#[silent war axe: johanna] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

realmermaid333 · 2 years

Text

Johanna Mason finding happiness after the war :)

Sunlight shines through the window and onto Johanna's face, waking her from her sleep. She groggily stretches her body, feeling her tense muscles relax. Her sleep was interrupted quite a few times last night by disturbing nightmares, but for once in a very long time, she feels relief in waking. She stares ahead at the bunk above her, her tired eyelids threaten to close.

After the rebellion, Johanna returned to District 7. Annie and Finnick offered to take her to 4 with them, which Johanna deeply considered, but ultimately she decided that she wanted to go back to her home, even if only for a short while. It's true, there was nothing left for Johanna in District 7, her family was dead, and she'd found family in victors from other districts. But District 7 was where she grew up. She belongs with the pine trees and the evergreens. She was meant to be in the lumber district, axe in hand. She could not imagine living anywhere else, so she decided to stay and help rebuild her district.

Her house in the Victor's Village was destroyed during the uprisings, and regardless, she did not want to be there anymore. She wanted to start anew, find a new home, a new community. She no longer wanted to be tied to the Games, to live in a lonely mansion given to her by Snow. She didn't want to be a victor anymore, she just wanted to be Johanna Mason.

So, she laid on the bottom bunk in a community living space that had been her home for the past few weeks. Just as she was about to fall back asleep, Eleanor's voice startled her out of her sleepiness.

"Alrighty, wake up y'all! We have work to do!" she shouts. Eleanor is an older woman who grew up in District 7, she is one of the main organizers of the community rebuilding projects.

Sleepy groans come from the bunk opposite of her as everyone awakens. Johanna's bunk buddy, Laurel, slowly climbs down the ladder.

"Johanna, let's go!" she sings.

"I'm coming," Johanna whines as she pulls herself out of bed.

Johanna and Laurel have become friends over the past few weeks, they've shared a bunk bed and kept each other company while working. They don't talk much, but their silent companionship has been comforting for both of them. After everyone is dressed for the day and has eaten breakfast, they are assigned tasks by Eleanor and Volton, a District 3 migrant and task organizer.

Johanna and Laurel are asked to help with platform unloading, which Johanna is not stoked about as she prefers wood chopping. The two of them make their way down the dirt road and towards the train station. The trains used to be mostly used for tributes when they were sent off to their death, and if one survived, the train returned a victor. Johanna had boarded this same platform over four years ago after she was reaped for her first Games, she boarded it again last year for the Quell, and the same platform greeted her when she returned home last month. Now, the trains are used for people coming and going, and for supplies sent to and from other districts.

They finally arrive to the train station after carefully stepping through debris and fallen trees from the war. The cleanup crew has not yet made it to this part of the roads.

"Does it feel weird? Being at the train station, but to unload food and supplies?" Laurel asks.

"Yes, it does. I never thought I'd see such a thing," Johanna smiles a little at the thought of it.

They step on the platform and a train is stopped, with fellow workers beside it waiting for their help. Johanna sees the number 11 painted on the side of the train and feels relieved. She will be unloading agricultural products today, which will be much more manageable than some of the other trains they unpack. Last time she did platform unloading, it was District 9 and the train was full of heavy grain bags and huge canisters of oil. She ended that day with strained arms and a sore back.

Johanna joins the group below the platform and places unloaded items on their designated carts.

"Hey Jo! You're strong. Can you help me out in here?" Leaflee asks from inside the train doors.

She joins Leaflee on the train and helps him hand off crates of produce to the people beside the platform. As the rain empties, she walks farther back to grab the rest of the goods. All of the sudden, a strange screaming noise makes her jump. She stands still for a second, trying to decide if the odd noise is human. But after stepping forward, she finds the culprit, a crate of chickens. She sighs at the sight of the bustling crate, not sure how she is going to unload this without hurting the chickens or herself.

Just as she is about to go find Leaflee and ask for help, someone emerges from the back of the train, scaring the shit out of Johanna. She lets out a small shout.

"Hi! Sorry to scare you, I was just grabbing my bags," she looks down at the bawking chickens between her and Johanna, "Oh yeah, these fellas. I was on chicken watch during the train ride," the stranger giggles, "I'll help you carry them out."

The startling stranger is a young woman wearing a flannel with a backpack strapped to her shoulders and a bag in hand. She has mid-length, curly black hair, friendly, coffee colored eyes, and dark skin. Her smile is radiant and she has a warm demeanor, Johanna finds herself almost enamored by the woman.

She sets her bags down, then her and Johanna lift the crate and move it towards the door. Leaflee joins in and the three of them successfully haul the heavy crate off the platform, with no chickens harmed in the process.

"Whew, that was heavy!" the startling stranger says.

Johanna can't help but smile at the lovely woman, her radiant beam is contagious-- contagious enough that she's managed to give Johanna Mason a toothy grin.

She studies Johanna's face for a moment, then gasps, "I didn't even introduce myself! I am Ash, District 11," the woman reaches out her hand to shake.

"Johanna, District 7," she responds, taking Ash's hand in hers and shaking it.

"Oh yeah, I know you. You are one of the victors, right?" Ash asks.

Johanna nearly winces at her comment. She sometimes forgets that everyone knows her as a victor, a violent one too. That there is footage out there of Johanna killing, that it's public knowledge that she was captured and tortured in the Capitol. That, although she hates it, Johanna is a historical figure.

"Oh, um, yeah," she replies, her smile now faded.

Ash's smile falls into a look of remorse, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up. I am sure that is the last thing you want to think about right now," she apologizes.

"No, no, don't worry about it," Johanna assures her.

Ash is energetic and positive, two traits Johanna like's in people. Ash's liveliness reminds Johanna of Annie, but there is something else, a different feeling, something she did not feel when she was with her best friend. The pair make eye contact for a little too long before Ash breaks it.

"Let's finish unloading, shall we?" she asks.

"We shall,"

The two of them work together to empty the last few produce carts from the train, their hands touching a few times. Every time their fingers brushed, Johanna got... butterflies? She was confused by the feelings Ash was giving her.

After finishing up, they step off the train together and follow the rest of the group back to town.

"Wow, the trees here are beautiful," Ash says breathlessly, looking up at the tall evergreens on either side of them.

"Do you have evergreens in District 11?" Johanna asks.

"No, but we have quite a few different types. Oak, cedar, elm, but most of them are chopped down and replaced with crops," she says.

Johanna feels a little nervous that Ash might only be staying here temporarily, she doesn't want her to leave when they have only just met.

"Are you staying here?" Johanna questions.

"Yes, I can't go back to 11. I need something different," she respond with a deep breath.

Johanna is relieved that Ash will be staying, but she is confused by these feelings. She just met Ash, why is she already so attached? The two of them walk shoulder to shoulder until they reach the community living space. Eleanor greets Ash and a few of the other District 11 migrants and assigns beds.

Eleanor points at Ash and Jo, "Since the two of you seem to be getting along well, I'm gonna put Ash on the top bunk next to yours, Johanna," she says. "Can you show Ash to her room, please?"

Johanna's heart skips a beat, "Oh! Um, uh, y-yeah, of course," she says a little too enthusiastically. Johanna wonders what the hell is happening to her as she walks Ash to their now shared room.

"Here is your bed," Johanna says as she points to the bunk.

"Lovely!" Ash responds as she tosses her bags up to her new bed.

Ash looks down at Johanna who is now sitting on the bottom bed of the adjacent bunk, "Is that yours?" she asks.

"Oh yes, this is my humble, bottom bunk," Johanna jokes, opening her arms over it for effect.

Ash nods, "It will be nice to wake up to a familiar face," she says with a... smirk???

Johanna wonders if Ash is flirting with her, and she wonders if she wants Ash to be flirting with her-- She decides that is exactly what she wants.

The two women sit on their beds and chat for the next twenty minutes or so, slowly getting to know each other. Johanna has been smiling like an idiot the whole conversation and she can't help but wonder if she has been put under some type of spell. No one has made her this giggly and cheerful in years, if ever.

They are interrupted by a slightly irritated Volton, "Hey, you two! We need you at the train station. There's a train from District 9 to unload," he says, "Chop, chop!" he turns and walks out of the room.

"Oh boy," "Yikes," they say at the same time, causing them to laugh.

"This is going to be heavy," Johanna says with a sigh.

"Let's go!" Ash exclaims as she jumps down from her bunk and waves Johanna to follow.

They hurry out of the building and onto the dirt path. Johanna gets a good feeling, a feeling that her world is about to get a lot brighter.

#the hunger games #mockingjay #catching fire #johanna mason #johanna and annie #annie cresta #finnick odair #au #prompts #fanfic #district 7 #district 11 #oc #wlw #thg

17 notes · View notes

thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

Note

Have you noticed the thing in fanfics of children's lit where the writer gives the protagonist new parent figures? The parent figures say things like "no child should have had to do x!". PF's don't prevent protagonist from doing heroism but might ground them for it after. Under their care, the protagonist is likely to get a job, often at the business of the PF. Seems less common for the Animorph (more in ATLA and Harry Potter), but if you have seen this, what's going on? Why do writers do this?

Why do writers do this?

Welcome to the fandom renaissance, Nonny! My best stab as to what’s going on here is that we’re seeing fewer and fewer shipping wars due to a whole range of forces from “the average age of fandom is increasing” to “there’s an ongoing post-monogamy societal shift.” BUT that there’s still a desire to see relationship-building fic go in the gaps where (for instance) Pro-Jacob Anti-Edward fic used to go. So instead of writing about Edward and Bella’s romance, people are writing about Edward and Carlisle’s mentorship, or Leah and Rosalie’s friendship.

What’s going on?

Again, a stab in the dark: it’s a really fun story premise, one that can get away from the way ships are sometimes fraught with baggage. Found Family is intensely cathartic, in the sense that it takes characters who are miserable and/or lonely in canon and allows them to build loving relationships with each other. It also (IMHO) reflects that trend among Millennial Whippersnappers to move away from nuclear definitions of “family” and toward embracing everything from polyamory to sexless romance to adult adoption.

Not only that, but it’s awesome in that it lets writers play so much with foils. Stranger Things obviously does this Up to Eleven (pun intended): Steve’s an arrogant jerk when he’s interacting with Nancy but a dorky sweetheart around Dustin, Hopper’s at his worst around Joyce but at his best around El, Billy’s evil to Max but might be redeemable around his mom, etcetera. This premise gives fan writers the chance to get wildly different characters into a room together — what if the Tonks family adopted Neville Longbottom? — and start playing out the fun potential.

Why Avatar and Harry Potter (but not Animorphs)?

In a word: FOILS. Both AtLA and Harry Potter are series filled with good, bad, and ugly mentors, and both series have contrasts between the good and the bad. For AtLA, it’s no accident that Zuko finally reuniting with his father in S3E1 is intercut with the scene of Katara finally reuniting with her father. Katara’s fam airs their grievances, talks things out, yells, cries, apologizes, forgives, hugs, and affirms their ongoing love. Zuko’s fam deals with having 500 times as much baggage by... Zuko kowtowing silently on the floor while Ozai talks about everything but their problems with each other. After that sequence, the desire to get Zuko into a room with Hakoda for some proper fathering is practically overwhelming, and many brilliant fan writers have obliged us by doing exactly that.

For Harry Potter, there’s no scene that’s as in-your-face with the contrast between healthy vs. unhealthy disagreement with one’s father, but there are still plenty of mentor foils. Sirius and Petunia are probably the clearest examples. Sirius is a raging mess who (on the surface) has nothing to offer Harry: he’s an ex-con with a drinking problem and untreated mental health issues who spends much of the series homeless. Petunia has her shit together and (on the surface) is the perfect guardian for Harry: she’s a wealthy full-time parent who lives in a large suburban house, and is both his closest surviving relative and his legal guardian. But of course all Harry needs from a parent is love and support, and Sirius offers that in spades while Petunia has none to spare. Again, the desire to rip Harry away from the Dursleys and ship him off to go be a Black is overwhelming, and many beautiful works of fan fiction have done exactly that.

Animorphs... doesn’t have mentor characters. Like, none. Elfangor dies, Toby does her own thing, Erek can’t be trusted, neither Ax nor Jake wants to mentor, and all adults are possible controllers. Eva’s the closest we get, but by the time she’s free, everyone (especially Eva) recognizes that the Animorphs are already more experienced than her. We don’t even see a dynamic like the Teen Titans show where the villains mentor the heroes — Jake and Marco might occasionally parallel Visser Three and Visser One, but they don’t learn from the vissers the way that Robin does from Slade or Raven does from Trigon. The kids just... find their own way. So while people have written fic where Elfangor or Eva or Mertil or Tom mentors the team, there’s not this in-your-face missed opportunity for the kids to get the parenting they deserve in Animorphs the way there is with Harry Potter and Avatar.

Have you noticed the thing?

Personally, I love this trend. I’m not much of a shipper — I’m not fond of “will they or won’t they” romantic premises, and actively dislike “they will because they’re soulmates” premises. My favorite Ship Dynamics are all platonic. Like, my faves include (but are not limited to):

Grubby Semi-Feral Mentee and Aloof Socially-Incompetent Mentor Bond with Alarming Speed Over Niche Magical Interest (see: Briar and Rosethorn in Circle of Magic, Boy 412 and Marcia in Septimus Heap, Jason and Bruce in Batman, Wart and Merlin in The Once and Future King)

Well-Intentioned Loving Parent Irretrievably Fucks Up Child, Copes with Fallout (see: John and Dean in Supernatural, Adam and Cal in East of Eden, Soichiro and Light in Death Note, Elaine and T.J. in Political Animals)

I’ve Only Known This Person With Extremely Specific Shared Trauma for 10 Minutes But If Anything Happened to Them I Would Kill Everyone (see: Toph and Zuko in AtLA, Luke and Annabeth in Demigod Diaries, Ax and Tobias in Animorphs, Spike and Angel in Angel, Parker and Eliot in Leverage, Johanna and Finnick in Catching Fire)

Saving the World Sucks But At Least My Ultra-Competent Siblings Are Suffering With Me (see: Edmund and Lucy in Chronicles of Narnia, Sam and Dean in Supernatural, the Hargreeveses in Umbrella Academy, the Crains in Haunting of Hill House)

Just Because I Tried to Kill You That One Time Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Help You Hide a Body, JFC We’re Still Family and I Don’t Know What You Take Me For (see: the Robins in Batman, Septimus and Simon in Septimus Heap, Kyle and Ian in The Host)

We Were the Weird Cousins At All the Family Reunions and We’ve Only Gotten Weirder Since (see: Kate and George in Story Time, Jake and Rachel in Animorphs, Po and Bitterblue in Graceling Realm)

#fan fiction #animorphs #animorphs meta #animorphs fic #animorphs fandom #fan meta #fandom #harry potter #avatar the last airbender #ship dynamics #found family #atla #Anonymous #ask #mentoring #i write sibs not romance

192 notes · View notes

katnissmellarkkk · 4 years

Text

Gravity

Hi! Okay, so here’s chapter two of my growing back together story, inspired by the prompt “I won’t hurt you” @rosegardeninwinter sent me. I also posted this fic on AO3 under the title Gravity (like the Sara Bareilles song), if that’s where you prefer to read. And here’s a link to chapter one of this fic if you wanna read and haven’t yet.

Also I know I said in my first author’s note that there will be three chapters, but there might be a bit more.... we love an over-writer, right? 🤷🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

I don’t know if you’re “supposed” to post every part of a multi chapter fic on here? Or just post the link to it on AO3? But for now I posted it in its entirety on here 😊.

Anyways, hope you like it! And thanks to anyone who reads! 💖💖💖

A couple months later.

We slide back after that. I don't know if that night-the night he had a nightmare that I died and we slept locked in each other's embrace-moved too quickly for Peeta or if he thought he was protecting me from him, but when morning light came, he was gone from the bed.

I didn't see him again until the following evening, helping Haymitch feed his rambunctious geese in the yard. He didn't speak to me for four more days after that, and when he did, it was to ask what kind of bread I wanted him to bring for lunch the next day.

I pretended to his face that it didn't hurt. That waking up in a cold, empty bed, in a house he all but abandoned until I had evacuated, that sleeping in his arms and awaking so abruptly alone, didn't hurt. I did what I had taught myself to do as a child and I turned my features into an indifferent mask, shutting off all access to my emotions. Destroying any possibility of anyone witnessing my vulnerabilities.

But I knew deep down, it did hurt. It hurt badly.

I didn't speak to him directly the first week he showed up for lunch and to work on the memory book again. I got by fine without addressing him directly, as Haymitch somehow sensed the bubbling tension between us and stayed sober just enough to remain alert for all our shared meals. He helped with the memory book, helped by adding in a snarky comment here or there to reel our focuses onto him instead of each other.

I wanted to say thank you but I never knew how. I doubt Haymitch needs me to verbalize it anyway. One night, as he follows behind Peeta to leave, his hand grazes my shoulder and gives it a squeeze and I know he's much more aware of the dynamic between his old tributes than he leads on.

But weeks after the night in question, the night that set Peeta and my friendship back months, we receive a telegraph from Effie. A telegraph that shakes the small amount of stability we've managed to build in the time since the war.

Apparently President Paylor has decided to move forward with arena destruction, an idea mentioned a few times by Plutarch on Caesar's talk show. An idea I didn't take seriously until now.

Paylor has decided to build a memorial for each of the arenas, for each year the games ever took place, to immortalize our history, so Panem can never forget how cruel and inhumane things once were. But first, she wants to eliminate the actual Hunger Games arenas, once and for all, before putting the memorials in their place.

My initial thought, months ago when Delly showed me Plutarch and Caesar discussing the idea, was that this would takes years to happen.

I was, once again, so clearly wrong. The plans have been expedited and the order in which each arena will be decimated has been swiftly decided.

All that alone doesn't sound terrible. I'd like to see those death pits crushed, burned, torn down, eradicated, or all of the above, by any means necessary. Only downside, initially, is that this will extend me—and Peeta and potentially all the other victors—remaining in the forefront of the public's mind.

Since the war, all I've ever wanted was for everyone in the country to forget who I am. I don't want to be known anymore. I just want to be left alone, to a quiet and peaceful and relatively simple life, without anyone ever recognizing me again. Without anyone thinking of me as the girl on fire, as the Mockingjay, as the sixteen-year-old who volunteered for a sister who was doomed to death anyway.

But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch.

Plutarch thinks it would be great to have the living victors be there—televised—in the Capitol and see the arenas before they're bulldozed.

Even with this dreadful proposition, I thought I had time to think of a way out of it. When Effie first sent the telegraph, I thought that I would have years before having to worry about going back to the places where my nightmares started.

Well, some of my nightmares, that is.

After all, it takes time to destroy something as large and as vast as an arena-excluding the way I destroyed the one in the Quell, that is. I figured-I rationalized, really-that by the time they got to number Seventy-Four, I would have a solid excuse to get out of attending.

I guess though they wished to start with the big years and the first decade of the Hunger Games wasn't very eventful, apparently—lucky them—so the first arena they wish to bid farewell to is the one from the second Quarter Quell. The Fiftieth Hunger Games. The one that was so strikingly beautiful and almost entirely poisonous.

The year Haymitch Abernathy, from the lowly District Twelve, won.

And being also from Twelve, my presence, along with Peeta's, suddenly became of the utmost importance as well.

At first, I still try to opt out of the event. Even after Effie chastises me over the phone, like not a day has passed since she was my escort, and even after my mother claims in her letter that it could be cathartic for me, I do not relent.

Delly and Thom and a few of the others in the community, like Kanon who runs the candy shop two stores away from the bakery, and Greta, who helps with the dusting and mopping all over town, try to say that it could be good for me. Greasy Sae claims it can't be worse than actually living through the games, and I silently appreciate her much more blatant statement than the comforting platitudes others try to provide me.

But it all falls on deaf ears in the end.

Because the only person I truly listen to is Peeta. Even bitter and wounded, the only person I really hear is him.

Unfortunately, as irritating as it is sometimes, his voice will always reach me when others can't.

But we don't ever have an actual conversation about it. Five days after Effie calls to announce the news, to tell me unequivocally that my presence is requested, Peeta sways me to go with just a look.

He comes over later than usual and brings extra bread and pastries to go with the deer meat I hunted. We feast silently, the air between us still incredibly awkward, when, without warning, our old mentor comes crashing through the door unceremoniously.

I don't know how much alcohol he consumed, but it's enough to knock even someone with Haymitch's tolerance off his feet.

By the end of the hour, the older man is practically beating his head into the wall of my dining room, screaming the names of dead children and about force fields and axes. And from across the kitchen table, Peeta touches my arm—the first time he's voluntarily touched me in weeks—and my eyes meet his, blue pouring into gray, and silently he begs me to go for the goodbye ceremony to Haymitch's arena.

And I give in. Not just for him. But also, in large part, to repay the caustic, miserable drunk that kept us alive. To support the unpredictable, temperamental man that I do consider my family somehow.

The ceremony is set to take place weeks later and the time does little to alleviate my anxiety. Peeta and me still don't speak much, but come time for lunch or dinner, there he is, in my house like clockwork.

When I point out, a few days before we're due at the train station, that there's a very realistic possibility that the Capitol won't let me go to the ceremony, Peeta casually says, "I already cleared that with Effie and Plutarch."

I shoot him a look of surprise. "You did?"

Shrugging nonchalantly before turning back to the rabbit on his plate, he murmurs quietly, "Thought it'd give you one less thing to worry about."

The ceremony is nothing like I expect. Somehow I figured there would be an obnoxiously large television crew, loud speakers, prepared speeches on written cards, awkward directions and crowds upon crowds of people surrounding us, asking pointed questions, shooting invasive stares and pressing for reactions to their nosy accusations. I expected those accusations to be directed at me and Peeta especially.

Instead, there's none of those things. There's no crowd at all, it's just us victors. Just Enobaria, Johanna, Annie, the three of us from Twelve and Beetee—who I still can't make myself so much as look at, reminded of my sister's absence and his role in it every time we so much as stand in five feet vicinity of each other.

The camera crew consists of Mitchell, Pollux and Cressida, along with two unfamiliar, but seemingly non-threatening faces. There's no directions, no prompting, not close ups or reshoots.

All that happens is Paylor makes a statement that the crew films, stating that the arenas will be destroyed one by one, and in the place of each there will be an individual memorial made, as we victors stand in an unorganized, crooked line that will surely make Effie cringe when she sees the footage on television later.

It's almost peaceful, I think to myself in surprise, as I look around at the location. The sky is a stunning cobalt, even more brilliant in person than in the video Peeta and I watched on the train so long ago. The meadow looks like the grass is fresh, like it was just watered yesterday. The mountain is so breathtaking I have to physically tear my eyes away from it and even the woods look rather cozy. Or maybe that part is just me.

There's also arraignments of flowers, just like in the footage we watched, that spill every which way, filling our noses with soothing, floral scents. It feels unnatural to say about a place set up for murder, but with the deadly poisons lurking at every turn eviscerated, I almost can find this arena truly beautiful.

Of course though, it's not my arena.

It's Haymitch's and he looks like he's about to be sick. He's white-knuckled it for a few days without any sort of drink—to my, Peeta's and, even Effie's, visible shock—and I can see plainly now that he's absolutely regretting it. His eyes are hallow and wild at the same time and I can see his shaking palms beneath the sleeves of his jacket as he stares out at the source of his every nightmare for the last quarter century.

It shocks me that he didn't find a way out of this. Actually, it shocks me still that these ceremonies are even possible.

I never knew they kept arenas after the games were over each year. I never realized they kept all seventy-four death pits, haunted by child sacrifice, the way you keep old vases on a shelf.

At this point though, it's just another thing to add onto the growing list of horrific and unthinkable issues that the Capitol doesn't even grasp. Keeping the haunted graveyards of children as souvenirs shouldn't sit right with anyone, I don't care how you're raised.

I tell myself to not be so quick to judge, as I can't know who I'd be if I had been born in the Capitol instead of the districts. Still, the idea of condoning the things they have without remorse or shame seems unthinkable.

I'm torn out of my thoughts when Cressida speaks. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Haymitch, before we finish filming?"

Once again, catching me off-guard entirely—he's full of all sorts of surprises evidently—Haymitch clears his throat and looks down at his leather boots before speaking. "Ardor. Garnett. Dolan. Silver. Ryker. Artemis. Slayte. Pistol. Lex. Mac. Lumen. Gig. Brook. Aqua. Mary. Ripley. Lyme. Watt. Rocky. Gio. Belle. Raven. Kia. Mecko. Barker. Jack. Holly. Briar. Essie. Stitch. Coco. Paul. Mira. Miller. Coop. Harvey. Butch. Cutter. Bea. Skinna. Basil. Sunny. Rip. Spring. Oaker. Terra. Maysilee." He lists off the names in a way that is so matter-of-fact that it would almost be robotic if it weren't for the hoarseness in his tone that grows stronger with every name he utters. He hesitates for only a moment before adding, "Corentine. Alannah. Alastar."

There's a long stretch of silence, where no one speaks, no one blinks, no one even breathes. We all know instinctively who these people are—I know solely from Maysilee Donner's name being called—but we still wait until Haymitch speaks again, to confirm our assumption.

"Those are the names of all the people this arena killed." His eyes grow glassy and his brow furrows in anger as he fights desperately to repress his emotions, and suddenly I have the strangest urge to hug my mentor, to make him feel better like he tried to do for me once when Peeta was stuck in the Capitol and I was distraught. But I know it wouldn't be appreciated or wanted, and quite honestly I'm glad for that, because I don't even know what to say.

The last three names Haymitch said stick in my head for some reason I can't explain other than an odd gut feeling. But then he speaks again, an in a voice growing gruffer by the second, he says right into the camera, "that's every single person who was killed because of the second Quarter Quell."

And, like I should have known all along, it hits me the last three names are the names of his family who were murdered to punish him for the stunt with the forcefield.

The last three names are the murders of the last people he loved. Until me and Peeta came along.

As if his thoughts matched mine, Haymitch suddenly shakes his head and his eyes widen again as he stares past all the rest of us, as he continues to take in the exact place in which life as he knew it, twenty-six years ago, was altered forever.

His reaction is more understandable and genuine than I imagined he would ever allow it to be, especially on camera, and I want to say something but me and him both aren't good at saying anything, and I find myself looking to Peeta, hoping he'd know what to do.

Peeta doesn't meet my gaze though. He's solely focused on our mentor and just when he opens his mouth to speak, the older man to suddenly shake his head in our general direction and clears his throat.

"I'm done. Tell Plutarch I'm done with this crap. Just hurry up and bulldoze this place so I can go back to Twelve," is all he says to Cressida as he storms off, but his voice is rough and caustic once again, and I can only hope he recovers from this event soon enough.

Somehow, witnessing Haymitch relive his games, even through the shield he so obviously puts up to the outside world, triggers me though. For some reason, I feel my eyes begin to water as I look around at the meadow, at the mountain, at the golden cornucopia, and wonder how anyone could build a place where kids would eventually go to die? How could anyone have ever been so inhumane? How could a country just accept it? How did we live for so long with the Hunger Games overtaking our lives and still remained complicit? I don't understand. The more time passes, the more days I'm separated from the war and from the old world and the old way of life, I just can't comprehend anymore how we ever lived in a place so horrific.

I feel my eyes spill over and I'm grateful that Cressida has stopped filming already, because if Plutarch saw any tears on film, he would make certain it ended up on television.

I wipe my tears with the heel of my hand, trying to go about it as subtly as I can, hoping no one else notices. For the most part, I'm golden. Enobaria is already exiting, with Beetee following not far behind. Jo's back is to me while she speaks to Annie, though as per usual, she seems to be irritated.

Of course, it's too much to ask for everyone to remain oblivious to my waterworks. Even as I rid myself of them before they become widely noticeable, I feel Peeta's eyes train on me and know, despite the distance between us for the last few weeks, he isn't going to ignore my upset.

To my surprise though, he doesn't speak. He doesn't utter a single syllable.

Instead, I feel his large, warm palm slip into mine and squeeze tightly, lacing our fingers together, in a way we have done thousands of times before. Like two puzzle pieces coming together to complete a picture, like two indivisible teammates that will fight against anything that is thrown their way, like two halves of a whole finally finding each other, his hand grasps mine with a vengeance and I know I won't be the one who let's go.

He's still holding my hand when we board the train, hours later.

A couple weeks later.

"Yes, Mrs. Greenstead, I will get the chocolate nut loaf and a platter of the cranberry cookies wrapped up for you... Yes, it will be ready by the time you arrive... No, I promise they won't be cold," Peeta assures through the bakery telephone—a new addition that Thom and his wife thought was necessary to run a proper bakery. So necessary they bought it for Peeta as an opening gift.

It's not that the gesture wasn't nice or that Peeta didn't deeply appreciate it. I personally saw that he did, wholeheartedly.

But seeing it on the wall every day was just another reminder to me of my own personal vendetta against the integration between the Capitol's way of life and the districts'.

The only place telephones used to exist, outside of the Capitol limits, was the houses in Victor's Villiage, and if I'm being honest, I wish it would have stayed that way.

Maybe I'm being selfish, as I happen to still reside inside a house that once belonged to the said village, therefore I already had experienced this luxury prior to the new world. But I just can't make myself break the association between the items that had recently become readily available for all and the horror that was the Capitol.

Still though, the change was inescapable Telephones, cameras, heating pads, curling irons, quick bake ovens, cars and so many other items, were all growing in popularly across each district. Not that I was able to see a lot of these changes personally. But letters from Annie and my mom, and the occasional—unprompted and yet still begrudged—call from Jo, all kept me informed. Sometimes more informed than I wished to be.

Maybe I would feel entirely different if these inventions were brand new to me. But they aren't. I'd seen and used every one of them before. Their novelty had always been lost on me, perhaps because my only experience them was while inside the Capitol, surrounded by tacky colors and strong rose scents and itchy materials, headed for a death match, my life and the lives of those I cared always at great risk.

Of course, the new item in the bakery did make some things easier. Days like today are a perfect example.

Harvest Day is only one day away and everyone is coming in for their breads and their desserts. Peeta says it was always one of the most popular days, for as long as he can remember. Only difference is, before the war only Peacekeepers and town folks could afford to purchase anything. And generally, most citizens who even did come in, could only purchase a limited amount of items.

Not now. I don't know where everyone in Twelve was coming up with the money or if Peeta's prices are just a drastic drop from that of his mother's, but today, I swear I've seen every citizen in town inside the bakery.

Makes me glad that the portrait of me is hanging in the back, where no one else can see it. As pretty as it may be, as talented as Peeta is, I don't want a giant version of me displayed for all to see.

"Here you are," I politely say, handing two loaves of warm bread to a man who must be new to Twelve, as I've never seen him before. I'm debating on asking if he moved here recently when he passes a bill to me over the top of the pastry display.

"Thank you, hon." He smiles at me, looking at me a little too closely for my liking, as he swiftly walks out the door. His exit is met with the arrival of Val, a boy Peeta and I went to school with, who definitely was more Peeta's crowd than mine.

Val is a regular customer at the bakery, having always genuinely liked the Mellark family. His parents owned a small carpentry shop four spaces down from the bakery, and even with both them dead, he and his two sisters rebuilt the store, taking over their parents' legacy.

Peeta though is more focused on me now than Val's order. "Give me a second," he calls to his old friend, a little less polite than he had been all morning. "Katniss, what's wrong?" He asks urgently, seeing the look in my eyes.

I shake my head and push away the anxiety threatening to close in on me. "Nothing, just..." I hesitate, not even wanting to say it. Peeta's gaze refuses to lessen though and I sigh before finally mumbling, "That guy. He creeped me out. The way he was looking at me so closely..."

Peeta's hand touches my arm for a brief moment before pulling it away, making it obvious that he regrets the small act of even so much as touching me. But his words are still calming and they relax me a little. "He's gone now, Katniss. And if he scares you, I won't let him come back, okay? There's nothing anyone can do to you or me anymore. We're safe."

I nod, knowing the words like the back of my hand at this point, as it's the same mantra we always repeat to each other, every time one of us begins to panic or flail. But still, I open my mouth to refuse his offer. I don't want Peeta to turn away any sort of business. Not with the unpredictability and uncertainty this new world still rests on. We never know if the bakery will sell anything tomorrow or if all sort of income will soon dry up.

And we're the lucky ones, financially speaking, who were rich before the war and allowed—in a generous declaration by President Paylor—to keep the entirety of our money after. I don't have to imagine the anxiety others in the country must be in, knowing the curse of poverty all too well. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone.

"I don't want you to turn away people," I say quietly. "Not on my account. You need business to keep this place afloat."

"I have plenty of money, Katniss," he reminds me, a little darker than I expect. "And I'd rather you feel safe than own a popular shop."

His words unexpectedly touch me, unexpectedly cut right down to the depth of my bones, exposing my soft underbelly. I'm about to do something stupid, like touch his hand, when Val makes his presence known again. "Your shop is already the most popular in the district," he points out, not even a little ashamed for having listened to our conversation. "And besides, why don't you just look at the guy's name? Maybe you can look him up, see if he's alright or not."

Peeta gets a glint in his eye. "That's a good idea, Val, thank you." As he moves towards the register to, I can only suppose, look for the man's receipt with his name and signature, he gestures to his school friend. "Katniss can get your order."

I shoot him a glare, only half kidding. I did come to help out, here and there, today but I did not intend to be an actual expected employee. For free, no less.

Instead of saying anything though, I just grab Val his three cinnamon rolls, his two snack cakes, four bagels, white chocolate donut and a loaf with raisins and cranberries.

Val, like Delly Cartwright, was always one of the few people in Twelve who had a few pounds to spare.

Peeta has a type of friend.

"Found it," Peeta now calls, bringing over a slip of paper to where I'm handing Val his three bags of treats. "His name was Rod Catamaran."

Me and Val, for the first time perhaps, exchange a look between us. "That's an odd name for Twelve."

"I've never even heard that name before."

"He may not even be from Twelve, guys," Peeta says.

I roll my eyes. "Because a bombed out district is really a tourist attraction."

"Hey, none of that," Thom calls as he walks through the front door of the bakery, with Kanon Bagley on his heels. "We've rebuilt this place beautifully and negativity is not appreciated here."

"Yeah, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, teasing me. I'm about to kick him in his only real leg, as we're the only two behind the counter and no one else will see, when Kanon speaks up.

"Can I buy a couple of pastries?"

"Of course," Peeta says kindly, walking around me to personally grab the two items Kanon requests.

Kanon is new to Twelve. One of the few new additions this place gained after all that went down. He's a large man in his early twenties, with dark skin and dark hair and eyes to match. But the only times I've ever interacted with him, he's quiet as a mouse, his eyes a little forlorn at all times and he offers more discounts then he should at the candy shop he recently opened next to the bakery.

He's from District Eleven originally and it takes no real critical thinking to realize he had a hard life, even before the war.

I'm far too familiar with the look of scars etched across the eyes. So is Peeta.

That's why, when Kanon looks down at the money in his hand and realizes he doesn't have enough to afford both pastries, Peeta immediately brushes it off. "That's okay, they're on the house," he instantly promises, handing the small bag over to Kanon with a gentle smile.

"No, I don't want to take it without-"

"I made way too much," Peeta insists, lying outright to make it appear Kanon would be doing him a favor. I know he didn't make too much, because we've been flying through everything today and keeping the ovens hot in case more is needed.

Still though, I back up the fib. "He did. We've been wondering all day how we were gonna sell enough stuff so we don't have to feed the leftovers to Haymitch's geese."

Kanon glances between us shyly, before taking the bag from Peeta's hand and slipping the few dollars he does have into his pocket again. "Thank you," he says softly and turns to leave.

Thom pats Kanon on the back as he passes him, before turning to follow. When the other man isn't looking, he turns back to us subtly and mouths, "thank you."

I wanted to tell him not to thank me. I only watched Peeta make this food, I didn't assist by any stretch of the imagination. I didn't own the bakery or do anything with the money or finances. It was not my choice to give things away for free.

But I'm far too focused on the boy in front of me to say any of that. The boy with the bread, the boy who isn't really a boy anymore. The boy who just gave away food for no reward at all, even on the most demanding and strenuous day all year for his business. The boy who just showed Kanon Bagley the same kindness I begged someone-anyone-to show me at eleven-years-old and not one single person did.

Except for him. He did for me all those years ago what he did for Kanon just now, and I suddenly have the most inexplicable, irrepressible urge to kiss Peeta right then and there, in the middle of the bakery.

I don't, however, and it's for once not because I lost my courage. It's because the door swings open again, just as Val exits right behind Kanon and Thom.

It's the same man from earlier. "Hi," Peeta greets, this time not at all sweet. Clearly recognizing the man as the one who made me nervous before. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," the man affirms, his tone brighter than you'd expect given our chilly reception. And our blatant wariness for anyone new. "I forgot to get a pecan butter cake before?"

There is a beat where me and Peeta exchange a look, before I awkwardly move towards the display case and begin to pack up his item. Peeta waits for me to decide to help the man before starting to ring him up.

"That was a nice thing you both just did," the man says as he patiently watches me fold the white waxy paper over his pastry. "For that guy."

"You were watching?" Is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Only for a moment," he explains, his tone still friendly. Either he doesn't know how to read people at all or he's the most even keeled person in Panem.

Because I know I'm being rude, to a man who maybe doesn't even deserve it, I force myself to say one thing conversational. "This is my mom's favorite dessert," I offer, gesturing to his cake.

The man raises his eyebrows in an act that looks almost feigned. "Really?"

I instantly regret trying to be even slightly pleasant. Even his mannerisms seem fake. I'm contemplating if I should say anything else or go hide in the back room with the warm ovens and my portrait, when Peeta presses a button and the register dings.

He's about to say the total when the strange man shakes his head and hands to me directly an unfamiliar bill over the display case. "Have a nice day, you two," he calls, grabbing his cake and swiftly walking out.

It's not until he's gone, not until I have a moment to process the second weird encounter with the odd person, that I even glance down at the crisp bill he handed me.

It's a bill with a larger number on the back than I've ever personally seen before. I knew these kinds of dollars existed—I'm sure I could have gotten plenty after my first games—but I'd never seen one in the flesh.

Peeta sees my reaction. "What is it?" His voice sounds alarmed and he's stepping closer to me, but all I can do is gasp out his name.

"Peeta, look." I hold up the bill and point to the number on the back.

His eyes widen too, taking in the amount with a dizzy smile. Of both relief that nothing's wrong and excitement at the digit.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" I ask suddenly, looking over my shoulder towards the window, wondering if we should track the man down and give him his money back, before he evaporates into thin air.

"No?" Peeta shakes his head, the wheels in his mind turning quicker than mine. His face turns to that of elation, as the large bill takes some pressure off the bakery's sales. "No, he said he saw us give Kanon a break. He was giving us something in return."

I'm about to say something else, I don't even know what, but it all flies out of my head when Peeta suddenly wraps his arms around my waist and swiftly pulls me into his embrace.

My entire body goes into lockdown and hypervigilance at the same time. I can't move an inch but it feels like every nerve in my body is abruptly tingling and on fire.

My sweater lifts up slightly and his bare arms graze my lower back, eliciting a shiver to run involuntarily down my spine as his face buries into my hair.

I wrap my arms around his neck after a beat when I can make myself move again, and I feel him smile against my skin. I'm so glad at that moment he's holding me up, because if he wasn't supporting my weight I'd probably crash to the floor, unable to even feel my legs beneath me.

And, as a rush of heat shoots out from the place where Peeta's lips brush my collarbone, I suddenly feel only gratitude, not irritation, at the strange Rod Catamaran.

Four days later.

The world surrounding me is green. Green and brown and fire-bitten and scorched. Every which way I spin, there's embers soaring from that direction too, waiting to lick me with their burning flames, ready to decimate me once and for all.

But through the smoke and haze, I still can see between the trees two blonde braids. I still can see a small figure standing on the other side of the fire. I still can see her shirt that's come untucked in the back, creating a duck tail that I desperately want to fix.

Just as I notice her, she whirls around to face me, her blue eyes big and bright and terrified. "Katniss!" She screams, the same way she did the last day she was alive. "Katniss, help! They're coming!"

I don't know who's coming or what's happening or where we even are, but all I feel is relief somehow. Relief that she's here, that I'm in her presence again, that she's almost within my reach. Instinctively I call out, "Prim!" Just so I can finally get a response to the name I've been shouting into oblivion for almost a year now.

"Katniss, help me!" She cries again and then looks over her shoulder. She's not talking about the fire between us, as it doesn't seem too intent on heading towards her.

I don't know what's coming or who she's afraid of, but my instincts now go into overdrive. My body suddenly snaps into alert and I whip my head around, to see if I can find an opening in the fire closing in on me, if I can find a way to get to the sister I lost what feels like only yesterday, if I can find a way to save her this time.

There's no gap in the fire though. It's crowded around me, front, back and side to side. The more seconds that pass by, the closer the fire folds into my proximity, and I have to brace myself before making a split-second decision.

But it's not really a decision at all. Prim needs me and I cannot fail her. I have to save her this time.

I take a bold step directly into the fire, with every intention of running through it somehow. Of running past the wild embers, scorching myself no doubt, but still making it over to my distressed, frightened little sister. But it doesn't work like I expect.

But really, does anything?

These flames are nothing like the fires I've encountered before. And I've been around more fire in my life than anyone ever should.

No, these flames don't burn me. They don't hurt me or put me through agony or singe me to pieces. They don't melt off my makeshift coat of skin and they don't further decimate it either.

Instead the fire feels like almost nothing. Like something almost itchy, something almost irritating, something almost painful. Something that make me want to squirm and scream and escape all at the same time.

Which is real ironic considering what else it seems these flames do.

They seem to hold me into place. The second I'm in their hold, instead of the horrific pain I thought I'd be in, I'm trapped in a series of almost nothing.

I'm not in excruciating pain physically, but seeing my sister standing ten feet from me, and not being able to move any closer, not being able to protect her from whatever she's terrified of, is worse than any amount of injury this fire could have inflicted.

"Katniss!" Prim screams now, her voice only growing in its frantic nature. "Help! Why won't you come help me?"

I try to scream, try to tell her I want to but I can't move. But it turns out that these flames also paralyze vocal muscles.

"Peeta's dying!" Prim yelps out, looking behind her again, her hands beginning to shake in a way she almost never let them in life. She always tried to keep it together, to remain calm and rational in a crisis.

Her words elicit something entirely new inside of me though. "Peeta?" I yell in confusion, my voice suddenly no longer paralyzed.

"They're killing him! Katniss, please, why won't you come here? We need you!" Prim is close to hysterical now and frankly, so am I.

"I'm trying! I just," I move my hands down my body, trying to push the flames away as they rises up to my chest, trying to just break free from these fiery chains once and for all. "The fire, Prim! I can't get out of the fire."

Prim's voice drops then, loses all source of fear, every ounce of panic. Loses any semblance of emotion. "Katniss, there is no fire," she states blankly, her eyes looking directly at the embers covering my stomach and legs. "There's nothing there."

I just look at her for a moment, completely speechless. Her words are inconceivable, her eyes are haunted now, her facial expression is unrecognizable. Even her voice doesn't sound like hers anymore.

Before I can comprehend what's happening, in the distance a gunshot goes off.

Prim delicately glances over her shoulder now, her blue eyes cold as ice. "He's dead," she informs clinically, before sighing deeply, her tone almost disappointed. "And so am I."

I don't know what happens next or how it occurs, but I fly upwards in my bed with such a start, I give myself whiplash.

I hear a loud screeching noise hanging in the air, a hoarse trepidation that almost makes me feel better. I don't know why but someone else screaming in the middle of the night gives me hope, as sick as that may be.

Only it's not someone else, I realize, as my throat burns raw. I realize with startling clarity that I'm the only making all the noise. I'm the one shaking so tremendously. I'm the one who is sobbing.

"Shhh," a voice whispers against the darkness, and I flail involuntarily at the shock. "Sorry, sorry," Peeta instantly apologizes, his hands gripping my arms with a little too much intensity, trying to still my shaking. "It's okay, Katniss, you were just having a nightmare."

His words do precious little to calm me down though. "She was there," I cry, the image, the feeling, of Prim standing only ten feet from me and not being able to reach her too painful for me to unsee.

"Who was there?" He asks tenderly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Katniss, breathe."

I don't even bother listening to his advise. I haven't exhaled since I was eleven. "Prim was there. She was begging me to save her and then I couldn't, I was trapped but-but," I cut myself off, unable to form coherent words and thoughts any longer.

Peeta gets the gist though. "Come here," he whispers and pulls me into his arms, like he used to on the train, when my nightmares woke us both three times a night. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says softly now, and rubs my back in a way that elicits goosebumps. His way of trying to soothe my shaking. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You died too," I blurt out then. I don't even know why I feel inclined to tell him.

"What?"

"I was stuck and I couldn't speak and then Prim said you were going to die and I got scared enough that I could talk again and I thought-I thought," I stumble breathlessly, my tears pouring out against his shoulder now.

I feel his lips touch my cheek and I'm too upset to revel in the feeling of blood rushing there. "It was just a nightmare," he promises.

But my sentiment is unfinished. "I thought I could break free, that I could-"

"Katniss," he halts, still holding me in his embrace, rocking me slightly. "It wasn't real. I promise you, it wasn't real."

Those words, the words so often said to him by me, ring a bell that I didn't want to ring. It snaps me back into reality abruptly and without warning, I feel like my chest is going to collapse.

Because this means Prim wasn't really there, that she still is as dead as she was yesterday, that I still watched her explode into pieces all over the bombsite in the Capitol.

I still failed to protect her.

Peeta pulls back slightly then and rests his forehead against mine. "It's okay, Katniss," he says again, trying to calm my trembles by rubbing my arms up and down.

"How are you in my house?" I realize, with an intense sudden clarity. "How are you here? Are you real or am I still-"

He quickly puts me out of my misery. "You gave me a key, remember? A long time ago? We gave each other keys to our houses."

Oh. Right. I forgot all about that when he had his nightmare, didn't I?

Good thing he's an idiot who keeps his door unlocked at night.

He's explaining further before I can think to ask. "I heard you having a nightmare from my house. That's why I rushed over here."

I'm caught between embarrassment and gratitude. "Sorry, I really don't know what brought it on."

"Hey," he quietly reprimands, lifting my chin now to meet eye contact. "Don't apologize. No one understands nightmares like me."

I nod, accepting his words, though still a little uncomfortable with screaming for all the district to hear at two in the morning.

Then again, our entire neighborhood is Haymitch and the two of us, and our mentor was drinking like a fish last night so really, the only person who could have heard me is already sitting directly in my eye line.

To punctuate his words, when I don't respond verbally, he lifts my hand up and brings it to his lips tenderly.

And I don't know what comes over me or why. I don't know if it's because we've been growing closer again lately or if I just haven't felt his arms around me since days ago in the bakery and I miss the feel of it desperately, but I find myself abruptly throwing my body around his before I can talk myself out of it.

He catches me easily, like he anticipated my reaction and sways me for a long moment, until my breathing begins to even itself out.

"Will you stay?" I rasp into his neck, as I feel his hand tangles in my matted locks.

"Always."

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #everlark fic #fanfic #prompt #everlark fanfic #fanfiction #growing back together #userreese #i think thats what you meant when you said to tag you????#gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖

48 notes · View notes

sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

Text

Life After Snowpiercer: Dragging Up The Past

Summary- 8.1k Curtis x You. Matt’s escaped and Curtis goes with a team to search for them. You figure you could talk to Edgar, maybe make him understand the circumstances of the past. Warnings- mentions of cannibalism, Smut, violence, swearing, all that good stuff.

A/N- The Story of Edgar’s Mom can be read in Past Horrors

Chapter 12 / Masterlist

Curtis was followed closely by Johanna, who was listening to all he was saying. “Get the council together, tell them Matt’s escaped. I'm going to find Edgar now. I will meet up with them in the office.” The woman faltered, her eyes wide as she looked at him. “Escaped? Escaped how?”

I wish I knew…

He shrugged at her and kept going, heading right to Edgar’s quarters while Johanna went to let the other three council members know. Once Curtis reached Edgar’s rooms, he knocked on the door softly to hear a rumbling ‘Come in’ Without announcing himself, he stepped in to find Edgar stretched on his back, his arm over his eyes as if blocking out the daylight filling the room. Once he lifted to see it was Curtis his pained look turned dark and enraged, even hatred filling the features of his young face.

“Get the fuck out Curtis, ya fuckin’ shite.” He pushed himself up, reaching for a knife. Curtis was quicker, crowding into him, his hand wrapped around his wrist to keep him from going for the knife, other hand at Edgar’s neck, holding him at arms length, well away from kicking feet and flying fists.

“Just answer me Edgar and I will leave you alone, okay? You can do that much right?” Curtis tried to say calmly as possible. Edgar was shooting daggered looks at him, trying to pry his grip off, his throat, wrangle his arm out of Curtis’s hold. “What the fuck ya want murder?” Slowly releasing him, Curtis backed off, his hands held up to show he wasn't armed, didn't want to fight. “Matt’s gone, please Edgar, tell me you didn't let him go Man?”

“What? Course I didn’t, I’m not fuckin’ stupid Curtis. I know he’s a murdering son of a bitch. I would never let him go.”

Curtis let out a breath of air in relief, he should have known, but Edgar was beyond angry at him, which he was rightly so. “What do ya mean he's gone?” Edgar questioned next.

“The locks were undone and everything, you were the last one to see him before…” Curtis shrugged and Edgar gave him a look.

“Ya, how do I know you didn't let him go? Hunt him down, kill him in cold blood? Sounds like something you would do.” Edgar snarked while sitting on his bed. “Now get out before I rethink my decision NOT to stab you in the face.”

“You really think that?” Curtis asked him incredulously, and Edgar glared at him.

“Ya, I fuckin’ do.” his accent rolling off his tongue the angrier he got. “Don't think I haven't forgotten you turning your back on me in the tunnels either Curtis. This, is what happens to those around you isn't it. They get hurt. My ma, me, Grey, Tonya, hell even through you, Y/N got hurt didn't she? Ya think they targeted her cause she was just some pretty looking tail ender in the back? No Curtis, they went after her cause she fucks around with you.” Curtis’s gut sank the more Edgar spoke, its black ideas clouding his mind, cause somewhere deep down, he believed every word. “You probably let Matt go so you could hunt him down yourself… The only reason he isn't dead now is cause Y/N begged you not to.” Edgar’s chin lifted a notch, challenging Curtis to deny it.

He couldn't, cause it was true. Without a word, he left and slammed the metal train door behind him. Edgar smirked in anger, knowing he had hit a nerve with him. “Thought so.”

Curtis tried to shake Edgar’s words, but the bloomed through his mind until he believed it. That wasn’t going to stop him from hunting Matt down, and when he re entered the sleeping quarters you were curled up in the chair, unfolding when you saw him. “Curtis, is it true?”

“Yes, it is. He's gone, along with a weapon and the keys.” He started to pull on more clothes, and prying open the closet door in the room, he brought out the ax he originally brought in there. Your eyes widened seeing his preparations, even pulling out his long jacket that came from the tail end.

“What are you doing?” You tried to block him to answer you, gently but firmly, he silently made you step aside. “Curtis! Answer me! Where are you going?”

“We have to go get him Babygirl, all of them. Not just Matt. If we don't, they are just going to attack again.”

You shake your head, and try to make him pause once more. “No, we can’t possibly know that. What are they going to survive on? Curtis, would you stop?” Your voice picked up, trying to make him take notice of you. Everything was just starting to go right for all of you, things for you and Curtis were heading back to normal. You didn’t want to loose him again to the madness, why did it have to be him? “Why does it have to be you?” Finally you come to the point you wanted to make, taking a shuddering breath. “Haven’t you done enough? You got us here, let someone else take this, do this.”

That made Curtis pause, you could see the haunch in his shoulders, the way his back lifted when he took a shuddering breath, saying so softly that it barely registered with you what he was saying. “Cause this is what I do.”

You're shaking your head, confused as to what he means, stepping up behind him and laying your hand against his quivering back, your brows furrowed in your concern. “You're not a killer Curtis.” Then he turned around and crowded you, backing you into the wall, his hands caging you in on each side and glittering cold blue eyes were inches from yours, his hot breath fanning your face.

“Are you sure Babygirl? Because killing is awful easy for me. I take what I want, damn the consequences. Don’t lie to yourself, you're tied to a killer. It’s really all i’m good at.”

Your breathing picks up as does your heartbeat in your chest, cause in this second it wasn't your Curtis, but a man who looks to be at the end of his tolerance. Your voice stutters slightly, shaking your head, at him and yourself. This was Curtis, and he would not hurt you.

“That's not true Curtis, you are not.” Your hands come up to press and fist your hands into his shirt, one last effort to keep him from leaving once more into bloodshed. “Just last night you were nothing but gentle and caring with me, putting me back together. That is not what a killer does.” You stressed, and he slammed his hands against the metal walls, making you flinch but not break your hold from him.

“Great deceiver I am. Open your eyes, Y/N. Its time you saw me for what I really am.” Gripping your chin, he kissed you with an anger stinging your lips you’ve never felt, and it made you gasp, trying to pull your head away when he crowded into you further, crushing you between him and the wall. There was no way for you to pull away from him and you gave a fearful whine against his mouth. He had never made you feel helpless, but you did here. The length of his body crushing you into the wall was solid, heavy, and familiar. But it was dangerous, his anger and stress making him hard and unyielding. Even his cock pressed hard and demanding against the softness of your stomach, there was no escaping him if he took more. Not even before the revolt was he like this. It sparked a fear in you that made your heart race.

When he pulled away, his own eyes shining a bit too much, he yanked himself away from you, leaving you behind to sink to the floor, and drop your head to your knees as you listened to his boots thudding down the aisle and further away from you. You’ve never felt so alone as you did right now. You didn't know what he had planned, what was going to happen. Your heart ached for your man thinking himself a monster that you knew he wasn't.

How could you just leave her?, Curtis thought to himself, hefting the ax over his shoulder as he stalked down the length of the train, the passengers he passed were quick to move away from him. Right now everything about him screamed killer, a man of walking death. Because I was out of control, and was going to just take her, hurt her. Shame flared in his cheeks that he really wanted to break you, make you tell him he was right, that Edgar was right, really proving that he was in fact, a monster to his girl. Blowing out a breath of air, he recomposed himself while going to meet with the other council members.

Curtis wasted no time, explaining what had happened, to the best of his knowledge to the other council members, and it was a unanimous vote that a team needed to go after Matt, right away, as well as those aiding him. “They are dangerous.” The Doctor said, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. “Do we bring them back alive though? Were not killers.” The healer in him at war with what was going on, he knew they would always be in danger from this group of renegades, but his instincts were to preserve life, not destroy it.

Curtis was leaning against a wall, lost in thought. “We can't really keep them alive either though, not with the danger they possess. They are still loyal to Wilford, and most likely that isn’t going to change.”

John and Margit kept quiet for now, but it was Margit who spoke up. The woman usually kept calm and collected during any of these meetings. “I say we let there victims decide there fate. Many of the women they attacked are still traumatized from there attacks.” Curtis lifted his gaze, clearly now his thoughts were on you, and last night how after you two made love, the way you look so relieved, so shocked that you still were able to feel any kind of pleasure in sex. “Maybe giving them this chance to decide what happens will ease there minds. That they are in control of it all, not there rapists and murders.”

The rest of the group nodded, and Curtis was able to agree to that. John moved to a stand, looking at Curtis. “I will go with you, help you bring them in. I know Johanna has offered, as well as several others.” Curtis nodded and pushed off from the wall, picking up the ax he had brought with him.

“Lets not waste anymore time then.” The two men headed out while the Doctor and Margit sighed, the deed heavy and they were glad they weren't the ones going out to hunt them down and bring them in. When the group gathered, Curtis picking up from where the tracks were frozen in the ground and they set off, hoping that the wind hadn't already blown them away. You watched from your window as they got smaller, hugging your arms around yourself, a soft frown etched on your face, and when they were finally out of sight, nothing but white landscape again, you turned away.

You needed to go talk to Edgar, this anger fueling Curtis was guilt from the past. Maybe if you could explain what happened, why it all went down as it did, that it wasn't just Curtis. It was all of you, everyone locked in the tail end going to a point of no return for survival. Maybe he could forgive Curtis, and then Curtis too could see that he wasn't the monster he believed himself to be. With resolve, you went to find him.

Matt trudged along, frozen now. He couldn’t feel his feet, his hands or his face. All of it frozen as he tried covering himself as much as he could with the jacket he had taken from the kid, cursing out his foul mood. “Why couldn't you all just take a closer train car? Fuck I got the keys, we could break right into there storage and just take all the weapons.” He muttered, and the ex guard whipped around to glare at him. “Listen Matt, your not in charge anymore, okay? Get off your fucking high horse why don’t you. Know how we’ve survived undetected by them? Cause were not right under their noses.” With that, he continued on, leaving Matt shivering and cussing him out before he started forward again, huffing.

“Well are we at least close? I think I got frostbite. Would you lose your toes if they have frostbite?” and the man before him shrugged.

“Sucks for you then. Were almost there.” he started to inspect the remaining train cars at the very end, till he rounded the one he was looking for, and swung up to grab the handle on the side and climb in, reaching back to grab Matt’s and haul him in. It was much warmer to Matt’s relief as the collected bodies and small fire warmed the enclosed space. Matt hurriedly went to the fire and started to peel off his shoes and socks to see the damage done. “You all been living here?” he asked as he looked around. It was much further in the tail end then hes been to in years, and the conditions showed it. Imagining it was pretty bad before even the train crashed. Bunks lined the walls, and they were piled with some blankets that looked pretty thin and rough, what looked to be garbage strewn into the corners of the car, and filth. So much filth, Matt shuddered to think what it could have possibly been at one time.

“Not like there’s a fucking Bed and Breakfast down the road.” the man grunted, letting his hands move over the fire to warm them back up.

“Wilford always told us you were going to take over once he passed.” Eric looked Matt up and down from across the flames, seeming to take him in. Other men came up, all as menacing as him. “ Wilford is gone, and we cant just go to join Curtis and his group.”

“No, after what you all did to Y/N and the others you really cant.” Matt said matter of fact. “That’s why they need to be killed. Curtis, the little council of leaders they made, those loyal to them. My sister. And I can help you. I know where they have shit stored. Please tell me Eric you all have weapons.”

“Not many, but we've been gathering supplies where we can.”

Matt pressed a hand to his forehead, and moved his socks and shoes closer to the flames. “You have anything that can possibly be used?”

“Barely, like I just fucking said. But, some of us are going scouting. If we were where I think we are, we’re not far from an actual city. There will be plenty of supplies if we search hard enough for them.” He jerked to a stand, leaving Matt kneeling by the fire.

“We're leaving tonight. I got some more clothes you can put on.” Eric grunted while he went to go dig through piles on a nearby bunk.

“I'm not going anywhere!” Matt huffed, trying to warm his feet up with vigorous rubbing. Eric tossed him extras of everything.

“But you are, Wilford trained you to be the next leader, and I am your appointed bodyguard should anything have happened. Understood? This is what the Boss wanted.”

Warily Matt stuffed his feet into dry socks. This entire time since he was taken from the tail end as a child, he corrupted himself for survival. Apparently Eric corrupted himself for Loyalty.

“I promise, Curtis and every one of those loyal fuckers to him will be dead.”

Matt didn't even try to hide the cold grin on his face as he pushed up to a stand, take out Curtis, take out the main problem. Now Matt was completely on board with this plan.

You went to Edgar’s room, and it was ajar, able to peek in to see him laying on his bed, arm slung over his eyes as if combating a headache.

“Edgar, are you okay?” you ask softly as you ease the door open. He didn't even bother to lift his arm when he responded.

“Go away Y/N, I have nothing more to say to any of ya’s today.”

Taking a deep breath, you ignored his request, stepping in and closing the door behind you, not wanting others to hear any of this.

“Edgar, you know I can't just leave you. Do you need some aspirin? I have some.” Reaching into your coat pocket, you felt around, searching for the tablets you knew you kept on you.

“No, I don’t want your fucking medicine Y/N.”

Your fingers closed around them, and you set them on the table, before moving to sit in a chair in the room.

“I know you're upset Edgar…”

“Upset?!” the younger man flipped around to a sit, his face laced with anger and betrayal. “I find out Curtis killed my Mom when I was a baby to eat us and you think I'm just upset?!”

“Okay, yes more than upset.” Your voice cracked a bit. “Edgar, you have to know… it was desperation. We were starving, and there was nothing left.”

“So we murder and eat one another?” He snorted out, looking away from your distressed face.

“No, no it was wrong, all of it. Everything we all did was… terrible. Driven by fear and pain, the whole Car back then, we lost our minds Edgar. There was no way out, it was nothing but darkness, trapped in that iron box with no escape. Packed on top of one another till we started to die off.”

Edgar still didn't say anything, and you looked down in your lap, wringing your hands together. “It was done on purpose, i'm sure of it now. Take out the weaker ones, only let the strongest survive. Wilford was testing us to see what it took for us to break.”

“You saying my Mum was weak?”

You gave a shake of your head and gave a weak smile. “Not at all, she died trying to protect you and that makes her one of the strongest people there was Edgar. She was what changed everything, Gilliam showed us then another way. Was it better? I- I don't know. It was brutal. Those scars Curtis has on his arm, is where he took a dull blade and try to cut off his arm. The only reason he still has it is because they brought the protein blocks, ending our starvation.”

Edgar still didn't look convinced, rubbing a hand over his face and glaring at you. “Does not make it right.”

“No, no it doesn’t. Trust me, Curtis and others have been living with that knowledge for 17 years, and hating themselves for it. Curtis still wont forgive himself. He was just a kid. Younger then you are now. Put yourself in his shoes Edgar, what would you have done?”

“Not that! Die I guess.”

“Edgar please. I'm not asking you to forgive Curtis, or any of us, just know it was a matter of desperation and survival.” You swallowed, and pushed your hand against the tears that had built up.

“Should I forgive Curtis for leaving me behind? Letting me get stabbed in his rush to reach Mason?” Edgar snapped, and you tilted your head in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“When we were going into the tunnels, Franco fucking Jr got a hold of me. If Curtis pulled back, he wouldn't kill me. Curtis saw and kept going.” Edgar hissed his next words. “Sacrificed me, and all for nothing wasn't it. Wilford was waiting for him this whole time.”

You shook your head, unsure and a bit of disbelief on your face. “I don't know anything about that Edgar, I wasn't there.”

“No Y/N, you weren't. Maybe you know Curtis, but do you really know all of him? All that he is capable of?” Going to his door and opening it, he tilted his head. “I think its time for you to go Y/N, i’m done with this conversation.”

You opened your mouth to say something more, defend Curtis once more, but Edgar shook his head and pointed out the door for you to leave, and you knew there would be no more talking to him about this, not yet anyways. Unfolding from the chair, you pushed yourself to a stand and walked out, turning before he could shut the door on you.

“Please, you don't have to forget or forgive, just know that Curtis cares for you like a brother. What happened, he will never be able to forgive himself for it. It will always be his greatest regret.”

Edgar looked away, you could see that it pained him, all of it. “As well it should.” and with that he closed the door, sealing himself away from you.

Feeling like you had accomplished nothing, you made your way towards the garden cart, hoping that maybe you can be useful there.

Night had fallen, and Curtis was just thankful that the stars and moon was bright enough to continue going. They had lost the trail for the most part, but now and then they would pass by what resembled footprints in the deeper snow. They had frozen over since the sun was quick to descend that day, so it was hard to tell exactly what any of it really was. None of them were necessarily expert trackers.

But the group continued on, checking damaged cars as they went along, further then they had been since settling down, and the amount of loss in all of them.

It brought the whole group into a very dark frame of mind.

Pulling up, John squatted in front of an entrance. “Curtis… this is several. In fact they are paths leading to this door.” He pulled himself to a stand, and placed his hand on the safety of the rifle he carried, trying to look into the darkness. Curtis came up behind him and looked in. “Stay watch, we will get a fire built, see if we cant find anyone inside.” Last thing he wanted was anyone bolting while they were busy making a fire. John and the man who helped them find a way out of the valley named Adam looked around the ground.

“I think anyone who was here left, straight across the ice.” He pointed where a bunch of the crust was broken, in a straight line.

“Animals hardly travel like that, and there’s a pretty good trail. I'm saying whoever was here is long gone, earlier today.”

After making the fire and checking the enclosure thoroughly, Curtis was apt to agree with John and Adam. Assuming it was the ex guards and Matt, they were quick to split figuring Curtis would be coming for them. Frustrated they just miss there target was an understatement, after picking through the useless remains of the car, Curtis sat near the fire, studying it. They could cross the ice, follow after them. But the fact remains they were not equipped for several days travel.

“Curtis just come home. They probably are just as bad off as you are.” You leaned against him, and although you were nothing more then a product of his imagination, he appreciated your warmth against him.

“Babygirl, if we let them go, they will just come for us again. Not to mention what they did to you and the others.” He said softly, letting his chin rest on top of your head, closing his eyes just enjoying his vision of you.

“I know Handsome, I just got you back, I'm not ready to lose you again.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“I almost did during the revolt.”

“We’re going to do this right. Go home, look over the maps to see where they might be headed and pack properly. No recklessness. We will be safe.”

You were silent, slowly fading away as he resolved on what to do. After a few hours, he spoke up, laying it all out for everyone to decide for themselves. The rest of the group agreed, and they made the trip home. Now that there was more of a plan in place, Curtis felt easier. That things were properly moving forward again.

Their arrival home, although a surprise, was welcomed by everyone. No one was hurt, everyone was safe, and although Matt wasn't caught or the others, no more loss of life felt kind of like a win still to the mass of the people.

You stood at the edge of the crowd, watching as Curtis made his way through, trying to answer questions about what they found, and what was next. “We will let everyone know soon, excuse me.” Pulling away from another voicing their concerns, he spied you and made his way to you slowly. “Y/N, Babygirl, I’m-”

You shook your head to quiet him, and he couldn't help the bit of fear that you wanted nothing to do with him for a moment. He hadn't forgotten how he left you, kissing his anger into you till it hurt you, how badly he wanted to just have you regardless of what you felt. His temper became a shade of red that blinded him. How was it that he only felt that loss of control with you.

“Let's talk in our room.” You didn't push him away, instead opened your hand to his and led him away from the crowd, letting John and Johanna take over the questions.

When you closed the door and turned back to Curtis, you could see him reach out to touch you, then pulled away and stepped back. His shame in his earlier actions laced in his voice. “I’m sorry I laid hands on you like that Y/N, I shouldn't have. If I hurt you in anyway” His voice drifting off with regret. Knowing he wouldn't touch you until you gave him permission, you stepped forward and pressed your hands against his chest to make him sit down on the edge of the bed. Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but first and foremost was relief he was okay. When he sat down, and his thighs spread you stepped into them, tugging his hat off to toss it aside, push your hand through his short soft bristles.

“You scared me Curtis.” You admitted. “You caught me by surprise, but then you were just gone. Going after Matt, and those others. I was so fucking scared you weren’t thinking clearly and were going to get hurt.”

His hands slid over your hips carefully, as it he didn’t really have the right to place his hands anywhere on you, giving a shake of his head. “I was angry, so fucking angry. I lost Matt, Edgar…” He sighed with defeat. “He was told about his mom in the worst way possible, and then you, in that moment, I just wanted to get lost in you and I almost did.”

Flashback filled your mind of his hard body trying to meld right against yours, his length pushing at his pants with arousal. “You've always been mine, to lose you because of my actions, would kill me.” shuddering out his weakness.

You frowned down at him, a hand pressing against his shoulders till he straightened back so you could see his face. “Curtis, you’re not going to loose me.” All those other thoughts were pushed aside as you saw his stress at the situation hardening his features. Pressing your hands against his shoulders so he fell back against the bed. “There is no one I love more then you, on this train, or in this world. You scared me, but you didn't hurt me, not really.” you wriggled on him till you could perch lightly on his stomach to look down at him.

“Well maybe you shouldn't Y/N.” He said, although his hands were settled against your waist, and Edgar’s words echoed back to you. Maybe you know Curtis, but do you really know all of him?

Yes you did, and you were going to prove it to both men if you had to. You might not know every detail, but you've shared your life with him since you both came on the train. There wasn't anything about Curtis that made you doubt him.

“That's not for you to decide Curtis.” You pushed his shirt up till he lifted enough to drag his shirt off, your hands sliding up and down the wall of his chest, the curls of hairs covering multitude of scars that now were no longer a shock to you as they had been at first. You appreciated every sacrifice he made getting them. You leaned over him and started with soft brushes of your lips down his chest, kissing where his heart raced against his chest, your hands rubbing against his sides and back up till you pushed up, back to his mouth and nipped on that full lower lip. “I make my own choices, and I’ve always chosen you. Why do you think you don't deserve that?”

Curtis scolded himself as you moved to straddle him, tugging off his shirt and then kissing on his chest. If he was a better man he would stop you, but he wasn't. Curtis craved you endlessly, and to see you hovering over him, your face set with determination, he couldn't stop you. He wasn't strong enough. There was no way he would ever be able to tell you no. His hands sought the warmth of your skin, and as soon as he slid them under your shirt, you shivered at his cool touch, but didn’t pull away. No you clenched your thighs against his sides and let your nose trail up the center of his chest.

“If I was a better man, I wouldn't have lost my temper.” Curtis sighed and tilted his head back while you started to kiss on his neck, and rock yourself back slightly. “I could have hurt you Y/N, I was close.”

“You might have been, but I don't think you would have. You never have before Handsome.” You pushed up away from him and started to work his pants open, your eyes bright looking down at him as you reached in and wrapped your hand around his length, stroking up and down slowly with a slightly firmer grip.

Curtis hissed as he jerked in your hold, digging his fingers more into your waist. “Y/N!”

You give a slight smile at his reaction knowing he was doing all he could to not push for more, sliding your hand up and down, your fingers dancing along the hard length. When you reached the base, you fondled his balls into your palm, give slight tugs and gentle squeezes. You never broke your gaze from him, dropping your head to wrap lips around his head and slide your tongue around the swollen head.

Having let go of your hips, he twisted his fists into the sheets and a ripping noise signaled that some of your bedding was ruined, which enticed you to drop further down to take him further. Pulling away, your tongue licked a stripe down the length, and he hissed once more, jolting when you teased his balls with the lap of your tongue and a pull of one into your mouth. “Babygirl, get the fuck up here.” He growled, when you pulled off him, and his arms grasped your forearm, bringing you to his mouth, and kissed you hungrily, hand moving from your forearms to grasp your ass and push you against him, you did a dirty grind against him, scrapping your hands through his beard and digging your fingers against his scalp, groaning into his kiss.

“Need you Babygirl…” He grunted against your lips and rolled his hips like he was going to roll you over, and you grasped his wrists behind you while you arched to sit up, looking down at him. “No Curtis, just stay right there.” You stated while lifting yourself off to a stand.

You were pulling off your clothes, and Curtis couldn't look away, turning away from him and letting your hair fall loose down your back from where you had it pulled back, tugging off your shirt and letting it fall to the floor, undoing your pants, and easing them down over the swell of your hips, and falling down your legs. Wrapping his hand around his erection, and stroking himself, he couldn't stop admiring, thankful you were his woman, and have been this whole time. You were starting to fill out now that you were eating healthier, your skin glowing now that you were in actual light. It occurred to him that this was the first time he's ever gotten to love you when he could really see you.

That hit him that you weren't going to be able to hide in the dark, you were really giving him everything. Looking over your shoulder, you made a motion with your hand. “Pants off Curtis.”

He wasted no time shimmying them off.

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves. This was a first for you, you normally let Curtis love you how he wanted, giving him what he wanted. This time you wanted to prove that he deserved to have all of you, he was a good man regardless of the circumstances life threw at him. Even with what Edgar said, you knew this, felt this with complete conviction. Once he was stretched out, completely naked, you sucked in a sharp breath. Seeing Curtis without all his layers, you could see just what a large man he was, muscles coiled, holding power that your felt driving into you before. Large hands that could span your back with a single palm and those hungry eyes, drinking you in just as much as you were with him. Approaching him once more, you straddled him, taking his cock, thick and hard, sliding it along your folds.

Feeling him underneath you though, that was familiar, and good. His thick head you pressed to your entrance, pushing down to sink onto him, that felt good, and you rolled yourself to take more, breathing through it.

“Your so good Babygirl, so tight.” You heard him strain out, and you moaned, giving a flex when you felt him bottom, full till the stretch was almost painful. Hands soothed along your taunt thighs folded gripping his hips, your own hands reaching for his and lifting them to cover your breasts as you started to move. Carefully at first, Curtis kept from thrusting up into you, palming your breasts, and his thumb pulling your buds, rolling till they turned sensitive in his hold, making you bite your lip at the sensation it caused. Almost a painful pleasure, making you drop harder onto his cock, giving a dirty roll to press your clit against him. “Fuck Curtis.” You purred at him, leaning down to catch his lips, sliding your tongue around his and rocking back to squeeze his cock. “Don't hold back.” he grunted against your lips, grinding you on him once more.

You pushed off his chest, and sped yourself up, panting at the intense pleasure feeling his cock so hard and thick brought to your clenching channel, fluttering around him with a need to cum. When he finally started to thrust into you, grasping your hips and drag you down his length faster, pushing more and more at different angles till you gave a sharp cry, making you breathless in the moment, that’s where he angled you, each dominating thrust he ground you against him. You were now getting lost above him, your belly coiling, fluttering with heat, those coils of pleasure so close to snapping. Curtis had his feet planted into the mattress to give him leverage, pulling your clenching pussy up and down his throbbing cock. Bouncing you up and down, till you grasped a hand at your waist and dragged it up to suck on his fingertips. The sight above him, feeling you moan around his digits filling your mouth, Curtis committed it to memory.

“I know this is what you want Babygirl.” he grunted hungrily, knowing it would bring you over, he pulled away from your lips and pressed his warm wet fingers against your throbbing pearl, rolling and pressing till you started sobbing out, rocking faster and harder. “Just feels so good, I don't want to cum, but I need to. Curtis I have to.”

Knowing how close you were, he gasped. “Do it Babygirl, cum all over me.”

You nodded, digging your fingers into his chest while grinding onto him, giving a silent scream while locking around him. Curtis wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his chest, slowing his thrusts to long drags into your weeping channel.

“So good for me Y/N.” He muttered into your hair, rolling you till you were pinned underneath him, pushing your hair back to he could kiss your neck, reaching to his hips to loosen your knees gripping him.

“All this trust, you make me so proud Babygirl.” Kissing down your body as he pulled out. You were still coming down from your orgasm and slid your hands against his back to dig fingers into your shoulders with a tight hold as he sucked and pulled, making you arch and spread your thighs further to feel his weight drop on you, press against your wet cunt while he dragged back further.

“I have to taste you.” massaging your inner thighs, trailing kisses along one side then the other. That first long taste he took, pressing through your drenched folds to twirl over your clit. Swirling and laying claim to your pearl. It was his, always has been. He knew the way you liked to feel his tongue press and pull, those tiny mewls of yours as you would start to rock, his tongue darting into your clenching channel.

It didn't take long till you were cumming again, locking your thighs around his head, and crying his name this time, unable to keep silent. Stronger hands then your thighs loosened them, pulling himself back up and claiming your lips, still in a daze, he worked you to respond, kiss him back. Your tongue lapping at your taste coating him. Shifting you just right, he sunk back into your swollen pussy, whimpering into his mouth.

“I don't know if I have another one in me… “You breathed against his lips, and placing his elbows on either side of your head, he leaned his forehead against yours, starting with shallow thrusts.

“Just one more Babygirl, I know you have one more. Fold your legs around me, and hold on.” You nodded, and did as he asked, legs going around him, opening yourself for him more as he drove in deeper, angling himself with each thrust till he found the spot that made you chant his name. Your arms circling his neck, rocking back and forth with him.

Dropping his head to your shoulder, speeding his thrusts to reach an end, he was hoarse when he urged you, grinding and rutting against your spot, kissing your neck, pressing his lips against your ear. “This one last time, I know you have it Babygirl.”

Your whimpers got louder, it was a edge of pain that just felt so fucking good, but you wanted to escape it. Curtis was relentless, each nudge making your thighs strain, muscles burning, and when you finally did snap, the most mind numbing bliss following after you flooded his cock, hiding your face in against his shoulder and biting the muscle hard. His hand cradled the back of your head against his shoulder, letting his own self go to bury into you harder and harder, deeper into your welcoming warmth, those tight grasps milking him to release, and when he did, the warmth spread through you, letting you sink into your own bliss, feeling him press his hips into you while holding his chest up to keep from crushing you. “Your just so fucking good Babygirl, I could stay like this forever.” Still hoarse, and panting, you twisted yourself into a better angle, cupping his face and making him look down at you, wedged underneath him, still full of his cock, that you could feel was starting to go soft now that he released.

“I could to Curtis, you make me feel good, safe, and loved. So I know I'm right where I belong, with who I belong. Regardless of what's happened in the past.” Tilting up, your lips found his, and you didn't share an urgent greedy lust kiss, but one of genuine affection and love, your hand sliding along his face to gently grasp at the back of his neck. Letting him pull back from your mouth, you winced as he pulled out of you and moved to get up, go get a washcloth.

You had to smile at him walking around naked, appreciating the flex of his muscles, he looked and seemed a bit more relaxed, coming back out, he was gentle as he cleaned you, knowing you would be slightly sore. But soon he was collapsing back beside you and you let your head fall lazily to his chest, facing him.

“You alright?” He asked as his fingers traced your face, brushing back your hair.

“Of course Curtis, we don’t have bad sex.” you grinned, nuzzling your nose against the hair on his chest, and he gave a soft chuckle, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “I do have to ask though what happened? You weren't gone but a day. Where is Matt?”

He had closed his eyes, relaxing in the post orgasm feeling, but opened them once more hearing your question. “He met up with others, and they seemed to have abandoned their train car.”

Wrinkling your nose hearing this, you shifted in closer against him. “Probably knew you all would be coming for them.”

Curtis hummed in agreement, letting himself enjoy the sensation of you using him as your pillow, still tracing you with a slight touch of fingertips. “We will be going back out, proper this time. See if we cant at least find where they are headed off to.” He felt you tense, but then relaxed back into him, and he continued. “If we don't, they will just keep coming.” And there will never be proper peace to settle into living. But he didn’t add that, knowing you were already on edge with the situation. You lifted your head to study him a moment, and nodded. “Of course, I trust you Curtis.” Settling back down, the room was getting that sunshine warmth often felt in midday, and it was making Curtis sleepy, thinking you were drifting off in the same direction.

But you werent, you knew you needed to share your discussion with Edgar, he would want you to tell him. So you cleared your throat. “I went to talk to Edgar after you left.” Now it was his turn it stiffen, the tracing fingers stopping to slightly press into a hold, you could feel his voice drop and vibrate in his chest as he spoke.

“He wasn't cruel to you, was he?”

“No Curtis, he's hurt, but he didn’t do anything to hurt me.” You shifted a bit so you could see him better. “I told him more about what the tail end was like.” You could see Curtis' features start to close off, and you rubbed your hand against his chest, cause you were not and never would place the blame on him for what happened. He had to know that. “I don't know if anything I said sunk in. But he did say you sacrificed him, what was he talking about?”

Lifting a hand, he rubbed it at his face. Another mistake in his revolt. Just like leaving you in the tail end had been.

“I deserved that, I did turn my back on him when that front end asshole had him.” Curtis expected to see some disbelief, anger, disgust in your features. But there was none of that. You simply waited for him to continue. Hair over your shoulder, he couldn't help but reach for it, tangling it in his hold, curling it around his wrist. Maybe to keep you there, he wasn't sure. He just wanted to feel your tresses slide among his fingertips.

“I was going for Mason. This was before everything came out. Before I had any idea that Wilford wanted me in the front, that Gilliam had sent us to our deaths. I was this close to getting to her, she was our safety to get to the front. Our only chance, so I thought. That body gaurd of hers, he had grabbed Edgar from behind, who was following me. I heard him say my name… panicked. Mason, she was almost out of my reach, and they would have locked the doors. If they got her through and locked those doors, who knows if we would have gotten out. I had no idea if Nam was even still alive then. I made a choice.” You could feel him deflate a bit underneath you, your hand still sliding up and down his chest.

“And Edgar was stabbed because of it.” You said softly.

“I made the wrong choice, in that moment I knew I should have gone back. But… All I could think of is if we could just get Mason, maybe we wouldn't lose anymore people. She would escort us to the front.”

You stayed silent in that moment, turning your gaze from him to the outside world. One they hadn't seen until the revolt. One they might have never seen if Curtis hadn’t went for Mason in that moment. None of you would know what warmth from a sun streaming through glass would be like, what actual food was, fresh air. Taking a deep breath, feeling it fill your lungs with appreciation. What a shower with hot water was. All of this, might have only happened cause Curtis made a choice.

“It wasn't the wrong choice Curtis. Look where we are now. Who knows what could have happened if you didn't continue forward. We might all be dead now, bodies thrown off the moving train, and nothing changed.”

“I’ve done so much wrong to Edgar, I wouldn't blame him if he hated me for the rest of our days, he deserves to.”

You frown and look down at him, pressing your finger against his lips to hush him. “Stop, he’s just hurt and is confused about everything. Give him some time. It won't be the same, but you need to give him a chance to forgive you before you resign to that.” Shifting to sit up and reach over the bed to grab at clothes strewn down there. “We should probably head back out, i’m sure others are looking for you.”

“Most likely.”

Before you could tug anything on, Curtis wrapped an arm around you and dragged you back to him, sliding a tongue into your mouth and leaving you giving a halfhearted protest before you fell into the kiss, killing just a few more minutes before they finally redressed.

“So, that is what we’ve all decided on, and anyone that chooses to come will need to be up for at least a while out there. We don't know how far they have gone, but it's too dangerous having those men out there.”

There was some discussion among the people, and quickly volunteers came out. One person raised a concern. “Who’s staying from part of the council? And what happens if you don't come back.”

“Dr.Price is staying, along with Margit and Y/N, you all will continue what needs to be done. Keeping the animals alive and healthy, as well as the greenhouse. We need both of them. Harvest, gather. Conserve the energy on the train, there’s still plenty of water and electricity. That battery is holding. If something happens to us, do what you must to continue, together.”

His eyes filtered over the crowd to see Edgar hanging at the back of the crowd, his arms folded over his chest as he listened. Curtis didn't expect him to push up to the front, but he did.

“I’m coming to, Matt escaped on my watch. It's only fair I make sure he comes back.”

With a nod, Curtis accepted and looked over the group ready to make the trek into the unknown.

#curtis everett x y/n #curtis everett #snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfiction #curtis everett fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans characters #amber writes #sweater writes #snowpiercer fanfic #curtis everett fanfic #curtis everett x reader

108 notes · View notes

swiss-mrs · 4 years

Text

Let There Be War (1/?)

(Clyde Logan || Hunger Games: Catching Fire AU)

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Implications of Death, PTSD, Lil’ Angsty

Your eyes glazed over, your ears deaf to the world around you, you make your way down the hall, vacant in the late hours. Everything around you seemed a blur as you focused on keeping your mind blank, it being the only way you could get yourself through these next handful of hours. These last few hours. These could be your lasts. Your last time walking through the hall you’d hoped to never see again. The last time breathing so freely. The last time-

You furrowed your brows, steps and thoughts coming to a pause. ‘Who the hell is up this late still training?’ You silently ask yourself, though you have no place considering you too were up to, in fact, train. From the sounds of it, it was a man. You clenched your jaw, becoming on guard. ‘12?’ you begin questioning yourself further as you pick your steps back up, ‘2? 1?’ you round the corner to the training room slowly, coming to the conclusion. ‘7.’

Up on the slightly raised platform stood the already towering, 3/4ths armed man. His long,wavy locks messed around his face, falling out of his poorly tied ponytail, strands forced out by the sheer power of his fierce plows. The axe wielder could strike fear into the heart of any man just by standing a fair distance away merely holding the thing, but to see him in action, it made you nearly give up then and there. Each swing masterfully executed, his lack of limb not phasing him in the slightest. Every combination he did was followed by a low grunt; the entire spectacle so fluid and efficient, it could easily pass as a blur. Not too long after you stood in the entryway, he stopped to give his screaming muscles a break, only then noticing your presence. He stood up to his full, intimidating height, greeting you with only a curt nod as the focus on his face never left. He trained his eyes on you as you walked into the room fully now, making your way to the weapons rack. You hadn’t bothered to look back to him, not wanting to make the target on your back even larger. Keeping your head down, you pick the bow staff, each end sharpened to a deadly point, it reminding you of the tridents back home, but this being more efficient and versatile. You pick it up grudgingly, getting a far off look in your eyes, failing in the attempts to void yourself of the flashbacks.

You feel your heart rate quickening at the memories but are quick to squeeze your eyes shut and shake them from the confines of your head. You bite the inside of your bottom lip in frustration at the lack of focus your memories lead you to. Sighing, you lift your head to look over at another matted platform off to the side of the training room with a shaky breath, still feeling the itch of Seven’s stare. You spare a half glance in his direction before treading your way over to the mat. Skipping the single step up to the platform, you raise yourself up with one stride, making your way to the dimly lit, spotlighted center. Coming to a halt, you look at the staff down in your hand, unmoving. You stand there for a few sparing seconds before dropping into stance. You stand with your legs spread just enough for your knees to bend comfortably, feet planted solidly on the ground, your weight distributed to all the right points. Your back now facing the man who’d yet dared to move from his spot, your head remained forward, catching glimpses of the man from the corner of your eye as you stayed trained on the imaginary target on the wall. You tried to keep your breath steady as all the memories you’d once come to terms with started to flood back. ‘Focus.’

Taking a deep breath in from your nostrils, you focus on the feeling of the cold metal of the staff pressed so close to your cheek as you point it at said ‘target’. Mindless. Begin your training. Within the bat of a fly’s wing, your staff left its position from across your cheek at eye level to gliding through the air fast enough to make wind slicing sounds as you tear it through each invisible obstacle your mind conjured up.

Your heart pounded through your ears at a painful, headache inducing rhythm. Your breaths exited your mouth through pursed lips, puffing your cheeks out with each exhale. Your fighting was near silent, stealthy, swift. Each swing held a momentum of a death blow. Every target you landed came in flashes. Faces of those you’d slain in your past game interrupted your vision with each blow. Stopping only once you’d drenched through your training top, you found yourself back in your original position. Back at the start. Your jaw clenched back shut as you forced your pants to filter through your nose. Not being able to bring yourself back into reality, you stayed motionless, your breathing the only thing filling the silence. Feeling a gentle hand graze your shoulder, you are quick to turn your weapon on whom it belonged to. Your vision creeping back to you, you find the large man standing on the business end of your speared staff, arms held halfway up in surrender.

“Easy.” his accented low tone draws out. “It’s alright.” he whispered out calmly. “It’s okay.” The largely built man took slow steps closer to you, lowering his hand to the metal of the staff and running it closer to where yours rested on it. Your grip weakened and you let him disarm you, something that would have been foolish if it was not he who did it. The dark locked man stood in front of you, tossing the staff off to the side of the mat, careful for it not to make a loud noise if it were to land on the concrete floor. You now faced each other, your pupils blown wide and breaths still a bit staggered. Your widened eyes stared off into your own traumatized imagination in the line of his abdomen, barely even registering him cautiously closing in on your distance. It wasn’t until you felt yourself get pulled into his grip did you bring yourself back. Panic settles in a bit but just prior to realizing that this hold wasn’t hostile at all but an embrace. You tensed up, turning your head to not get suffocated by his tightly clad chest. You felt his chin rest on the crown of your head, causing your lids to falter.

Committing to a blink, you notice the dampness of your lashes caress your cheeks. You look down as if you could see your own tears streak down your face. Taking in a gasp through your nostrils, you are taken aback to find yourself crying. How had you not noticed? You felt Seven pull you a little closer, tightening his hold on you in the slightest, as not to scare you but also wanting you to find comfort and safety in the arms around you. Your lips turn downward as the bottom begins to quiver along with your chin. The feeling of more tears and the overwhelming pounding in your head start to get the better of you. To keep yourself from breaking into sobs, you bury your face into his warm chest and wrap your arms around his middle loosely, still not finding the strength to fully submit to the man whose name escapes your mind.

You two stood there for an undetermined amount of time, he rocking you side to side and rubbing your back while shushing your silent cries. You decide against your overbearing desire to stay in his comfort and pull back slightly, his que to let you go. You both pull away from each other, you still shying from making eye-contact. The seemingly simple gesture weighing so heavy on your shoulders. Looking at him, really seeing him, would only mean more pain when it came time to part from his lively eyes. “Can I tell you my name?” He asks, taking you off guard causing you to stiffen back up and raise your eyes from his shoes to his torso straight ahead of you. You furrow your brows, questioning. “I’m assumin’ you’re choosin’ to find as many ways to remain detached from everyone here...” He trails off. Your silence solidifies his assumption but after standing and staring thoughtfully into his rib cage, your nod answers his question. “Clyde.” He rumbles out, “It’s Clyde.” Still focusing your gaze below his shoulders, he sighs, taking his eyes from searching your face to retreating to your shoes. His head dropped low, causing a few miscellaneous strands to fall and frame his face. “I-” he struggles to get out, “I don’t really do this, probably out a’ the same fear you hold, but-” he cuts himself off with a huff of air through his nostrils, pouting as he looks as if he’s racking his brain, going through his options, before his speech picks up again, “in this game- these games… allies seem to be what gets folks the furthest.” He infers his proposition. You begin to shake your head furiously, a frightened expression making its way to your features. “The team from Twelve and Three have already got Six in and Johanna ‘n’ me are joinin’ ‘em” He continues in spite of your disagreements, keeping his eyes on your shoes. You slowly start to create some distance between you two, still shaking your head. “‘N’ seein’ that you're by yerself… I jus’ thought.” You find yourself on the other end of the mat now, staring frightfully at his shoes as he continues to mumble reasonings on.

“I-” your rasped voice stutters out, “I can’t.” Clyde stops his mumbling his look back to your face.

“I know. I know you think you’re protectin’ yourself, your mind by not comin’ together with anyone, but…” he pleads, making an attempt to close the gap a little more, “please. Please, I don’t want you to force yourself to go through this again… alone.” He says, your eyes shooting to his finally at the final word. Your heart catches in your throat at the sight of his warm toned eyes. “Make this time different.” He says softly, reaching an open, upward facing palm out to you. “It’ll be okay.” He pleads. “I promise.” Swearing to you so intently through his eyes, you find the strength to tear yours away, dropping the gaze down to his hand. You stare at it almost longingly before you shut your eyes tight, shaking your head ever so slightly. Opening them back up, you meet Clyde’s eyes again, your lids fluttering before going back to his unwavering hand. You take those few steps back to him halfheartedly, slowly lifting your left hand to hover over his right. He waits until you lower it on your own before engulfing your hand in his calloused one securely, stating with the small gesture that he was serious, that he wanted to earn your trust, keep you safe. And that maybe, maybe this time would be different.

-----------

Hello there! This was just a short little water tester I typed up last night or this morning rather and I’m curious about some feedback.

I may or may not be really excited about this concept

I plan on making a little series out of this as there is so much I want to unpack and build upon. I’m writing this as I go (which I don’t usually do due to my incredible procrastination skills) so please bare with me.

I’m just so gosh darn exCITED

I’m gonna try and get up another part up today so stay tuned if you’re interested in my far fetched shenanigans.

@douglasdriver

#adam driver #adam sackler #ben solo #kylo ren #Clyde logan #flip zimmerman #charlie barber #ronnie peterson #toby grisoni #philip altman #clyde logan x reader #adam driver x reader #adam sackler x reader #ben solo x reader #kylo ren x reader #flip zimmerman x reader #charlie barber x reader #ronnie peterson x reader

66 notes · View notes

allonsysilvertongue · 7 years

Text

Wiping History

“What will happen when we get to your arena?” she demanded. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.“ 75 arenas and one colossal task for Effie Trinket. Hayffie. Post-MJ . Previously

2. Seven’s Victor

With careful precision, Effie arranged the fresh flowers she just bought on her way home in the vase. The mixture of pastel pink and white filled her heart with ease and the sweet scent made her forget of the dusty smell of concrete from the numerous constructions she passed by.

Months after the war, there were still parts of the Capitol that were still being rebuilt. The first priority was to build the residential area and provide the residents with the necessary amenities, and slowly, the rebuilding moved inwards towards the city centre.

A small part of her was looking forward to the end product. She wanted to see what this city where she grew up would soon look like.

With a glass of wine in one hand and the vase in the other, Effie walked towards the modest sitting room. She placed the vase on the coffee table and her gaze fell on the phone.

She stared at the phone, a sudden thought flitting through her mind.

She had not thought about Haymitch in weeks, a task that proved to be arduous but one that she told herself needed to be done except now, he was back in her thoughts. She wanted to share the events in Parliament with him. She wanted to hear his opinions and pick his brains on the best way to deal with this. Effie was certain that he would have a thing or two to say about it.

The only problem was the small fact that they were not talking.

Haymitch had always been the cornerstone in her life. Effie was young when he first came into the picture. She was ten year old when Haymitch Abernathy was crowned a Victor and from then on, he had always been there – in the magazines she bought in secret and kept hidden from her mother, in the posters she kept rolled up in her closet, in the small toy figurines that had nearly made Haymitch choked in surprise when he found it in her possession – long before she even became his escort.

After her appointment as Twelve’s escort, there was no escaping him.

Until the war.

She had avoided him and he had avoided her. Moving back halfway across the country to District Twelve had certainly helped them in the case.

There were no more Games. The Games was what connected them together after all.

The phone rang loudly, breaking her thoughts and startling her.

“Hello, Effie Trinket speaking.”

“I bloody well hope so,” the voice grumbled. “If someone else had answered when I call your place, I’m going to have to send someone to investigate if you’re dead or something.”

“There really is no need to be this dramatic, Johanna,” Effie sighed but pleased to hear her friend’s voice.

“You didn’t call - I was waiting,” Johanna accused. “What’s the deal then? Why were you summoned to the Parliament? What’d they want?”

“I’ve only just got home.”

Effie settled on the sofa and took a sip of her wine. Her mind went back to the meeting earlier, wondering just how much she was able to tell Johanna. It made sense that news of this should not reach the public yet not until everything has been confirmed but she had been the one to suggest that the victors get a say in it and Plutarch had left it all up to her to talk to them.

Which meant….

“You’re fucking serious? There’s an order to have all of them wiped out?” Johanna asked. “About damn time except I’m a bit mad that I didn’t think of this first. What the fuck, right? I fucking forgot about those fucking arenas.”

“There are a lot on our plates after the war,” Effie said kindly. “Do keep this to yourself first – it is not public knowledge. I have only just told you.”

“Alright. What about the others? You’re telling the victors, right?”

It would be within Effie’s right to inform the victors and if she had been tasked to supervise with it, she would call the shots. Where the victors were concern, there weren’t many of them. They were a small circle and they should know it first before the public, it was only right.

“I was hoping that you would break it gently to Annie.”

“I don’t think she would want to be a part of it. Annie’s all about leaving the past where it belongs and now with the baby, she just wants to spend time with him, you know?”

Effie didn’t think that Annie would want to either but it was better to give her the option nonetheless.

“And you?”

“Fuck yes,” Johanna exclaimed. “You’d think I’ll pass up the chance for a last ‘fuck you’ to the Capitol?”

“The Capitol is gone, Johanna. What is here is – “

“Don’t kid yourself. It’s not all gone until every last one of those arenas are gone and until every last person who worked for Snow for the Games is in jail… or better still, dead.”

Effie listened and tried not to feel offended or slighted by Johanna’s words considering that she had once worked for President Snow but she was sure Johanna had preclude her from that group now, after what they both suffered in prison.

“Johanna…” Effie cut in when she paused to take a breath, “I was thinking that since Annie would not want to take part in hers and since you and Finnick were close that you might want to represent them.”

“Represent them? What’s that mean?”

“It means you get to destroy their arena in their stead.”

“Right… Yes, I think that’s good. I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Effie nodded, noting it down in her book.

In two days, she would be meeting with Cressida and Pollux to discuss which aspect they would want to include in their film and she thought it might be prudent to have some semblance of direction with the project before the meeting.

“You talked to Haymitch yet? Not about this in particular but you called him about… anything?”

“I have not.”

“You’re going to have to call him eventually to talk to him about this.”

“I might send him a letter instead,” Effie answered simply.

Johanna scoffed. “This is stupid. One day, you’re going to have to face him.”

“I know,” Effie hummed, not really wanting to give much thought to that. “How is he?”

“Don’t know. Surviving, I bet.”

Effie was quiet, mulling the implication of that but not for long. Clearly, the thought of being able to destroy something seemed to excite Johanna more than Effie’s troubles with Haymitch for her to be bothered too much by her silence.

"How are we going to do it? I get a say on how I want the arena I was in destroyed, right? Of course I fucking get a say," Johanna snorted. "I won't have you telling me how to do it. I'm thinking.... a few C4 here and there, axe down a thing or two. Should be fun," she chuckled darkly.

"If that is how you want to do it, I have no objections. We will have a demolition team so I will run it by them," Effie said and then paused thoughtfully. "Johanna... Destroying it aside, have you truly thought of what it would feel like to step back there? If it's too much - "

"Shut up, Trinket," Johanna grumbled. "I'm doing it. That arena has kept me up at night so you are not going to try and talk me out of it."

"I'm not. I am just concerned that - "

"Don't be. I can deal with my feelings," she spat the word out.

Victors, she learnt, were delicate people. Push them too hard and they might react quite violently; treat them gently and they would likely feel insulted. It was a line she had learnt to balance with Haymitch, and now again, with Johanna so she knew to back down.

"Very well."

"Oh, damn," Johanna cackled suddenly. "You're going to have to talk to Enobaria. Tell me how that goes."

If Johanna was in front of her, she would have seen Effie silently shaking her head in exasperation.

"Perhaps, I will write her a letter too."

“That's boring. I need something fun, Trinket," Johanna said. "Why don't you come over, huh? The kid is looking a little less like a naked mole rat by the day."

"Johanna!"

"What I’m saying is he’s looking more like a baby and you should come see.”

As appalled as she was by Johanna's description of Annie's child, she could read between the lines what Johanna wasn't saying. She wanted a friend there, someone other than Annie, who by now, would have spent every waking moment occupied by Finn and was using the boy to mask it.

"I will soon," Effie promised, "but I have... I have this going on now and once things have settled I will visit."

"Bring gifts for the baby and sexy dresses for me," Johanna demanded. "I can hear him crying. I have to go."

"Send my love to Annie and Finn."

There was an unintelligible grunt from Johanna's end before she said, "You be careful. You're walking around armed, right?"

Johanna had given her a pocket knife when Effie confided in her that someone might have been following her back during the days when she had been giving statements. Nothing had happened to her thankfully and she had since dismissed that incident as her being paranoid.

"Always armed," Effie assured.

"Okay," Johanna said.

In seconds and without much fuss, the phone clicked before Effie could say a proper goodbye. She went back to her wine, content to let the day slipped into the night.

A short one to set the ball rolling and a little insight of hayffie post-mj :) leave me your comments in the reply!

see you next week :)

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #johanna mason #post mj #wiping history

18 notes · View notes