maddiedott

[maddiedott]

Nothing can be more strong than the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man

[maddiedott]

The Haunting Games

Chapter Two: The Whaley House

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: modern au, hauntings, mentions; death of a child & multiple deaths & suicide, scratch marks, skeptics, brief implication of sex

Hi sorry for the late upload, next one will also be late, or even early not sure yet. But then we should hopefully go back on schedule! Feedback welcome! Also, I started a taglist for this series so let me know if you want to be added <3

The Whaley House-

The camera settles on the wooden table, set carefully in order to get all three people within the frame. You sat in the middle with Haymitch to your right and the special guest sat on your left, both of them sharing a look of mild disinterest before eyes trail back towards the camera in front of them.

Your hands clap once as you begin your video intro, wide smile on your face which was the only one that was in the room. 

“Hello everyone! And welcome back to my channel and back to The Haunting Games series!” You greet the camera, clasped hands moved to the side of your face. 

“This episode we will be investigating ‘The Whaley House’ in San Diego California. And this time, we are joined by an amazing guest,” You turn to your left, clasped hands parting and gesturing. “Katniss Everdeen!”

She shifted in her seat, sitting up slightly straighter from her slumped position, an awkward wave given towards the camera.

“Katniss is a skeptic, but she’s agreed to come with us to hopefully capture some ghosts.” You explain, although your longer time viewers knew Katniss and her view on ghosts and paranormal. Some even visit her channel for her hunting videos and sometimes her joining for Peeta’s baking videos.

She also wasn’t very good at talking to the camera and had to learn how to do so, she mostly left everyone else up to addressing the camera and mainly spoke to the other people with her. Prim had to help her with her camera skills which has improved tremendously since her very beginning of her journey. 

“Now, this location is supposedly haunted by the Whaley’s- of course. As well as their dog and cat, and a man who was hung on this property which Thomas Whaley then bought after attending the hanging. And also by a young girl who was accidentally poisoned.” You vaguely explain with a small grin.

Katniss and Haymitch share another look when you mentioned the ghost pets, clearly not believing the tales. A ghost cat and a ghost dog? Yeah, that’s a load of shit. Probably just some marketing scheme.

You catch the look they share from the screen flipped towards you guys, a small frown pulling at your lips before glancing back at them once catching their looks.

“Hey, I’m just saying what I’ve researched.” You explain, defending your- admittedly- silly story of the house. 

You then turn back towards the camera with a small huff and begin telling the story of the house and the hauntings. Starting from the hanging of the most prominent ghost which is darker and considered as a trickster, James W Robinson aka ‘Yankee Jim’. He was hung for trying to steal a boat while drunk and failing to do so. But he was standing at over 6 feet tall so the execution went wrong and was left there for hours until he eventually died. Thomas Whaley, who had been present during the horrendous hanging, bought the property and built the home on it. It served as a general store, a courthouse, as well as a theater and the Whaley home. 

The Whaley’s had lost a child when she was less than a year old and within that same year someone set fire to their general store. Their oldest daughter Violet had died as well, taking her own life after being left by her husband within 2 weeks of their marriage. She was locked in the house, being on watch as she was severely depressed. She died within the parlor room, in her father’s arms. And Anna Whaley had learned her daughter was dying, standing at the top of the stairs. The same stairs that she was held at gunpoint during a robbery, at the 9th step of the stairs. 

And then there was the young girl who died in the house, who never really lived there but would often visit the house. Unfortunately she died from a poison found in the house, having consumed it without knowing what it was. In the theater there was a ghost of a man who used to perform there, not much is known about how he died.

It was clear that Katniss has some empathy for Violet and her story, as well as the hanging of Yankee Jim simply for being killed for such a lowly crime when now you get less for murder. As well as the small girl who died. She may not believe that they are ghosts now, but she certainly knew that it wasn’t fair for any of them. 

“The Yankee guy sounds like you.” She says, head turning towards Haymitch with a blank expression. “Drunk and doing dumb things.” She elaborates.

“Ha. Ha.” He sarcastically laughed with a glare although there was no real heat behind it. She only grinned in response.

“Yankee Jim isn’t much of a ghost name. It’s not very intimidating.” She comments, looking around the room as if taking in her surroundings.

“I guess it is a little silly. His real name was James.” You explain, shrugging slightly.

Right now you were all sitting in the courtroom which was decided to be investigated first, covering the downstairs and then head up and finally finish with the actual Haunting Game.

“So, let’s get started then!” You announce before standing up and ending the recording.

You move to grab the equipment from your bag, placing the cat balls randomly around the room, one at each doorway, the one leading into the general store and the other leading into the dining room. And lastly one on the top of the judge desk. 

The EMF was set on the defendant’s table where Haymitch and Katniss still sat, idle conversation being made about where to go eat afterwards as the house was on a populated street with plenty of restaurants and some bars down the street. 

Finally, you set the flashlights on opposite sides of the room, one on a chair in the jury’s corner and another on a separate chair across the room. You finally return to the defendant’s table and retake your seat in between them. 

Turning the camera back on, you explain the placements and each item, pointing the camera to  each of the items around the room.

“Kat, you wanna start us off?” You ask, giving her a small grin as you set the recording camera back onto the table. 

Katniss glances at you, uncertain, before letting out a breath and looking around the room again, feeling dumb for talking aloud in an empty room while being recorded and expecting something to happen by something that doesn’t exist.

But for you, she does it anyway. 

“If there's anything here can you make a sound or make something go off?” She emplores, arms crossing over her chest.

Nothing happens for several minutes, no cat balls, now sounds other than the ones outside from cars or passerbys.  

“This is stupid.” She grumbles out, clearly not enjoying sitting here, in the dark, with a bright light on her.

“Give it a second, Kat.” You tell her with a small frown.

“Welcome to my world.” Your boyfriend grumbles from your right which earns him a light slap to his chest.

“We can try another room then. We have the parlor we can go into, that’s said to be pretty high activity since there were 2 documented deaths there.”

So that’s where you go.

Haymitch and Katniss stand by the door of the parlor, the inside holding a small table and some chairs, a fireplace, and connecting to a room that held the couch where Violet is said to have died. You stand under the archway between the two rooms, the exact spot where it is said that Yankee Jim got hung.

The EMF and one of the flashlights were set up on the mantle, cat balls in each of the two doorways that lead into the hallway and into another room off to the side that has some historical items. In your hand is a spirit box, currently turned off. 

“Hi,” you start aloud, introducing yourself to the ghosts of this house. “And this is Haymitch and Katniss. We want to speak to you, to hear your stories and just listen to whatever you have to say.” You explain, looking around the room that was only lit up by the light stop the camera that was set on the table so that everything would be in frame along with all three of you.

“You can use this device in my hand to speak, or you can touch this flashlight to turn it on and off, or any of the cat balls in the doorways so they light up.”

You turn on the spirit box and immediately white noise fills the noise which causes a face of displeasure from Katniss. The sound was loud and incredibly annoying as it shuffles through the radio stations. 

“Is there anyone here with us?”

“Hello.” A voice sounds from the box.

“Hi, who are we speaking with?” 

The box shuffles for several more seconds before another voice comes through, different from the last.

“Sad.”

Your brows furrow at the word. Not because of the word itself, but because it was soft and hard to make out.

“It sounded like ‘sad’.” Haymitch says, arms placed on his hips. 

Katniss looked at him incredulously, that he would humor this little game that seemed to be made up in your head. She certainly didn’t believe that ghosts were selecting words, it was more likely that the transmission from the towers were stronger than some and would randomly shoot out words.

He shrugs in reply, happy to humor his love with this even if he didn’t quite believe everything himself. He knew ghosts were possible, sure. But not like this, and definitely nothing like what you watch on tv, those stuppid shows with investigators that scream at every piece of ‘evidence’. You say you don’t believe them, but yet you still watch them. He wouldn’t change the channel though, simply sit there with you, curled into his side with a blanket thrown over your laps and commentate on some parts of the episodes.

“Sad? Are we talking to Violet?” You inquire, remembering that she was severely depressed before she took her life.

“Seen… you.”

You looked back towards Katniss and Haymitch, eyes slightly widened at the two words. Anything more than a single word was rare and even more convincing to you.

“Did you see us in the courthouse?”

Katniss points behind you as a cat ball goes off in the doorway directly behind you that leads into the museum artifacts in the room. Your breath hitches in excitement that you are finally getting somewhere with the activity and communication.

“Yes.” The box says.

Whipping your head back around towards the sound of the voice coming from the box and then to your company both of which seemed less excited, unbothered even, about the events.

“That’s one of the room’s where Anna Whaley is seen. Am I speaking to Mrs. Whaley now?”

Another few seconds that stretch into minutes as the box searches for any words. 

“Order.”

That stumps you. What does she mean ‘order’?

“Do you keep this place in order?” Katniss asks, suppressing an eyeroll. She felt so foolish to be talking to a box. But you did invite her to do this and she would at least humor you. If Haymitch would, it couldn’t be too hard.

Her question surprised you as you didn’t expect her to ask anything, figuring that she would rather just sit and let you take the lead of it.

10 minutes pass before anything else happens. That’s the one thing people don’t tell you. The waiting. WIth editing it makes it seem like it all happens seconds apart but really it takes a while to get responses or even any type of activity.

In another room there was a loud crash to which you immediately turned the box off and pointed in the direction of where it came from. There was no logical explanation of why that sound occurred, there was no one in here other than the 3 of you. 

Katniss moved first, believing that it would probably be an intruder or a guide coming back inside and messing with you. Haymitch followed and you behind him, hand holding onto his arm as you all went and investigated where the sound had come from.

There wasn’t any evidence of anything falling, and after many attempts of calling out for a guide to reply and searching the entirety of the downstairs, no one was in there and nothing had fallen.

“Call me crazy,” you begin looking at the both of them. “But it kind of sounded like a gavel.” You suggest, gesturing towards the courthouse from the hallway.

“You’re crazy.” Kat agreed, monotone.

“It was hypothetical, Sweetheart.” Haymitch grumbled at her, arm now around your waist and pulled you into his side.

“You know, I think they’re not talking because you’re not really open to it, Kat. You should try and at least give it a chance.” You suggest, looking at her with a small smile.

She eyed you for a moment then her gaze traveled towards Haymitch who just gave a look and she immediately understood what he was trying to tell her. Do it for you. Even if she didn’t believe in it, at least act like she did. 

With a sigh she reluctantly agreed. “I’ll try.” She said.

That was good enough for you as you took the group upstairs and into the master bedroom where Violet had been locked in when on watch. 

Resetting the equipment and forgoing the spirit box as they didn’t seem to care much for it. Cat ball in the doorway, one on the bed beside the EMF which has been at a steady level 2 since coming into the room. And placing one flashlight on the mantle.

Katniss and Haymitch stand on the side of the room opposite to the door and you stand at the foot of the bed.

Haymitch begins the questioning this time, feeling as if he should at least contribute as in the last video people were telling him that ghosts might be more receptive to him considering his previous experiences with ghosts. Or more specifically a ghost. 

“There anyone here?” He asks, hands now placed in his pockets. “Turn something on.”

His requests are more like demands that lack any sort of bite, but seeing him take part makes you happy and he would be damned if he didn’t do at least that.

Almost immediately the flashlight turns on, answering his question perfectly.

“So they answer you?” Katniss asks, brow raised.

“Don’t be jealous, Sweetheart.” He teased back, giving her a slight grin in reply.

“Is this Violet? I know this was where you spent your last days.” She talks as if in retaliation to him.

She didn’t believe in this, but if ghosts were real, why would they talk to him and not her? Sure, she may have insulted Yankee Jim and then also implied the spirits were dumb, but come on. 

The light turned off, answering her question and confirming that this was Violet that they were speaking to.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you. I know what it’s like. It sucks.” She empathizes, not catching the look you and Haymitch share. Knowing and happy that she’s participating.

The flashlight turns on again.

“I think she likes you, Kat.” You tell her, trying to encourage her to keep talking.

“What? What else am I supposed to say?” She wipes her hands on her jeans, frowning at the idea. Not many people like her, and certainly not a mythical ghost.

“Whatever you want. Ask her yes or no questions.” Your boyfriend answers for you, shrugging.

With a huff she gave another look around the bedroom. What would she even say? She’s speaking to a ghost, what do you say to someone who is already dead? 

“Do you feel less alone now that you get a lot of visitors?” 

The light stays off for several minutes. 

She understood that. How you can still feel so alone even though there are others around and wanting to talk to you, seek you out. 

“Yeah. Have you found some peace?”

The light turns on once more.

Her lips purse slightly. She wouldn’t admit it, but she does feel some happiness that at least she wasn’t suffering as she was while she was alive. But she still didn’t believe it was a ghost. No, the lights probably just go on and off randomly since it was in between on and off.

“Good. I don’t know what else to ask.” She says, looking back at you, silently asking you to take the lead once more which you are happy to do.

“Good job, Sweetheart.” Haymitch whispers with a small wink to her, she only glares in reply. But, it only lasts a minute before a small smile breaks out across her lips.

The communication cuts off then, Violet not seeming to want to speak anymore since it was no longer Katniss that was speaking with her. So, instead you all travel into the theater. 

“God, were these people rich?” She breathes out as you step in there, taking a seat on one of the benches for the audience. 

“Kinda, yeah.” You answer as you place the equipment around, sticking with the cat balls and the flashlight as that was the only real communication you received.

The theater was said to be haunted by a ghost named Tanner who used to be an actor here before dying. He likes to pinch, poke, and scratch girls but isn’t very active beyond that.

You sit on the bench across from Katniss, facing her with your back to the stage where the flashlight was set up with a cat ball, and another cat ball in the doorway and one more behind her. Haymitch stood against the wall beside you both.

“Tanner, if you’re in here we would like to speak to you.” You begin, introducing your group once more.

Several minutes pass with no activity within the room but a couple knocks sound across the hall where the master bedroom is. Violet presumably still in there.

“Heard you like to attack girls. That true?” Your boyfriend asks, head tilting as his eyes scan around the dark room for anything.

Still nothing, only the sound of creaks and tapping from across the hall. Violet seems to be very active there for some reason. 

Then, almost randomly, the flashlight turns on behind you on the stage, the light casting your shadow and Katniss’ eyes turning there was your only real indication. 

“Thank you for answering.” You begin, not turning to look at the light. “Did you do that while you were alive too? Were you a ladies man?”

You sit and wait for a reply, a sound. But it turns eerily quiet before the light turns off. Tanner having agreed with your question. He was a ladies man.

“Did you like performing?” Katniss asks, eyes trained on where the flashlight was sat behind you somewhere in the dark.

It turns on again almost instantly. He was an actor, he did like it.

Your head turns then, turning towards the doorway that leads out into the hall. Your eyes catching a shadow moving past in your peripheral, but it wasn’t tall as many claim that the shadow figures they see are. This wasn’t Yankee Jim.

“I thought I just saw a shadow out in the hall.” You announce, eyes still trained on the doorway.

They both look and wait for a few beats before looking away, you do as well after not seeing anything again or hearing anything. 

“Was that you Tanner? Did I just see you?”

The light stays on.

You suddenly get an uneasy feeling in the room, as if something or someone else just entered. Your chest began to feel heavy, as if there was something lying atop it.

“Let’s go outside for a moment, take a break before we finish up.” You suggest, standing up and beginning to pick up all of the equipment. 

Katniss stands and helps you too gathering the cat balls. As you pass Haymitch though, he gently catches your arm, stopping you but his touch is light. You could pull away at any time if you wanted to. 

He doesn’t say anything but it’s clear what he’s asking. He could sense you didn’t feel normal, from how abruptly you wanted to finish this room and go outside for a moment. It was almost time for you all to leave, but it was more than that.

You give him a smile, pushing up to press a chaste and sweet kiss to his lips in reassurance that you were okay. He hesitated before letting go of your arm and you continued cleaning up.

Outside, you all debrief, camera in hand. You purse your lips before saying something.

“Kat, can you check my back for me.”

She nods, helping you lift the bottom of your shirt and seeing the several bright red scratch marks on your skin.

“You’re red. It looks like you scratched it.” She comments which causes Haymitch to peer over her shoulder.

“I didn’t touch my back.” You say with a small frown.

You were just in the theatre, surely that was Tanner and why you had begun to feel uneasy. He was there, he was the reason for the heaviness in your chest.

“Shit, Love.” Haymitch grumbled out as he delicately traced the red scratch marks.

They believed that you must have just scratched yourself and forgot, but you knew that you never touched your back.

You tug your shirt back down before huffing slightly and turning to face the both of them. You take the camera from Katniss before pointing towards the three of you. 

“Okay! For our last investigation we are introducing ‘The Haunting Games’. We’re going to send Katniss in with a camera and a spirit box, and have her go in alone in the most active part of the house.” You explain, giving Katnis a small grin.

“So, I’m thinking maybe the top of the stairs, in between the theatre and the master bed?” You suggest.

She gave a shrug, already grabbing the box and another camera.

“Why not.”

“Great, so you’ll be in there for 10 minutes, the timer starts when you get to the location and the box is turned on.” You say, making sure there was enough battery on the camera before letting her go with a timer set on her phone which she will start then.

She heads inside while you and Haymitch stay out, still with one camera and sat on a small lawn chair set and table while you both waited. Idle conversation taking place over dinner, of the next place you both will be going. And of the night in general.

“We should put something on those scratches.” He says, hand in yours as his thumb runs over your knuckles, back and forth. 

“I will when we get to the hotel. If they’re still there.” You assure him with a small smile. “I mean it’s not the first time.”

That got his attention as he looked at you, brows furrowing. 

“I got one last investigation too, I think when we were in the basement when I was doing the estes method.” You say, pulling out your phone and searching for the picture.

It was in the bathroom of the hotel, three long scratches across the back of your neck. How had he not seen them? Surely he had seen them that night. Well, maybe not. You were on your back not face down that night after getting back from The Conjuring.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He implors, frowning as he looked away from the picture once you turned the screen off and put it back in your pocket. 

“It wasn’t a big deal. I just wanted to get out of there, and we did. It was just an attempt to scare me and I didn’t want to entertain it.”

Meanwhile in the house Katniss sat in the hallway with the timer started and the stupid box on and sweeping.

“Anyone there?” She asks, scoffing slightly at how silly she felt and probably looked. 

“Here.” The box answers, a woman’s voice.

“This Violet again?”

“Dead.”

Yeah, no shit. She knows that they’re dead. It was almost as if it was mocking her, the device not the ghosts. Because ghosts aren’t real.

“Am I talking to Violet Whaley?”

“Hi. Kat.”

Her brow furrows at that. Sure, that wasn’t really her name, but that was the nickname that you had given to her after she warmed up to you.

“Hi.” She greets, assuming that yes, it was Violet.

“Did Tanner scratch my friend earlier?”

“Did it.”

Wonderful. 

“Do you have anything you want to tell people?”

“Live. Happiness.” 

Coming from a depressed woman who had killed herself due to a man leaving her? It was almost moving had it been real. She doubted she would have done the same in her shoes, not over a man anyway. 

But she didn’t want to really explore the idea of her and Peeta splitting anyways.

“That's… actually really deep for a ghost.” She mumbles, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Do you regret it? What you did?”

Static for a few beats before her timer rings, signalling the end of the game and the end of her questioning. She didn’t get an answer, but that’s okay.

She makes her way back outside to meet up with you and Haymitch, roughly explaining what happened. That she ‘spoke’ to Violet again, that ‘Tanner did scratch you’, and that she wanted to say to live happy. She didn’t believe any of it though.

Once debriefing, you take the camera that Katniss was using as the other one was now nicely packed away.

“Well, I guess that’s it. Thank you all for watching, and thank you Katniss for coming with us!” You say, turning the camera towards her.

“Yeah. You both owe me dinner.”

“I could go for drinks.” Haymitch chimes in.

“You always could.” She remarks with a snort.

You grin before turning the camera back to you. “Well, anyways. Thank you all for watching, don’t forget to like and subscribe for future videos. Now I have to go get these two some food.” You send a kiss towards the camera before shutting it off.

“How do tacos sound?”

Taglist:

@ahoytherebean @lizzyglidescoir

[maddiedott]

Hi everyone! I’m working on chapter two of The Haunting Games now! I’ve also changed the chapter location so… :) anyways sorry for the late update but my sister graduated yesterday so I will def get it up later today!

[maddiedott]

The Haunting Games

Chapter One: The Conjuring House

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: modern au, hauntings, poor explaining of ghost investigations, talks to demons, sweet Haymitch, butering of conjuring story

Hi everyone! Hope you like the first chapter, I tried to find my style of writing with this chapter so lmk what you think! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

The camera sits very carefully and very steadily on top of the dashboard. Thankfully the car was in park or else there was no doubt that it would fall lens first into the dash, or even tumble off and land on the floorboard. Making sure it wouldn’t fall on it’s own and taking a quick peek towards the driver seat, feeling his eyes watching you with interest.

“Ready?” you receive a noncommittal hum in reply before his gaze drifts back out the window of the car.

So, with his confirmation you begin your intro. 

“Hi everyone, and welcome back to my channel! And more importantly to a new installment, ‘The Haunting Games’ where I bring my friends along on these investigations and introduce them to the paranormal world.” You ramble on, introducing the new series that you had been so eagerly working at.

“There will be 10 episodes with 10 different locations and 5 guests joining us on this adventure.” Your eyes travel back to Haymitch once more, just barely out of frame, all you could make out in the little screen reflecting your image back to you in the darkness of the car as the sun had set just moments ago. All you could see of him was his arm resting comfortably on the center console. “Technically 4 guests if we’re not counting Haymitch.”

The comment received a small huff of either amusement or annoyance. He still didn’t quite grasp the idea of YouTube, more-so why you would do these things for people that you didn’t even know. Your following was pretty substantial and you made enough profit off of videos to be able to fund these types of things, and then some more for everyday life. But they made you happy to do them, to connect with people especially over the paranormal. And if his girl was happy, then he would play along as your “co-host” as you had deemed him.

When you had come to him with the idea of this new series, he wasn’t too interested in joining in, enjoying staying out of the camera’s view and instead supporting you from behind the lens. But your fans loved him, even more, loved your relationship. And he wasn’t going to let you go off and do these things by yourself, so he went along, although begrudgingly. He wouldn’t admit to you how much he enjoyed spending time with you and seeing you so excited and eager to prove the paranormal.

“But anyways guys, tonight we’re here in Burrillville, Rhode Island at The Conjuring House!” Your grin was wide and excited, it had been a place on your list for so long and now here you were, kicking off your new series with a bang.

You picked up the camera from the dash with careful hands and the lens out the window to showcase the wooden home. Although it was dark outside due to very little lighting, it focused quickly thanks to the lights inside the house. A quick turn of the camera once more to have it angled towards you, as well as catching your boyfriend in the back now as he waited for your cue to go inside. You did agree to do this all together after all. 

“You might recognize the name from the super popular movie franchise, but it was all based on this house and the Perron family who had suffered and endured demonic activity.” A glance towards Haymitch and his uninterested expression staring back at you only furthered your amusement. 

It was well known on your channel that your boyfriend, who was hard launched about 2 years ago, was a skeptic. Although skeptic might not be the correct term. He believed in ghosts, but didn’t buy most ghost stories and definitely nothing of the demonic nature. Most things he could explain away like the cold spots due to standing under the air vent, the shadows that you saw were tricks of the light passing quickly or even noises being the houses since they were so old. One time even debunking a crashing sound to a stray cat that had wandered in and scared you half to death.

Your fans never let you live that instance down after you posted it.

You turned your gaze back to the camera with an even wider grin at your boyfriend’s skepticism. “The house was built in 1736 and is said to be a hotspot for ghost and demonic activity. From the soldiers found on the grounds, to the ghost of an older woman who protects the house, and even demons who are set to reside in the basement. This place is investigated by many and is a popular investigation spot for the paranormal.” You conclude, clicking the button to finish off that section of the recording.

You would have to do another sit down back at the hotel or even somewhere inside and explain the entire history of the house and the story of the Perron’s and how Ed and Lorraine Warren played into the story. But for the moment, you just wanted to get on with the investigation and Haymitch was getting sick of hearing you recount the history of the place for the nth time. It was cute at the beginning, last week when you began packing and planning, but now he could probably recite the story in his sleep.

“Ready?” He echoed your previous question and was met with an enthusiastic bob of your head.

The passenger door opened quickly and you were sliding out of the car immediately, leaving him with mere moments to catch up as you were already up on the front step of the house. Clicking the record button and filming your entrance into the house, your hand rested on the doorknob for a dramatic pause. A soft “here we go” leaves your lips before your turn the knob and slowly push the door open.

You were immediately met with chilly air. Going to this place in real life rather than just watching others go in and explore your dream location was surreal. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked around, stepping into the wooden home felt like stepping back in time. You could almost imagine what the building looked like when the Perron’s lived there. The entrance of the house is sparse in terms of furniture. It was smaller, but you had done extensive research and knew your way around pretty well.The tour earlier in the day was helpful as well.

Across from the door where you entered was the basement which gave you chills just thinking about going down there later tonight. There was also a couch in the corner to your left and a fireplace. Further down your left was the stairs to go up and also what you had deemed ‘The Safe Room’. It was mostly for the owners of the place, but there were some novelty items to buy and some cool posters from the movie series. And then the room connected to that was the more modern area where ghost investigators would sign their names on the wall. All of your things were placed in there until you would use them.

To your right lead into the iconic living room also deemed as the seance room, the chair sat in the middle of the room facing the fireplace that had 2 ouija boards on the mantle.

“Do you wanna play with those tonight?” You asked, turning the camera to face Haymitch, pausing your sweeping of the rooms. 

“Yeah, no.” Just because he was a skeptic he would rather not go in search of the things that went bump in the night. And it was mostly for your benefit as you would take your hand off the planchette in either excitement or fear and then freak out even more for doing so. He didn’t want to have to handle that.

You pouted at his rejection of the idea but continued on, going through one of the doors in the room that led into the small library. And letting the camera sweep over the floor to ceiling bookshelves that lined the walls and the chair in the corner that held the two Raggedy Ann dolls in honor of Annabelle. 

“Isn’t that the wrong… haunting?” He asked as he followed you around, leaning against one of the doorways. 

“I mean yes and no? Annabelle is part of the Conjuring franchise and was investigated by Ed and Lorraine Warren but the real conjuring house? Yeah, I don’t know why she’s-” You abruptly stop speaking, head whipped upwards towards the ceiling and the camera following.

Footsteps were heard above you both, crossing from one side to the next before ending as suddenly as they started. Your eyes widened as you looked towards Haymitch, camera panning towards him. He merely shrugged.

“All of the owners and guides are gone, we watched them leave. There shouldn’t be anyone else in here.” You explained, mostly for the camera.

You pushed out of the library, going towards the stairs that lead up into the bedrooms from the dining room as that was closer than the other set of stairs by the basement. “Hello?” You called up the stairs. “Is anyone up there?” You were only met with silence.

After about a couple minutes of waiting you continued on with your mini tour of the home, going back into the dining room. You pointed towards the doorways of the kitchen and bathroom but didn’t go inside and show them as they wouldn’t be a part of your investigation.

Going upstairs, Haymitch stayed down and offered to start setting things up for you. He had seen you do this dozens of times and knew what each piece did and how to turn it on and where you wanted it set up. Other than that he had no clue the mechanics of them.

So, going up alone you enter the master bedroom, panning the camera around and then going into the adjoined middle room that held many bean bag seats, a rocking chair in the corner and two doors on either side of a queen bed, locked and for the owner’s use. Storage was your best guess.

“This is where we heard the footsteps.” You say, eyes scanning the room. Currently all the lights were on so as silly as it sounded, you felt safer. “If that was you walking around in here, could you make another sound?” You requested whatever spirit was up there previously. You waited a few moments but nothing came so you continued on to the next adjoined bedroom. 

The next room had two twin beds that faced each other on the opposite wall of the stairs. It also had a small door that led into an unfinished part that had some toys and a square pile of sand. The frame roof in this room was pure wood with nails visible and ready to give someone tetanus. 

You exited the room although not feeling uneasy in there as many people claimed. Upstairs was calm and had a more soothing energy. The basement was what you were not excited about. 

As you went back down the first staircase that was right above the door to the basement you heard the footsteps again in the twin bed room, walking across the floor. You had asked them to do it again and they had. 

Stopping on the stairs before the turn, you looked back, half expecting to see a figure there but it was empty. As you turned the footsteps stopped again. 

“Thank you.” You called out with a small grin. “If you want to talk you can come downstairs with me and talk there. I would love to hear from you.”

You waited a few more minutes for anything else, sure that there wouldn’t be you headed down.

In the time that you were exploring upstairs and waiting for responses to noises, Haymitch had broken out all the equipment and set up in the living room. You had both agreed to go into 3 rooms. Or sections really. The seance room  with the library which was the most active, upstairs in the middle bedroom and the small attic room, and finally the basement.

He had the EMF reader, spirit box, plus one of the flashlights set on the couch, none of which were on yet. On the mantle of the fireplace sat another flashlight and cat balls littered the room, one at each door. The REM pod was set up in the library and he was resting against the arm of the couch waiting for you to rejoin him. 

A smile graced your face at the sight, taking the final step into the room and towards him, hand gently resting against his thigh in a grateful manner. A small squeeze to his leg before rounding the couch and looking over the set out objects and trying to decide what to start with. 

You set the camera down onto an armchair that rested in the corner of the room, getting a wide angle of the room and the visual of all 3 catballs within the room as well as the couch with the rest of the equipment. Once making sure that the setup was good and was able to get most of the room you returned to the couch. 

Reaching for the EMF you clicked it on and handed it to Haymitch who accepted it with a small huff of amusement. He pushed himself up from the arm of the couch and began turning all the lights off, as he passed through the doorways the cat balls lit up in response to his footsteps around them. 

Once the room was bathed in darkness, the investigation truly began as the camera was turned into night vision.

“Alright.” You hum, body buzzing with excitement. Haymitch settled back down onto the old-timey couch with the EMF lazily held in one hand that rested against his leg.

“I have heard a lot about this place and what you can do, I hope you’re willing to show us and talk to us like you have with others.” You begin, eyes scanning the room for any sort of paranormal event. You introduce both yourself and Haymitch to whatever entities were in the house before inviting them to come and speak with you.

“If you want to speak with us could you turn one of these flashlights on? We have one set on the couch next to Haymitch and the other one on the fireplace.” You instruct, as politely as you could. 

Within a few breaths the flashlight on the mantle turned on, shining directly onto you and casting a shadow upon the coach. A small gasp left your lips as you turned towards the flashlight, hands balling in excited fists.

“Yes! Thank you!” You praise, eyes turning back towards Haymitch with excitement. His own frame still laid back comfortably against the couch but his head tilted as he tried to think of some reason as to why the flashlight had turned on.

“Thank you for that. We want to hear about you, about your story. If you used to live in this house, can you please turn the light off for me?” You waited a few minutes, waiting with baited breath.

“I dunno if this is the smartest way to ‘talk’ to them, love.” Haymitch comments, eyes set on you with a fond gaze. He loved to see you so excited about anything and be there with you.

A small frown pulls at your lips, about to retort until the flashlight turns off as if agreeing with Haymitch’s claim. His head tilted smugly, an ‘I told you so’ heavy on his face.

With a small grumble you moved to grab the spirit box and speaker before switching it on, almost immediately white noise began to fill the room, shuffling through the radio stations. You would edit in an explanation of what the devices were later, the EMF measuring electromagnetic fields that ghosts are said to manipulate although it has been at a steady two since you had handed it to your boyfriend. The flashlights were just normal ones you had gotten from a department store. The cat balls, again, were gotten from a department store and turn on from any movement. The spirit box shifted through radios stations until the ghosts found a word and manipulated the frequency in order to let the word come through the white noise. 

“Hi.” A voice sounded from the box, small and feminine. 

You blinked curiously having not expected a voice to come out so quickly after turning the device on. Even more so the sound of the woman’s voice.

“Hi, can you tell me who we’re talking to?” You ask, sitting down on the couch beside Haymitch, his hand instinctively finding your knee and carefully his thumb over the material of your jeans.

Minutes pass before you get another response, this time a male’s voice coming through and clearer than the woman’s. A quick and aggressive “shut up” came through. Your eyes immediately meet Haymitch’s, wide and taken aback. It has been said that there was a negative male entity within the house, was this him?

“That was rude.” I mumble slightly frowning. Your boyfriend let out a small laugh at your reaction, he wouldn’t admit that he didn’t really like that words that came from the spirit box, the aggression and command directed at his girl. 

The rest of the time it was silent as if whatever the male voice was had chased any other ghost that was around in the seance room. You both stayed there for another half hour, listening to the box shift through channels and receiving nothing but white noise. 

With a sigh you turn the spirit box off, turning and looking at Haymitch. You didn’t feel very comfortable any more, anxiety creeping up your chest and feeling heavy. Not after the aggression that you received and the silence that happened afterwards.

“Should we try upstairs?” You suggest, setting the box down and wiping your hands off on your thighs.

He didn’t reply right away, his eyes searching your face to see if you were okay. He could see your demeanor change, you weren’t bouncing in enthusiasm as you were previously. “You okay?”

You nod in return, standing up and picking up the cat balls. “Fine, just… My chest feels heavy now. I don’t think that guy liked me very much.”

As you picked up the cat ball that was in the doorway of the seance room and the room where you both had come in, you notice something had changed. You had just came from there when you came back down the stairs from the upstairs. 

“Hon, did you open the door leading into the basement?” You ask, feeling frozen in place at the sight of the red door opened all the way, almost inviting you inside. 

“No.” He answered, hauling himself up from the couch and walking towards you, his hand resting on your lower back as he stood beside you. He noticed the open door, seeing it wide open. 

He stepped towards the door, hand resting against the frame and the other against the side as he pushed the door closed. It was more for your benefit than his. He turned back to you, curious on how you were holding up.

“I don’t like that. The energy down there isn’t nice. It wasn’t good when earlier when the owner gave us a tour, but the door was open now makes it so so much worse.” You explain, turning back and going into the seance room to keep picking things up.

He followed behind you, watching as you took the flashlight from the mantle, hands full with equipment. “Do you need to take a break?” He gets met with a shake of your head. 

You both made your way upstairs and set up in the middle bedroom. You set the REM pod which makes it’s own electromagnetic field around it and beeps if anything interrupts it, setting it into the bedroom with the two twin beds and the attic room. Cat balls placed on the bed and one in each doorway as you settle down on the bed, sitting at the edge with Haymitch sat beside you.

He reclaimed the EMF reader, resuming the same position in his lazy hold against his leg as it stayed in a steady level two reading.

You looked around the dark room, camera set up on the beanbag across from you both. You sat quietly in the dark for a moment to try and hear any noises or anything, something to know that you both weren’t alone in here.

“We heard you walking around earlier up here.” You say aloud, eyes scanning the dark and hand carefully sliding into Haymitch’s which he held comfortingly in his own, your interlocked hands placed in his lap alongside the EMF.

“Could you come back up here and speak to us?” You ask, eyes cast down towards your own lap as you waited for any sort of sign.

You didn’t have to wait long as the cat ball that was on was in the doorway leading into the twin bedroom lit up. You pointed towards it which caught your boyfriend’s attention as he looked over as well, seeing the multicolored flashing lights of the plastic ball.

“I’m going to turn this on now, and you can use this to speak to us.” You flip on the spirit box once more, hearing the shuffling of stations fill the silence once again. 

It stayed silent but the cat ball kept going off, it never seemed to stop as the colors kept flashing. Perhaps it was the child spirits that were known to be upstairs, seeing the ball and thinking of it as a toy. 

“What’s your name?” Haymitch asked, eyes trained on the cat ball as it never stopped flashing. It never did that.

A few beats passed before his question was answered. “Oliver.” 

Your head whipped back to look at him eyes wide. “That’s the little boy that April Perron made friends with.” You told him, remembering the story that you had found while studying the history of the house. 

A shiver ran through your body, you didn’t feel any better up here than you did down stairs. You felt sickly and nauseous. Perhaps it was the fear settling in, the emotion you refused to acknowledge. 

“Yes.” The voice said again through the box, confirming what you had relayed to Haymitch. 

“Do you like the ball? You keep messin’ with it.” He says, hand gently squeezing yours as your palm began to sweat. 

It was longer now before a reply came through, although this one wasn’t nearly as intelligent as the previous two. An audible voice saying “down there”.

You didn’t like that either as your mind went immediately to the basement where it is said for a demon to be residing. You shake your head as you shuffle slightly closer to your boyfriend. His skepticism, as annoying as it often was, was also comforting in times like these.

He presses a kiss to your temple, hand slipping from yours and slinging his arm around your shoulder in order to pull you closer into his side. 

“‘S okay. Just random words.” He assured you, pressing another kiss to your temple.

There was relatively little activity for the entire hour that you were upstairs. The cat ball would go on and off, the REM pod giving a handful of beeps that would gain your attention, but after 15 minutes of asking more questions and receiving no answers you turned the spirit box off. The flashlights which received some action didn’t have much of an effect up here.

Another 15 minutes pass before you both decide to go back downstairs. The only place left to go to was the basement. You kept the spirit box with you, but you put the rest of your equipment away. Joining the spirit box was a pair of noise cancelling headphones and a sparkly pink eye mask that was used for sleeping. 

You both took a moment, mostly for you to gather the courage to go down there with him. It was at this point where you finally address the camera as you both sat on the couch of the deemed ‘safe room’.

“With this new series the idea was to have the guest go into the most haunted area by themselves with one piece of equipment and a camera. But, to be honest, I don’t want to be left alone up here while Haymitch goes down. So… we’ll be going down together and doing the estes method.” You explain, a pursed smile sent towards the camera.

Haymitch’s hand never left you, always leaving a soothing touch somewhere as you sat down beside him, whether it be holding your hand, holding you close, or just resting on your leg. But it helped you calm down and gain your courage to travel down into the basement.

It was dark and damp and incredibly cold. Stone walls leading the way down a long corridor that lead further down into the basement. You beelined straight into the small room which was set up for investigators, a table sat in the middle along with chairs surrounding it. A well was in the floor along the back wall and a tall cabinet by the entrance to the room. You already didn’t like the vibe.

You two set up, placing the camera down on the table and connecting the headphones to the spirit box. As you slipped the mask onto your head and let it rest against your forehead you heard a noise out in the hallway. You froze.

Haymitch seemed oblivious to the sound or had written it off as something else that could be explained. 

“I heard a knock.” You say, gesturing towards the dark hallway. He peered out to see if there was anything but nothing was out there. As he was coming back to sit down it was heard again.

“Let’s just get this over with. I don’t want to stay down here any longer than we have to.” You grumble out slipping the headphones on and being met with the sound of white noise blasting into your ears. Next you slipped the mask over your eyes to deprive your senses. 

That was essentially what the estes method was, getting into a mindset where your only focus was on what you were hearing through the headphones. Any outside sounds or visuals were completely depraved. 

Each time you heard a word you would repeat it.

Together.

Out.

No.

I was.

Trapped.

Demon. 

That one rattled you, clutching onto his arm to make sure he was still there. 

Join.

Maybe someday.

Don’t like.

Her.

When it said your name you ripped the headphones off, tossing them onto the table and peeling the mask off as if it had personally offended you.

He looked at you, startled by your movements. You hadn’t been down there more than 45 minutes as none of the answers were back to back, and some of his questions didn’t get answered. 

“It said my name. I’m done. I want to leave.” You stood, immediately turning off the device and leaving the basement. He was quick behind you.

He was worried. He had seen you in previous investigations but never anything like this, not with this type of fear. That was clear as day on your face.

You said nothing as you packed everything up, shoving them into your pack and going out to the car and sitting in the passenger seat. The house was not a fan of you- which as much as you hated to admit- hurt. This had been your dream investigation and to have it be so cruel to you was not what you were expecting.

Once Haymitch had locked up as instructed by the owners, making sure there wasn’t anything left, he joined you in the car. You both sat in silence for a moment as you tried to regain your bearings. He placed the camera on the dash but didn’t say anything until you were ready. He could see how shaken up you were.

“It said my name.” You break the silence after several minutes, voice wavering. 

His hand found yours immediately after that, holding tightly as if to assure you that you were okay. That he was there and wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.

“And it wasn’t friendly. It was like… mean.”

“That was the overall conclusion, yeah.” He agreed.

He went on to explain the questions that head asked. Starting off with ‘Is anyone down here’ and receiving the ‘together’. 

‘Who are you?’ ‘Out’. 

‘Do you want out?’ ‘No’. 

‘Was that you wanting us to come down, opening the door and telling my girl to shut up?’ ‘I was’.

 ‘What is your goal here?’ ‘Trapped’. 

‘Who are you, what’s your name?’ ‘Demon’. 

‘That what you do? Scare people?’ ‘Join’. 

‘Join what, join us?’ ‘Someday’. 

‘Can you leave?’ ‘Don’t like.’ 

‘Why are you so angry?’ ‘Her’. 

‘Who’s her?’ then a growled out call of your name.

The conclusion that you both had come to after the debrief was that the demon didn’t like you down there with it, especially not you within the house itself. That it was hoping for an attachment to you, to join you. It doesn’t like to leave the house, so it stays as it gets constant visitors. And most importantly, it did not like you.

“I was really hoping to start this series off with something a lot less mean and dark.” You huff out, pushing your hair from your face.

“We can always try again in the future I guess.” You suggest, eyes lingering on your boyfriend as he gave a small shrug.

“If that’s what you want to do, love.” You give a nod, taking a deep breath and then focusing back onto the camera. 

“Well, I guess that was it for ‘The Conjuring House’.” You give a non-humours laugh. “Thank you guys for watching, don’t forget to like and subscribe and comment if you saw anything that we didn’t. We’ll see you next week at ‘The House of Seven Gables’ with the Salem Witch Trials with a very special guest.”

And with that you end the recording with a heavy sigh. Now all you wanted was to go to the hotel room that you both had booked and sleep for the next 7 days. 

He seemed to sense that as without another word he started the car and pulled out of the driveway of the conjuring house. Maybe another day you would find yourself coming back, but for now you just wanted to get rid of the icky feeling left in your chest.

The hand that reached over and grabbed your own was definitely a good start.

[maddiedott]

The Haunting Games

Haunted locations vs. Panem's biggest paranormal YouTuber who is subsequently dating the infamous Haymitch Abernathy. Welcome to The Haunting Games, don't forget to like and subscribe!

Warnings: modern au, ghosts & demons & religious themes, death mentioned, real haunted locations, each chapter will have it's own warning

Chapters will feature special guests with Haymitch in each one manning the camera :)

Chapters come out (hopefully) regularly <3

Chapter One: Conjuring House

Chapter Two: The Whaley House

Chapter Three: Sallie House

Chapter Four: Wildwood Sanitarium

Chapter Five: Mizpah Hotel

Chapter Six: Eastern State Penitentiary

Chapter Seven: Stanley Hotel

Chapter Eight: Lizzie Borden House

Chapter Nine: Farrar School

Chapter Ten: Winchester Mystery House

[maddiedott]

I love me a unique modern au

It won’t leave my head now 🙂‍↕️ just silly lil reader with her yt channel exploring haunted locations with Haymitch while he struggles with the camera and debunking almost every sound or evidence. Katniss who is a high skeptic and Peeta who is so respectful to the ghosts and the buildings. And then there’s Finnick who will goof around, lock people in rooms, make noises, and antagonize the spirits. He would be the one to come up with an attachment tbh. Starting the first installment now 🩷

[maddiedott]

Small idea for a series of oneshots for Haymitch but it’s a modern au, with a ghost hunting reader who has her own YouTube channel (heavily Sam and Colby inspired) and goes to haunted places with him and even featuring the other victors at times. Haymitch being behind the cameras and a skeptic but believer obvi with him and Lenore Dove’s ghost but explains most things away? Would that be something worth reading?

[maddiedott]

i’m so down bad for woody harrelson it’s not even funny guys.

[maddiedott]

At least Born Again holds to the metric that if I’m having a bad day, Matt Murdock is having a worse one.

[maddiedott]

HAYMITCH MY BELOVED 🩷🩷🩷

Nightmares and Solitude: Part 1

word count: 1708

Warnings: MDNI, ANGSTY, ANGSTY, age gap, mention of death, unrequited love, alcohol usage, FWB, slow burn ish? Reader and Haymitch friends prior to events

co-written by @maddiedott

I couldn't sleep. It was like my mind was a battlefield, replaying the horrors of the Games—blood, the bodies, the stillness. They were never far, always lurking, ready to remind me what I’d survived. I had a feeling it was the memories clawing at me, not a nightmare, but that didn’t make the ache in my chest any less real. Biscuit used to chase away those shadows, curling up next to me, pushing them out like an old friend. But now, after everything, I was left to face them alone.

Sleep never comes easy these days. The new apartment in The Capitol felt too foreign, the walls too stiff. I wandered through its vast emptiness until I found my little corner by the window—a small place with a wide view of the city below. The laughter, the chatter, the oblivion of it all floated up to me, untouched by the nightmare I carried with me every second.

I curled up, my back pressing against the cold stone, legs stretched out awkwardly in the tight space. I stared out at the world below, wondering what it was like to live without this weight pressing down on you. The Capitol citizens seemed so carefree, their biggest worry was what color their outfit should be. I envied them in a way, wishing I could be anywhere but here, anywhere but stuck in this nightmare I couldn’t escape.

Haymitch stumbled out from the bar, flask in hand, a few extra bottles tucked into the folds of his vest. He moved unevenly, his eyes scanning the room before they settled on me. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he made his way over.

"Shouldn’t you be resting?" he grumbled, his voice laced with sarcasm, though it was clear he was a few drinks deep. He took another slow step, swaying a little as he dropped into a chair beside me. The wood creaked under his weight. "Look," he muttered, rolling his flask between his hands. "You’re gonna need it. Games don’t start ‘til tomorrow, but you won’t sleep with that tension eating you alive." He thrust the flask toward me, his eyes softening just a bit, like he actually cared for a moment. "Might as well ease the nerves now, right?"

I glanced at him, a faint, tired smile tugging at my lips. Haymitch was always more relaxed when he was drunk. I wordlessly took the flask, tipping it back. The sharp, bitter burn slid down my throat, and I grimaced, a cough escaping me before I handed it back.

"Can’t sleep," I muttered, my eyes drifting back to the window. "I’ll just wake up again."

The world outside seemed so alive. So free. And I—

“Hard to sleep when all you’re thinking is that soon, I’ll be dead,” I added, my voice barely above a whisper.

Haymitch flinched, the weight of my words settling on his chest. He had heard that one too many times before, seen it in the eyes of too many tributes. It never got easier. He leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to shrug off the burden of my truth.

"You think I haven’t been there?" he rasped, voice rough from the alcohol, but steady in a way I knew he wasn’t letting me see. "Spent nights wondering when it was all gonna end. But you know what? You don’t give in to it. You fight. No matter how hopeless it feels, you keep fighting."

He paused, looking at me with those eyes that somehow understood all too well.

"Yeah, the Games, the pressure, it’ll eat you alive if you let it. But you can’t let it take everything. The only thing worse than dying is letting it steal your fight. And right now, that’s all you’ve got left. The fight."

I leaned back slightly, staring at him as he continued, but something inside me softened. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just the rare sincerity behind his words, but I felt it. Even if he didn't admit it, he understood.

"You’ve got a chance. You take it. Because that’s all you get," he finished, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to mask the vulnerability creeping into my chest. "Since when did you become all wise?" I teased, leaning back a little. It was his usual self, but there was something different in his eyes—something real.

"It’s not like I won’t fight," I said, my fingers reaching for him, tracing slow circles against his palm. "I promised you I’d protect those kids. I just... I don’t know."

I stopped myself before the words slipped out—the ones I wasn’t ready to say. That I was terrified. That I wasn’t sure if I would make it back to him. That even now, even after everything, I was too scared to say it out loud.

“Well, spit it out,” he grumbled, taking another swig before handing the flask back to me. "You know I’m not a patient man." His tone was gruff, but I could see the concern beneath it, the hint of something more.

"You know damn well I won’t let you die. That’s not what friends do."

His words were firm, unwavering.

"We have a real chance at this—at stopping it all. And you’re going to be there. Alive."

I shook my head as he offered the flask again, the bitterness still lingering on my tongue. "I don’t want to come back to ‘just friends,’" I whispered. "I want something more."

Haymitch chuckled, taking another drink, his voice laced with amusement. "Maybe one sip was too much for you, darling." He got to his feet with a lazy shrug. "I’m way too old for you, sweetheart."

He turned away, but not before giving me a look—one of those glances that said everything without words. "Not that I don’t appreciate the attention," he muttered, "but trust me, you can do a hell of a lot better."

The cold air outside cut through the room, but it wasn’t enough to numb the sting of his words. They hurt, but they weren’t unexpected. He didn’t let anyone close. And I, despite knowing better, wanted him to let me in.

“Come on,” he grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Let’s get you somewhere that doesn’t involve you starin’ at me like I’m some damn hero."

I felt the rejection deep in my chest, but I couldn’t let it go. Not yet.

I stood and caught his arm, halting his steps. "Then at least let me believe you feel the same," I pleaded, my voice soft, barely audible. "Just for tonight. One last time. If I’m still here after the Games... I’ll leave you alone."

Haymitch froze, the weight of my words pressing down on him. He didn’t turn to face me at first, but I could feel him tense, the strain of the moment taking hold. Finally, he let out a sigh, the ache in his chest rising to the surface.

"Sweetheart," he said, voice quiet but rough, "you don’t want to believe I feel the same. You just want to forget for a little while. And maybe I do too. But we both know how this ends." He paused, his gaze heavy, searching my face. "One of us has to let go. And if it’s not you now, it’ll be me later. Either way, it’s gonna hurt."

He let those words hang between us before finally meeting my eyes again. "But if tonight is what you need... then yeah. Just for tonight."

I watched his hand slip away from mine, the gesture almost too gentle. The finality of it crushed me, and I let him walk away. But something in my chest tightened as he left, wondering if it was too late to fix what had already been broken.

I kept my eyes on him for as long as I could, watching the way his shoulders sagged, the way the weight of everything seemed to pull him further into himself. He was always like this—stubborn, guarded, pushing people away even when they were trying to help. But even in the quiet of the room, even with the tension hanging in the air like a storm ready to break, there was something about him that kept drawing me back in.

I knew he wouldn’t say anything more, not tonight. Not when he was this close to breaking, and especially not when I was standing in front of him, looking at him like I wanted to somehow save him from himself. But maybe that’s what scared him the most. I saw it in the way his gaze flickered, as if he wanted to believe in something, but couldn’t bring himself to.

I turned away, trying to give him the space he needed, but every step I took away from him felt like a piece of me was being left behind. The silence between us was deafening now, and I wasn’t sure if it was the kind of silence that would make things better or if it was the kind that would break us completely.

But as I reached the door, the sound of his voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Y'/N."

It was low, almost a whisper, but it was enough. I turned around slowly, my breath catching in my chest.

He was still standing there, but now his eyes were locked on me, his expression unreadable. The bottle of alcohol, once a crutch in his hand, was resting on the table beside him. He seemed more sober now, like the words he was about to say mattered more than any drink could fix.

"I didn’t mean it like that," he said, his voice rough, like it was hard for him to admit the truth. "You don’t need me to be something I’m not."

I stood still, letting his words sink in, knowing deep down that he wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was trying to protect me from the same thing I was trying to protect him from—the vulnerability of opening up, the risk of feeling too much. But it didn't stop the sting. With that I turned away. Maybe things tomorrow would be different.

[maddiedott]

I Could Find You in Any Life

Chapter One

Warnings: not proof read, brief mentions of blood, medical enviornment, OC, grief, brief mention of pregnancy, angst?, purely setting building, hurt, let me know if I'm missing any!

Word Count: 2.1k

“Well, all of your labs seem good.” You comment, eyes skating over each word and trying to make sense of the results that were laid out on the piece of paper. It didn’t quite fit for the scene that was laid out in front of you, and you couldn’t figure out why it didn’t match.

Your eyes raise, meeting the patient’s gaze as she stares back at you in both expectation and worry. There wasn’t an answer that you could give her that would be what she was looking for, something to ease her mind that you were sure was running rampant with ideas. She wasn’t dying, for that you were sure. Despite the suggestion from Valkyrie, who had assumed the role of leader, to keep powers at bay and try to lead a normal life on Midgard, you couldn’t quite find yourself able to abandon such a vital part of yourself. 

“If you are comfortable, I would like to run a few more tests.” You say, turning in your stool and setting the paper on the sterile white desk molded into the wall and turning back towards her. “I will have Marie schedule you for it.”

She nods slowly in response, hands twisting and wringing in her lap, gaze fixated on the movement. The agreement was reluctant, but there was no other answer as to what it could be without a few more tests. You let out a breath through your nose, hands reaching up and sliding the thinly framed glasses off of your nose and setting them on top of the paper that you had just placed down. You placed your hand carefully over hers, gently in both a comforting motion and to stop the fidgeting. 

“I have an idea of what this could be, but I need to confirm. It is nothing to be worried about, I swear by it.” You try to assure her, a small squeeze to her hands before standing and gathering both your glasses and the stapled sheets of papers full of blood work results. 

You give her one more glance, smile tight and almost pitying for how her body language betrayed her nervous mind. You pull on the door, exiting the exam room and allowing the girl to sit for as long as she needs to. You let out a soft breath once more, heading towards your office and letting the papers drop onto the mahogany wood and resting against the edge of it despite the heavily worn chair that was tucked under it. A hand comes up to your head, rubbing at your temples and eyes closing. Just a moment of relief, something you had been longing for.

The poor girl, who was just now leaving the exam room judging by the sound of the footsteps fleeting from the room and getting quieter as they continued into the opposite direction, had life growing inside her. You had felt it while you were examining her, healing powers thrumming from your palms in an attempt to further assess that she was in fact, not dying. However, the thought that the girl was now going to be carrying a child had not been easy to swallow, the reality of a future that you would never be able to experience was almost too much to bear at that moment. You need to wind down and put yourself back into your work, not let your thoughts spiral out of control and to cure the ache in your chest for at least a moment. 

The call of your name pulls you from your mental battle with yourself, head lifting and hands falling back to your side. It was just now that you clocked the feeling of something warm on your face rolling down and settling on the top of your lip, settling there in a small pool. Wiping it away half-hazardly, you stand up a little straighter, pushing off the desk. Embarrassment flooding your body from being caught crying.

“I’m- sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt you.” Marie says, hands shoved into her overall pockets, eyes studying your face, but not in a scrutinizing way, she was much too kind for that. There was genuine sympathy behind her gaze, something you had been seeing a lot recently.

“No,” you quickly brush off her apology, your own hands shoved into the stiff white coat you had on. “You’re quite alright, the door was open. Is there something you need?”

Marie was a sweet girl, early 20s, and volunteering at the clinic in ‘New Asgard’ even though she was from the original village of  Tønsberg and was kind enough to be so welcoming to the refugees that were now inhabiting the place. Everything about her was soft, it was reminiscent of the bookstores you would see in movies when you weren’t working yourself to the bone. muted brown hair, always kept in a low ponytail with a singular braid twisting back into the tie, and always earth-toned clothing, worn and clearly cherished.

She was a great help, and even better company.

“Oh, yes. There isn’t any more scheduled patients today, so… I was wondering if I could head out early?” She suggests, voice tilting upwards at the end, a sweet note to it and a coy smile on her chapstick coated lips. 

Her smile was contagious, even if you had just been crying and slipping into a crisis that probably would have had you crumpled to the floor had she not torn you out of it.

“Yes, of course. Tell your mother hello for me and I will stop by your stand tomorrow at the market.” You say, head tilting fondly at the girl.

She didn’t say anything after that, nodding excitedly as she rushed to grab her heavy coat, tugging it on and shouting a quick ‘thank you’, as she headed out the door. A small laugh tumbled from your lips from the eagerness in her departure.

Your eyes take in the bland office once more, paper piling on your desk spanning from the common cold to broken bones, each one begging for attention and to be finally signed and finished to join the large filing cabinet that was now more a piece of decoration rather than a useful organized storage space.

With a sigh, you shrug the white coat off, hanging it over the back of your chair and settling down in the worn leather with a creak accompanying the movement, showing the chair’s age and ragged seat. As you settle down, sliding your glasses back onto your face, setting them high on the bridge of your nose, your eyes find the blood work results from your last patient. You realize you hadn’t asked Marie to set up another appointment for more blood work.

“Shit.”

-

By the time you closed up the office it was late, the sun was setting over the hills of Norway. It was a sight that was both comforting and aching. A deep breath accompanied the chilly air, a coat tugged over your body to try and fight the cold before it could seep into your bones.

You should be in bed by this hour, snuggled up close in blankets with a book, or more reports that needed to be finished before the week ended, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. Your mind was restless and you craved a distraction. A walk would be nice, sure it would leave your thoughts to run rapid again, but you would have to acknowledge them at some point, right?

The walk was quiet, everyone going home for the day after long hours of labor and finally finding leisure in sitting down for dinner and enjoying quality time spent with their families. Oh, how you had longed for it. There were nights where you were half expecting him to be waiting for you, laid in bed with his nose tucked into a weathered book, pages yellowed and bent, cracks across the spines from being opened continuously. But instead of the warmth, you were welcomed by a dark room and a cold bed that taunted you the more you stared at it.

It wasn’t fair. You deserved the feeling of his arms wrapped around you again, to have a sense of belonging once more, to be loved so utterly and wholly as he did. To give your entire heart and soul in turn. But it didn’t work like that, this life, these realms were far too cruel to allow any of your happiness to be perpetual. What purpose were you to have if he was not part of your story? Surely, he could not simply be just a passing paragraph in a chapter in your life. Hel, he would be the whole damn book if you both had your way. 

But nothing was that kind, to give in to your desires. It was only natural for the story you both shared to be left unfinished. It was what the fates had decided long before your paths crossed and hearts exchanged.

You weren’t sure when the sun had finally set or for how long you had been out, but your face was cold, streams of warm tears turning to frost on your skin. Your face red from either the chill whipping against it or from the tears. Perhaps both. 

You had made your way towards a cottage, wooden door set in front of you as dim light flooded through the wood and the windows beside it. Lips pursed slightly, you raise your fist, letting it fall against the door in two weak knocks. It took but a moment before it opened, the stench hit you before sight. 

The smell of sweat, rot, and something you couldn’t- and quite sure you didn’t want to name. The god of thunder, in all his plushy glory stood in front of you, beer bottle in hand and looking as if he hadn't bathed in weeks. Which was unfortunately more than likely true.

“Sister! Come in, come in.” Thor ushered you inside, hand placed on your back and almost pushing you across the floor.

The smell was worse as you entered the messy home, assaulting your senses. Your eyes were watering again, but not due to despair this time. 

“Do you want a beer?” He asks, the door roughly shutting behind you. He was already in the kitchen before you could answer, yanking the fridge open and grabbing a brown bottle from inside.

“No, no that’s alright. I am not a fan of beer.” You answer him, arms crossing as your eyes unfortunately took in the mess around you. 

There were countless empty bottles around the room, on the floor, the side table, the tv stand. There was also food laying around, you didn’t want to guess for how long or what was able to grow in this environment. You made a mental reminder to either burn or disinfect the clothes that you wore.

“Ah, of course. How could I forget, you always did prefer wine.” He says, setting the unopened bottle onto the kitchen counter and turning back towards you. The smell of alcohol was heavy, able to distinguish it from even a few feet away from him.

“I don’t have any of that.” He continued, brows furrowed slightly as he stared at you. 

“That’s alright. I didn’t come to drink. I’m,” you shake your head, a humorless laugh leaving your lips before you look up at him again. ”I’m not too sure as to why I am here.”

Thor gave a single nod in turn, even with the alcohol in his system from the endless drinking throughout the day, he seemed to understand what you were saying. You were sure that even in his inebriated state he could still see the trails left behind by shed tears still evident on your face. 

He understood all too well. Even though you were in pain, he shared it. You weren’t alone in your grief. Even if you both forgot it at times. 

“Then come,” he waved you towards the living room which was surprisingly empty, his roommates absences were noticeable considering that they had been parked there since first arriving and had permanently indented on the worn sofa. “There is a new episode of that one show I had told you about.” 

“The one with the zombies?” You ask, shrugging off your coat and laying it over the sofa, the part where there wasn’t a large dent, and sat on it. You would have to bathe after this and scrub your skin raw.

“Yes! It is getting exciting. Apparently it is based off of a game.”

A/N: Hi! Hope you enjoy, I have had this idea stirring since the release of Loki S2, let me know what you think! Loki will be introduced in the next chapter, promise!

[maddiedott]

I Could Find You in Any Life

Through grief you struggle to find yourself again, unable to bear the ache in your chest at each memory, how do you move on? And then, you see him.

TVA Loki x fem!Reader

Warnings: Each chapter will have its own warnings, reader is Asgardian and has healing powers, grief, mentions of death, angst, no true happy ending, slow burn, spoilers for Loki Series and Marvel Cinematic Universe, decpetion, mentions of blood, medical work enviornment, multiverse talk, timeslipping, hurt little comfort, (more to add)

Chapter One

More coming soon

[maddiedott]

Hello! I really like the dividers you make! I would like to ask you, if you could do some easy ornament/flower dividers in some soft pastel green and blue?

Hope you have a nice day/night and thanks already if you make them! 😊❤

hey bee! I can do that for sure!! 🩵💚 I picked out a couple different styles for you - I hope you like them!

I hope you’re having a great week! Thank you so much, I am so happy that you like them!

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please like or reblog if you use 💕

[maddiedott]

Loki Fic

Going back to my roots and my absolute adoration for Loki, would ya'll be interested in it? It'll take place after Thor: Ragnarok and before Infinity War, and will be angsty. I'll end up writing it anyways and might post too, but just curious. Also, thoughts on perspective, would you guys perfer first or second?

[maddiedott]

It Will Come Back

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GN! Reader

Warnings: Very rushed ending, Logan through various different movies/timelines, gn! reader, fluff and tad bit of angst, sexual implications but not explicit, alcohol consumption (let me know if i missed anything)

Hi! Hope everyone is having a great day! I've been struggling with some Wolverine hyperfixation and Deadpool Wolverine being released on Disney+ like 2 days ago didn't help much. So, I decided I would finally post this fic thats been in my drafts for like a month now? It's heavily inspired by Hozier's 'It Will Come Back', so please enjoy!

Time was always a fickle thing for someone who could never age, who had lived centuries and watch as it affected everyone you loved and yet hasn’t graced you with the same courtesy, a long stretch that dipped into the horizon and melted against the inevitable void. There were times when you yearned for the ice cold grip of death, the blissful eternal sleep that most try to run away from, to prevent. But that was before you had met him, before he whispered life back into your hollow bones.

It was a fleeting encounter, words exchanged in a fraction of a second. You couldn’t recall how long this cat and mouse game played out, but you eagerly waited for the next moment you would see him, even if just for a glimpse. It started out slow, the long pull and stretch of time that came with his absence.

The first time you had met was in 1932, a time where many longed for the cold, dark Earth to envelop them so they wouldn’t have to suffer much longer. The interaction was brief, a swift knock to the shoulder as you passed down the street. He grumbled an apology, his voice rough and with an accent that didn’t quite stick in your head enough to name. There was a hesitation in his step as his gaze met yours, more of intrigue than anything else. He stopped completely as you called out, brows furrowed in annoyance. He turned towards you, apology leaving his lips. He introduced himself as James Howlett. An odd last name. You gave your name in kind with a smile.

He looked exhausted, although there wasn’t anyone in This Depression that wasn’t. So, despite your better judgment, you offered him a place to stay and some lukewarm meals to hold him over until he could find work. You never were much of a cook, even now you struggle to prepare much of anything, but it’s not without lack of trying.The rundown country home had been your home for a little before the dust bowl and the drought begun since you had moved into it, trying to busy your lonely mind with farm work. You had set the loft in the barn on your sparse and dusty property for him, giving him plenty of blankets and cloth that would make for a functional and maybe comfortable bed. He mentioned a brother who you had seen only briefly every now and again entering the barn before leaving a few minutes later, always snarling. And even though your instinct was shouting at you to question it, you never did.

There was always an objection to the kindness you showed him when you would bring meals, to leave him to the land as that’s all he knew- how he sleeps, to not be kind. But each time he only came back. It was routine until you found a small note etched in charcoal with the words ‘I come back’. And just like that he had vanished as if he had never existed, disappearing and leaving a strange ache in your chest.

You couldn’t tell when the next time we met was as the years turned to decades. People like you had gained a name; ‘mutants’ and they were becoming more and more common around the world. As narcissistic as it sounded, you thought you had been the only one, cursed to roam the Earth for eternity while watching everyone grow old and die around you. You hadn’t expected to run into him, not after 3 decades, and you surely did not expect for him to look just as the day that you last saw him, nor to recognize you.

You sat beside him on the barstool, not speaking until a whisper of your name fell from his lips as if he had figured out the answer to all of the prayers he’d whispered in the dead of the night to an unseen God.. A smile graced your face before you could stop it, turning in the seat to give him your undivided attention.

“You shouldn’t smile at me like that, you know better.” He gruffly spoke.

You didn’t realize how easy it would be to miss someone’s voice until you heard his. It was as if his words were a melody and you had been searching for the right tune all your life. Just the sound of his voice had been enough to cure you of any ailments for the day. You continued to show him the kindness he so desperately wanted to refuse. To offer him a hand and a soul, one that he feels less deserving of. This time was shorter than the last.

A few drinks, some chatting, walking, and a stumbling mess of feverish, open-mouthed kisses as we reached your apartment and found your way to the couch, the floor, and then the bed. He had ruined you, that much you knew from the very first press of his lips against yours, from the whisper of your name in the bar just a few blocks away, or perhaps it was the very first time his shoulder hit yours.

Towards the end of your euphoric highs, you had noticed the extension of bones from between his knuckles as they dug into your mattress and utterly destroying it. It led to a pensive conversation that eased as you revealed your own curse, your lack of morality. He showed off his claws, explaining his own hyper senses and regenerative properties. You admired the bone that extended from the divots between his knuckles, fingers ghosting over the claws. The night morphed into day as you both recounted stories, although you could tell his were vague and lacking details, keeping them for the darker parts of his mind away from the light.

You hadn’t realized him to be an army man before that night, but sure enough he was being shipped out that next day. So the reunion was cut painfully short and you had to wish him farewell from the comfort of your apartment’s sheets, tangled and damp with cold sweat from the previous night.

It was the middle of winter the next time. You moved from place to place as to not raise suspicion on why one of the neighbors never aged, stuck in a younger body than that hasn’t changed in the last few years of where you stayed. You could never forget James, he was always a lingering thought, a distant wish to run into him once again. As the seasons transitioned from to another, that wish slowly fizzled out.

It burned brighter one particular night, when there was a strange howling outside your door. There had been wolves hanging around, but they sounded nothing like this. So, with little fear to your well being, you opened the door.

He looked different, scruffier and wild. There was a metal contraption on his head that wired down to two boxes on either side of hips. The machinery and mechanism was complex as if he were some part of someone’s cruel experiment. There was a snarl sound emanating from his throat, sitting on his haunches. But his state of undress in the dead of winter was not what caught your eye but the sharp metallic ‘shik’ as metal drew from the divots where bone once did. A sharp gasp left your lips as he slowly stood to his full height, eyes locked and unwavering. He sniffed the air like an animal before taking a step forward, his instincts fueling his muddled mind, the movement subconscious.

He had found his way back, but at what cost? What had this poor man endured to become this way? This feral?

As he took a step forward you mirrored in a step backwards, crossing the threshold of your home and he simply followed. His wild eyes darted from corner to corner, sniffing once more and then taking a deep inhale. He visibly eased up, although still had the behavior of a cornered animal. You let him into the warmth of your home, let him wander and orient himself with his surroundings despite your conscious telling you not to.

It took multiple hours of gentle coaxing and many more attempts of snapping from him until you managed to get him to sit and settle down enough to remove the headpiece and electroids from his body, having them fall to the floor with a thud onto the carpeted floor. He just stared, even a whisper of his name had his head cocked to the side like an animal in a state of confusion.

There was dried blood under his nails, hair greasy and filled with mud and- you didn’t think you wanted to know what else it contained. Bathing and feeding him was no easy feat, metal meeting flesh and red decorating the floor; but, you eventually got it done and even had him dressed in sweatpants that were a bit too tight and the cuffs raised to his mid calf. It would have been comical if he wasn’t so out of his wits.

The next few weeks were awkward, each time you tried to leave he would grab your arm and tighten his hold in an attempt to get you to stay, but you needed food and he needed clothes that actually fit him. He still didn’t speak, just low huffs and grunts. When he finally did speak, it was low and broken as if he had forgotten how.

“Lo… gan…”

The words confused you. Why was he saying a stranger’s name?

“Is he the one that did this to you?” You ask softly, swiftly sitting beside him on the couch. You received a shake of his head in return and another mutter of the man’s name.

“I don’t understand.”

He ruffled into his pocket until a small clink of metal emerged and he withdrew dog tags with the name ‘Logan Howlett’ engraved. It was his last name, but the first one made no sense. On the opposite side it read ‘The Wolverine’. Was that his army name? You had heard of getting nicknames when in service but had no real idea about it.

“You’re Logan?” You clarify, eyes moving from the metal within his palm to his own eyes, still wild but tamed for now.

You received a nod from that, signifying you were correct in your assumption. That would make sense why he had never acknowledged me when you had called him James. So, from then on you referred to him as Logan.

You try not to think about the time during which you helped bring him back to a state of humanity, finding out his memories were scattered and he held no recognition in his eyes other than finding the smell of your home, of you, familiar. You cared for him, allowed him a place to stay and took him with you until he suggested a RV bed for an old truck. With the stash of cash you had dwindling, not expecting to care for another person, you hastily agreed. From there you traveled. City to city, province to province, finding cage fighting bars for cash while trying to bring peace to Logan’s mind and retrieve the memories lost or stolen from him.

Finding Rogue was a blessing, even more so when Scott and Ororo had rescued you both. You had been given a home and a lead on Logan’s missing memory and a chance for him to be a part of a team. So, when he was given information on a location that might jog his memory and insisted he would go alone, giving you his dog tags as a promise, you held some worry of course, but knew that he will come back.

[maddiedott]

Daily reminder to touch grass cause I think this crush with fictional characters is getting a little to real

[maddiedott]

The Serving Suitor .⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ AU Pairing: servant!Logan Howlett/princess!Reader

♡ Word Count: 4.4k

♡ Rating: Mature (only bc of the discussion of sex)

♡ Warning/Tags: regency attitudes, suggestive language, but nothing explicit

♡ Summary: As a princess, you could almost have it all, especially if you wed. Almost. You could only find love with one of your servants, Logan.

♡ Note: this was just a cute thing I've vaguely been working on to avoid all my responsibilities of life (that's why I've posted two days in a row, i fear)

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow you will find a suitor after all these years. 

Word of your ball had spread throughout many kingdoms. Your father promised only the best for you. He promised music, food, and you for the suitors traveling far distances. Suitors had visited and promised to be in attendance tomorrow. Not a single one interested you; you were sure most of them weren’t even interested in you. Being titled and unmarried was uncommon for even men at a certain point; a proper heir would need to be born eventually. God forbid it was out of wedlock. 

Many came off snobbish and egotistical. They weren’t there for you; they were there to create a new heir to their throne. They had little interest in you; they had more interest in your birthing hips. Some came off as genuine and kind. Yet, you felt bored in their presence, longing to slip into conversation with another. You wanted more; you already had more. 

James Logan Howlett.

Only you called him Logan. He worked as a servant like his father and mother before him. He was one of the younger servants and aid; he was older but not much older than the suitors coming for your hand. He was always gruff around the edges yet respectful. He was by far one of the most hardworking of your servants. 

A number of years ago, it was your goal to break his serious demeanor, get him to laugh. You had only seen him smile a few times, yet the memories were imprinted among you. In order to capture more memories of that smile, you’d make snide remarks that only the two of you heard. He wouldn’t admonish you nor remind you of your place as a princess as most would. He’d just shoot you a knowing look or exhale a deep huff.

It took him a whole year before he made a snide remark back while at your eldest sister’s betrothal ball. After watching a gentleman miss every turn and take almost every opportunity to step on your feet during a waltz, you immediately retreated to a place against the wall. Not far from Logan’s earshot but to yourself, you grumbled how that’d probably have to be your last dance for the night.

Not missing a beat, Logan mentioned the man having the graces and footwork of an overgrown frog. 

It was a small victory then. Snide remarks turned into short conversations. Those turned into deeper conversations in your garden under the cover of night. When no one was looking, he treated you like a real person— like a friend, maybe more than a friend. You’d both spend long nights talking about your dreams and fears in the garden, always hoping you could steal a little more time.

But the night he kissed you was unforgettable. 

“Alright, but you’re not a princess,” Logan stated as you both laid in the grass, gazing at the stars. “What would you be?” He turned his head to meet your gaze.

You hummed looking into his hazel eyes. There was something about Logan tonight. Maybe it was his exposed arms or the sound of his voice when tired from the day. All you knew was that when he looked at you, you could feel your heart race. You almost forgot to answer the question. 

“Umm, probably a baker.” Logan gruffly chuckled. You felt a little self-conscious by your own answer now. 

“What? A life as a baker so…nice and quaint,” you smiled. “Your mother would make the best bread, and if she could have taught me how she did it, I’d have the bakery in the countryside.”

“No, no, I agree. When my mother would bake, she’d make me help sometimes.  My father would do a tasting. Something about the kneading was always relaxing,” he muttered. “Maybe once you’ve grown wearisome of being a royal, we can just open a bakery in town.”

We. The sentiment of doing it together made your pulse pick up.

“Why don’t you do it then?”

“What? Build and open a bakery?” Your nod was met with Logan’s furrowed brows. “I don’t know. This work—this castle—it’s all I’ve ever known.. I was trained to do this since I was a kid. To leave would be…I mean, my mother left recipe cards for bread, cakes, cookies, but—”

You sat up and nodded, “I think it'd be worth it to be brave. As someone who doesn’t get many choices in life—I didn’t even get to decide on my outfit for today or the meals I ate—there’s something about the freedom to be brave. And the number of building projects you’ve completed for my family, I know the shop would be beautiful.”

Logan sat up too and nodded. He bit his lip and muttered under his breath, “Be brave.” You felt Logan’s hand on top of yours.

There went your heart again. You looked down at his worn hand on top of your softer one and then back at Logan. His features softened before his other hand moved to your cheek. 

You swallowed with anticipation, hoping to push down your nerves, “Logan…what are you doing?”

He didn’t respond. Before you knew it, his lips were on yours. You felt your breath hitch in your throat out of surprise, but you soon reciprocated. You had dreamed of this for years ever since you first saw him all those years ago. Your lips formed together perfectly and moved in perfect rhythm. Logan’s hand caressed your cheek, bringing you in closer. You instinctively moved your hand to his bicep, feeling every ridge and groove. In this moment, you wanted him to devour you. 

Logan wanted the same. There had been other women Logan had been with—substitutions really—and with God as his witness, you were the sweetest one. You were the only one that he wanted.

He pulled away from you with his eyes still on yours. Your stare was dazed when Logan’s eyes met yours again. “You said to be brave. And I know your the princess and I’m jus—“

A small smile creeped your lips, “Hey, Lo?” The sound of your sweet yet low voice silenced him immediately. He could mutter a word, only nodded. You tugged at his shirt, lining your finger against what you could already feel as a strong chest, “I think you should be brave again.”

That was two years ago. It was your first kiss. It was the first time you felt truly special in the eyes of any man. It wasn’t the last either. Logan made sure of that.

After that day, beyond your royal life, your life became filled with stolen kisses, long nights, letters under your pillow. It wasn’t something you expected from the gruff man that you saw everyday. 

But when word of your ball started to spread, you could see Logan become distant. Conversations were short in public, the letters stopped, he stopped visiting at night, and there was even talk about him joining the military. 

You were worried. Your mind had been racing for a number of nights. You didn’t want to believe that Logan was abandoning you. On the other hand, neither of you were native to your present situation. The thought of him leaving tore your heart apart. Your memories with him put the pieces back together again. The cycle found you every night.

Maybe you could see tonight, but his quarters were outside the grounds. You couldn’t make it there without being seen. Maybe—

A small pebble knocked your window, catching you from your thoughts.

His usual sign.

You quietly moved off your bed to open the window.

“Logan?” Your voice was uncertain as you scanned. Once you saw the form that you recognized to be Logan’s, you couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. “I thought you’d never come back.”

Logan appeared to be slightly panicked as he looked around the garden. “I know tomorrow is...the day and I might not see you again” he sighed. “Can we talk?”

As he had done for the last two years, Logan scaled the outer wall and climbed through your window. He had on a cloth top that exposed his strong arms, and you could practically see his bulging thighs through his pants. You were just in a white nightgown as you were just preparing for bed, but the sight of him was almost enough to make your mouth dry. 

You were quick to pull him into a hug; the warmth of his body consumed you. Thinking he’d never get the chance to hold you like this, Logan pulled you in close. “I thought I’d never see you up here again,” you muttered into his chest. Logan could hear the hurt in your voice. It was amplified by the simple notion that he had pushed you away. 

“I know,” he muttered into the crook of your neck. You leaned back to look at him. His eyes obviously were panged with grief and regret. 

“Then why?” Your words ranged in his head like a thousand church bells. All this time, he knew why. He regretted the reasoning, he still knew.

“When I heard about your ball a while ago, everything felt like it was coming to a head,” he admitted as he took a seat across from you on an ottoman. You sat on your bed. “I don’t know what I expected to happen after the last two years, and I should have seen this coming. I shouldn’t have neglected you…I never wanted you to feel neglected.”

“Logan—”

“Sweetheart, we both know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. You’re going to find a prince, become the perfect queen one day, and receive everything you deserve. Things we both know I can’t—will never be able to—offer you. Like my parents who served yours, I serve you; that’s the way it is. We both know that,” Logan tried telling you. His eyes were sullen and he looked defeated. That’s what broke your heart.

Logan was right. He was right but he was also wrong about one thing. 

“Logan…” you placed your hands in his, rubbing your thumb across his, “My days with you, the mere minutes I got to spend with you everyday, was all I ever needed. You gave me everything I could possibly want. This place, these things,” you gestured to the room around you, “it’s not enough to make me happy; Logan, you were always enough.”

As much as it pained him, Logan kept his eyes on you. For all he knew, these could be his final chance to memorize the curve of your face, how your eyes gleamed when the light hit it just right, or recognizing attributes you considered imperfections that Logan simply couldn’t fathom why you thought of them so negatively. He didn’t want this moment to pass, no matter how painful it was.

You both sat there in silence for a bit, too scared to admit what this all meant. Logan was the first one to make movement, standing from the ottoman. You could tell that he was stressed. For a second, your heart fell when you thought he was going to leave. Your name graced his lips as he turned back to you, his hazel eyes glassed over.

“I love you,” Logan admitted. Your eyes widened at his confession. “I am hopelessly, desperately in love with you. When I wake up, I’m disappointed that you’re not by my side, but I find solace in the fact that you’ll grace me with your presence, maybe even give me the time of day after dark. Being with you, not even just intimately, just talking to you, is always the highlight of my day. I go to sleep, and I only dream of you—running away with you, watching you learn how to bake in that shop you always speak of,” he breathed in a single breath; you weren’t sure you caught it all, but every noise of the palace seemed to fall into the distance. “I’d never ask you to renounce your status as a princess, but I could let another day go by without letting you know.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. As the date of your ball began coming up, you could only dream about Logan, reliving the moments you had in the garden, especially Logan’s sweet words as his hands roamed your body, searching for new ways to make you gasp and smile. As of lately, you were having the same dreams. What if you ran away with Logan? What if he could put his hat in the race to be your suitor? Questions like these flood your head every night. 

You stood up too, slowly approaching Logan. He was hesitant when you placed your hand on his chest, hoping you weren’t kicking him out. Instead, you just wanted to feel him and his beating heart. He placed his hand over yours.

“Everyday, every single day, I wish to move to the countryside with you. Share a life with you. Have a few children, and build a life,” you whispered, smiling at the thought. The tears that brimmed your eyes were threatening to escape. “But I can’t abandon my country, Logan. As much as I want to be with you, I can’t and that tears me apart every waking moment of the day because I love you, James. I don’t want to marry anyone else because no man has ever cared about me the way that you do. It’s not fair,” you sobbed in his chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Logan couldn’t help but to wrap his arms around you, pulling you in closer. He kissed your forehead wishing he could change the trajectories of both of your lives. But this was the best he could do at the moment.

“Hey, hey,” he muttered, lifting your chin to meet your tear-stained face, “you’re never gonna lose me, sweetheart.”

Before another thought could cross your mind, you brought your lips to Logan’s for what may be the last time. You became fully enveloped in the kiss when Logan reciprocated it fully. What started as a gentle kiss became desperate in nature. You’ve never shared a kiss like this before. His strong hands spread across your back, sending chills down your spine. 

You tugged at the roots of his hair, receiving a moan from the servant. He moved from your lips down to your neck, careful not to leave any marks for your big day tomorrow. The gasp that left your lips was heavenly. Logan searched for it again with every kiss from your collarbone to your pulse. You couldn’t help but to pants as Logan’s lips and tongue danced across your neck.

“Please, Logan,” you quietly moaned out, “I…I want you to have me.” 

While you didn’t quite know what that exactly entailed, yet you knew the significance. Your mother had only vaguely explained it to you a few weeks ago. There were many moments where you felt rather needy between your legs when you were with or thought about Logan. You pieced that those two things were related in some way. You affirmed that it was for your husband—a man that you loved. At this point, those two criteria felt like they wouldn't encapsulate the same person.

Logan momentarily stopped and sighed in the crook of your neck. It was bad enough that he had ruined you time and time again already. This was something else completely. “I’m not…it’s not my place, sweetheart. As much as I would love to ravish your body until dawn, I’m not your husband, you’re not my wife; it’s not right.”

Logan wasn’t always big on traditions and doing things the right way. He complained a number of times to you about them. You’d figure that it wouldn’t be Logan’s first time; he had the opportunity to live a life outside of you. You vaguely heard how your brother spoke about women that…they weren’t necessarily courting yet frequently visited. It made you want to scream the way he became traditional all of the sudden.

“I know…” You felt your stomach grow into knots, trying to verbalize concepts you only recently began thinking about. “I know…you’ve been entangled with other women…” You couldn’t help but blush and feel native in the moment.

Logan huffed as you were being more brash than usual, “They weren’t ladies, and most certainly not princesses.”

“You’re right, but I don’t care anymore, Logan,” you told him, fingers lining his chest. “Not only isn’t there another man I want to be with but there isn’t a man who deserves the privilege besides you, my love.” Your hand caressed his scruffy face, praying for the answer you desperately wanted. “I love you.”

“Sweetheart,” You began lining his neck with soft kisses making Logan lose his train of thought. With your hands on his chest and lips on his neck, Logan wanted to cave, he desperately wanted to give in and have his way with you. “Dammit, you’re making this hard, love.”

“Then say yes.” Your hand went under Logan’s cloth shirt, feeling the ridges of his abdominal muscles. “Please just say yes.”

A pang of hurt hit Logan’s heart, stopping your hands from roaming his chest. “You’re not mine to have.” Logan could see the pain in your eyes and immediately felt awful. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you; that wasn’t his intention when he climbed through your window that night. “Maybe I should go. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened as you saw Logan begin to leave. You felt panic settle in. Logan was already in the window about to climb down.

“Logan!” you almost yelled but you were quick to hush your volume. He immediately turned back to you with his brow furrowed. His name came out of your mouth before you could even realize what you were saying. “Please don’t go,” you choked out, “Please.”

He wanted nothing more than to take you with him, show you exactly how well he could treat you.

“I’ll see you at the ball tomorrow.”

“It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, sir” you forced a smile before performing a small curtsey. 

“I’m sure, princess,” the duke retorted before kissing the back of your hand. “I hope to grace your presence again soon. ”

You nodded before the Duke of Goldigo went on his way. Internally, you gagged. The Duke of Goldigo was ignorant and a narcissist. Yet, he wasn’t the worst of the night, and that was saying a lot. 

Whenever you finished talking to a suitor, you would immediately look for Logan. Your eyes would quickly scan the room, hoping to still see him there serving. You missed him a few times but caught him talking and giving o'dourves to a few guests from time to time. You desperately wanted to talk to him, but you knew you would get wrapped up in conversation with him as you did on a daily basis in the garden. And you knew the both of you would get in trouble if you both weren’t on your jobs—your job being to wed. 

But maybe grabbing an o'dourves wouldn’t hurt, right? Of course, it would be Logan holding your favorite. It’s like he knew you could eventually bring yourself over. You began your trek over to Logan who was just across the ballroom, and damn, he looked amazing in that white button up.

You happily nodded at the guest as you walked past other guests. A couple of the suitors you talked to earlier smirked or winked at you, some vying for your attention, but you pretended as if you didn’t see them. As you neared him, Logan looked up and saw your eyes meet his. He gave you a soft smile.

“I didn’t know they would be serving bruschetta at this event,” you smiled as you grabbed a piece.

“Only the best for the princess,” Logan smiled, but you could  tell that it wasn’t fully heartfelt. You could imagine that he was still hurt after yesterday. You were still hurt too, but putting together a good appearance is something you were used to doing for these types of events. 

“How are you, Logan?” you muttered, attempting to keep your conversation low key.

He took a deep breath and sighed, “Honestly?” You nodded. “I wish I could take you out onto the floor and dance with you like a proper gentleman, actually vie for your hand…but I guess holding your favorite o'dourve will have to do. How about you?”

You slightly smiled and nodded, “Wishing I could be anything but a princess right now.” 

All you wanted was to take Logan’s hand and run out of the dance hall—show him how much you want to be with him. Logan wanted that too, and if he had the money and power the other men in this room held, he would have. He would’ve whisked you away, whispering sweet nothings into your ear until you were alone.

“The fair and beautiful, princess,” another prince almost growled as he took your hand. You immediately felt uneasy; it was also obvious to Logan. Instead of giving the prince the face of disgust, you softly smiled. “Care for a dance?”

You looked back at Logan who looked like he was trying to keep his composure. You placed your appetizer back on his tray. “It would be my pleasure.”

He led you to the middle of the floor, but you couldn’t help but to look back at Logan as he went away to cater to the guests, his heart breaking in the process.

The evening was ending and many of the guests began their departures, even you had retired to your chambers. There were some suitors there, talking with your father. As Logan helped clean up the hall, he overheard conversation between the men and your father. He hated the way they talked about you. They didn’t care if you were happy or not. Even your father seemed to be neglecting your happiness. They pondered if you were submissive, had a good body to bear sons, and so on. 

They talked about you as if you were a piece of cattle at auction. In reality, you were everything to Logan. His entire world began and ended with you.

He’d had enough.

Logan left his section to clean before heading down the hallway. He attempted to maintain his composure as he passed by maids in the hallway. But he was making a beeline to your chambers. He could feel his adrenaline ramping up as he got closer to your room. His heart could practically beat out of his chest. He finally reached your door. He took a deep breath before putting hand on the handle.

Before he could turn the handle, he heard a brief huff and then a sob.

You were crying.

Logan didn’t even knock. He cracked the door open and saw your body leaned against the window,  your hands covering your face. You were already out of your ballgown and in a simple slip. He quickly slipped in before anyone saw. You didn’t hear the door close between the sounds of your sobs. He hated seeing you like this. He knew he’d do anything to make you feel better.

“Sweetheart?” Logan sighed from across the room. You heard him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn to him. He approached you from behind, wrapping your arms around you. “I’m here.”

You shook your head, “Logan…I can’t…” you hiccuped. He turned you around to see your face. Your eyes were puffy and red, but you were still a beautiful sight to him. “We can’t keep doing this, seeing each other. It only makes this harder.”

“I know, I know, so if you want, I won’t come to you like this anymore. I just—” Logan's voice drifted, yet he still appeared focused. He had firm hands on your hips while you laid your hands over his. “I know I said I couldn’t ask you to do this, and I know you love our country, but I need you, sweetheart. I can’t live knowing you’re married to some pompous rake who doesn’t even respect you as the woman you are.”

You took a deep breath as your eyes widened, “Logan, what are you—” Before you could even finish your sentence, he was taking a knee. “James…”

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. I’m asking for you to live a humble life—a life without the riches and spoils you no doubt deserve with a man who has only served you all his life. But I’ll be damned if a day goes by that you don’t feel loved, respected, and cared for. And I wanna spend the rest of my life making sure you feel that way.” Logan pulled out a necklace from his pocket and showed it to you. “This betrothal necklace belonged to my mother the day my father proposed. I was going to ask you last night, but you respect your duty, and I respect that. But after seeing and hearing how those men think of you, the thought of someone taking your hand—someone who does not see you the way I do—I have to at least ask.”

You didn’t even think you could produce more tears, but you felt more brimming. However, they were warm from hope, not hot from sadness.

“So, ask me, James, you whispered as you fell to your knees to meet his eyeline. “Please…”

Your full title fell from his mouth with an ease. Just sitting on the floor in your chambers out of the watchful eyes of others—it was the most comfortable you felt all night. You hung onto every word. “Will you do me the honors of living a humble life as my wife?”

“Yes, yes, Logan, yes.” Your words got stuck in your chest, but your confidence grew as you continued to speak. You quickly nodded and huffed, “Only if we can leave tonight.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” Logan wildly smiled as he wrapped the necklace around your neck. You pulled him into a kiss that was more passionate than the one from yesterday. You felt your heart warm, and for the first time all day, you felt comfort, warmth, love. You prepared to leave. You left notes for your siblings and parents, praying they’d understand.

You were going to miss your life; it was an easy one. Yet, a life without Logan would have been much harder.

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