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bluetimeombre · 11 months ago

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: ̗̀➛ Call it what you want to

You're an up-coming star, staring in some hit movies like Hunger games Ballad of songbirds and snakes and now Wonka, along the Timothee Chalamet.

[i'm obsessed with my man and just need to ignore the fact he's dating someone that isn't me. anyway, you're an up-coming actress who stared in the new hunger games movie and now you're also staring in wonka, the people love you and maybe, so does a co-star of yours] not proof read. this was very fun to write so maybe i'll do more, if anyone likes it. or just for me

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liked by... tayrussell, joshandresrivera, tomblyth, sadiesink_, tchalamet & others

yourusername: wonka press tour starts now!

809k likes. 304k comments

user: wait, you're in wonka?!

user: I LOVE YOU!!

user: mother giving us content, as always

tchalamet: now you've posted can you come up and help me

yourusername: no

tchalamet: pls!!!

user: omg she really said no to timothee chalamet, who does she thin she is?

user: slayyyy

user: isn't wonka supposed to suck

tomblyth: from one press tour to another, i see

yourusername: girls got to earn a living

tomblyth: she doesn't let the grass grow

user: say hi to timothee for me!!!!

user: omg how is she getting all the hottest guys in hollywood rn? gurl leave some for us

wonkamovie: 😍😍

balladofsongbirdsandsnakes: 😍😍😍

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you were flicking through comments by your friends when your phone started to ring, the familiar picture of your co-star flicking up on your phone. quickly, you dimissed yourself from your assistant and took the call. 'yes?'

'I need your help.'

'Timothee, you're old enough to zip up your own jacket,' you tease, leaning on the wall.

'I don't know what jumper to wear, what are you wearing? we'll coordinate.'

you'd opted for something of your own style. a jumper with pinks and blues and a white flowering skirt with a ring almost on every finger. this was only your second big press tour and sitting next to timothee chalamet every day for it was enough to make you nervous. so nervous you woke every morning wondering if you'd throw up. it didn't help you were also surrounded by others you'd looked up to, like olivia coleman and hugh grant. how were you supposed to keep your cool for months. even if now you were considered just as big a star.

'don't you have a stylist for this?' you ask, looking at the crew around, ready to go but waiting for him.

'there's three options and i don't know which one to go for. can't you just come up.'

you could, sure. go to timothee's hotel room and see him probably shirtless. once you'd have dreamt of it, but things were different, now you just didn't have a silly celebrity crush. now he was your co-star and very off limits.

'option two now come on, please.' quickly, you end the call and pick up your coffee, heading to the room where you'd be sat for the next eight hours answering questions with timothee.

you were there first, shaking hands with the interviewer and introducing yourself to her. you took your seat, making little chatter before timothee chalamet walked in, calm, cool and collected. completely different to your flushed and smiling expression.

you watched as he quickly said hello to everyone in the room and greeted the lady who'd be conducting the interview.

timothee turned to you, arms out wide and waiting. laughing, you put your coffee down and stood up, giving him a hug. you shared small pleasantries before he took his seat next to you, shuffling around and settling in. only then did you realise how much your jumpers looked the same, both smudges of similar colours. you blushed more as timothee watched, silently wondering what could make you so red. as if he had no idea what he did to you just by sitting down next to him.

'I have had scrub scrub stuck in my head since seeing the movie,' she- charline, said as you and timothee laugh. 'do you guys have a favourite song you got to perform?'

'I mean, pure imagination was quite a surreal experience. you know, getting to sing something that was so ... iconic, it was-it was a lot of fun. and a lot of pressure, but, in a good way,' said timothee.

'you killed it,' you assure, casually.

'thank you,' he smiled.

'i really enjoyed you've never had chocolate like this number. that was just so fun, the dancing and all,' you say, timothee nodding and agreeing.

'for a moment was fun to, i guess,' added timothee. 'we got to dance.'

you grin at the memory. 'we did.' you remembered the a million takes, timothee singing practically to you while prancing around. it was your favourite scene to shoot because it was such an easy and happy scene. you didn't have to think about it, just held timmy's hand as he twirled you around the place.

'and i know we're here to talk about wonka but i just have to say-' she gestured to you, 'congratulations on hunger games, biggest movie in the world.'

you wave her off, thanking her as timmy claps for you. 'thank you, thank you.'

'i was wondering what was your favourite song to film there on that set and how does it compare to singing on this one.'

ranting about yourself or your achievements was always hard for you. your stardom and come so quickly with hunger games and wonka, so much so you felt like you didn't deserve half of it.

'i mean, for hunger games it was all live. i sang them there and then so that's daunting in itself, um. i loved filming pure as the driven snow, just because i got to- essentially- sing it to tom. it was just him and me and the crew, like for those shots there was no extra's so that was great fun. a special moment. and singing it to him made it a whole lot easier. whereas on this movie, luckily it was all like pre-recorded so, not so daunting. didn't have to sing in front of timothee chalamet,' you say.

he listened carefully to you, seeing your smile at mentioning tom blyth, your co-star from the hunger games. he'd never met the guy, he was probably lovely- from the amount you talked about him. 'you've got a great singing voice.'

'thanks man.'

'this cast is just so insane and obviously you two got close during filming,' says charline, gesturing to the two of you.

timothee nudged you with his head, like he'd done a thousand times before knowing how much you secretly loved it. just like a horse, as had been quoted.

'who's more british, olivia or hugh?'

'hugh, easily,' you say. you loved all of hugh's movies, but you'd never say that to his face.

'you know, i'm gonna go and say you,' says timothee, turning to you.

you drop you jaw, pointing to yourself. yes, you were british, but more so than than the hugh grant seemed impossible. 'me?'

'yea, i mean, hugh grant is like a walking union jack- and i mean that in the best way possible, but you seem so much more like british. you know, wicked sense of humor and the charm and- you love london,' he pointed out.

'i do love london,' you agreed.

'did you have fun filming in england, timothee?' she asked.

they want on and on to talk about filming the movie, answering questions in depth and it was sure the two of you had great answers, listening intently together and everyone could tell. your chemistry was there, your smiles and answers together were almost so perfect it was like it was practiced and the fans ate it up!

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liked by... zendaya, mtv, kyliejenner, yourusername, wbpictures & others

tchamalmet: WONKA!!! coming soon

tagged: yourusername

1.1m likes, 609k comments

user: he posted! he posted!

user: we are getting FED

user: i just know this is all yourusername influence

user: not kylie liking...

user: statistics! statistics!

liked by yourusername

yourusername: bring back little timmy tim!

yourusername: out of all the pictures you chose that one

user: anyone else think her and timmy are getting too close

user: like fr she stealin my man

user: i love them!!!

user: i swear something is going on with her and tom blyth

user: she's just like us!

user: LOVE!!!!!

user: her and timmy >>> him and kylie

user: plssss, i love kylie

user: is wonka a musical

user: TIMMY I WANT TO HAVE YOUR CHILDREN!!!

user: fave bob dylan song?

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liked by... tomblyth, rachelzeglar, tchalamet, hunterschafer, zendaya & others

yourusername: ballad of song birds and snakes is number one movie? more like i'm the number one most grateful person out there for this chance and being trusted with my girl lucy-grey!!! thank you, thank you, thank you!!

tagged: tomblyth

1m likes 477k comments

tomblyth: lots of love my dear !

user: pls the second picture was so unncesary she just wanted to post it

user: MOTHER

user: parents are parenting

user: I LOVED THIS FILM

user: tom blyth is honestly so hot like wtf

rachelzeglar: my luv <3

yourusername: omg my gf everybody!!!!

joshandresrivera: funny how you don't post a picture of me

yourusername: it's funny because i don't like you

joshandresrivera: tomblyth you gonna let her talk to me like that??

tomblyth: she's the boss

user: how is she so amazing in everything

user: wonder how she got this job? she's literally as plain as a plank

user: hi!

user: the film was insane, i'm obsessed

user: i need this film injected into my veins

user: she's so good at singing, get her on broadway!!!

tchalamet: very proud

yourusername liked tchalamet's comment

user: why would you post the second pic unless they're clearly dating

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user: pls why do i ship them so hard!!

user: lol it looks like he's just refusing to answer questions without her

user: is nobody gonna talk about how they were basically wearing the same jumpers?

user: no because i thought the exact same thing

user: someone pointed it out in an interview and timothee said it was 100% planned, they're so cute

user: doesn't he have a girlfriend?

user: isn't she with tom blyth? they look like they're together?

user: they haven't confirmed it

user: they don't need to did you see her post on instagram?! it was all just him

user: no but the way she's just constantly blushing around him

user: so would you if you were sat next to the timothee chalamet

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #timothée chalamet #tom blyth #i need him biblically #timothee x you #wonka 2023 #timothee chalamet x reader #timmy #tom blyth x reader #the hunger games #wonka #actress #social media

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pmamtraveller · 18 days ago

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PIETER VAN DER OUDERAA - THE KING OF THULE, 1896

This portrait painting depicts the character from Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's ballad "Der König in Thule" ("The King in Thule"), portraying a king in the European kingdom of Thule who, on his deathbed, recalls his lost love and tosses a golden cup into the sea in her honor.

The old monarch is seated by a window in a spacious chair within a cramped room. A table covered with cloth is located behind the king's chair, holding a gold wine decanter on a silver platter. It is likely that the decanter has been used to fill the king's large gold goblet, which he is holding near his chest with his right hand.

The old ruler is adorned in his crown, a gold signet ring, and livery collar, along with a long, heavy silk robe decorated with flowers and a red fur cloak to shield his weak elderly body from the cold. The king wears a sombre, sorrowful expression, with tears visible on his face, lost in contemplation of distant memories.

Ouderaa was deeply moved by the emotional story, inspiring him to depict the king's somber contemplation in his art, highlighting the emotions of isolation and remorse linked to getting older and nostalgia. The work is seen as a literary masterpiece, and various composers, such as Franz Schubert, have created ballads and musical scores based on the piece.

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katey76762 · 2 years ago

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I have made some edits and new additions to the timeline thanks to the suggestions by people in the notes. I’d like to thank @dihalectics, @chemicallywrit, @224bbaker, @roguemaker, @measureyourlifeincake @geminicollisionworks, @monstrousagonies, @sinkholepodcast, and once again @kingmakerpod for inspiring the idea.

Feel free to let me know others to add on to the timeline, I’m really enjoying making this and learning about other podcasts!

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cogentranting · 1 year ago

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The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes also works as a subversion of those kind of "captivity to romance" stories.

A girl is taken prisoner by the evil Capitol and a boy is assigned to make sure she puts on a good show before she dies. But he's not quite like the others because secretly he's poor and an orphan and traumatized by the war. And she reminds him of his mother who was sweet and kind. So he does some shady things, and maybe they're not exactly right, but they're for her. To save her. And he does save her and then is thrown out of the Capitol and follows her to her town where they start to fall in love. When there starts to be conflict between rebels and the Capitol he has to make some more tough choices-- questionable choices-- to protect her and then eventually they run away together.

Does that not sound like a typical (kinda questionable) YA romance?

Except here, you don't forget that he's on the side of her captors, and there's a distinct emphasis on the possessiveness he feels.. And we see the underside of those choices he makes, and they might look like they're for her but actually they're all self-serving. And those questionable choices don't stop right at the line of what we'll excuse, they keep getting worse as he justifies each one and lets himself do worse and worse things. And she doesn't change him so that he can see the beauty of her world, he sticks with his prejudices and hates her world, only tolerating it as long as he wants her. And in the end he doesn't give it all up for her. He betrays her and goes right back to his old world.

And where normally a subversion like that would have to sort of pull the rug out from under readers in order to make the story work, here the framing of the novel as a prequel about a character we KNOW to be a villain lets them play the romance fairly straight without pulling the wool over readers' eyes, so there's no breach of trust. Instead that knowledge of who Coriolanus becomes let's you see the relationship without the rose-tinted romance glasses, and the red flags stand out for what they are.

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg: tbosas

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toodelusionalforreality · 5 months ago

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Azriel x OC | Chapter 2

Sanctuary

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Rare

Word count: ~5.2k Warning: None [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. It's 5 in the morning and I'm sleep deprived. I've tried my best to edit it.

Three weeks later, Azriel stood in front of the red-bricked building again. Alone. He returned home from his latest mission, bruised and battered, and patched to perfection only a few hours ago. Madja had seen him off with an instruction—a thinly veiled order, to be precise—to take two days’ complete rest. Despite the vial of sleeping tonic he emptied in front of her strict eyes, Azriel was restless in his bed. And for some unearthly reason, he went to the one place he never thought of after that night.

The hag looked up at him with eyes so sullen and dead that for a moment, Azriel believed she had forgotten him. Then her lips stretched thinly and her eyes turned bright with excitement. Without a falter in his steps, he took a gold out of his pocket, dropped it on her desk, and reached for the doorknob. Ignoring her smug gratitude, he pushed the door open.

The room looked exactly as he remembered. With its dim lighting and almost empty tables, it appeared bigger, darker, and hauntingly beautiful. Azriel went to the same corner he and his family had occupied only days ago. A familiar blend of metal and spices welcomed him.

The sequence of events was reminiscent of that night. The same server tended to him with a relaxed smile. Quiet chatter and waves of laughter filled the room. The band played music, calm and lulling, unlike the upbeat one they played that first night. For each of his emptied glasses, a filled one took its stead.

Sitting alone in a corner, to have come in secrecy, Azriel felt filthy. He was exhausted. He needed a drink. It was a bar. All perfect reasons for someone visiting that place late into the night. And yet, a sense of wrong gnawed at his chest. By the time he was done, the soothing effect of the tonic and countless drinks had settled in.

The week Rita’s opened its doors, with its eerie elegance and overflowing liquor, Pharus couldn’t lure the crowds again. Even his friends would never set foot in a place like this now since they had their favourite pub back, where the lights were too bright and the music was too loud. Leaving it all the more enticing to Azriel.

Time slowed down within those dark red-stoned walls. Hush fell over the room whenever the band paused between their ballads. Wines were more generous and sweeter each time he visited. Night after night, only regulars remained bearing their loyalty. The servers and bartender greeted them like an old friend with light banters.

Azriel frequented the bar in between his missions—more often than he dared to admit. Every time, he walked into the hall before he had the chance to doubt himself, went to the same table which by now had his claim on it, and Uri, his usual server, kept his glasses full while making polite conversations.

Pharus offered him refuge from his family, from his job, and from the world. Whenever he needed to recuperate in the quiet, he chose the hidden bar over the comfort of his warm bed.

His shadows embraced his new ritual with much ease. During his early visits, they ventured out to study the layout of the building, learning the nooks and crannies, and familiarising themselves with the place sooner than he had expected. They gave him company and scared away anyone who approached him, except Uri who had grown immune to seeing them since the first night. Most days they stayed close to him, shifting on his shoulders like a cool wrap of darkness. And when curious eyes caught his presence, they curled around him until he became one with the dark corner.

But once in a while, they swarmed his shoulders, whispering nothing coherent, and wove around his hands until they drew his attention. But they had nothing to say or sensed no threat. Azriel believed it to be the effects of the drinks he had and noted which ones to steer away from.

His missions kept him away from Velaris often. He was almost glad of this little hindrance, for he wouldn’t want his family to find out about his trysts. Over months, the routine only forged deeper into his muscles, becoming one with his mind. After every mission, before every mission, and sometimes in between, he returned to the bar. Again and again.

He was stealthy about it, sneaking out after his family retired for the night. If they knew their shadowsinger, quiet and reserved, visited a bar often, he would lose the one place he enjoyed other than his home sooner than he blinked.

Pharus was his dirty, heavenly secret.

Uri gravitated towards Azriel more than to his other customers. But he also always had stories to tell. And Azriel’s innate curiosity allowed the server to dish out gossip after gossip. The most interesting ones were of their owner. Nothing made sense about her, and yet Uri spoke of her life like it was a finished book—all chapters done and closed, with loose ends tied, pieced in perfect order.

Azriel never voiced it though, he rarely said a word. He preferred observing from the shadows, and so he did. Listened to every story Uri gave him, noticed the way the patrons perked up when Ayla worked at the bar, and counted her footsteps on the other side of the door.

‘She is not here tonight,’ said Uri as he poured him another drink. Azriel looked up from surveying the room. The server set the bottle down and slumped in one of the chairs at the table, clearly meant for more than one. ‘That’s why it’s packed. The moment she is out of Velaris, they come flocking in until she’s back.’

Azriel lifted a brow. How much did these people hate or fear her if they went to such great lengths?

‘They feel powerful. It’s their version of rebellion,’ Uri continued, not realising the spymaster had gleaned that much already. His eyes burned with hatred as he watched a man threaten Raya, the bartender with a creepy smile. ‘To step in here after she humiliated them. But they don’t have the balls to do much else.’

‘Aren’t you afraid they might hurt you?’ Azriel usually limited his questions to one or none. But sometimes, his curiosity was a wretched curse.

Uri shrugged, but his lips pulled into a smirk. ‘They know she’ll hunt them down.’

Like he promised, the crowd thinned to the regulars again, the peaceful ones. After each of her trips, Ayla tended to the bar—a sign of her return, a warning to the lurkers to crawl back to their pits.

‘Where’s she?’ Azriel had asked the server once when the office remained locked for weeks. Even his shadows were alert to know the answer.

Uri frowned. For the first time, he hesitated. ‘To get supplies, I guess. We get tired of asking and keeping up with it. One time it’s for the bar, the other it’s for the shop, and then, there are personal reasons. And those are even harder to pry from her.’

’Shop?’

Uri toyed with the cork of a wine bottle between his fingers, eyes scanning for signs of a call from other patrons, out of habit rather than necessity. ‘Yeah, one along the banks. She has this blade business. Better than this one, really.’

Sensing Azriel's blank stare, he continued with a breathy laugh, ‘You don’t really think we get any money from this place, do you?’

‘I don’t know. Seems like a good place.’

Azriel swept a glance across the room—the elegant fissures, ambient lighting, plush seats and chairs, and beautiful shelves filled with bottles and bottles of liquor. Some would agree it had a certain charm to it.

Not to Uri. They lost a lot of their customers because of Ayla's rules. Many were kicked out, some with warnings, some with broken bones until the ones looking for trouble weeded out—the reason Rita’s still thrived a decade after Pharus opened, which was an ideal choice for the vain faerie folk.

What Uri called a misfortune was a blessing for Azriel, for he wouldn’t visit if not for the dwindling clientele.

Uri laughed. ‘You are the only good tipper we have. We barely make anything to keep the bar afloat. Ayla pays us with her own money. From that shop. She wanted to have something simple, but Raya,’ he waved his hand in the general vicinity, ‘wanted all this, convinced her it would be good for business. Ayla didn’t even complain. She put everything together and made a deal. We run the place while she takes care of the expenses.’

He grew quiet, his thoughts distant and his voice troubled. ‘Sometimes I don’t think she even likes it here. She prefers the quiet, you know. A bar is the last place someone like her goes looking, forget running. And here she is, taking care of one.’ After a brief breath, he added with a smile, ‘And us, too.’

Azriel had questions, but he kept them to himself. He always had other means to find out. If he wanted to.

Even when his missions weren’t as gruesome as the one that tempted him to find a sanctuary for himself, when they were as mundane as a daily chore, Azriel returned. His own paradise to soothe his soul whenever the darkness began to slick in his veins.

A longing lingered in his chest—unknown and melancholic—a sort of emptiness that never truly faded away. A desperate call to be heard and acknowledged in the lonesome of the night.

Ripping the cool sheets off his body, Azriel got out of his bed again. Sometimes he wondered if his visits had developed into an obsession of sorts, an addiction, as he readied himself for flight on a stormy night.

Cold seeped into the walls as he tucked himself away into the familiar corner. The golden lights from the overhead lanterns glowed warmer, but dimmer. The same scent of spices suffocated the room, sharp and intense in the thick, humid air, and yet it felt right. The patter of rain against the windows muted other sounds in the room, cocooned him in his own world, shielding him away in the solitude he had known all his life.

Uri sat on a stool at the bar, talking with Raya and the other server whose name Azriel never learnt. Their laughter was the only merry sound in the room. Uri split away long enough to offer Azriel his drink and returned to his friends. They seemed happy and content in their own world too.

Loners, much like him, scattered across the space, keeping a distance from one another—the storm outside rousing a storm within their hearts and souls. Slowly, some made their exit after a few drinks, none too keen to linger for long. Raya eyed the ones still at the tables, eager to close soon.

Azriel didn’t intend to stay either.

His shadows flitted along the edges of his wings, around his talons. They descended from his shoulders down his arms caressing, their coldness more acute than that of the weather. Azriel opened his hands and set them on the table. The darkness wreathed around his wrists, slithered to his palms, and danced at his fingertips. His eyes drifted up, just a glance, and found the door locked.

The liquor burned his throat. Azriel closed his eyes and drained the last of his drink. A fresh wave of scent hit his face—something strange yet familiar. The band fiddled for a moment before they began their next song, quiet and low. A voice, sweet and silky, sang along to the music. The one he had heard only once, and yet weaved into his dreams on some nights. He took a long breath and let the voice lure him—his eyes, his senses, his being.

Ayla stood on the small dias, in the middle, among the musicians. Her weight swayed between her feet with the rhythm and the overhead lantern seemed to move with her voice, light shifting around her. An aura enveloped her lithe body with a radiance, turning her into a being of starlight and amber. With her eyes closed, she didn’t care if anyone listened to her song. Wisps of her dark hair stuck to her wet lips that moved deliciously as she sang.

Everything faded away—the band, the patrons, the bar—except for her croon, gentler than midnight’s whispers. Even the rains lowered their cries to a murmur, letting her melody echo in the bliss of the night.

Her song told a story of love and yearning—a proclamation to her lover. Her voice held an emotion so pure and true that if he closed his eyes, if he let himself, Azriel could believe he was the one she sang to. He mused if the others noticed the nuances of her breaths, the slight hum in between verses, the lilt at the words whenever a smile tugged at her lips.

Emotions stirred in his chest, ones he hadn’t felt in his long immortal life, ones he hadn’t known existed. Ache crept away as an ease settled in his heart, a comfort carried to him by her song. When a soft tremor shook through her voice, Azriel wondered how her throat would throb under his marred skin.

His eyes snapped open, and he sucked in a breath. He brought the glass to his lips, his hand trembling. Completely empty. He needed a drink. But he didn’t dare look up.

His shadows swayed, their movements as light as hers. They whispered in his ears singing with her, weaving themselves through the silences left by her breaths.

When the music ended, a quiet fell over. The sound of rain hitting the windows thrummed through the room. Slowly, with each step she took towards her office, the world emerged out of her trance.

A piece of him craved her attention. Look at me, it said, demanded, pleaded. His shadows stilled. She offered a smile to her friends at the bar before she disappeared behind that damned door.

Azriel sat there long after Ayla was gone. Long after her voice was nothing but a phantom ringing in his ears. Listening to her footfalls above, as quiet as her breathing. Knowing he was closer to her than he had ever been watching her behind her desk.

Every secret revealed itself one way or another. In Azriel’s case, it was because of his wretched luck as a person or dumb arrogance as a spymaster. As his family voiced their plans for the night at Rita’s, he shot down their pleas and left for Pharus after dinner, earlier than usual. Instead of finding his table empty and reserved, he was thrust back in time to that first night.

Mor’s bold red dress, Cass already with a filled glass in his hand, Feyre and Rhys in each other’s arms, Elaine’s open smile, and Nesta’s piercing gaze on her mate. Except for minor seating arrangements, the scene was uncannily the same. Every pair of eyes at the table stared at him expecting sudden news. Finally, realisation morphed into shock before Azriel could walk back out. He gave up hiding then.

Strolling to the table, he took the one seat his family left unoccupied. Uri immediately came to his side with his favoured drink, greeting him with a cheery, ‘Hey, you’re back!’ And explained in excruciating detail how long and often he visited.

Azriel could take the teasing and taunting of his brothers. But what he couldn’t tolerate was their plans to frequent and vet out the bar— his secret haven, to find the source that prompted the infamous shadowsinger to break out of his habits.

As each of them came up with one ridiculous reason after the other, Azriel sipped on his drink. He leaned back, crossed his ankle over his knee, and settled in for a long night of interrogation. He was a spymaster after all and had five centuries' worth of experience with those he called his family.

‘So you lied to us all those nights?’ Disappointment shone in Mor’s eyes as she asked, ‘When I begged you to go to Rita’s with me, you instead came here alone?’

Azriel didn’t answer. He trailed a finger along the side of his glass, and his eyes followed the dewdrops breaking under his skin. He had grown used to the taste, the smell, and the air of the place like it was a second home already. He was acutely aware of every entry and exit point in the building, including the door in front of him. One which was perched open that night.

His shadows crawled up his shoulders, settling higher than usual, almost licking his ear. Their whispering turned incoherent again and with his family’s eyes on him, he didn’t particularly feel understanding of them. Yet they continued, growing impatient.

He felt a nip on the back of his neck. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Mor’s expectant eyes and then beyond her perfect blonde hair.

Ayla walked out of the office, ready to take Raya’s place at the bar. She had returned from yet another trip.

A smirk found its way onto Azriel’s lips for the knowledge he possessed, for the ins and outs he knew of her life while she had no idea of his existence. The power he held over her.

‘Now, now,’ Rhys said, his eyes sparkling. ‘Let him have a moment.’ When Azriel turned to him sharply, he glanced at the bar.

But not too subtle to go unnoticed. Every one of them turned around, sizing up the supposed reason for his escapades. If Ayla felt their gazes on her, she showed no sign of it, moving as feline as ever.

And each of his friends had the same idea. Mor was the first to act on it. She headed to the counter and perched herself on a stool right in front of Ayla.

By denying it, Azriel would dig his grave deep, and even deeper by defending her. He kept his lips sealed and eyes on the band while his shadows curled around his ears. Ever the loyal allies, they narrated the scene.

Mor returned with a drink in her hand, spoke into Feyre’s ear, and turned to her other side, sharing her learnings with Cass.

Feyre left her chair a short while after. Ayla smiled at her the whole time she answered her questions and made her a drink. Feyre returned.

Cass shifted in his seat, ready for his turn, yet waiting to leave an ample gap in time.

Azriel stood up as Cass’s chair grated against the floor. He made a quick line to the bar and took a seat next to the one Mor and Feyre had chosen, a bit of distance between them in case she hadn’t caught on yet. He mumbled his order under his breath, completely aware of his family’s stares on his back and the teasing laughs they didn’t bother to conceal. Soon, a drink appeared before him. Azriel didn’t look up, but he nodded. He waited long minutes for his family’s excitement to die.

‘You don’t like it?’ The question was as soft as the voice that spoke it, the words laced with tentative curiosity.

She stood in front of him, an arm’s reach away. Her gaze was sharp like that first night when she studied him and his wings. Specks of gold reflected in her brown eyes under the flickering light. They held a calmness that terrified one who got too close to notice. Her hair flowed in soft waves over her shoulder, damp at the bottom from a recent shower, and yet it glowed. Her smile was polite and a bit tight, born out of necessity.

Azriel wondered if she remembered him, and most did because of his shadows.

When he didn’t respond, she nodded at his drink left untouched. He lifted the glass and emptied it in a gulp. A real smile adorned her face.

‘You can tell me if you don’t like it.’ She sounded tender, unlike with that man all those months ago. She reached for another glass, ‘Want to try something else?’

Azriel nodded once. He didn’t utter a word but didn’t take his eyes off her either. He didn’t need his shadows to know of his family’s prying eyes and ears. A wave of darkness eased behind his back shielding them.

She placed a glass half-filled with a honey-coloured liquor. When she reached for his empty one, Azriel fisted his hands and tucked them close to his chest.

‘Don’t worry.’ Her voice turned comforting, softer. ‘Your face is too distracting for anyone to notice that.’ She rearranged the bottles as her eyes scanned the other patrons sitting at the far end of the counter.

He let out a low chuckle. Such words from a woman who only smiled at her customers like a chore. His nerves tingled from head to toe. He was glad for the drink in his hand to blame. When he looked at her, she had only a ghost of a smile, a remnant of the one she wore seconds ago.

He asked carefully, ‘Is that your attempt at flirting with me?’

She fixed him with a steady stare, a slight tilt to her head. ‘I’m guessing no one tells you the truth unless they get something in return.’

His breath stuck in his throat. While he spent months learning about her, however unintentionally, she unravelled him with a mere look.

With a shrug of his shoulder, he brought the glass to his lips. The drink was much sweeter than the ones he had before. When it reached his throat, the bitterness hit him, and then, the burn. Ayla narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips into a straight line.

‘Are you singing tonight?’ Azriel gambled with the harmless one of his secrets to keep her from stumbling upon the deeper ones.

She stayed silent for a moment. Then she smiled again. ‘Are you asking me to?’

Azriel watched the lights scatter on the surface of his liquor as he toyed with the glass. He lowered his voice, wary of his family behind him, ‘I wouldn’t mind if you did.’

‘I only fill in when they need me. I’m usually in the office.’

Anyone who talked to him for the first time always caught themselves staring at his shadows. Always. But her eyes remained on his face. She only saw him, not the darkness shrouding him, not the shadowsinger.

His shadows danced back and forth between them, almost reaching for her and backing away. They listened when she talked and garbled when she fell quiet.

I know, Azriel wanted to say.

A hush fell over. A few murmured before a soft cheer rippled through the air.

Azriel glanced at the band as they prepared for their next number. When he turned back to her, she was looking at them. He lifted a brow in a silent question.

Ayla stared at him for a minute, a long minute before she stepped away from the bar.

He bowed his head. The last thing he wanted his family to see was the smile on his lips. After a few minutes of shuffling and trial chords, the music began. He refrained from looking over his shoulder. At his family, at her. He took a sip when her voice reverberated through the brick walls, soothing and sensual.

His heart tightened in his chest. She sang of love again. He asked her to sing, and she sang of love—naughty, brazen love. Azriel chuckled at the not-so-subtle innuendo in the lyrics. Her voice mellowed at the end of every verse, softer than a purr. He closed his eyes.

This time he didn’t stop himself from imagining how she would feel under him, if she’d sound as sweet or sweeter when she moaned for him. His shadows spied her over his shoulders.

Ayla was watching him. That damned minx knew what he was up to.

Azriel dared to give her his attention. She smiled at him before she closed her eyes. She swayed to the music, almost imperceptible, but not to his eyes.

Her every word was a tender caress to his soul. Her voice reached out, striking a chord in his heart that never existed until that moment. If she held his hand and led him to her home upstairs, he would follow, if only to trap himself with her in the quiet, away from the world.

When the music ended, she stood still for a moment with her eyes closed, just the way she always did. She didn’t return to him. Instead, she walked into her office and closed the door behind her, but not before she gave him a sweet smile.

Another few months of missions further limited Azriel from going back to Pharus. A part of him believed his brothers did it on purpose to test him. Between her strange business trips and his necessary missions, Azriel had the chance to avoid her. He embarrassed himself in front of his family enough to last a few centuries.

Cass and Nesta teased him with her song whenever they didn’t have a retort. Impromptu vocalising, holding each other in their arms, eyes bulging out of their sockets as they pranced around him.

Fortunately, it was the worst they could do. Once he refused a healing potion and Madja muttered under her breath, ‘I bet he’d be downing it if she gave him.’

And he wondered how far the news of his non-existent affair with Ayla spread in the court.

‘Where are you off to, brother?’ Cass would yell at his back each night he left the dinner table.

‘Far away from you,’ Azriel would mumble, ‘From all of you.’ And if he felt cheeky enough, he teased back. ‘To look at someone prettier than you.’

‘All I heard is that I'm pretty!’ Cass would shout back.

Echoes of her name rang off the walls interlaced with his family’s laughter some days and nights as he left the room with a smile on his lips.

The times he went to the bar, his brothers appeared by his side miraculously. On rare nights, they left him alone. But those nights weren’t rare enough. They sat beside him and spied the door, waiting for her to grace them with her presence.

For he was the one taunted, his family sure seemed to be more obsessed with Ayla than he was. They invited Uri sometimes to gather ammunition against him in his slow torture. If the server had shown no suspicion until then, he sure would soon.

Except for Mor, Nesta and Feyre, none of the others had talked to Ayla. And Azriel was grateful for it. The catastrophe his brothers alone would cause if they ever met her was something Azriel tried not to imagine. The looks they shared that night still lingered in his mind.

A sigh left his lips unwarranted. Both his brothers turned to him with a look on their faces he didn’t bother to decode. The place offered Azriel peace once. And now, it was only a haunting place with a ghost, Ayla.

The reveal of his secrets had tainted the peace of the bar, for it was crowded more and more on each visit. He could find a different hiding spot. He could go home and lie in his bed again. He wouldn’t need the scent of spices and metal of the place to lull him enough to rest peacefully later. Uri filled his glass with a drink that looked like the one Ayla made for him. Even the server was glad to be anywhere but around his brothers.

One last drink.

Azriel took a long sip—not even close to how it had tasted. His shadows swarmed his shoulders, their weight pressing, as if they sensed his intentions. They did, they always did. The only ones who truly understood why he did or said anything. Maybe they had come to mourn the loss of their safe space too.

The door slid open by mere inches. Raya nudged it further with her foot as she walked in.

Ayla stepped aside. Her eyes went to someone in front of her, away from the door. She leaned against the table and crossed her arms over her chest. Clad in only a simple white shirt, long and loose, and her legs bare past mid-thighs, she hadn’t planned to make an appearance that night. Her tousled hair was a graceful mess, like she had been in bed for a while, or someone’s fingers had the pleasure of threading through them, over and over again. A darkening red cut—sharp and deep—ran along her leg from thigh to ankle. It was fresh but healing, slowly.

Raya shimmied out with bottles in both her hands, a few tucked between her arms and chest, leaving the door open and wide behind her. Never once had she needed that much alcohol in one night before.

Azriel didn’t blink. His brothers’ words faded as much as the rest of his surroundings. His shadows froze over his shoulders, deadly quiet unlike themselves.

Raya went back in.

Then there he stood, the man Ayla was smiling at. He leaned down and whispered in her ear before pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek. Close to her mouth. Ayla shook her head and made for the stairs. She still smiled. The man trailed her, a hand on her hip and a smirk on his face.

Raya walked out for the last time and closed the door behind her.

The glass in his hand dropped to the wood with a soft thud. The cool liquid sloshed inside and spilt over his fingers.

As though invisible claws clutched his heart and plunged him into icy waters, the haze deluding his senses faded away in a blink. Every nerve in his body honed to one thought. The incoherent whispers of his shadows finally took shape.

Azriel bared his teeth. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

Mate.

Next Chapter: Bastards

#god's game #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar x oc #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses

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yan-lorkai · 3 months ago

Note

I saw requests were open! I like to request PLATONIC! Lilia with a daughter (or child if you wanna make it gender neutral) who is like Ariel (the Disney princess)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Soft platonic yandere content, fem reader, reader has red hair but that's the only physical description.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Lovely request, I hope you like it! <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lilia Vanrouge was known for many things; mainly for being a general, the brother of Meleanor, guardian of Prince Malleus, and a loving father. His daughter, similar to Ariel, had beautiful red hair, an adventurous spirit and a kind heart. He had found her soon after finding Silver, lying dormant above the lake, a beautiful green tail revealing to him what you were.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ However, the strange part was that your parents weren't around. No matter how much he called or dived, he hadn't found them anywhere and Lilia was a fairy, who should he turn to to report a missing mermaid child? He did what fairies do and stole you (although if anyone asked, he would say he just adopted you).

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A traveler and connoisseur, he knew a thing or two about potions. And that's how he gave you legs and what an idea that was! As soon as you learned to walk, you couldn't stop running, dragging Silver with you wherever you went. It was tiring to take care of you, but Lilia loved it. You and Silver were the best part of his day, and the memories he forged with both of you was something he would never forget.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Since you were little, you have shown a fascination with the aquatic world, always asking your father about the fish, the algae and the tides. Somehow, he supposed, you knew your home was down there and swimming came naturally to you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lilia, although protective, never contained your curiosity. He taught you how to fight and defend yourself, but he also encouraged your passion for music and exploration, preferring that over you wandering aimlessly or swimming, afraid that you would simply disappear, even more if you knew the truth. Nights in Briar Valley are often filled with the sound of your songs, which are reminiscent of the old ballads Lilia used to hear on his travels. Your voice is soft to his heart, like a promise of an old friend.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Despite growing on the cottage, isolated from everyone except your father and brother, you captives everyone who meets you for the first time. Your red, beautiful hair makes everyone turn around to admire and when you sing, they are hypnotized by you - even if you don't why that happens, though it's just your mermaid voice acting.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lilia likes to tell his old stories of battles and magic to you and Silver, while you, in return, like to talk about the ancient and mysterious artifacts you found during your dives. Lilia helps you organize your items, listening to how much you like your little collection of things.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Overall, he is a very sweet and doting father. He let you run free knowing full well he can take you home if you ever strayed away, if you ever feel hurt if you didn't know you too were adopted. And if this do happens, he sooth and comfort you. You are family and family stay together.

#twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #twst #twst lilia #twst lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia x yuu #yandere lilia x mc #yandere lilia x reader #yandere lilia vanrouge x mc #yandere lilia vanrouge x yuu #yandere lilia vanrouge x reader #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia #tw yandere #male yandere #fem reader #afab reader

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toothfa-1-ry · 11 months ago

Text

METAMORPHOSIS -finnick odair

The capital has a way of messing up with your head. Finnick saw it happen to him, he saw it happen to Peeta and worst of all, he had to see it happen to you too

GENRE: Angst

PAIRING: Finnick Odair x gn reader,

WARNING: PTSD, mental illness and abuse, suicidal thoughts, self harm on Finnick's part, reader want through a lot of psychological abuse and physical abuse, Finnick has panic attacks basically very hunger games coated abuses

A/N: back in for a hot minute with the new release of a the ballad of songbirds and snakes! I seem to be pulled back into the hunger games lol however since it's been a pretty long time since I've read or watch the movies this fic is probably not going to be accurate at all! Also I have no idea how to end this fic so I just did it in a hurry. I don't rlly like how it came out but oh well!

You weren't supposed to get taken away

You weren't supposed to fall back down behind, you weren't supposed to be left behind while Finnick was distracted talking to Katniss.

Finnick wasn't supposed to leave you behind, he was supposed to stay by your side just like he promised. He wasn't supposed to let you be taken away and yet your there stuck in the capitol while he lies with wounds all over his body in the 13 district

It should have been him, he thinks, that maybe if he had switch places with you in that moment, that he was right next to you instead of ahead of you, that he would pulled you towards him, maybe..maybe you would be there next to him.

Maybe you would be lieing next to him, perhaps is bruises and wounds as bad as his but atleast the both of you would be safe in each others arms.

Finnick knows that he should get out of his room. The plain cold room with grey walls seem to surround him on all four sides and yet his grief seems to swallow him as a whole

The ringing sound in his ears continue relentlessly and the tremble in his hands refuse to go. He'd find himself picking his scabbed scars and almost healed wounds and waking up in the dead of night screaming. He finds himself scarring his once golden skin which now seemed rusted with red and all of his old wounds once which was kissed by you being reopened at the dead of night.

He screamed screamed for you, every night and even while he was awake he seemed to be mumbling your name over and over again under his breath. As if believing that if he did so that maybe you'd appear infront of him and tell him it's just a bad dream

Sometimes he'd be forced out of his room, sometimes it's by Haymitch or some other person. He couldn't care less, however he was also a beacon of hope for the people maybe not flaming as bright as Katniss the girl on fire but rather hope like the beach waves hitting the shore

But you were different. You were a different kind of hope, not burning bright and flaming with fumes like Katniss or calm and majestic in all its glory like Finnick but you were like moon.

Hope like the moon in the dark night sky guiding travelers for the past million centuries, sailors, prophets and even kings and helping them find way back to their homes, to their solace. You were the light in the dark, a elegant beam of radiance showing way even to a poor man.

You were Finnick's light. The only thing that helped him see, the only time he felt truly like himself not like the capitols charming prince, or the victor from the 4th district but rather just like plain Finnick. The boy who had golden tan skin, hair dry with salty sea water, the boy who smelled like the sea ans the boy he once was before the capitol got a hold of him.

Like the moon's reflection on the ocean bed in the calm, you were a beam of radiance to him that helped him sleep in night, safe and sound..and loved.

He misses you more than he remembered you. And it scared Finnick.

Being forced out was now a usual thing for Finnick. Being forced to sit in a cafeteria with a plate of food which would go cold and remain uneaten.

He usually stayed alone still away from the others which was unlike him but his mind would be plagued with the last look you gave him, his ears repeating your mortifying scream

Sometimes he'd talk to Katniss. She understood him, after all her Peeta was taken away to just you were taken away. Both Finnick and Katniss blamed themselves more than they should have,

He thinks, at first that he is a little envious of Katniss and the way she looks strong. She holds herself in a way he doesn't. He thinks, how does she do it? How does Katniss remain like a fire burning torch when Peeta the person she adores the most is gone like how you were

But then he hears a familiar voice, he sees a all too familiar face across the tv screen and he is immediately filled with desperation and dread. He looks at Peeta's stoic and unmoving face on the tv screen and he feels the tremble beginning in his hands again.

The capitol couldn't have..could they? They wouldn't have- they couldn't have done it. They didn't kill Peeta but..they seemed to have done something even worser

Finnick's thoughts are left troubled when it was disturbed a loud sound of a metallic plate dropping and a cry of despair

He sees Katniss, her tears and the way her hands fly towards her mouth and try to cover her cry.

Thats when he notices the bags under her eyes and the cuts on her hand. He notices the way her heart sank just like his did and he notices the way Katniss called out Peeta's name. He remembers the way she held him in the games and the way she begged him to live

He thinks, maybe they aren't so different at all.

"he's alive..he's alive" Katniss whispers under her breath and Finnick's holds his, his eyes scan the tv screen scanning for your face whi- and he sees it.

Your face in the background, your hair combed and slicked backed tightly into a bun. Your faced filled with white powdery makeup making you look almost as if you were a corpse. Your eyes seemed scarily full and your lips dry.

But you weren't dead, but you didn't really seem alive either.

The fact that you were alive had a unsettling feeling in Finnick but right now he couldn't care, you were alive and breathing

"y/n" Finnick breaths out as he runs towards the screen with no hesitation. His mind is no longer on Katniss or Peeta or the capitol but at you and your face.

His trembling fingers slowly trace your face as he cries your name out repeatedly, he isn't listening to what Peeta is saying or all the commotion in the back

Your alive.

"they're back! Peeta, Johanna and y/n they- they're back"

Finnick runs faster than he has ever done in his entire life.

Faster than he did in the hunger games or faster than he did from the capitol people after they were done with their business with him in their bedrooms.

He throws down whatever he was holding in his hands, leaves whatever thought was occupying his head and runs faster than he ever did

He doesn't care about whether he hit someone or if he was making too much noise. He cried your name out as he ran calling you, searching for you before opening the door with a bang, his eyes red with tears and trembling body.

He sees you in a wheelchair lying lifelessly in the the chair which held your body.

He doesn't notice the way everyone else in the room looks at him, Haymitch, the doctors or nurses or even Johanna who was sitting in a similar wheelchair a few metres away from you. They way they all immediately stood up straight and their body tense, the way their faces were looking at him with pity

Finnick feels as if though he had stopped breathing, every single bone in his body moves automatically. The tears stream across his golden skin as his hands itch to touch you

All he needs is you. All he needs is your touch, your warmth

He runs towards you unaware of the way you tensed up when you saw him, he shouts your name as his hands stretch out to finally hold you, he begs for forgiveness again and again but finds you shaking instead

"Finnick don't go near her- wait Finnick don't" Beetee's immediate warning fails when you start thrashing against Finnick's touch

"y/n?- y/n my love? What's wrong?" Finnick panics as he tries to calm you down as you shout and scream

Just a few seconds ago you were silent and unmoving refusing to speak but here you were with Finnick, screaming and crying trying to get away from him like he was a monster

"my love please-" Finnick begs as his hands touches your face, the panic in his voice and the tears unhidden from anyone. The despair and regret dripping from his words and unhelpful touches which seem to drive you insane even more

"away! Get away from me! I- get away! away!" You try to push Finnick away but your not that strong. You seem to be repeating the same things again and again but you shake your head and scream even louder than before

"Finnick let go of her- don't Finnick!" Finnick's hears the others shouting at him but he can't let you go, not when you don't even recognise him

"it's me- it's me y/n. It's Finnick your sweetheart" his voice cracks at the nickname you gave him, his eyes search for a second of recognition or even love but your eyes are filled with terror and fear

"y/n it's me! I'm here now! I'm sorry I'm never going to let you go- please y/n..it's me" he begs and pleads you but you don't stop resisting against him even going lengths of hitting him with your hands helplessly

"Finnick let go!" Finnick hears Haymitch shout as he pulls him away from you "she isn't the same y/n you know- the capitol played with her mind"

Finnick feels his entire world go cold, his skin gone numb and his brain feels all muddy. There's a dark deep sinking feeling in his gut as he watches you look at him in complete fear, crawling away from him and into the corner of the room hugging yourself

Finnick takes a few steps towards you but is fiercely pushed away by a agitated Johanna "get the fuck away from her Finnick!"

Johanna glares at Finnick alongside with everyone in the room before she runs to the corner you were sobbing in and cradles you in her arms muttering "don't touch us, don't touch us" again and again.

"what- what do you mean? What's going on?" He turns and looks at the faces in the roomwhich was responded with a nervous glance. Finnick feels his blood boil and his anger consume him

"I said what do you mean" he shouts "what the hell happened" his eyebrows furrowed as he watches Betee struggled to form sentences

"we- we don't know exactly what happened" Betee says as he motions towards you and Johanna who was rocking you in her arms, shooting everyone in the room dirty looks still repeating the same words

"but-"

"but what? what...what happened to my y/n why.. why does she seem afraid of me? Why is she scared-" His voice cracks before he began to sob uncontrollably "why?"

The room goes silent and all that could be heard was Finnick's sobs and yours alongside with Johanna's muttering.

Haymitch walks slowly to Finnick and holds him in the shoulder "I think..you should sit down somewhere while we talk about this" he says grimly as he turns around and gives looks at the rest of the people in the room to give them some space

Finnick's breathing is shallow as he listens to Betee. The more he listens the more he wishes that he were dead, that it was all fake. He wishes even more that it was him who was taken into the capitol and regret and anger fills him up

"the capitol obviously wasn't going to let it slide, I mean y/n she- she was the capital's sweetheart. She was one of their favourite victor and seeing her being a part of the uprising? Snow would have never let her or any of them for the fact go unscarred but, we never expected this much"

Betee continues in a whisper, he stops every 2 minutes and looks at Finnick to say something but Finnick would always remain silent and unmoving.

"Johanna she- she's developed this insane fear of water- she was drowned multiple times by the capital and Peeta he..he was also brainwashed. He has developed this insane hatred for Katniss."

"and y/n?" Finnick finally broke his silence "what did they do to her?" You could hear the desperation leaking from his voice, his voice at the verge of breaking

Betee seemed to be hesitant to say, often refusing to make eye contact with Finnick but he sighed and looked straight at him

"y/n was strapped. She was strapped into this machine and they kept on fiddling with her memories. She couldn't differentiate with what was real and what wasnt. They inserted this entire new plot into her head which she now believes some parts of it to be true"

Finnick breathing stopped, a chill ran down his spine as he internally begged that it was not what he was thinking of

Betee looks up to Finnick with sadness and guilt painted in his eyes, he didn't want to break it to Finnick this way. He knew how much it would hurt him

"Finnick" Haymitch says instead, choosing to be the one to break the news to Finnick "y/n, she's scared of you. Just like how Peeta has developed hate for Katniss, y/n has developed fear towards you."

A all too familiar feeling came over Finnick. He was where he was in the beginning. He was nothing but a monster, a killer, a damaged product before you came along and showed him a new path but he had to ruin everything. He had to break you too, he had to ruin you too, it was all his fault

Panic engulfed Finnick as it hit his very core, today was the day he got you back and yet today was also the day he seemed to have forever lost you

"but-" he trembles as he talks "but why- what did they show her? What did I do to her" his breathing becomes fast

"it's not your fault" Haymitch says as Betee nods his head "we're trying to figure that out right now"

"is it only me?" Finnick's blood shot eyes pierce Betee's "am I the only person she's scared of?"

"she's scared of everything and everyone except for Johanna. Johanna was the only one who was there to comfort her but Johanna herself isn't in the right mind right now either" Betee replies

"oh" Finnick's voice is empty and hollow, he doesn't want to ask the question but it seems inevitable "will she ever stop being scared of me?"

Finnick is scared of Betee's answer, his heart hammered agains his chest in panick "do you think..I can get her back?"

Betee purses his lips as he continues "it won't ever be the same Finnick. Y/n.. whatever they implanted in her head has been recognised as real to her now but if we keep on pressing on with the truth maybe" he looks hopefully at Finnick "maybe you could get a piece of her back, not fully but a fragment of her"

"I just..I just want her, I don't care if it's a piece of her or whatever. I just..I want her to be okay"

Betee just nods his head wordlessly as he watches Finnick break down. Right infront of him was probably the strongest person he ever knew, he watched him during his games, watched him become victor and knew everything he went through but he never saw Finnick this broken.

"I'm going to get her back" Finnick says "if that's the last thing I ever do I swear, she's going to be okay"

#hunger games x reader #the hunger games #finnick imagine #finnick odair #thg finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick fics #hunger game x reader #hunger games #peeta mellark #thg peeta #thg series #thg fic #coriolanus snow #snow #district 4

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ulltraviolences · 5 months ago

Text

let the light in | haymitch abernathy

pairing: haymitch abernathy x fem!covey!reader

synopsis: deciding to indulge in old habits after a particularly hard night & glimpses of his past life, haymitch doesn’t expect to be comforted by the voice of a beautiful songbird in the hob of 12.

warnings: mentions of war, canon violence, ptsd, alcohol, mention of blood, flirting, age gap (reader is in early 20s), slight sexual themes, kissing, fluff-ish, sweet haymitch

song included: the ballad of lucy gray baird

a/n: this is something I’ve had for so long in my drafts & now that we’ve got the prequel announcement, what better time than to post it! <3

Maysilee’s loud screeches echo through the trees, the mockingjay’s repeating the blood curdling sound as they start to encircle him. Haymitch’s feet moving fast beneath him against the dirt trail in order to lose the career pack behind him. His movements beginning themselves before his mind can process them and the fact that she’s gone. The wind being his sole helper in drying the tears that threaten to keep flowing, catching a glimpse of his hands still stained red from the way he held her before she passed.

The only thing on his mind now being that he survives this, for her, for his family, for his district, and more importantly so he can show that they don’t control him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sound of glass shattering against the hardwood floor is what finally pulls his consciousness out of the nightmare of the arena. Flailing his arms around as if to protect himself from ever being touched again, haymitch is quick to his feet to stand up and surveil the empty dining room for the slight hint of the ghost of a past tribute looking to attempt to take his life once more.

He stands completely still as he finally takes into account his surroundings, his heart still pumping out an extra beat per minute and silently waiting as he catches his breath. it’s just a dream. you survived. you’re here. you’re home. He repeats the mantra in his head over and over again till it hopefully sticks this time.

It isn’t until he feels a slight trickle drip down onto the table that he sees the fallen glass shatter all over the floor and mixed with the hint of crimson from the shards stuck to his palm.

It feels like a cruel joke almost, a reminder. The blood that he’ll forever have stuck to his hands. The mess of blood that no matter how hard he tries to clean up will just keep flowing in an endless cycle no matter what he does to prevent it from happening again.

A bitter chuckle escapes him at the thought. Amused by his own misery and the situation he’s found himself in. He backs up and slowly treks himself to the kitchen sink to turn on the faucet, relishing in the slight sting that the lukewarm water elicits from his wounded hand.

A small price to pay for the families he thinks about every waking moment that he’s, no doubt, wounded for life by surviving the games against their children. Their loved ones that they’ll never get the chance to see again. Yet, whose faces and names haunt him every night since he’s stepped foot out of that arena.

The pain of not only them but his parents. His sisters. His girl. And Maysilee. Her family. People who he couldn’t save even here at home and after the games. All because he wanted to show them, the capitol, that they couldn’t control him they way they did everyone else.

The growing pit in his stomach now feeling inescapable the longer he stands in front of the running faucet. Shaking his head, he slams the faucet switch off, grabbing the alcohol beside him to disinfect the wound. Hissing and banging his leg against the drawer beneath his sink when when the liquid hits his palm. He slowly bends down to open the drawer and finds the bandaging wrap that he keeps for instances like these, which have happened to become routine for him. He bandages up the rest of his hand until he looks down and hums in slight satisfaction at his work.

As soon as he’s finished, his mind is already preoccupied with what the next choice, or beverage, of distraction he is in need of. It can’t be here though. Anywhere but the empty, cold house in the almost unoccupied, lone victor’s village.

Walking towards the front door, he quickly shrugs on a light coat and his boots. Stepping out into the cool, autumn night out in district 12. He continues down the path towards the main part of the district. Letting the sound of the wind be the only thing present in his mind before he decides to sit down at the hob and think more about his decisions in life so far.

As he nears the hob, he can hear the slight sound of music making its way through the open doors to the outside. Both young and old residents of the district out tonight and drinking, the only semblance of fun and normalcy you’ll find them indulging in despite the circumstances of their situations.

He walks in, immediately making a straight beeline towards the bar. Trying as hard as he can to ignore the lingering stares and pointed whispers of those who recognize him. The only lone alive victor of district 12. Eyes filled with both curiosity and pity as they follow his frame to the bar. All were surprised that he had decided to grace them with his presence for once. As his absence was growing long enough for him to almost be forgotten till the painful reminder on reaping day each year.

Haymitch settles onto the stool near the end of the bar, ordering whatever scarce brew is available for the night. Once it’s placed in front of him, it’s almost gone just as it was full. Already raising his hand to catch the attention of the bartender for another glass. Opting to ignore the judgmental stare and low warning given to him before the bartender hesitantly slides another glass his way.

Lost in thought of the nights earlier events and his second helping of beer, his mind is pulled away by the loud cheers of the people in the hob. Still nursing his beer, he takes a small peak from the corner of his eye to where everyone else’s attention is on to the girl twirling her way onto the stage with guitar in hand.

He’s a bit taken aback for a second, not ever having seen much of her before around the district or even hearing of her name. Yet, he might be the only clueless one as to who this girl is, he thinks. Spotting even, off duty peacekeepers who’ve decided to join in once they see the young woman take the stage.

“Well hey y’all!”, The girl beams, “Now just how might all of you fine folks out here in district 12 must be doing tonight?”

The crowd roars in excitement at the question. Never had he ever seen in life someone command the attention of a majority of a district in such a way that wasn’t related to the games. In a joyful way, nonetheless.

“Alright! Alright! Settle down y’all, I hear you all quite clearly, no need to go rupturing my ears now!”, You say as you playfully roll yours eyes at the crowd, “For those of you who may not know, or have been living under a rock, my name is Y/n Ivory!”

As the crowd around him laughs at the charming display of your personality in full force, Haymitch finds out he’s not immune to the power of your charisma either. He finds himself, still secluded in the dark corner of the room, cracking a small smile at your undeniable stage presence.

Pale white dress flowing freefully over your body landing just right above your knees with flowers woven through your hair and all. You’re the purest untainted vision of beauty he’s ever seen dancing in a place that has seen so much violence and pain as 12. It’s a wonder, he thinks to himself, how he’s gone so long without ever seeing or hearing of you.

He doesn’t know if he should be mad at himself for not getting out more or grateful for the fact that he chose to leave tonight. By having it lead him right here tonight as he watches you illuminate the room with every step you take and smile never breaking off of your face for even a second.

“Now don’t you worry, I’m gonna sing y’all a special one tonight,” you say, strumming the guitar as you continue to speak, “this one is a little tune some of you might know, a ballad we’ve all heard passed down, figured something slow is fitting for a nice night like this”

Haymitch watches you slightly clear your throat a little as you strum the chords on your worn leather guitar. He marvels at the intactness of it, such a prized possession to be in hold of that he’s sure has seen so much in its time. Figuring to himself that it has to be some sort of heirloom, as he knew at least no one, not even him, could afford such a luxury except if you lived in the capitol.

“ When I was a babe I fell down in the holler

when I was girl I fell into your arms

we fell on hard times and we lost our bright color

you went to the dogs and I lived by my charms ”

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. Melodically beautiful, just as he expected, yet it doesn’t take away his surprise nonetheless. The glide of the strings paired with your voice forces him to shake his head a bit just to make sure he wasn’t dead yet from the alcohol and your voice was mistaken as angel from above.

He concludes that regardless, there’s not much of a difference. As he takes in your frame, almost floating above the crowd as high as the sound of your lungs can take you, he figures that you might as well be an angel.

“ I danced for my dinners, spread kisses like honey

you stole and you gambled, and I said you should

we sang for our suppers, we drank up our money

then one day you left, saying I was no good

well, all right, I’m bad, but then you’re no prize either

all right, I’m bad, but then, that’s nothing new

you say you won’t love me, I won’t love you neither

just let me remind you what I am to you

‘cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leaping

I am the one who knows how you were brave

and I am the one who heard what you said sleeping

I’ll take that and more to my grave ”

The lyrics are familiar, he concludes to himself. He remembers the ballad well, one his mother would often sing to him & his sisters when they were younger. It would be a way for her to calm them down each night before a reaping.

He remembers the stories she would tell along with it, of how before the rebellion, there were these people who’d call themselves, “covey”, traveling from district to district singing to their hearts content for the enjoyment of others. She knew them well, she’d tell them. Telling them how the covey eventually settled into district 12.

His mother would talk about the nights where she would go to the hob and dance away. Making great friends with the girl who sang these infamous songs that had been passed down. The girl who also coincidentally introduced his mother to his father one night. Pushing his father until he asked his mother for a dance.

She would end each story by telling Haymitch, “well, now you know that you have someone to be thankful for making sure that you exist”.

The story seemed so mythical to him then, as it still does now. To think of a time when there was so much free will that people once held, especially outside of the Capitol’s restraints. To how something so frivolous as singing was enough to be one��s way of survival. A life of fulfillment and light melodies sung with no threat or existence of the games to ever ruin them.

The sound of Y/N’s voice sweetly coaxes him out of his thoughts. It is then, as he hears her, that he does believe in the stories. That if he continued to hear her voice for the rest of his life, it would be enough to ensure his survival for good. Not even the games would be enough to take him away from her. Not if he could help it.

This line of thinking scares him as it does entice him. He hasn’t felt this way since his first love, the one that they took away him. He feels like a teenager once again, heart practically bursting at the sight of the girl in front of him.

Her eyes roam the crowd as she continues singing, before they eventually catch his awe stricken expression. She smiles slightly, lightly fluttering her lashes at the attention. All before closing her eyes, swaying and losing herself in the music once again.

Not one for ever caring about appearances, he suddenly feels hyper aware of himself. He’s not used to feeling like this, he’s not quite sure how to process it. Just desperate, hoping that when her eyes linger a bit longer on him that she hopefully is feeling what he is too.

When she eventually looks away, he finds a part of himself chasing the high that she had bestowed upon him. Thinking how nothing could ever compare to the way he’s feeling now, not even the smooth liquor that would soothe his mind enough to make him forget things that have happened to him.

Now abandoning the half drank pint in front of him, he finds himself wanting to remember this night. This moment where he doesn’t need anything stronger than your presence to tell him that everything is okay.

The song ends, much to his dismay. The last few chords of your guitar lingering in the air before the hob breaks out in a harmonious applause, praises & hollers being shouted out your way. He watches you graciously thank the crowd, letting the band behind you take over. His eyes linger on you as you exit the stage, watching you laugh & thank everyone who meet on your way through the crowd.

It isn’t until he sees your frame slowly getting nearer that he suddenly feels shy, quickly diverting his attention down to his drink. Hands getting slightly clammy as he registers your sweet voice beside him, asking the bartender for a pint for yourself.

“Well my, my, to what do I owe the pleasure of dragging a victor out to one of my shows tonight?”, you say while letting out a slight giggle at the sight of him.

He’s a bit bewildered at first. Not exactly not knowing how to respond out of fear of embarrassing himself. His mouth slightly opens, letting out a playful scoff at the nickname victor, before replying back in the same playful manner you had.

“Just had to come down to hear what all the yapping around the district was about a pretty girl singing her heart out here each night”, he lightly flirts, hoping it lands well with her.

The action is thankfully welcomed as her laugh floats through the air. He wishes he could bottle the sound up so he could hear it over and over again.

“Now you’re just a peach aren’t you? Trying to butter me up .. hm?”, she says. Poking fun at his attempt of flirting before adding on, “And? Did I meet your expectations?”

His heart flutters at the question, chuckling to mask his nervousness that she so easily seems to trigger.

“That you did, sweetheart. Better than I could’ve thought”, he says, relishing in the way her wide eyed expression lights up at the praise he gives to her.

He feels himself mirroring her contagious smile. Nerves still present, but easing themselves when he sees her relaxing into his gaze.

“You’re a very sweet man, Haymitch Abernathy”, you tell him. Warmth slightly flooding your cheeks as his eyes remained fixed on you.

Quickly, taking the opportunity to glance away from the intense eye contact to take in the details about him. You take notice of the way his hair falls around his face, carefully framing it in a way that was too-professionally done to be of his own doing as the rest of the men in the district. A small testament to his time back and forth between his home and the calling of the Capitol. His slightly rugged appearance combats this, a small show of rebelliousness in the appearance the Capitol attempts to smooth over in a Victor, yet still seeming so distinctively him.

To anyone else, his demeanor would have been enough to ward off lingering stares here in the district. To you, it radiated a rare aura of comfort & warmth around him that you had never felt around another man before. You had wanted to get lost in it, envisioning yourself spending late mornings, running your fingers through his locks and humming a secret tune just for you both.

He chuckled dryly, swirling around the ale in his pint before glancing back up at you, “Sorry to disappoint sweetheart, tell anyone else here that and you might get a different answer”.

He watches as you cock your head to the side, a sly smile on your face, “Well good thing I wasn’t planning on asking anyone else”, sternness lacing your tone before scooting closer towards him, “Anyways, I think I like that I might be the only one in this damn district that can tell the difference”.

Haymitch could feel the way the way his heartbeat practically sped up, his hands fidgeting around the handle of the pint in front of him. Taking a deep breath before turning his attention back to the way your wide eyed gaze is fixated on him, eyes slowly analyzing him as if he’ll run right off. The thought crossed his mind for a minute, more so out of fear of embarrassing himself.

Taking a leap of faith, he brings his hand up to run his hand through a lock of your hair, tucking it behind the flower adorned between your ear. He hums at the pretty detail before plucking it to hold out in his palm, “A primrose?”.

You can feel your body still at the motion, warmth pooling in your chest at the feel of his hand. Carefully eyeing his expression, something that reads as a mixture of wonder and adoration at you. You remember to let out a small breath in the midst of the intimacy this situation, softly smiling as he hums in notice of the flower that lays against your hair.

“It was one of my mama’s favorites”, he can feel the wistfulness in your tone as you recall her, “She used to tell me stories of how my grandma and her great aunt would collect different flowers from their travels in the covey to use to bathe her and her cousins, since the borders between districts closed in the dark days, she gathered primroses here from the fields instead for me”.

He takes notice of the way you softly grasp onto his hand, your smooth palm contrasting with his hardened one and its tiny scars littered that hold unspoken memories of the arena. Your finger lightly traces the petals he holds in his palm, he watches as the mixture of nostalgia and sadness battle in your mind as you recall these memories.

Haymitch feels his own heart twinge, thinking back to what he can remember of his own mother, her voice, her stories, her mannerisms, anything. There’s a thick layer of understanding in the air between the two of you, unspoken feelings and experiences of loss and familiarity. The scattered chattering of the hob and instrumentals seem far away as the two of you take in each other’s presence.

He makes the first move to break the stillness between you two, bringing his hand back up to place the flower in your hair once again. You sigh softly as you feel his hand go to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb softly tracing back & forth on your skin. Haymitch feels the ghost of a smile threatening to overtake his lips as he feels your nestle your face further into his grasp before asking, “Would you wanna get out of here?”.

You softly nod at his question, not trusting your own voice to betray you and tremble at the delicateness in which he’s treating you. Standing up, you envelope your hand into his as his other finds it’s way onto your waist to lead you through the crowd. A motion so easily done as if it is second nature to you both. There is nothing but comfort and safeness in the act.

The cold air hits you both as you walk out, not feeling quite sure if the goosebumps forming on your skin is a result of that or the proximity of the man that still has a firm hold on you. You don’t seem to mind either way. You take a small peek over to him, watching the internal battle with himself as it plays on his face, eyebrows creased in deep thought. Yet still, he holds onto you, as if it’ll ground him.

You stop walking after a minute or so, watching the confusion in his expression as he snaps out of his thoughts. You pull him over to the small alley way, taking his face in both of your hands and forcing him to look into your eyes. His eyes trace over your questioning expression, taking a hard swallow before he speaks, “I .. I haven’t done this in a long time, sweetheart”.

“And what exactly are we doing?”, you say while lightly laughing.

He feels his nerves dissipate little by little at the sound of your amusement, still battling with the lingering fear in the back of his mind. He hesitates in his action, slowly leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, hands tightening their hold around your waist.

He can feel your breath hitch, your nose slightly touching against his own as your lips part, begging for him to make a move.

“If I do this, I don’t think I’d want to ever have another day where you’re not near me, at least to where I know you’re safe”, he whispers gently as his lips begin to ghost above yours.

“You won’t have to, I’ll be right here”, you whisper back. Your voice filled with reassurance and desperation, willing to give almost every part of you to him if it takes.

You feel the wind knocked out of you, as if you’ve forgotten to know how to breathe once you feel his lips against your own. Your mouths molding perfectly against one another as if this is what you’ve both have been waiting for your entire lives.

You whine softly as he deepens the kiss, his mouth claiming you with purpose. Whether it’s his way of subconsciously ensuring to himself that he won’t let anything happen to you or to convey his own worthiness to you, he can’t tell. The only thing taking up space in his mind being the way you sound as he familiarizes himself with you, tongue exploring yours while his hands grasp at your body.

You both finally break apart after what feels like an eternity, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath. Unable to shake the burning feeling of that his lips left against yours in their wake. Your lids flutter open, already finding his gaze with what reads as both love and protectiveness staring back at you.

“I …”, he clears his throat before finding a way to gather the right words he wants to say to you. He goes over every possibility of what this could mean between the two of you, of letting you in. It would be easier if he could just act like this was meaningless, that he could walk away now and never think of it again. But as with everything else, he knows that you will ruminate in the back of his mind forever with no avail. Not now that he already has you in his arms.

“I won’t be able to give you much”, is all he is able to choke out. A twinge of disappointment lacing his words.

“That’s okay, I’m not looking for much anyways”, you hum. You tip your head up slightly to look at him, “Just want you, it’ll be enough for me”.

“Yeah?”, he says softly. His eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, relief blossoming in his chest when he doesn’t find any. The only thing staring back him being the firmness in your vulnerability as you hold him in your palm. He pulls his hand from your waist to grab ahold of your hand against his face, bringing your knuckles to his lips, before leaning back in to press another kiss to your lips.

A part of him knows that it’ll always never be this simple. He will do his best to make sure he can protect you from what he can, if it ever comes to it. But right here, right now, in this moment. It’s not something even, Snow himself, can ever take from him.

#haymitch abernathy #haymitch abernathy x reader #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #thg series #sunrise on the reaping #lucy gray baird #maysilee donner #maude ivory #coriolanus snow

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