delusional even, but she cracks a warm smile in return.

“Truth.” She says quietly.

“You believe me?” He asks in disbelief. Why would a royal trust him?

“Yes,  I do.” Emma states firmly. “I know when people lie, it’s the only gift I have that I can actually use. So, tell me about this Emma Swan?”

“She’s a mother like you, and a princess.” She grins and he smiles back. “She’s cunning, smart, beautiful.” She blushes and licks her lips. “She’s strong, a fierce warrior.”

“Unlike me.” The princess says sadly.

“Princess, you were scared and a prisoner of a horrid man. You cannot blame yourself for your predicament.”

“I’m not just talking about that. My entire life, I have been scared in a tiny bubble in the castle. I never went out on my own adventure, I’ve never fought for anything. I don’t even know how to hold a sword. I’m a coward.” She laughs.

“No you’re not. The gods know I’ve dealt with many cowards and you don’t meet any of their criteria. You may have not been in battles but your are just as brave and strong as the other Emma.”

“You really think so?” She peers up at him in wonder, and if he did not know any better he could have sworn that she scooted closer to him.

“Aye, love.” Killian says sincerely. “And I quite fancy you from time to time... when you’re not yelling at me.” He smirks and she rolls her eyes. “if you want... I could always teach you how to use a sword.” He scratches the back of his ear.

“I’d like that, Captain.” She smiles.

“Call me Killian, your highness.”

“As long as you call me Emma.”

They stare at each other for a second more and then look away as if they were burned.

“So...” Emma begins. “When you thought I was the other Emma in the tower, you asked where Killian was... Your name is Killian, so I’m guessing the other Emma knows her realm’s version of you?”

Bloody hell...

“Erm...” His hand finds its way back to his ear. “Aye, they know each other very well.” So well that they have a daughter and another wee one along the way. “You should get some rest, love.” He says quickly, standing up and away from his doppelgänger’s true love’s doppelgänger.

“Right.” Emma raises her brow amused.

“I will wake you up in 2 hours.” He states mechanically, as if he’s reciting the Miranda rights to someone.

“Okay. Goodnight... Killian.”

“Goodnight, Emma.” END OF PART ONE

[batenchantingcollectorsong]

The South Carolina debate was the final one before Super Tuesday. So who emerged as the victor? ‘Warren dominated the mic and Sanders held his ground’Oh yeah, man. Let’s get into it. Let’s dive into the issues that other debate moderators have not yet dared to approach so far. Let’s ask questions such as: “Would you, as president, support a ban on trans fats and large sodas?”Did everyone else get this push notification from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention warning that there was going to be a “disruption to everyday life” with the looming coronavirus pandemic? I don’t know if that was just Russia meddling in the election or whatever, but I am wondering why it took 90 minutes for the moderators to bring the virus up, and why their question was framed around whether the United States should completely freak out and shut down all the borders. Not, should we do something about the fact that the uninsured will often avoid doctors when they are ill because they are afraid of unpredictable medical bills, or how our rural hospitals are shutting down, or how we have sanctions on medical supplies against Iran, where a coronavirus outbreak is worsening. Look, I know Mercury is retrograde, but there is absolutely no excuse for this shameful performance.As for the candidates, for someone who doesn’t support the use of filibuster, Elizabeth Warren sure did dominate the microphone on Tuesday night. Pete Buttigieg tried to make everything about him by talking over everyone, Michael Bloomberg was absolutely adorable trying to explain the history of hostilities in the Middle East, and Tom Steyer somehow felt emboldened to talk about economic justice despite building part of his wealth on private prisons and mines. Amy Klobuchar was also there.The mood was chaotic, the audience paid a lot of money to behave like they were attending a Jerry Springer show, most of the candidates’ hair was weirdly terrible, and the only person to hold their ground was Bernie Sanders. He stayed on message, he refused to take easy bait, and he didn’t do what I would have done, which is when asked about his “controversial” remarks about thinking it was good that Cuba taught people how to read he did not yell “would all of you people grow up” and storm off the stage. This is the last time we’ll see probably about half of these candidates, after Super Tuesday annihilates their campaigns. Too bad. Sure gonna miss Pete and Amy fighting over who is the most midwestern candidate. * Jessa Crispin is the host of the Public Intellectual podcast. She is a Guardian US columnist ‘Donald Trump was the winner yet again’On Tuesday night, the Democrats held a prime-time steel cage match. Seven presidential aspirants repeatedly traded verbal blows. After two-plus hours, Donald Trump emerged victorious – and he wasn’t even in the ring.Even worse, many of the combatants appeared removed from reality. Coronavirus, a reeling stock market, and low unemployment now shape our landscape. Yet the potential pandemic drew no mention until Michael Bloomberg, New York City’s former mayor, raised the threat the virus poses.Medicare-for-All continued to receive outsized attention despite the fact that most Americans take a dim view of government being the be-all and end-all of individual healthcare. By the numbers, US adults reject socialism by better than two-to-one. Jeremy Corbyn’s fate is a cautionary tale.As the 2018 midterms remind us, control of the US House of Representatives and US Senate hinges on wooing and winning persuadable voters. Yet, Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren posture as if they can impose their will upon a blank slate.As for the rest of the field, Pete Buttigieg delivered a crisp performance. Meanwhile, Joe Biden looked and sounded engaged. His sense of humor may yet get him to the finish line first in South Carolina’s upcoming Saturday primary. * Lloyd Green was opposition research counsel to George HW Bush’s 1988 campaign and served in the Department of Justice from 1990 to 1992 ‘The well-heeled audience booed Sanders and Warren and loved Bloomberg’Judging purely by the reaction of the crowd watching the Democratic primary debate live in South Carolina, you would think Bloomberg had a magnificent comeback – almost as if he had miraculously developed a personality that Americans could connect with.Elizabeth Warren quickly found herself on the receiving end of an angry crowd as she excoriated Bloomberg for his and his company’s past that is littered with sexual harassment accusations. It’s extraordinary that Warren’s attempt to champion the women who have been silenced by his non-disclosure agreements was met with furious booing.Bernie Sanders found himself on the receiving end of raucous booing, too, when he challenged Mayor Bloomberg throughout the night, including when he was criticizing Bloomberg’s relationship with China.It didn’t take long before rumors about Bloomberg purchasing the audience started spreading around. So much so that one of Bloomberg’s top staffers had to inform Josh Lederman of NBC news that the Bloomberg campaign “did not pay people to attend the debate and cheer for Bloomberg”.Perhaps not. Still, a few Google searches later we quickly discovered that the price of tickets to the South Carolina debate ranged between $1,750 and $3,200. And while this does not mean these individuals were paid by Bloomberg to cheer for him, it does mean that the audience members were most likely in a financial position to oppose candidates like Warren and Sanders, who would likely raise their taxes.So it may be the case that Bloomberg had no need to purchase support in the South Carolina debate when the system established by the Democratic party created the conditions under which only the wealthiest people in South Carolina could attend and, subsequently, cheer on the oligarch who would ensure their taxes would not go up. * Benjamin Dixon is the host of the Benjamin Dixon Show ‘Attempts to woo black voters sounded like virtue signalling’It’s hard to identify anything but losers of this debate. As expected, Bernie Sanders – who has won the popular vote in each of the primaries and caucuses thus far – was attacked at the onset with red scare-level fear mongering about basic social policies from both the moderators and most of the candidates.Virtually all the other candidates, except perhaps Elizabeth Warren, who exuded an air of calm, acted as if their chances would be blasted into oblivion unless they threw the kitchen sink at every answer.Ahead of the first primary that tests the candidates’ appeal to a significant black electorate in South Carolina, this came across as virtue signaling instead of meaningful engagement with the issues at hand. Candidates used Bloomberg’s stop-and-frisk policy, for instance, to discuss virtually every racial inequality under the sun and plug various race-centric plans they are running on. Will black voters buy it? We’ll soon find out. * Malaika Jabali is a public policy attorney, writer and activist ‘Sanders won an awful debate’What a wretched debate, two hours of shouting and interrupting and pandering from which it was hard to discern much sense. All that noise worked for Bernie Sanders. He remains the frontrunner because nobody else made a point. The others had their chance to bash him as a Fidel Castro sympathizer, but didn’t manage to pull it off.None took him down over healthcare, since it appears to be the issue that has driven him to the front. Elizabeth Warren would have ground Michael Bloomberg into dust over sexism (and failure to release his tax returns) if the moderators had allowed her. But the moderators had no control over candidates desperate to make a mark just before South Carolina and Super Tuesday. So none of them really made a mark.Biden did himself no harm but did not deliver the sort of performance that could propel him into Super Tuesday and stunt Sanders’s rise. Bloomberg looked bad enough that it should give African Americans serious doubts about whether to abandon Biden for him. Sanders won by not making any big mistakes and by offering a reasonable defense of his comments about Latin America, and Biden held his own on friendly ground in South Carolina. * Art Cullen is editor of The Storm Lake Times in northwest Iowa, where he won the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing. He is a Guardian US columnist and author of the book Storm Lake: Change, Resilience, and Hope in America’s Heartland, just out in paperback

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/3caOmwE