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Summary: The tragic yet beautiful love story of a District 12 Victor and a Capitol Princess.
Song based fanfiction: Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac
A.N: I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader. Also it's really long lol whoops.
You could be my silver spring
Blue-green colors flashin'
Most Capitol kids couldn’t wait for the annual Hunger Games. It was the highlight of the year—dressing up as their favorite tributes, pretending to fight, and cheering on the bloodshed like it was just another sport.
But your family was different. They understood the Games weren’t just about people killing each other. It was the raw, unrelenting violence—too much for children to witness. That’s why your mother and father refused to let you and your younger sister watch, no matter how many times you begged. It was hard, though, knowing your father was one of the arena makers. But even he agreed it was too much for you to see—at least, not yet.
It wasn’t until you were fifteen that you finally saw the Games. Your sister, at thirteen, was still too young in their eyes, but after years of asking, you finally convinced your father to let you watch. Your mother was reluctant, but your father, almost too eager, finally gave in. It was his favorite pastime, after all.
You sat in front of the screen, hesitant, unsure of what to expect. The moment the Games began, you knew you’d made a mistake. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia was enough to turn your stomach.
This wasn’t entertainment. These were children, kids just like you, fighting for their lives. Fighting for survival. The thought of it made you sick. How could anyone watch this, let alone cheer for it?
You hated the Games. Hated how your friends, even your own family, seemed to feed off the violence. The spectacle of it all disgusted you, and for three days, you refused to watch, unable to stomach the brutal chaos. But then, your mother asked you to bring your father a drink—such a simple request, nothing special—until you walked into the room and saw him.
There, on the screen, was a flash of blonde—Haymitch Abernathy, District 12’s tribute. He wasn’t like the others. You could feel it the moment he snapped. The rawness, the desperate anguish in his eyes when his friend died. He wasn’t just surviving the Games. He was broken. And you couldn’t look away.
That was when it happened. A pull, something you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t pity, it wasn’t just sympathy—it was something deeper. His pain, his strength, his defiance against the system, it all drew you in. You found yourself on the edge of your seat, barely breathing, as you watched him fight—not just for survival, but for something far more fragile. Maybe hope. Maybe revenge.
And just like that, you were hooked.
As the days wore on, you found yourself more and more absorbed. Your father noticed, too, but it wasn’t for the reason he thought. It wasn’t because you were becoming one of those Capitol kids, eagerly watching the bloodshed. No, it was because you were clinging to the hope that Haymitch, that broken boy from District 12, might just survive.
You prayed, each day, that he’d make it. You wanted him to win, not because of the Games—but because you couldn’t bear the thought of him becoming just another casualty of the Capitol’s cruel entertainment.
Day six came, and your heart was in your throat. The thought of watching it all unfold was unbearable, but you couldn’t tear yourself away. You needed to know if he made it. Needed to know if he could fight his way out of the nightmare.
And you realized, as the games dragged on, that you weren’t watching to see who’d win—it was because, in that moment, the boy from District 12 was the only thing that kept you from giving up on the Games entirely. The only thing worth watching.
“Father, what are they doing?” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of shock and fear as you watched the District 12 pair discuss splitting up.
“There’s only five left, my little star,” your father replied, his voice quiet but firm. “Friends don’t want to hurt each other. All we can do is hope that someone gets to them before they do it to each other.”
Hope? That’s all you could do? Hope that the one you’d been watching—your tribute—wouldn’t die? You couldn’t accept that. The odds weren’t in his favor, but you weren’t about to let that be the end. Not without trying.
“Do you think I could send him something?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. You could feel your heart pounding as you spoke, watching your father’s face change.
He shook his head almost immediately, the lines around his eyes tightening. “You know I don’t do that. Not with my position.”
You hesitated, but the urge to help him was too strong. “I know... but he’s my favorite. It’s my first Games... I just thought... maybe it would be nice to give him something, you know?”
Your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap, betraying how much this meant to you. Your father had always avoided sending gifts to tributes—after all, he helped design the arena, and it was frowned upon for him to interfere. It felt like a long shot, but at this point, anything felt better than doing nothing.
He must have seen the desperation in your face because he stared at you for a long moment, his gaze sharp, searching. “I see what this is.” He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a little crush on him, don’t you?” You remained silent.
He sighed, rubbing his temples, and then his expression shifted. “I don’t think that little crush is going to win, my dear,” he said softly, almost gently, but there was a sharpness to his words. “So I think you should start looking at others.”
His words stung, but you couldn’t let it deter you. You needed to get this to him. You could feel your face flush with frustration, but you forced a sad smile. “I know, Dad. But I was just hoping I could give him a toy. Something small. Something that could keep him busy before the end. Every kid deserves to be a kid, at least being that close to death.”
He stared at you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he would cave. But then he sighed again, resigned, and nodded. “Alright. What do you want to send him?”
You breathed a sigh of relief and quickly whispered the idea in his ear. You wrote a quick note, and then, with all the sincerity you could muster, you looked up at him. “Please, Dad.”
You gave him your best puppy-dog eyes—the same ones that always made him relent—and he finally rolled his eyes with a playful smirk, defeated.
“Fine. I’ll get it sent,” he muttered before walking out.
You waited, heart in your throat, as the camera panned over to Haymitch, perched alone on a cliff, staring into the distance. He looked like he had given up. His posture was slouched, and his eyes were hollow with defeat. It hurt to see him like that.
But you weren’t giving up. Not yet.
And then, there it was—the parachute. You held your breath as it floated down toward him, delicate and slow, carrying your small offering.
He reached for it, opened the package. Your heart raced as he pulled out the small bouncing ball. He stared at it for a moment, annoyance flashing across his face. Clearly, he was expecting something different. Something more useful.
Then, he unfolded the note and read it:
‘Sometimes things just bounce back out of nowhere. Trust your gut – it’s gotten you this far. I believe in you. – Star’
He scoffed, bouncing the ball on the ground in irritation. This was what sponsors thought he needed? A toy?
He sighed, then threw the ball off the cliff with force, clearly hoping to see it disappear into the abyss.
But then it came back. Bounced. Right back to him.
He froze, staring at the ball in disbelief, then threw it again. This time, with more curiosity. It bounced back. Again.
And again. He caught it, his face shifting from frustration to realization.
Looking back at the note, his eyes narrowed. Trust your gut.
And that’s when it clicked.
It wasn’t just a ball. It was a signal. A clue. There was something there—a forcefield. It was the only explanation.
He took a deep breath, nodding to himself. Maybe the odds weren’t so hopeless after all.
I would be your only dream
Your shinin' autumn ocean crashin'
The ballroom hummed with the usual crowd—an ocean of glittering gowns and sharp suits. The air was thick with forced laughter, the kind that never quite reached the eyes.
Haymitch was tucked away in a quiet corner, nursing a drink that was far too strong for his age, trying to drown out the noise.
It was his Victory Tour party—supposed to be a celebration. But Haymitch wasn’t celebrating. He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t asked to be here, surrounded by people who didn’t have the slightest clue what he’d endured.
His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the faces—smiles too wide, too perfect. It made his stomach twist. This wasn’t his world. None of it was.
He’d survived the Games, sure, but the real battle felt like it was just beginning. He was already dreading the next few months—endless speeches, the same tired handshakes, pretending he wasn’t counting the minutes until he could escape back to District 12.
Survival had a price. And right now, it felt like a cruel joke.
For the last fifteen minutes, Haymitch had blended into the background, unnoticed by the crowd, their attention elsewhere. For once, he didn’t feel like a spectacle. But then—tap. A hand on his shoulder.
Instincts kicked in. He grabbed the wrist before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers tightening around it. When he looked up, ready to snap, he froze.
There you were—standing there, a nervous little smile on your lips, already looking like you regretted interrupting him. And something in your eyes made him pause.
“I’m sorry,” you said, voice soft, almost apologetic. “That was really stupid. I hate when people touch me, and I figured… well, I guess I didn’t figure... after everything you’ve been through, you’d probably hate it too.”
He stared at you for a moment, still holding your wrist, but slowly let go, his fingers relaxing. You weren’t demanding anything. You weren’t fawning over him like everyone else. You weren’t telling him how amazing he was for surviving the Games, or how lucky he should feel to be here in the Capitol. You just seemed... real.
You stepped back, folding your arms behind your back, unsure of what to do next. An awkward silence stretched between you until you spoke again.
“I just wanted to introduce myself.” You held out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”
Haymitch stared at your hand for a moment. He hesitated, but there was something about you that made him push aside his usual cynicism, if only for a second. He took your hand, his grip a little rough, a little unsure.
“I’m Haymitch,” he muttered, pulling his hand back quickly. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He just wanted to be left alone. The drink in his hand was the only thing that helped him pretend, just for a little while, that none of this mattered.
But you didn’t leave. You stayed there, watching him, waiting. Then, you asked, “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking?”
A bitter laugh escaped him, sharper than he intended. He glanced at you, eyes narrowing, but it wasn’t malice—just exhaustion. “After everything I’ve been through, I doubt anyone’s gonna care if I drink at sixteen.”
“I guess you’re right,” you said quietly, but the words felt heavier than they should have. A beat passed before you hesitated and then asked, “Can I drink with you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.
You’d never had alcohol before. But tonight, with your father off in his political world and surrounded by people you didn’t care to speak to, you just wanted something—anything—to make you feel less out of place. And Haymitch seemed like he could use someone to talk to, even if he didn’t realize it.
He actually laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that caught you off guard. “You?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “The little Capitol princess wants to get drunk with District 12?” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Oh, right. Because I’m a victor.” His eyes met yours, intense, cutting. “Is it to gloat to your friends? Or maybe to get in my pants? Because newsflash, sweetheart, I’ve had hundreds of people coming up to me for everything and more. So no,” he spat, voice low, dangerous. “I don’t need some drunk Capitol girl to go home to Daddy and get me killed for it.”
You blinked, stunned by the harshness of his words. You’d never been spoken to like that before—so blunt, so cruel. It felt like a slap in the face, but worse—because you couldn’t figure out what you’d done to deserve it.
Haymitch didn’t care that you weren’t like the others. He didn’t care that you’d felt a flicker of empathy for him, wanted to reach out, to connect. He was too wrapped up in his own bitterness to see it.
And you… you felt vulnerable, exposed, but you didn’t want to force him into a conversation. You weren’t going to beg for his company.
So you did the only thing you could think of. You swallowed your pride and, with quiet sincerity, said, “I’m really sorry about your friends. I just wanted to tell you that. The Games... they’re horrible. It’s not fair for any of you. That’s all. I’ll leave you to it.”
You turned to leave, but before you could take a step, you heard him speak again.
“Give me a whiskey on the rocks,” he said sharply, voice commanding.
His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. The grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm—insistent. You met his eyes, surprised by the sudden shift. His face was unreadable for a moment, then he gave you a half-smirk, something in his eyes that might’ve been humor—or maybe just resignation.
“Let’s drink,” he said, almost like an invitation to something he knew he didn’t want, but couldn’t refuse.
You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right. But you couldn’t back down now. You gave him a small, almost nervous smile, and after a beat, you sat down beside him.
The bartender placed a drink in front of you, the amber liquid shimmering under the low lights. You stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. You’d never tasted alcohol before.
Haymitch raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “You’re really gonna drink that?” he asked, a challenge in his voice.
You gathered every ounce of courage you had and took a sip.
The second the liquid hit your tongue, your stomach lurched. It burned like fire, sharp and bitter. You coughed violently, gagging, your face flushing with embarrassment. “What the hell is that?” you gasped, struggling to catch your breath.
Haymitch’s rough hand landed on your back, giving you a couple of quick, reassuring pats. “Atta girl,” he said, his voice low. For a second, there was something warm behind the edge of his tone. “You’re okay.”
A glass of water appeared in front of you, and you eagerly drank it, trying to wash away the burn. You looked back at Haymitch, still incredulous. “How do you drink that? It’s like drinking fire.”
He laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that was somehow more comforting than anything else. “After you play the Games,” he said, lifting his glass in a half-toast, “this? This is nothing.”
You stared at him for a moment, still catching your breath. "I guess you’re right," you murmured, trying to regain some composure. You’d expected to feel awkward, but now that you were sitting next to him, something about it felt oddly... real.
That’s when you noticed something strange. Haymitch was bouncing a small ball off the space between his legs, the rubber making a quiet, rhythmic sound against his chair.
"You still have it?" you asked before you could stop yourself, your voice softer than you intended, filled with curiosity.
Haymitch looked up at you, and for a split second, there was something flickering in his eyes—something unexpected, almost vulnerable. He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on the small ball in his hand.
“Well, it did save my life,” he said, holding it up between you. “I was mad at first, thought it was stupid... But this little thing... It saved my life.” His voice softened, weighed down by the truth. “I wish I could meet the person who gave it to me. Even just a ‘hello’ and a ‘thank you.’”
You found yourself staring at him, a tightness forming in your chest. There was something raw about his words, beyond the anger he wore like armor. For a moment, the bitterness faded, and you saw the scars beneath it—the real Haymitch.
A pause lingered between you, heavy with unspoken understanding. You felt his eyes on you, the weight of them like a quiet pressure. Then, almost instinctively, you smiled—a small, soft thing that you didn’t try to hide. It wasn’t grand, but it was real.
“Hello,” you said, almost as if offering more than just a greeting.
Haymitch didn’t quite understand at first. His brows furrowed in confusion, but then, slowly, something shifted. His gaze darted from the ball back to you, and the realization hit him with almost comical force.
“You’re Star?” His voice came out incredulous, as though he couldn’t believe it. There was disbelief, yes, but also something else—a warmth, an unspoken gratitude.
You nodded, your smile growing shy, almost embarrassed now. "Yeah. I am. My dad calls me little star. I wanted to stay hidden."
He stared at you for a long moment, the silence between you thick with everything left unsaid. Then, bit by bit, his surprise faded, replaced by something softer, more genuine. A half-smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, accepting something that had been held back for too long.
“Hello… and thank you.” His voice was quieter now, no sarcasm, no bitterness—just the raw honesty he kept hidden beneath his rough exterior.
And in that moment, amidst the noise and chaos of the Capitol, something shifted between you two. The crowd, the flashing lights, the hollow smiles—they all seemed to blur into the background. It was just you and him, two people in a corner, sharing something no one else could understand.
The silence lingered, but it was comfortable now. You found yourself humming softly, the melody flowing out before you even realized it.
“What song is that?” Haymitch asked, breaking the stillness. He leaned in slightly, his brow furrowing in mild curiosity.
"Just something I’ve been working on,” you replied, your tone lighter now.
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You’re a songwriter?"
You hesitated for a second, then nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Trying to be. I hope one day I can be a famous singer and songwriter.” There was an edge of longing in your voice, a quiet dream that had always seemed out of reach. “But for now, I just need someone to listen to my songs.”
For some reason, those words hit him harder than he expected. Maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled with quiet hope or the vulnerability that slipped through your smile. Maybe it was the way you wore your dreams so openly, like they were part of you.
Without thinking, he said, “I’ll listen.”
His words hung between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You weren’t sure what surprised you more—the promise itself or the sincerity with which he spoke. Either way, it made you smile wider, a real, unguarded smile.
You nodded slowly, warmth spreading inside you like sunlight. “Thank you.”
And just like that, in the midst of a Capitol so full of lies and pretense, you found a little spark of something real—something you hadn’t even known you needed until now.
So I'll begin not to love you
Turn around, see me runnin'
I'll say I loved you years ago
Tell myself you never loved me, no
It had been five years since you met Haymitch that fateful night, and in all that time, he became more than just a friend. He was your anchor, your constant in a world that never stayed still.
You were his star in the darkness. A rare gem in a place where everything felt fake. The Capitol was suffocating, and he loathed every moment he spent there, but seeing you—seeing you made it bearable.
For Haymitch, you were the first face he needed to see when he arrived, and the last one before he left. There was something about your presence that steadied him, that made him feel like he wasn’t completely lost, like he could survive the next battle, whatever it was. Being a mentor had taken its toll on him, and he had two things he relied on now: alcohol and you.
And you had become so much more than a friend. You were his escape and his comfort.
At eighteen, you had your first hit song, and since then, your career had skyrocketed. The Capitol adored you. You were their Princess, the one everyone wanted to hear, to know.
You performed regularly, your songs filled with emotion and truth, and people clamored to figure out who you were singing about. But you kept that secret locked away. You couldn’t bear to let the world know the truth—it was your perfect bubble, and you weren’t ready for it to burst.
Haymitch, however, was a different story. He knew everything about you. He was your first fan, your most honest critic, and your confidant. You needed him in ways you never thought you would need anyone. He was always there to listen, to help, and to offer feedback. Your songs were written for him, in a way. He inspired them, made you feel like you could pour out your soul without fear.
You had fallen in love with him long ago, but you’d never said it. You never dared to, because you were certain he didn’t feel the same. He’d been through too much, and you didn’t want to risk losing the friendship you both shared. So you kept your feelings hidden, wrapping them in the lyrics of your songs, in the quiet moments you shared together.
Tonight, you found yourself in your apartment with him again. Your songbook spread out in front of you, and Haymitch was leaning over it, scribbling notes and offering his usual feedback. He was so comfortable here, so at ease with you.
“I like this verse,” he said, his voice low as he underlined the lines in your song. You leaned over his shoulder to see which part he was referring to, your hair brushing his cheek, a closeness that made your heart race, even though you’d been here countless times before.
"Which one?" you asked, a smile tugging at your lips as you poured yourself a glass of wine and handed him his usual drink.
“We’re two broken stars that the world can’t hide,” he read aloud, glancing at you. You nodded, humming the words softly as you sang the line for him.
“I think my favorite is this one,” you said, pointing to another part of the page.
“They’ll never understand, they’ll never see, how your pain is my pain, how you’re saving me.”
Haymitch stared at the words for a long moment, his expression softening. “It’s absolutely beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “You, sweetheart, are a beautiful genius.”
You smiled at him, warmth flooding your chest at the compliment. “Do you like the song?” you asked, your voice a little unsure.
“Of course I do.” He took a sip of his drink, leaning back in his chair. “This is amazing. It’s going to be a hit.”
He paused, then added with a wry grin, “Though you’re definitely not helping with the ‘boyfriend’ situation you’ve got going on. Everyone already thinks you have a secret boyfriend.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Definitely do not,” you said, nudging him with your elbow. “You would be the first one to know.”
“I really can’t imagine you with someone,” he muttered before he could stop himself. It was true, though. He couldn’t picture you in anyone else’s arms. Not after all these years, not after everything. He’d come to rely on you so much that the thought of anyone else being close to you—really close to you—filled him with something he couldn’t quite name.
You raised an eyebrow. “Ouch. I’m offended,” you teased, though you couldn’t help the slight flutter in your chest. “I get it, though. I really can’t see myself with anyone either…” You paused, meeting his gaze.
“Oh, shush.” He rolled his eyes, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. “You have every man at your feet.” You shook your head, letting out a small laugh. “Please. You’re a beautiful and talented woman. Everyone either wants to be you or be with you.”
You stared at him for a long time after that, your heart pounding in your chest. “And on which side are you on?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, Haymitch didn’t answer. He looked at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, as if he was wrestling with some unspoken desire. Finally, he shook his head, his voice rough as he replied, “I... I don’t know. I can’t imagine you with anyone else, but I also can’t—”
“Cross that line?” you finished for him, your voice catching in your throat.
He met your gaze, and for a moment, everything around you faded. It was just you and him, the years of friendship, the quiet longing, the unspoken words hanging between you.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I can’t cross that line.”
You swallowed hard, your heart aching in your chest. “But what if I want to?” you whispered.
His eyes darkened, and for the first time, you saw the conflict in them. “Then we’d both have to admit something we’ve been denying for years,” he murmured, standing up and walking over to the window, looking out at the city below.
You stood up too, taking a few steps toward him. “What’s that?”
“That we’re both terrified of what’ll happen if we cross that line,” he said, turning to face you, his voice almost a whisper. “Because if we do, there’s no going back.”
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. You took another step toward him, your heart pounding so loudly you thought it might burst. “Haymitch…” you whispered, your voice trembling with the desire you’d kept locked away for so long.
He closed the space between you in a few swift steps, his hand brushing yours, then cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
And then, slowly, he leaned in.
The moment your lips met, it was everything you’d both been avoiding, a collision of longing and restraint, two hearts breaking through the walls they’d built around themselves.
It was gentle at first, a tender exploration of what you’d both kept hidden. But as the kiss deepened, it became urgent, as if you were both finally giving in to the desire that had been simmering for so long.
When he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you were both breathless, both trembling.
“I’ve wanted that for so long,” Haymitch whispered, his voice raw, “but I didn’t know how to make it real. Didn’t know if you felt the same.”
You smiled softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’ve always felt the same.”
And in that moment, everything changed. The line you had never crossed was no longer there. It was just you and him, tangled in a world of your own.
Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me
I know I could have loved you
But you would not let me
It had been a few years since that first kiss—the one that had changed everything. You still remembered the way his lips had felt against yours—hesitant at first, then warm and sure as his arms had wrapped around you. It was the kind of kiss that made the whole world outside disappear, leaving only the two of you. And nothing had been the same since.
You and Haymitch had come a long way since then. The world didn’t know the truth—the truth about the quiet moments, the shared smiles, the stolen touches in the dark corners of the Capitol. They had no idea that Haymitch was even in your life. He was your constant, your anchor, the one person who always knew how to make everything feel okay.
Tonight, you were curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs as you looked over the lyrics for your next song. You were on your third glass of wine, trying to find the perfect words for the melody in your head. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t focus. Your mind kept drifting back to Haymitch.
He was in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets. He’d promised to make you dinner, but that usually meant the whole process involved a lot of cursing and muttered complaints. You smiled to yourself, knowing exactly how the evening was going to go.
“I swear, every time I try to make something, it turns into a disaster,” he called from the kitchen, his voice just loud enough for you to hear.
“You say that every time, Haymitch,” you teased, not bothering to look up from your notebook. “But I’m pretty sure you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not exaggerating,” he said flatly. You heard a loud clang, followed by a frustrated grunt. “This pan's out for me. I swear it’s cursed. Maybe we should switch. I’ll be the famous pop star, and you can save us from this kitchen disaster.”
You chuckled softly, setting your pen down and glancing toward the kitchen doorway. “You need me to come rescue you?”
A long pause followed, then a familiar, exaggerated sigh that made you smile even before he spoke. “I think it might be beyond rescue at this point,” he muttered, his voice tinged with a reluctant laugh. “But yeah, I’d appreciate the help.”
You stood, the blanket slipping from your lap as you walked into the kitchen. Haymitch was standing by the stove, glaring at the pan as if it had personally wronged him.
The mess around him wasn’t much better—spilled ingredients, an open box of pasta, and the unmistakable smell of something burning. Or maybe it was just the wine you’d been sipping. Either way, it was chaos in there.
You walked over to him, your hand gently landing on his shoulder. “Maybe I should take over before you set the whole place on fire,” you teased, trying not to laugh.
He glanced up at you, his expression softening for a brief moment. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he muttered, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. “If I had to cook for myself every night, I’d probably starve.”
You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got me. Cooking’s my thing, remember?”
He chuckled quietly, his gaze lingering on you, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world outside didn’t exist. There was just this little space, the two of you, and nothing else mattered. In this tiny corner of the Capitol, you didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but yourselves.
As you started to take over the cooking, Haymitch moved to stand behind you, slipping his arms around your waist. It was the kind of touch that had become second nature, yet it still made your heart skip every time.
“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your neck, “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
You froze for a moment, your fingers pausing over the counter. You hadn’t expected that. But when you turned to meet his eyes, they were soft, and there was a sincerity there that made your heart flutter.
“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your voice gave you away.
He didn’t respond immediately, instead meeting your gaze like he was weighing his words. For a moment, he seemed lost, and you could see the vulnerability in his eyes that he rarely let anyone see.
“I don’t deserve you,” he finally whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I’m damn glad I have you.”
Your breath caught in your throat. Without thinking, you reached up to gently cup his cheek, grounding yourself with the warmth of his skin. “You do deserve me, Haymitch. More than anyone I know.”
He held your gaze for what felt like an eternity, his expression unreadable for a moment before he leaned down to kiss you. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a fiery, desperate kiss. It was slow and soft, like he was savoring the moment. You did the same. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breath.
“I love you,” he whispered, so quietly it could’ve been drowned out by the soft hum of the record player in the background. But you heard it. And you felt it in every part of you.
Your heart stopped for a beat, the weight of his words filling you up. You couldn’t help but smile. “I love you too, Haymitch,” you said, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I’ve loved you since that first kiss. And I’ll love you to our last.”
He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “You’re a godsend, you know that?”
You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes again. His gaze was full of so much love, it felt like it was lifting you off the ground.
“We’ve been hiding for so long,” you murmured, your fingers tracing lightly along the edge of his jaw. “I just want everyone to know how much I love you. How much we love each other. I want the world to know that you, my beautiful District 12 blonde troublemaker, are the muse behind every song I’ve written.”
Haymitch laughed, his expression amused. “Beautiful District 12 blonde troublemaker, huh? You sure know how to flatter a guy.”
You smiled up at him, loving how playful he was, even in moments like this. “Well, it’s the truth. You’re my muse. The reason for every lyric, every note. And everyone deserves to know that.”
His expression softened, and he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin. “The Capitol isn’t ready for that, sweetheart,” he said gently. “We can’t let them see this. Not yet. You being with someone from District 12 would start a riot. I can handle myself, but I don’t want you to have to worry about it.”
You nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling in. “I know. But maybe someday, when it’s safe, I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to keep this secret.”
He smiled, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, soothing circles. “We’ll get there. When the time’s right. I promise.”
You leaned in and kissed him again, this time deeper, more certain. It wasn’t about anyone else right now. Not about the Capitol, or the world beyond your little apartment. What mattered was that it was just the two of you, in this moment, safe and away from it all.
“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, and he smiled, kissing you back with that same quiet intensity.
“I love you too, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.”
And in that moment, you realized that this love—the secret, hidden love you shared—was all that truly mattered. Nothing else in the world could compare.
Was I such a fool?
I'll follow you down til' the sound of my voice will haunt you
Give me just a chance
You were about to turn thirty, and apparently, that meant people had a free pass to get all up in your business about when you were going to get married.
It wasn’t like you could really get mad at them. You found yourself wondering the same thing sometimes. You’d been with Haymitch for almost a decade now, and every time you tried to broach the subject of marriage, he’d change the topic like it was some sort of game.
You didn’t get it. You were secure in your relationship—deeply secure. You loved him. He loved you. What was the hold-up? You didn’t want to be just another Capitol couple with a glittering wedding and a big spectacle, but you also didn’t understand why he kept dodging the conversation. Marriage was a way to make your relationship real in the eyes of the world, something more than just whispers behind closed doors.
But not for Haymitch. And so, you just kept pretending the question didn’t bother you. You smiled through the constant barrage of nosy questions.
“Do you have someone special in your life?”
“When are we going to see little Y/n’s running around?”
“Thirty’s almost here—when’s the wedding?”
It wasn’t that you didn’t want those things. You did. You wanted a future with Haymitch, a life together. The more they asked, the more you felt the pressure tightening, even though you knew it wasn’t something they could help.
And then there were your parents. Especially your mother.
“I don’t get it,” your mom said one night, running her hand through her hair in frustration. “You have so many options, Y/n. So many good men. You could’ve been married years ago, but now? You’re getting older, and the good ones—they’ll be gone soon. I can’t just sit here and wait forever for you to make up your mind.”
You sighed, leaning back into your chair. “Mom, we’ve been through this before. I’m handling it.”
“Handling it?” She gave you a pointed look. “You’ve been saying that since you were twenty-five. It’s not like there’s a shortage of men who’d love to marry you. You could have any of them.”
Your patience was starting to fray. You loved your parents, you really did, but you hated that they couldn’t understand.
“I don’t want any of them,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice calm. “I don’t want some Capitol bachelor with his polished smile and perfect life.” I want Haymitch.
Her eyes softened, but the frustration still lingered. “Look, I understand, but—”
“No, you don’t,” you interrupted. “You don’t get it, Mom. I’m not looking for a perfect life. I’m looking for the one that feels real.”
Your mom opened her mouth, clearly ready to argue, but your father finally spoke up. “What your mother’s trying to say is, maybe you’re not really opening yourself up to the idea of someone else. We’ve been talking with the Crane family, and—”
“I’m not marrying Seneca Crane,” you said before he could finish, the words spilling out before you could stop them.
Your father raised an eyebrow, trying to hide his surprise. “Well, not Seneca. His older brother, Cassius. He’s a few years older than you, and he’s been the Head Gamemaker for a while. He’s a good guy, Y/n. We’ve worked with him before. You can trust him. The Crane family is well-respected.”
You crossed your arms, your heart sinking. You’d met Cassius before. He was kind, charming, but he wasn’t Haymitch. He wasn’t the man you wanted to spend your life with.
“No,” you said firmly. “I’m not doing this.”
“Y/n,” your father said gently, leaning forward. “Cassius is a good man. And your marriage would be a big deal. It would bring both our families joy, not to mention the whole Capitol. You’d be the ‘It’ couple, Y/n. Even President Snow would likely attend the wedding. This could be huge for all of us.”
You shook your head, the lump in your throat growing. You didn’t care about any of that. You didn’t care about appearances, about being the Capitol’s ‘It’ couple. You cared about him.
“I don’t want to marry someone for the sake of a good match. I want to marry for love.”
Your father sighed, looking helpless, while your mother was now giving you that look—the one that said she was done.
“Little Star, we’re just trying to make sure you’re not closing yourself off. We want what’s best for you. We just want you to be happy.”
You stood up, the weight of their concern suddenly too much to bear. “I’m not doing this. I’m done talking about it.”
Before they could say anything else, you grabbed your purse and headed for the door. You needed to be anywhere but here, away from their expectations, their pressure. The only place you wanted to be was with Haymitch.
You needed him. His arms around you. His voice, his presence, his unspoken understanding of you.
You kissed your parents on the cheek quickly, not trusting yourself to say more, and walked out without another word. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, you could feel the tension start to ease, knowing that soon, you’d be with the one person who did understand. The one person who made it all feel like it was going to be okay.
Haymitch. Your Haymitch.
When you finally made it to your apartment, you immediately noticed the bag slung casually on the couch and the open bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table—his whiskey. He’d arrived. Haymitch was here.
You quickly made your way into the living room, and there he was. Sitting on the couch, bottle in hand, swirling the amber liquid, lost in thought. His weary eyes lifted when he heard your footsteps, and for a second, everything else in the world disappeared.
“Haymitch…” You said softly, a smile creeping onto your lips.
He didn’t speak immediately, just set the bottle down on the table and opened his arms for you. You ran to him without a second thought, collapsing into his embrace. His scent—whiskey and something else that was unmistakably him—wrapped around you like a familiar, comforting blanket.
“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, burying your face in his chest.
Dinner came and went, the two of you falling into the comfortable rhythm you always did. The kind of quiet that spoke louder than words. But after, when the dishes were cleaned and the night had settled into the soft hum of your apartment, you found yourself nestled on the couch again. His fingers gently threaded through your hair as you laid your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat grounding you.
This was your place. Your perfect, stolen moments together.
“Haymitch…” you said, your voice quiet, almost tentative. He hummed in response, the sound low and soothing.
“I’ve been thinking,” you continued, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “What if you stayed?”
His hand froze, his fingers stilling in your hair. He didn’t say anything at first, but you felt the tension in his body. He didn’t even need to speak for you to know what was coming.
“…here in the Capitol,” you added, trying to push through the nervous lump in your throat. “You come back every year, and I’m sure if we tell the public, they’ll let you stay. They would. They love you here. You could have your own life—our life. Together.”
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. And in that silence, you felt your heart start to sink. You knew what he would say. You always knew. He couldn’t stay here. Not for you. Not for anyone.
“I can’t see myself living here full-time,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
You understood. You did. You always had. He hated the Capitol. He hated everything it stood for. You couldn’t blame him for that. It wasn’t fair to ask him to be part of it.
But still, you couldn’t help but try. “What if I went to District 12?” The words spilled out before you could stop them. “I can always come back here for performances, for everything I need to do, but… I’d be with you. We could be together. I can make it work.”
“I don’t think you’d like District 12,” he said, his voice sounding almost sad as he looked at you.
You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “Well, I’ve never been. And I want to be wherever you are.”
There was a pause. A long one. He didn’t speak. And you waited, holding your breath.
“And if you don’t want to live here and you don’t think I’d like it in the districts… where do you suppose we live when we get married?”
There. You said it. You let it slip. That word. And as soon as it left your lips, you saw the shift in his expression, the subtle stiffening in his shoulders.
“We are going to get married, right?” Your voice cracked, just slightly, betraying the vulnerability you didn’t want him to see.
The silence in the room felt like it could suffocate you. His eyes were downcast, and you could feel your stomach drop, your heart pounding in your chest, as the weight of the moment settled over you.
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you,” he said, each word weighing on him like an anchor. “I just don’t see myself getting married… in general.”
And then it hit you. Like a punch to the gut. You could barely breathe.
“Not even to me?” You whispered, unable to stop the words from tumbling out.
He met your eyes then, and you saw the pain in his gaze, the unspeakable regret. His hand fell from your hair and he looked down at his lap, fingers twitching at his sides.
“I love you,” he said softly, his voice breaking as the words left his lips.
“And I love you…” You responded, your throat tight, tears starting to sting your eyes. “But I want to marry you. I want to have kids with you. I want to be a family with you. And I thought you wanted that too…”
You could feel the tears welling up, but you held them back as best as you could. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me,” you whispered, barely above a breath, your voice breaking.
His face contorted in a mixture of frustration and helplessness. He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to make sense of everything. But there was no sense to be made. Not in this. Not now.
“I can’t do it.” His voice was barely a murmur. “I’m sorry.”
You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks despite your best effort to hold them back. “Cassius Crane wants my hand in marriage,” you said, your voice shaking. You couldn’t stop yourself from adding the words. “I said no. I said no because I want you. I want us. Please don’t take that away from me.”
His eyes snapped open, but they were filled with the same sadness as always. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t give you marriage.”
You stared at him, disbelief washing over you. “Dammit, why not?” You snapped, your voice rising despite yourself. “Am I not enough?”
“God no,” he hissed, his hands suddenly gripping your face with such force it made your breath catch. “Of course, you’re enough. You just… you don’t understand.”
“Then let me understand,” you cried, the words tumbling out of you like a dam breaking. “Talk to me. Stop running away from this.”
But he couldn’t explain it. Not in a way you could understand. Not the way you needed to.
“I can’t!” He yelled back, his voice breaking, the emotion raw. “I just can’t. I can’t let you be part of this world. This world that’ll just take everything from you. You don’t have to face it. You’ll never have to. And I can’t let that happen to you.”
“I want marriage. And I want kids.” Your voice was barely a whisper now, a soft, desperate plea. “I want to share that with you.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, and it almost shattered you.
“Please,” you whispered, grabbing his face, your hands shaking. “Just talk to me. We can talk about it. What are you scared of?”
You looked into his eyes, searching for something—anything—to give you hope, to give you an answer. “We can talk about marriage and kids later then. But can we at least go public?” You tried, your voice almost pleading.
But you could see his answer in his eyes. You knew. It was a no.
“What does that mean for us then? I’ll do anything to make this work. But how?” You felt your voice quiver as you said the words, the hollow ache in your chest growing by the second.
And then he spoke, his voice barely audible, full of sorrow.
“I think you know what that means for us,” he said, looking down, tears welling up in his eyes.
You shake your head, your breath coming out in broken sobs. "No. Haymitch, no..." Your voice cracks, desperation choking the words as you try to grasp onto something, anything, to stop the inevitable.
He reaches out and gently caresses your face, his touch soft, like he’s trying to wipe away the pain, but it only seems to deepen the ache in your chest. “You deserve to be happy,” he whispers, his voice strained, like the words are as heavy as stones in his mouth.
You look at him, helpless, and your voice trembles with all the emotions you’ve been trying to keep bottled up for so long. “I’m happy with you,” you cry out, the tears flowing freely now, unstoppable. “I don’t need a wedding, I don’t need kids... Hell, we don’t even need to go in public. We can stay like this. Just don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.” You feel the words spilling out in a frantic rush, your grip tightening on him as if you can hold him together with just your hands. “Please...”
He pulls you into his arms, his embrace tight, almost desperate. But it’s not enough. It never feels like enough. His tears fall too, mingling with yours, his voice breaking as he speaks. “You don’t want that. I know you don’t. And I’m so, so sorry...” His words are a confession, a silent admission of the things he’s never been able to give you. His body shakes slightly, as if the weight of what he’s saying is slowly crushing him, but he can’t stop.
You cling to him, holding onto him like a lifeline. “Please... don’t leave me. We can work it out. We can fix this,” you cry out, the words coming from a place deep inside, where your love for him feels like it could tear you apart if it doesn’t come out. You can't breathe without him. You can't imagine a world where he's not there beside you, where his touch is just a memory, fading with time.
He pulls back, his hands trembling as they hold your face, his eyes full of sorrow. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have made you wait. I should’ve been honest with you from the start, but I didn’t want to hurt you. And I know I’ve already done that, but... I can’t give you what you need. What you deserve.” He pauses, his gaze distant, almost lost. “You deserve to have the most beautiful wedding, to have a family, to give your children everything you’ve dreamed of.”
The pain is unbearable. You feel it twist inside you, but you can’t stop, can’t let it go. You can’t let him slip through your fingers, not like this. “Have it with me,” you beg, your voice raw with emotion. “Let’s have that life. Together, Haymitch. You deserve that too. We deserve to be happy... We deserve to be a family. Please...”
You see the shift in him, the way his shoulders tense, how his expression softens into something painful, something almost regretful. But it’s too late. His voice is low, barely audible as he speaks again, the weight of his words sinking into your skin. “My family died many years ago,” he whispers, the words like shards of glass against your heart. “And I will not go through that again. I can’t. I won’t.”
You reach for him, your heart shattering. “Haymitch... I don’t want to have that life without you. I can’t...” Your hands tremble as you touch his face, your tears falling onto his skin, but he doesn’t look at you. He can’t.
“You’re going to be fine,” he says softly, almost like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “You’re going to be happy. You’ll find someone who can give you everything you need. Someone who can make all your dreams come true.”
“But I love you,” you cry out, your chest aching with the rawness of your words. It’s all you have left. You can feel him breaking, too. You can see it in his eyes, the way his walls are starting to crumble, just like yours.
He kisses your forehead, and for a moment, everything feels like it used to—perfect. Safe. But then the moment ends, and reality crashes back in. His voice cracks as he speaks again. “And I love you more than you’ll ever know,” he whispers, his lips pressing against your skin with a tenderness that feels like goodbye. “And that’s why I need to end this. It’s not fair to you, to keep you here, to give up your dreams of being a wife and a mother. You deserve someone who can give you everything you want, everything you need.”
You shake your head, the words sticking in your throat. “I’ll do anything for you,” you whisper, your voice desperate. You feel it—this is the moment. The one where everything changes.
He stares at you, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He needs to be strong. For both of you. And you know that, even as your heart is cracking open. “And I’ll do anything for you too,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s finality to it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He pulls away then, and your heart feels like it’s falling to the ground. You reach out, but he’s already stepping back, grabbing his bag. The weight of it is almost too much to bear. His footsteps sound so hollow against the floor. You feel like you’re suffocating, but you can’t move.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice cracking, before he turns and walks to the door. You can’t stop the sob that rips through you, can’t stop the way your chest burns as you watch him go.
You hear the door close behind him, the sound of it echoing in the emptiness of the apartment, and then—silence. The silence that he’s left behind. The silence that feels like a void in your heart.
He’s gone. And with him, a part of you is gone too.
You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you
Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me
I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me
I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice
Haymitch absolutely hated being in the Capitol. He couldn’t stand the fake smiles, the bright lights, or the smell of wealth and excess in the air. He needed to be at least semi-plastered to survive it, but even then, it barely helped.
It had been years since he walked out of your life—since he made that decision to never look back. Walking away was the worst thing he’d ever done. The loneliness that followed was a constant ache in his chest. Life without you? It wasn’t life at all. It wasn’t worth living.
But he couldn’t just leave. Not entirely. He had to stay for District 12. They needed him as their mentor, even though he felt like he’d failed them. He couldn’t abandon them, even if he already felt like he had.
The 70th Hunger Games were upon him, and Haymitch found himself waiting in the crowd for the tribute interviews. His flask was clutched tightly in his hand, his stomach already knotted at the thought of the upcoming disaster. He had seen it all before, and this year would be no different—he’d be cleaning up someone else’s mess again.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the voice of the announcer boomed across the stadium, “Your Master of Ceremonies, Caesar Flickerman!”
Haymitch’s eyes narrowed, and he rolled his own eyes at the sound. He hated these events. He hated the whole thing.
“Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!” Caesar’s voice was almost too bright, too fake. “The 70th Annual Hunger Games! How marvelous!” The crowd roared with excitement. “Are you excited to meet your favorite tributes?” More cheers. “I am too! But before we get to that, we have a very special surprise for you all.”
Haymitch took a long swig from his flask, bracing himself for whatever ridiculous Capitol guest they were about to unveil.
“And now,” Caesar’s voice grew even more enthusiastic, “please put your hands together for the most beautiful and beloved couple of the century, the genius head game maker, Cassius Crane, and the brightest star in all of Panem—Y/N Crane!”
Haymitch froze. His heart hammered in his chest, and the world around him seemed to fall away. He hadn’t expected this. Not in a thousand years. You—you—were here. He hadn’t seen you in years, not since that night. And he had worked hard to avoid you ever since.
When you and he were in the same vicinity, it was like a silent agreement: you went one way, and he went the other. You kept your distance. He kept his.
But now, here you were.
The crowd erupted into applause as you stepped into view. There you were, as stunning as ever. The Capitol lights made your skin glow, and the smile on your face was everything he remembered—warm, bright, perfect. Your hand was firmly entwined with your husband’s, and they looked so... complete. Together.
And then Haymitch’s eyes fell to the ring on your finger. The simple band, a symbol of a life you’d built without him. His throat tightened, his stomach lurching.
“My dears,” Caesar greeted, his voice dripping with his usual fake charm. He shook Cassius’s hand and kissed both your cheeks, pulling you into his world of manufactured affection. “Thank you for joining us.”
“Thank you for having us,” you replied smoothly, your voice calm and collected. You sat down beside Cassius, your fingers still intertwined with his.
“So,” Caesar crossed his legs, settling into his seat with his signature grin. “How’s married life treating you?”
Cassius smiled at you, the picture of a perfect husband. “It’s marvelous,” he said, his gaze never leaving you. “She’s an absolute dream. I thank my lucky stars every day for her.” The crowd melted at his words, a chorus of "Awws" echoing through the stadium.
Haymitch had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, his fingers tightening around his flask. Perfect. That was exactly what you had. The life you always deserved. A life he couldn’t give you.
You smiled, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “It’s amazing,” you added, your voice steady. “We just celebrated our fourth anniversary, and we’re still going strong.”
The words stung. You were happy—with him. And Haymitch had no right to be angry. He had walked away.
But it still hurt. It hurt more than he cared to admit.
“And how are the kids?” Caesar’s voice cut through the haze of bitterness in Haymitch’s mind.
You lit up at the mention of your children, and Haymitch’s heart sank further.
“They’re absolutely perfect,” you said, your eyes glowing with pride. “Cassius Jr. is three, and Aurora just turned one.” You handed a photo to Caesar, who held it up for the audience to see. “Here they are.”
The crowd awed at the picture, and Caesar’s voice grew even more syrupy. “Oh my! Look at these precious babies!” he said. He turned the photo towards the audience, allowing the cameras to zoom in. “Where are our babies? We need to see them!”
Cassius grinned like a proud father, looking down at the photo with a soft smile. “Well, funny you should ask,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Because we have some very special guests for you all.”
And with that, the nanny walked on stage, carrying both of your children. The crowd went wild, and even Caesar seemed overwhelmed with excitement.
Cassius Jr. was placed in his father’s arms, and Aurora was handed over to you. You smiled at her, holding her with tenderness.
“Can you say hi, Junior?” Cassius asked, holding the little boy up for the crowd.
“Hi,” the boy said, and the crowd erupted in cooing sounds.
Haymitch’s chest tightened painfully, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from you. From your perfect life. From your perfect family. He never should’ve walked away.
Caesar, still fawning over the family, turned to the crowd. “What a surprise! These children are so beautiful. Obviously, they come from the most beautiful parents. I really should be thanking the gods for putting you two together—our Head Game Maker and our beloved Pop Princess!”
The crowd laughed. The cameras flashed. You smiled. And Haymitch... well, Haymitch was dying inside.
He should’ve been the one standing beside you. He should’ve been the one holding your hand. But he wasn’t.
And that, more than anything, felt like the hardest part to bear.
“So, what comes next? Should we expect a new album soon?” Caesar asked, his voice practically bubbling with excitement.
You laugh softly, the sound genuine and warm. “Actually, I think the new album will have to wait for a little while longer. I’m sorry.” A playful glint flickered in your eyes as you turned to your husband, smiling brightly. “Because…” you said, your hands gently resting on the curve of your stomach, “I’m pregnant.”
The words sent the crowd into a frenzy, their cheers so loud they seemed to rattle the very air around them. The lights above seemed to shine even brighter as you spoke, as if the Capitol itself was celebrating this new chapter in your life.
“Are you trying to kill us?” Caesar exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air with a wide grin. “How far along are you?”
“I’m about three and a half months,” you replied, your voice calm and steady, but there was a joy in it that couldn’t be hidden. As you sat back down, Cassius immediately took your hand again, his fingers wrapping around yours possessively.
“Well, congratulations are definitely in order,” Caesar said, his voice full of warmth. “I love having new babies to love. Don’t you?” He turned to the audience, inviting their enthusiastic response.
Haymitch’s heart clenched in his chest, but he didn’t look away. Cassius—your husband—seemed so perfectly at ease, as though he had everything figured out.
He was the man you had chosen, the man you had built this life with. The thought of you raising children with him, his children, twisted something inside Haymitch. And yet, here he was, an outsider, holding a flask instead of his family.
Caesar turned back to Cassius. “So music is clearly on the back burner for now, but what about you, Cassius? You’ll still be the head game maker, right?”
Cassius squeezed your hand, his voice deep and full of care as he looked at you with a soft, loving gaze. “Actually, I’m planning on bringing my little brother Seneca into the role. This is our third child, and I want to be there for my wife.” His hand briefly brushed over your stomach, his eyes filled with affection. “We both want our children to be raised with both parents in the household, so I’ve decided that this role can be split. I trust Seneca completely. I can promise you that the future Games will be even better than before.”
Haymitch’s grip tightened around the neck of his flask, his hand shaking ever so slightly. He stared at the two of you, the image of the perfect family.
You, so radiant, your life so beautifully mapped out, and Cassius—Cassius—the man who had everything Haymitch had once dreamed of. The love you shared, the life you built, it was all so perfect. And Haymitch was nothing. Not to you. Not to anyone.
And then the children. They were perfect, too. Cassius Jr. looked like a miniature replica of his father, with that proud, confident smile, but your features were there too—the nose, the smile. And little Aurora. She was the image of you, small and delicate, with your sparkling eyes and soft skin. It was everything you’d ever wanted, everything you deserved.
And Haymitch had let you slip through his fingers. He had ruined it.
He should have fought for you. Instead, he pushed you away. And now, here you were, with everything you ever wanted… without him.
Haymitch felt the weight of his decision crush him all over again. He knew, as he sat there in the back, nursing his flask, that he had failed you. And no matter how many years passed, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, it would always hurt. The ache in his chest never went away. Not even after all this time.
But then, as if the universe itself wanted to rub salt into his wounds, your eyes found his.
The breath left Haymitch’s chest in a strangled gasp. He saw it—the moment your body stiffened, just the slightest, your smile faltering as your gaze locked with his. The recognition. It was there, in your eyes. He could see the way your heart gave a little lurch, the way your face softened ever so slightly.
You hadn’t forgotten. You never had.
For a long moment, neither of you broke eye contact. Haymitch couldn’t read your thoughts. And, in some strange way, he didn’t want to know. Because if he did, if he truly understood just how much you still carried for him—he might lose the fragile control he had left. You had moved on. You had built a life without him. And as much as it hurt, that was the reality he had to accept.
You broke eye contact when your son reached out for you, his tiny hands stretching towards you. You immediately pulled your eyes from Haymitch’s and went to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around the child. The bond between you and your son was undeniable, and Haymitch couldn’t tear his eyes away.
He watched as your fingers gently played with your son’s hair, his content little face snuggling into you. For a brief, bitter moment, Haymitch smiled—though it was more out of sorrow than anything else. He had lost. He had lost you, and now, there was no going back.
Caesar’s voice interrupted the fragile moment. “Thank you to the Crane family for joining us tonight. It’s been an absolute pleasure. To close this segment, would you two be so kind as to share a kiss with us?”
Cassius and you stood together, your children in your arms. Cassius’s free hand wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on the curve of your stomach. He pulled you into his arms, and in front of millions, he kissed you—a soft, tender kiss that was filled with a love Haymitch could never understand.
The crowd erupted in applause, but Haymitch barely heard it. He only saw you. Your smile. Your joy. And the knowledge that it wasn’t for him.
As you pulled away from the kiss, your gaze didn’t even flicker back in his direction. It stung, but Haymitch accepted it. You had moved on. He had no place in your life anymore.
What he didn’t know was that, even as you smiled at Cassius and turned your attention back to your family, you watched him. You watched him as he slowly turned his back on you once more. It was subtle, but the familiar ache tightened in your chest, too. You told yourself, over and over, that you had made peace with the life you had. You had built it, you had chosen it. And yet, as he walked away, it felt like another part of you slipped away with him.
He drained the rest of the flask, the burning liquid doing nothing to ease the ache in his heart. Turning away from the stage, Haymitch made his way to the exit, the weight of the decision he had made years ago pressing down on him with crushing force.
He had told himself time and time again that never turning back had been his biggest regret, but now he knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Because, in the end, it had led you to this. It had led you to happiness.
And, for that, he could never regret it.
With a final glance at the memory of your smile etched in his mind, Haymitch walked away—away from you, away from everything. His heart shattered with every step. And for the first time in years, he knew what it truly felt like to lose you.
Forever.
But as he walked, he knew deep down that he’d never truly escape you. The haunting image of your smile, the sound of your voice, the way you had looked at him that night, would linger in his mind like a shadow.
Even as he tried to drown it with another drink, the memories would cling to him, relentless and unforgiving. Every corner of his mind, every moment in the day, would be haunted by you—by the love he once had and lost. And for the rest of his life, no matter how much he tried to move on, he would carry you with him.
Can you write a Achilles x reader where the reader is a minor godess send by Thetis to protect Achilles ? And maybe calm him ? And she start having feelings for him but denied them because she is a godess and he is a mortal ? (Don't write it if it's too weird, and good luck ! Juste wanted to say that i loved your Briseis fic )
Hi!!!
Thank you so much! Your request is perfectly good and something I can very much write.
Partícularly for me, i feel Troy (2004) often replicates the Lord of the Rings films atmosphere of a mythical age that has perished, but is not completely extinguished. I see that in the way the characters speak of the gods or even in the political conflicts. When Agamemnon says " Achilles is the past" what it really feels for me he is saying is " Achilles is the Age of Heroes, and I am the start of recorded history."
For so, I am up to include the mythical elements in my fics. With the exception of Achilles' mom, since we do see her, the greek gods in Troy are kinda like the Valar in LOTR. Not present in sight, but felt in the narrative through actions of the mortal characters if you dig deep enough.
That being said, and forgive me for rambling, this concept is perfect to write a fic about :)
Beyond Duty, Beyond Limits - Achilles x Goddess!Reader
Warnings: Forbidden mortal x inmortal where the inmortal denies herself because she behaves like a guardian. Reader replaces Athena talking on his mind lotr elf-style so he won't kill Agamemnon.
Summary: Enraged by the insults of Agamemnon, Achilles hides in his tent after your divine intervention stopped him from taking a more dangerous course of action. You attempt to bring him calm and an explanation, but he reads in you more than what you can admit.
Note: Dividers by @saradika-graphics
He could have killed the King, but the soft whisper of your voice in his mind stopped the blade. Achilles didn't have much respect for any other inmortal that wasn't his mother, but he learned to recognize you always came to him in behalf of her.
A rankless sea deity under the Nereids had more influence on him than the Olympians themselves. It could be said that them probably shared the impression of Agamemnon seeing a mere slave girl finding the obbedience they couldn't. What they wouldn't consider, imposible for beings of rank as high as them, is that you got results because you came to him as a friend.
His guardian, a friendly voice he could trust what he wouldn't share to his mortal friends and relatives. Someone apart from his mother knowing the deepness of his being. Aware of the fate cornering him, your task was the one of a companion for a hero already sentenced to a brief life. From all of his friends, you were to onlyone who knew his death was near.
Falling for him was the worst possible outcome for you, but fitting curse given Aphrodite played in the trojan side. The damage she couldn't inflict on Athena or Hera, she had unleashed in a lesser deity with no power to face her. At that point you were way beyond duty, beyond limits. Noticing his interest on the priestess have made you jealous of a mortal as you ate your love for the blond-haired hero. Imposible passion for you, destructive if consummated.
Achilles returned to his tent to find you already waiting for him, sitting on his spot on the bed directing him a calm smile. As soon as he got inside, you stood up offering wine you served from his own crater.
" I guessed you would need a drink. "
It landed like a mock and he wasn't in the mood for that.
" It's not wise to seek my company right now."
It made you chuckle, but you insisted taking the drink to his hand.
" I have never been wise, and you are the one finding yourself in need of mine."
He accepted the vase, slightly surprised of the servile attitude you adopted with the gesture. Despite lower in rank than his mother, you were still a deity, and pouring was usually a submissive act of service from the minor gods to the greater ones.
" Must I guess that following your advice was a mistake? ... Maybe I should have killed Agamemnon."
Trying to pretend solemnity, you evoked his greatest goals in hopes of helping him get a glimpse of the bigger scale in the situation.
" And how would history have remembered you then? 'Achilles, the usurper' the man that killed his leader for a woman. "
Only a shade of jealousy escaped from the intentionality of your speech, but it was easy to hide. If you mentioned the woman as a lesser cause, that made sense with your divine nature.
" I would have ended with a tyrant." He replicated and collapsed on his bed after finishing the liquid with one big sip and throwing away the vase, careless for the smashing. " I would have freed us all, greeks and trojans, a savior taken in geat reverence by both."
" You would have been marked as a traitor, you would have lost your honor and everything you fought for." You corrected in return as you paced closer. " Does the niece of Priam justify such great loss? She may be beautifull, but she could be your downfall if you don't proceed with care."
His glance, lost somewhere else untill that comment, got suddenly fixated on you. Anger dissipated for merely an instant, and he smirked with seductive self satisfaction.
" Are you jealous of her? Did you talk to me because you needed to prove you too can stop my blade? "
You endured the accusation with stoic dignity, giving a few steps back with a deadly serious expression.
" You may be beautifull beyond the limits of this Age of Heroes in decline, son of Peleus, but you aren't worth my downfall."
It made him chuckle, shades of skepticism in his semblance to matter he could see you wouldn't discuss.
" I won't fight for Agamemnon: I am going to sit back and watch his downfall. There is a spot reserved for you, If you want to, ... right next to me."
He tapped the side of the surface that served him as bed, playfully indicating you could lay with him if you wanted to do so.
" I thought you would wish to ask me how your mortal is doing, and If I can keep an eye on her for you." You carried on with the formal topic, refusing to follow his game. " Agamemnon is terrified of the effect she had on you: he may try to use her for bargain, but I doubt he would dare to hurt her by himself."
Your words have tranquilized at least the most inminent of his concerns. If the wound in his pride was his greatest pain, fear to feel like he was powerlessly abandoning that girl to be raped by the commander in chief was the actual sensitive aspect troubling him.
" Briseis prays more than me, she genuinely believes your kind would help her. I think right now she probably deserves your help more than I do. "
That selflessness, so rare to find in him, was melting your heart.
" I will not leave untill we have found your calm, then I will see what I can do without overstepping the territory of Apollo ... Who, by the way, must be very furious after you challenged him at the gates of his temple. "
Remembrance of his biggest act of hubris to the date got from him a taunting, purposedly innocent-looking smile.
" Being my inmortal guardian must be a terrible task, like the ironic punishment through a service impossible to achieve one gets in the Underworld after failing in life. "
The tease was about how very much exasperating he could get to be from your point of view as someone in charge of protecting him from the consecuencies of his misguided actions. Although sometimes it could be hard, that wasn't precisely the biggest challenge for you.
You smirked in return, ready to release a properly delivered sample of your denied affections.
I’m noticing an increase in new fic writers on AO3 who…uh…mayy not know how to format their fics correctly..so here is a quick and VERY important tip
Using a random fic of mine as example..
The left example: ✅✅✅
The right example: ❌❌❌
Idk how many times I’ve read a good fic summary and been so excited to read before clicking on it and being met with an ugly wall of text. When I see a huge text brick with zero full line breaks my eyes blur and I just siiiigh bc either I click out immediately or I grin and bear it…it’s insufferable!
If a new character speaks, you need a line break. If you notice a paragraph is becoming too large, go ahead and make a line break and/or maybe reconfigure the paragraph to flow better. I’m not a pro writer or even a huge fic writer but…please…ty…
This is a good thing to keep in mind! It is often and unfortunate that a really good fic doesn’t get love because its formatting makes it too difficult to read!
AO3's posting form has two modes: Rich Text and HTML. the vast majority of people write in Rich Text editors, aka any normal word processing software (MS Word, Google Docs, Apple Pages, what have you). but when you first open it, the posting form opens in HTML view. if you paste formatted text into HTML view, it erases every piece of formatting, including paragraph spacing.
this is an easy fix. when you go to post your fic, make sure the posting form looks like this:
not like this:
and please spread the word! this is an important piece of computer literacy that nobody is teaching to the new generations and they deserve to know
Oh, if you're posting by copying from tumblr and pasting to AO3, use Rich Text. It'll keep the paragraph spacing. If you don't, you get the jammed up version.
Just want to add, if you post in HTML you can still go in there and add line breaks/paragraph breaks.
Sometimes I have to adjust the breaks in rich text, too. Point is you don't have to leave a wall of text as-is. You can fix that before posting. Please do!
Request: Hey! Do you think you could do something along the lines, where the reader is in the hospital because she had an accident and dean is her nurse and the reader is flirting a lot with him and they fall in love?
Pairing: Nurse!Dean x reader
Word Count: 4,500ish
Warnings: language, injury
A/N: I like this happy, cute, ray of sunshine Dean…
Reader is a healer and this is once more very self indulgent.
mentions of Achilles killing a guy.
Achilles would never get used to how soft you were and he loved it.
But he hated how you would never let him repay you for anything in the way he was best.
You wouldn’t let him threaten the people that were rude when you cared for their injury's and illnesses, you wouldn’t let him kill for you and you wouldn’t let him physically fight for you.
You appreciate him standing up for you but it upset you to know that the man you loved, who touched you so tenderly, had killed so many people with the hands that held yours with great love and tender care.
He had gone against your wishes that day, and you were mad. He had come into your tent, flaunting his kill and the blood he now sported as if it were a badge of honor.
Or at least, he had been.
Now he was staring at you, jaw dropped in shock as you, his one true love, was ignoring him. One of your coworkers had told you what he had done and it upset you for two reasons.
One, because he went against your wishes and two, because you needed to prove your point that not everyone wanted him because he was a killing machine.
When you finally looked at him, he had his arms crossed and was pouting. He lights up when you finally look at him, stepping forwards to defend himself. “He insulted your honor, he said you were with me only for my protection.” You sigh and shake your head. “You made him look right, my love. And you went against what I specifically asked of you.”
You place down your task and turn towards him fully. “I am not with you because of your prowess in battle, or because of your ability to keep me safe.” You finally raise your arms, beckoning him towards you. He moves swiftly, arms wrapped around your waist. “I am with you because you love me, because you talk to me, and because you listen to me.”
He grunted in your neck. “I’ll do better at that, darling.” He pulls back and places his lips on yours, lovingly rubbing your back as his mouth claims yours.
Daryl's looking for a missing arrow, that he can't find, unaware that reader has taken it to keep with her while he's gone on a run. Inspired by a request with the sentence "One of Daryl's bolts was missing." Shy Daryl and even shyer reader.
One of Daryl’s crossbow bolts was missing, and he was quite puzzled about it.
It was not a mistake, he’d counted them twice, he knew how many bolts he had, and in case he may be mistaken, the missing bolt was not one of his handmade ones, but one of the scarce, store-made bolts that Glenn and he had found on a particularly lucky run.
He’d got only three of those, and he’d been saving them for a run in which he may need something more sturdy, even though his handmade bolts seemed to have been working rather nicely for now, if he may say so himself.
But now, the box where he kept his spare bolts in the armory had only two of those, and so, one was missing, there was no mistaking it.
Daryl blinked at the two bolts on his hand, a frown on his face…it didn’t make sense…nobody else had a weapon that needed bolts, so who’d take it? And it wasn’t like a piece of chocolate or a snack that someone may be tempted to take it was a crossbow bolt that nobody needed.
Daryl knew he’d not misplaced it, he hadn’t taken those bolts out of the box for anything, not until now that he was about to pack for the next run, which would be in a couple of days. Glenn and Maggie had been planning it for a long while, it’d be a long run, covering several places, in the hopes of finding anything and everything they may need for gearing the prison for a long winter.
So, where the hell was the bolt?
Even if he felt stupid doing so, since he was sure he had not misplaced it, Daryl went back to checking his cell and every other place where he may have lost the bolt, while also asking everyone around if they had seen it or taken it, and feeling pretty much like a fool while doing so.
*
Several hours later, Daryl was sitting down on the bed of his cell, the bolt was still missing, and he was still feeling more than confused about the whole thing.
He may even begin to wonder if he was losing his mind or some shit, but a knock on his door distracted him from his thoughts.
Looking up from the ground, his eyes found Y/N on the cell’s door, his frown deepening as he took in how nervous she seemed. Was there something wrong now?
“Hey,” he greeted. “Ya okay?”
“Yeah, hi…yeah, fine…” Y/N stammered, which did nothing to ease Daryl’s concerns.
“Ya sure?”
“Yeah, yeah, just…uh…” Y/N stammered again and then she seemed to take a deep breath as if bracing herself…what the hell was going on. “I, uh…I heard you were looking for this…”
Walking in, she lifted her hand, showing Daryl’s missing bolt.
“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded, taken a bit by surprise…he’d looked for that bolt everywhere. He walked the couple of steps that separated him from Y/N, who for some reason was still not looking at him, to take the arrow from her hand. “Where did ya find it?”
“I, uh…” Y/N took another deep breath, head shaking almost imperceptibly, eyes still on the ground. “I had it on my cell.”
Well, he hadn’t checked there, but why would he? Y/N didn’t have a crossbow or any use for one of his arrows, and she was not a thief, not that the arrow was worth stealing for her…Daryl’s confusion just grew more.
“The hell ya wanted it for?” He was not angry, not at all, just confused, but Y/N couldn’t know that, and it sounded like he’d snapped at her, making her flinch, but Daryl was too baffled to apologize, still wondering what was going on and if the day could get any weirder.
“I…nothing…just…” Y/N walked backward out of the cell as if she couldn’t wait to run away, and Daryl’s confusion only grew when he saw that Y/N seemed about to cry, which, for some reason, made him almost feel like panicking.
“Nothing…I…I’m sorry…I’m sorry I took it…I’m sorry I didn’t ask…I, uh…you’d got many, I thought…” She shrugged, swallowing hard. “Thought you wouldn’t need it or notice it,” she murmured. “I’m sorry…”
“Y/N, no, I…didn’t mean…” Now Daryl was the one stumbling over his words, but he had no idea of what was going on, he just knew that he hated to see Y/N like that, and he hated even more that it seemed he was the cause of it. “Ya, uh…need it for somethin’?”
He had no freaking clue why Y/N might want or need an arrow, but Daryl felt like he’d give her all of his arrows if it meant he didn’t have to see her cry.
Y/N shook her head, not looking at him, and she seemed about to flee, so Daryl’s hand moved to rest on her arm to stop her, he hadn’t really meant to do it, but he couldn’t stand to see Y/N so upset.
“Hey…wait…” His voice was as soft as the hand on her arm, Daryl tried his best to be gentle even if he was confused about what was going on, but he knew he didn’t want to make things worse, upset Y/N more, make her think that he was angry or upset with her. “Somethin’ wrong?”
Y/N still seemed like she wanted to run away, but she didn’t, looking at Daryl’s hand on her arm as if it were keeping her in place, even if he wasn’t really holding her arm and she could have moved if she wanted to.
You looked from his hand to the ground, and then up at his confused, pretty blue eyes that were silently asking you to tell him what was going on, just for a second, before your gaze dropped down to the floor again, and you took a deep breath, almost as if bracing yourself for some kind of danger that Daryl couldn’t see.
“I, uh…” You stammered again, voice low, eyes cast down. “You…you’re going to that run, tomorrow…They’re saying it’s going to be a long one, so I, uh…I…I took one of your arrows, for, uh…like, if I…to, uh” you fought with your words. “To, uh…remember you, while you are away…” You whispered, looking almost like you were forcing the words out. “No…not that I need to look at an arrow for that, but, uh…I just…I…”
You gave up on words, shaking your head as you swallowed hard, your eyes wet, and before Daryl could do or say anything, you were rushing away.
Daryl wasn’t sure if he should follow you or not. He knew he hated to see you upset like that, he knew he wanted to make you feel better, but he wasn’t sure how, and he was unable to move anyway, feeling frozen in place, his mind racing with a million thoughts and emotions.
Y/N…she’d taken one of his arrows to keep with her while he was away, to remember him, she’d said so herself, and it didn’t look at all like she was lying or playing something…why’d she do that…did it mean…or it didn’t…and what if it did…
Daryl felt almost dizzy, his face felt like it was burning, heat rushing to it, while twirls seemed to dance in his belly at the same time that something clenched his gut, whether it was anxiety or excitement he wasn’t sure, and his heart seemed to be doing its own, odd thing too.
He had no clue of how he felt, or of what he felt, neither had he any idea of what to do, not that he could do anything, he was still frozen in place, in fear or in something else, Daryl didn’t know, as he tried to make sense of the storm of feelings washing over him, drowning him almost, but the thought of you with his keepsake arrow seemed to keep him afloat, sparking something in his belly, a warm feeling spreading through him…
*
It was so early in the morning that the sun was just starting to rise, barely visible in the clearing sky, but you’d volunteered with a couple of others to help and get everything ready for the people going on the run today, including breakfasts.
You’d been embarrassed at the idea of seeing Daryl, you were mortified after the events of the day before, ashamed…but you had already committed, and so you went to help anyway.
You did bump into him a couple of times, but he didn’t say anything to you…he barely even looked at you, eyes cast down, keeping his distance. He seemed shy and skittish like you, even if you knew it was you the one who’d made a fool out of herself in front of him.
Maybe, in your foolishness, you’d managed to ruin your relationship with Daryl…maybe now he’d be too embarrassed to be around you, maybe he’d think you were a fool, maybe he felt uncomfortable being your friend now…
The idea made you want to cry and you could feel your eyes burning, tears threatening to fall, so as soon as you could, you rushed back into your cell.
You hadn’t even walked in when you saw it, the arrow placed on your pillow.
You froze for a second, puzzled, almost wondering if you were seeing things, and then you rushed to pick it up, looking at the arrow as if you were almost expecting it to come alive.
It was one of Daryl’s, you knew it not only because nobody else used bolts, but also because you recognized it as one of his handmade arrows…had he left it there, for you?
Maybe somebody else had? Somebody who knew what you had done, and who was trying to take the piss at you…but you couldn’t think of anyone who’d be mean enough. It’d to be Daryl…and you were totally certain he’d never do it to laugh at you.
So, why did he leave you one of his arrows? It’s for what you’d forced yourself to tell him, that you’d taken one to keep with you while he was away, to remember him? Why did you tell him that, you’d embarrassed yourself to no end…but maybe, it was why Daryl had left you an arrow? Maybe it had meant something to him?
Maybe he was just being nice…maybe he’d left you that arrow out of pity…maybe…
You shook your head, letting out a sigh…It’d be days until Daryl were back and you could ask him, though you were sure you were not going to dare, and you were sure too that, besides worrying about him coming back safe, you were going to spend those days overthinking that arrow gesture…
*
Days seemed to pass slower and slower, but finally, the group was back.
You were happy and relieved to see them back and safe, and you knew you should go greet them and help to sort the stuff they’d brought back, but when you caught sight of Daryl parking his bike, all your embarrassment at your last conversation with him came back, clenching at your gut.
There were enough people helping already, and so you retreated back to the prison and your cell before Daryl could see you…you didn’t feel ready to face him yet.
You hadn’t been in your cell for long, though, sitting in your bed, back against the wall and legs dangling at the side of the bed, trying to read a book but only looking at the same page again and again, distracted with thoughts of Daryl, when you heard a knock on your cell door, finding the archer himself there.
It took you by surprise, the embarrassment and nerves that were already clenching your belly got worse, and you could do nothing but stare at Daryl…you knew you had to face him at some point, but you didn’t feel ready yet, you still felt like a fool, you didn’t know what to say, what to do…
Daryl seemed shy too, looking at you, seeming unsure of what to do when you did nothing, but he took a step into your cell.
“Hey,” he greeted and you knew you had to say something, but couldn’t. Luckily, Daryl didn’t seem annoyed by your lack of response, and he kept speaking, no matter how shy he seemed. “I, uh…brought ya this…”
Taking something out of his pocket, Daryl showed you your favorite snack. Now you were even more taken aback, you didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that.
Daryl had brought you your favorite snack from the run, came to your cell to give it to you… Nerves were still clenching your belly, but something else seemed to dance in it now too, twirling, while your heart did what almost felt like some sort of hop…
Did this and the arrow meant…something…or nothing..or were you reading too much into it…you couldn’t stop the onslaught of emotions, though, even if on the outside you were still silent and unmoving.
Daryl’s brows furrowed at your silence, lowering his hand and looking from you to the snack on his hand as if he were second-guessing himself, and so you forced yourself to speak.
“Thank you,” you choked out, though you didn’t get up to take the snack, and Daryl gave you a nod and a shrug, looking down, seeming awkward and shy. “I uh…I’m glad you’re back and uh…that you’re okay…”
Daryl just nodded again, looking at you and then at the ground again. “Yeah, uh…nobody’s hurt and we got all the stuff Glenn wanted, so…yeah, it was good…”
He too sounded so awkward…the fear of having messed things up between you two, of now Daryl being awkward around you, overcame you again, taking over the butterflies that him bringing your favorite snack had dancing in your belly.
“Daryl, uh…” You didn’t even know what you wanted to say, and you reached to take the arrow that you had on your pillow. “Thank you for this too…” It came out almost like just a whisper, but at least you’d said it. Daryl just nodded, looking down shily. “If, uh…if you need it…”
Daryl shook his head. “Keep it.”
“Okay…” Everything felt so awkward…you looked down at your hands as you fidgeted with the arrow. “Thank you, and, uh…I…I’m sorry about…well, about the last time we spoke…if I, uh…If I made you uncomfortable…If I made things awkward…if what…what I did…taking your arrow without asking…and…and what I said…if…”
You were struggling with your words, with your emotions, so caught up in your head, in your shyness and anxiety, in all those feelings flooding you, that you didn’t notice Daryl walking closer until he was right in front of you.
“Did, uh…” When you heard Daryl’s voice, so close, you looked up, finding him looking down at you as you were still sitting on your bed. “Did ya mean it? What ya said, that day?” He whispered, fingers twitching, nervous, but he didn’t look away from you.
You swallowed hard, nervous, shy, still anxious and fearful, and yet, something sparkled in your belly at Daryl’s words, at the way he was looking at you…
You nodded, and you couldn’t stop your shyness from making you try to look down, but then, Daryl’s hand was stopping you from doing so, shy fingers reaching to gently touch your cheek, his knuckles stopping under your jaw, keeping your face lifted to look at you.
Your breath hitched in your throat, your shyness urging you to pull back, to look down, but you couldn’t, as if those dark, deep blue eyes that you couldn’t read, had frozen you in place, nervous twirls dancing in your belly…
You knew you should do something, say something, but you couldn’t. Confused, mixed feelings were washing over you, and you wondered what Daryl was thinking, you couldn’t read his face and he was not saying anything either…
Then, he was leaning down towards you, still silent, and for a second, you wondered if he was about to kiss you, your heart doing a summersault, but then, Daryl was leaning his forehead on yours.
You let out a shaky breath, feeling as if you were melting and floating at the same time, your heart was dancing on a similar pattern to the butterflies in your belly, but you were still as silent as Daryl.
He stood like that for a moment before pulling back, but he didn’t move far, in fact, he moved closer, so you could feel his warmth radiating through his clothes, smell the scent of leather, sweat, motor oil, and cigarette smoke lingering on him, as Daryl, still without a word, bent down to hide his face on your shoulder.
You felt his warm breath against the skin of your neck, making your heart and the twirls in your belly dance even more. Your arms seemed to move by themselves, without overthinking it for once, to wrap around him, to hold him gently, and then his arms were around you too.
You both stayed like that, silent, eyes closed, just hearing each other's breath and feeling each other's warmth, you didn’t know for how long…
You didn’t want to speak, you didn’t want to move, afraid of ruining the moment, but at the same time, you wanted to, you knew you should…Speaking took you almost more courage than charging against walkers, but finally, you did.
“Daryl…” You whispered, voice so low you weren’t sure he’d hear you.
“Hmm,” His humming against your shoulder was his only answer.
He’d seemed to relax as he leaned against you, but you thought you felt him tense ever so slightly at the sound of your voice calling his name. You weren’t sure if you may have imagined it or not, and it almost discouraged you from speaking again, but you gathered your courage to keep going.
“Daryl, you, uh… you know why I took your arrow?” You asked softly, trying not to lose your courage.
“Ya said it,” Daryl muttered against your neck, goosebumps forming on your skin at the feeling.
“Yeah, but…do you know why?” You tried again, even if you were shy, even if part of you wanted to stop, unsure about this being a good idea. “It’s…It’s because I, uh…miss you and worry when you’re away…and because I…care for you, and I…have feelings for you…”
You felt your face burning, anxiety pooling in your belly again, but with Daryl’s face hidden in your shoulder, so he couldn’t see yours, it was easier somehow.
Daryl didn’t say anything, your anxiety growing stronger, but before your fear could take hold of you, he was moving even closer to you, nuzzling your neck, making you almost squeal, a warm, fluffy feeling spreading to you.
After a short moment, Daryl lifted his head from your shoulder, his face still hidden from you, and then you felt his lips on your cheek in a soft and shy kiss. You thought you were floating again, the butterflies in your belly going crazy.
When he pulled back, you had to fight against your shyness to make you look at him, you didn’t want to hide away from him, not now. Daryl seemed to feel the same, dropping his gaze down, but then he was looking at you, holding your gaze, both of you silent.
Your hands were still on his waist, his hand moved again to your cheek, his touch warm and gentle, gentler than most people thought Daryl could be, the people who didn’t really know him.
He was leaning in again, or maybe it was you the one moving closer, or perhaps both, you didn’t know, neither did you know who started, who kissed each other first, but you didn’t care, all you knew was that Daryl’s lips were on yours, as soft and gentle as his hand’s touch, and that you both were kissing, everything else left your mind.
The kiss was gentle, tentatively, both Daryl and you were still shy and unsure, but you didn’t stop, the kiss slowly deepening, all insecurities leaving, all walls lowering as you kissed you didn’t know for how long.
Eventually, you both pulled back, but just enough to break the kiss, you were still holding each other, and Daryl’s forehead rested once again on yours, as if he was still too shy to pull away, as if he didn’t want to move away, and you were most certainly not going to complain.
“Daryl…” You pushed past your shyness to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you sure of this?” Your insecurity made you ask, even if you weren’t sure what you were asking…if he was sure of kissing you? If he was sure he wanted something like this with you? That was what you meant, but you didn’t feel brave enough to elaborate.
“Yeah,” Daryl whispered, so low you almost didn’t hear it, but you felt his forehead nudging yours as he nodded.
“Really?” You couldn’t stop your insecurities.
This time, Daryl pulled back but he didn’t go far, just enough to look at you. “Yeah,” he whispered again, nodding, holding your gaze no matter how shy he seemed. “You?” He asked, and you felt the nervous twitch of his fingers where they rested over your arms.
“Yes,” you whispered back, nodding. Your shyness was still there, your insecurities too, but that fluffy, warm feeling was back to fill you, elation taking over you, and you smiled, shy but blissful.
Daryl’s lips curled up too at the sight of your smile, his as shy as yours, but the pretties you had seen, you were sure of it.
Your arms moved to wrap around him and he held you close too, so you leaned in, burying your face in his chest with a content sigh, feeling Daryl nuzzling the top of your head as he held you to him…
*
Several months had passed since that day, winter had given way to spring, and a new run had been planned, albeit a smaller one this time.
Daryl and you had never asked each other out, or anything of the sort, but you both knew that you were together and that you loved each other. Building your relationship hadn’t been easy, both of you had to fight through your shyness and your insecurities, things moved slowly as you both eased into being with someone else, into having a relationship, but it was more than worthy.
Now, you were on your way to the prison yard so you could say goodbye to Daryl before he left for the run. You spotted him tinkering with his bike and you made your way to him.
As you approached, you noticed the bracelet of thin, corded leather on his wrist. You’d made it while you were in the Greene’s farm, which seemed an eternity ago, and you usually had it on you, but that morning, you couldn’t find it.
The last thing you expected was to find it on Daryl’s wrist.
“Hey,” you greeted him, reaching for his hand and lifting it, looking at the bracelet. “Look where this was…” You arched your eyebrows, surprised and a bit confused.
“Yeah, uh…” Daryl scratched the back of his head with his free hand, seeming bashful. “Ya mind?”
“I don’t, but…I didn’t see you as someone who liked to wear bracelets,” you said, still amused and confused.
“I ain’t, but uh…” Daryl’s fingers played with yours nervously. “It’s yours, and, uh…remember what ya said, when ya took my arrow to keep with ya when I went to a run?” He asked and you nodded. “I, uh…saw yer bracelet on the bed and thought to take it with me to the run, ‘cause…ya know…” He trailed off, shyly.
Butterflies danced in your belly, and you let out an embarrassing, little squeak before you actually formed words.
“Yeah…yeah, I got your arrow so…you can keep this…” You nodded to the bracelet, smiling.
Daryl gave you a soft smile too, tugging at your hand to pull you closer, kissing your forehead before you kissed his lips.
“You’ll be careful, right?” You asked him once your lips parted, and Daryl nodded…you’d worry anyway until he were back. “Come on…I’ll help to get everything ready.”
Soon enough, he was riding out of the prison, in front of the car with the other people who were going to the run. You waved him goodbye, smiling when he lifted one of his hands from the handler to wave at you too and you caught sight of your bracelet on his wrist.
*
I hope you enjoyed this little thing, if you did, comments and reblogs mean the world.
As always, excuse my English, it’s not my first language.
Words: 4363
Sam x Angel!Reader
Warnings: none
Song fic requested by anonymous - Heroes (We Could Be) - Alesso ft. Tove Lo
Summary: Sam and Dean receive a cryptic request from Castiel, only to discover that the girl they’re rescuing is an angel. Sam must tell her and try to show her how this is an amazing thing.
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Wind through wings and Cas was standing there with Sam and Dean.
”Cas,” Dean said. “What’s going on? We weren’t expecting to see you for another week.”
”Something’s come up,” he said. His face was stern, serious. “We’ve become aware of a situation.”
”Who’s we?” Sam asked, crossing his arms and looking at Cas with concern.
”The angels,” Cas said.
”Ok. Well, what is it? Are you alright?” Dean asked.
Cas nodded. “I’m fine. But I do need to ask too much of you both again.” He hesitated, wondering how to continue.
The forest was alive with the whispers of ancient trees, their branches swaying as if in quiet conversation. Legolas moved soundlessly through the dense woods of Ithilien, his keen eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow that illuminated the dark canopy.
He paused, his elven senses tingling as a flicker of motion caught his eye. For a moment, he thought it was merely a trick of the moonlight—until he heard it: the softest rustle of leaves that even his sharp hearing barely detected.
A shadow moved ahead, a figure cloaked in black, as if the darkness itself had come to life. Without making a sound, Legolas nocked an arrow and aimed it at the silhouette.
"Reveal yourself," he commanded softly, his voice calm but firm.
A low, amused chuckle echoed through the clearing, and a figure stepped into the moonlight. She was an elf, but unlike any he had ever seen. Her long hair, dark as midnight, cascaded down her back, framing a face that was both fierce and beautiful. But it was her eyes that held him captive—vivid, almost glowing purple, like rare gems that glimmered in the starlight.
"You need not point that at me," she said, her voice smooth and laced with mischief. "I'm not the enemy."
Legolas hesitated for a moment, then lowered his bow. "Who are you?" he asked, curiosity sparking within him.
The mysterious elf tilted her head, a smile playing at her lips. "They call me (Y/N). But names mean little in the shadows."
Legolas watched her with growing intrigue. He had heard tales of a rogue wandering the borders of Gondor—an elf who answered to no lord, living by her own code. Yet he had not expected her to be quite so... entrancing.
"Why do you linger here, in the woods of Ithilien?" Legolas inquired, stepping closer.
(Y/N) shrugged casually, her movements graceful as a cat. "The trees speak of invaders, of darkness encroaching from the East. I prefer to stay ahead of trouble." She leaned against a tree, her eyes never leaving his. "And you, prince of Mirkwood? What brings you so far from your homeland?"
Legolas found himself caught off-guard by her directness. "I, too, seek to protect these lands," he replied. "But I am bound by duty."
She chuckled softly. "Duty is a cage, even for one as skilled as you, Legolas. Why not free yourself from those chains and see the world for what it truly is?"
The moonlight bathed her in an ethereal glow, and Legolas felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. She was unlike the elves of Rivendell or Lothlórien—wild, untamed, and utterly captivating.
Days turned into weeks, and Legolas found himself crossing paths with (Y/N) more frequently. At first, their encounters were fleeting, accidental. Yet, he began to seek her out, as if the forest itself was drawing them together.
(Y/N) was always moving, her lithe form darting through the shadows like a whisper. She had no loyalty to any realm, no master save herself. Legolas marveled at her independence and strength, traits that were foreign to him as a prince bound by duty.
One evening, as they sat by a small campfire, (Y/N) noticed Legolas watching her with a gaze that was softer than before. She raised an eyebrow, her trademark smirk playing on her lips.
"You stare as if you've never seen an elf before," she teased, her voice a gentle lilt that sent shivers down his spine.
"I have seen many," Legolas replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But none like you."
(Y/N)'s laughter died on her lips as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. The firelight danced across his golden hair, his blue eyes reflecting a warmth that was rare for him. She was used to people desiring her for her skills, her abilities as a rogue—but this? This was something deeper, something she was unprepared for.
"You should not look at me that way, Legolas," she said quietly, turning her gaze to the flames. "I am a shadow, fleeting and unbound. I do not belong in the light."
Legolas reached out, gently cupping her chin to turn her face back to him. "Then let me be the one to pull you into the light," he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek.
For the first time, (Y/N) found herself at a loss for words. She had spent centuries alone, convinced that she needed no one, that her freedom was the only thing worth protecting. But now, under the gentle touch of an elven prince, she felt her walls begin to crumble.
As the days passed, the bond between them grew stronger, though neither spoke of it openly. Their partnership became seamless in battle, their movements synchronized as if they had been fighting side by side for centuries. (Y/N) was always at his side, her twin daggers flashing in the moonlight, a silent protector.
Yet Legolas could not ignore the growing desire in his heart. It was unlike anything he had ever known—this longing for someone so wild and free, so different from himself. He admired her strength, her independence, but it was her heart that captivated him most. The rogue who claimed to live in shadows had a light within her that he could not resist.
One evening, as they rested after a fierce battle against a band of orcs, Legolas could no longer hold back his feelings. He approached (Y/N), who was tending to her wounds, and knelt beside her.
"(Y/N)," he said softly, his voice a gentle caress. "You are the brightest star in the darkest night. I have never met anyone like you, and I fear that my heart is no longer my own."
(Y/N) looked up, her amethyst eyes widening in surprise. "Legolas... you don't know what you're saying. I'm not meant for this." She gestured between them, her expression conflicted.
But Legolas only smiled, leaning in closer until their breaths mingled. "Perhaps you are meant for more than you think, (Y/N)," he whispered.
And in that moment, as the moon bathed them in its silver light, she let go of her fears. Their lips met, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of promises unspoken and feelings long denied. For once, she allowed herself to be vulnerable, to let someone in.
In the shadows of the forest, where only the stars bore witness, the rogue and the prince found solace in each other's embrace—a love that transcended the boundaries of duty and freedom, of light and shadow.
Epilogue: Though (Y/N) continued to walk her own path, she found herself returning to Legolas time and time again. Their love was a delicate balance of freedom and commitment, like a dance under the moonlit sky. Together, they forged a bond that would endure through the ages, proving that even the wildest hearts could find a place to call home.
The forest was alive with the whispers of ancient trees, their branches swaying as if in quiet conversation.
The imagery in this is so beauty
The mysterious elf tilted her head, a smile playing at her lips. "They call me (Y/N). But names mean little in the shadows."
THIS LINE IS SO POWERFUL!!! It makes my spine tingle
She chuckled softly. "Duty is a cage, even for one as skilled as you, Legolas. Why not free yourself from those chains and see the world for what it truly is?"
⬆️the awkward look away after staring gn!reader x Hector of Troy
I do not think I need to explain. Just look at him. I was feeling very alone when I wrote this, idk how good it'll be. Hope y'all like.
Loyal king, this we know but how about we dig deeper? You're honor I would like to reference his speech before fighting the Greeks the first time
You're meet cute is either you run into each other (literally) in the halls of his father's place or he meets you one day while he's strolling the city
He doesn't want you to just say yes to him because he's the crown Prince and you might feel pressured too so he sticks to just being friends at first
But he ain't as subtle as he thinks he is and Paris and Cassandra essentially set you up or they try to
Eventually you hear him finally admit to Paris that he does find you beautiful and that everytime he spends time with you he falls a little bit more in love.
Lucky you, huh?
Eventually, Paris will straight up tell him that you definitely feel the same way
Plans a whole thing involving a ride to some cliffs to overlook the sea and watch the sunset and then and only then will be tell you
Kinda works
You have a hunch of what's going on but you go with it because he took the time to plan this and it is pretty romantic
And now you're together, congratulations!
Rides out of the city together
Gentle kisses as you pass in the halls to you pulling him away for a full on make out session behind some pillars
Somehow he is never the one who leaves these things flustered
But kiss his face with tenderness and compliment him sweetly and he will be the one blushing
I feel like sitting in the room with him while he's doing paperwork or looking over city plans is a must
You might be on the other side of the room and doing your own thing but he can ever do often look across the room and admire you or ask your opinion on something
Give this man a back message I am begging you
He is basically carrying Troy on those extremely fine shoulders
Would kill for you
Even more worrisome, he would die protecting you
Whenever he has a break he likes to relax with you, whether it be talking quietly together while he holds you or doing some sort shared activity or exploring the land to get away from it all
I think because he's so busy with his duties whenever he gets the chance he's with you
There's a feast? He is either sitting by your side, hand on your thigh or laced your own, has you on his arm while he walks and talks or on the rare occasion, dances with you
Would love to start a family with you, on this blog I am a firm believer in Hector being an awesome father
Proposal is private but the wedding is less so.It's somehow very sweet, the two of you focusing on each other
Will carry you off once the party is done.
you ever just, accidentally call yourself single in a 1,000 tongues and it hurts worse then you'd think?
Words: 3833
Cas x Reader
Based on this imagine!
Warning: contains dangerously adorable angel fluff…
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You stamped your feet, trying to keep the blood flowing to your toes, as the old lock made the familiar grinding noise and jammed like it always did. “Come on!” Your breath was rising in frozen clouds in front of you as you struggled to turn the key. “Dammit!” You pulled off a mitten and wiggled the key as you pulled the door towards you. Finally the mechanism clicked and you hurriedly pushed the door in, rushing to shut out the frigid air clawing to get in after you. The customary tinkling of the bells sounded as you pushed the door firmly closed. You hastily pulled off your scarf and rubbed your hands together.
It was just another day at the small town diner. “Ricky? Are you back there yet?” you called towards the kitchen as you flipped half the lights on. No response from the cook. You checked the large clock on the wall and decided to leave the sign set to “Closed” for the time being. No point in opening for business if the cook wasn’t in yet…
You made the rounds, getting things going like usual; starting the coffee brewing, setting the hot water to boil, pouring out cream to be set on the tables when needed, and straightening the menus. You were pretty much always the one who opened. Your co-worker Jessie would be in any minute to help you wait tables and hopefully Ricky would show up…
As this thought crossed your mind you heard him bang in through the back, talking loudly with Jessie. You made your way around the counter and changed the sign on the front door to “Open.”
”Hey Y/N,” Jessie said cheerfully. “Good weekend?” she asked, hanging her coat on one of the hooks in the storeroom and reaching for her apron.
You shrugged. “Well, I was here so… nothing unusual,” you called back to her with a smile.
Ricky leaned into the window between the front of the diner and the kitchen while he tied his apron on. “You work too much, principessa!” he called.
You smiled at him. “Have to pay the bills somehow, Ricky,” you said.
”You keep working so hard and you’ll never have time to find yourself a man,” he teased playfully, shaking a finger at you.
You gave him a disapproving smile. “Who said I want one? I serve them all day. Why would I want to go home and do the same thing?” You gave him a tight-lipped smile and he chuckled and shook his head, receding into the kitchen to get things started.
Jessie had been watching the exchange with a smug smirk. “He’s not wrong you know…”
”Oh, please don’t start again, Jess,” you replied. “It’s too early for this!”
”I’m just saying! Tyler has some friends at work you might like!”
”The idea of being set up out of pity with some guy I don’t know makes me cringe and hardly inspires,” you said as you straightened the newspapers. Jessie was about to retort but was interrupted when the tinkling bell signaled your first customer of the day. You shot her one last skeptical look before grabbing a menu and making your way around the counter to the booth where the man in the trench coat had taken a seat.
”Good morning,” you said cheerfully as you placed a menu down in front of him. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”
He tilted his chin up and looked at you with a blank expression. Your lungs expelled a small exhale when you saw the intensity of his blue eyes, which were studying you carefully as though he had never seen a waitress before… He stared at you for a long moment and you were almost about to ask him if he was alright when he finally spoke. “Good morning,” he said finally. His voice was low but pleasant. It had a slight gravelly quality to it. “What would you recommend? To drink, I mean,” he said, tearing his eyes away and shuffling through the pages in the menu randomly.
The post you've all been waiting for. Let me tell you a story...
ATTN for the following fandoms:
Angels of Death
Assassination Classroom
Attack on Titan
Avatar: The Last Airbender
Chronicles of Narnia
DCU & DCAU
Death Note
Demon Slayer
Disney
Dragon Ball Z
Fantastic Beasts
Harry Potter
How to Train Your Dragon
Hunger Games
Inuyasha
Jujutsu Kaisen
Jurassic Park and Jurassic World
Lord of the Rings
Marvel
Maze Runner
My Hero Academia
Naruto
Ouran High School Host Club
Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies
Rise of the Guardians
Supernatural
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
The Legend of Korra
The Walking Dead
Tokyo Ghoul
Twilight
Yuri On Ice!
Note: Personal details published in this post about this repeated plagiarist are what she herself has posted publicly, now or in the past. I am not releasing any information beyond what she has put out there herself. We don't believe in doxxing here on Tumblr at the FPWG.
Let me introduce you to Faith (age 24/25, Virgo, usually uses purple in her blog themes, calls herself a 'simp', multi-fandom blogs, Missouri USA, also has called herself "Chaos" and now "Ann"), the entire reason this blog exists. (Congrats on inspiring this blog, hun! Have the day you deserve!)
Past and current (known) usernames on Tumblr:
@/fandomimaginewasteland & @/fandom-reblogs-and-things (CURRENT. BLOCK AND BOYCOTT THESE ACCOUNTS!)
@/fandomwasteland13 (previous, changed to fandom-reblogs-and-things)
@/mysticalfanheart
@/toocherryblossomcreator
@/just-a-fanvergent-fangirl (currently deactivated)
@/freedreameryouth
@/fandoms-forever-united (changed to @/deliciouscreationphilosopher)
@/fandomsgalore and @/fandomsgalore-backup
@/justagirlwhowrites
@/she-who-writes-for-multifandoms
@/fandoms-galore
@/waywardchaos3 (deleted?)
Known accounts on other platforms:
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@just-here-to-read-and-write/ AND https://www.youtube.com/@faithann8572
Quotev: https://www.quotev.com/justagirlwhowrites
Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TMNTLOVER123345
Faith's self-proclaimed "top characters" she likes to "write":
Karma Akabane
Levi Ackerman
Genya Shinazugawa
Giyuu Tomioka
Vegeta
Draco Malfoy
Sesshomaru
Megumi Fushiguro
Satoru Gojo
Loki
Izuku Midoriya
Katsuki Bakugo
Keigo Takami/Hawks
Shoto Todoroki
Tomura Shigaraki
Gaara
Sasuke Uchiha
Daryl Dixon
Ayato Kirishima
Niskiki Nishioo
On March 11th, 2024, @daryl-dixon-daydreams discovered that the account @/just-a-fanvergent-fangirl (owned by Faith, age 24, Missouri, USA) had plagiarized a drabble of hers and claimed it as her own. On further investigation, @daryl-dixon-daydreams found a second plagiarized drabble on the same account.
The above screenshot is part of the first plagiarized fic, and includes her blog look and description.
@daryl-dixon-daydreams documented this plagiarism by screenshotting and highlighting all the plagiarized writing (hint: basically all of it) and responded in a reblog directly to Faith, the plagiarizer.
The above is @daryl-dixon-daydreams's response and the screenshots below include the highlighted stolen text. (original drabbler here)
original post source here: https://daryl-dixon-daydreams.tumblr.com/post/744711685638619136/hi-oh-hi-did-you-think-i-wouldnt-find-out-about
@daryl-dixon-daydreams then did some further searching on Faith's blog and her plagiarism and discovered that Faith had done this before to MULTIPLE other accounts. @meggsngrits had already exposed Faith's previous plagiarism here, complete with screenshots and receipts: https://www.tumblr.com/meggsngrits/744358130218090496?source=share
@daryl-dixon-daydreams messaged Faith's account and told her to remove ALL her plagiarized content and that she would start checking her posts with plagiarism detecting software.
After initially denying it and talking about how mad SHE was on both Tumblr and Youtube, Faith did eventually realize she was caught because everyone had so much evidence...
Fairly shortly after being outed as a plagiarist, Faith deactivated her account. But it wasn't long before she popped up under different usernames (AGAIN) and began doing the same thing AGAIN. In fact, once the original creator saw Faith perusing her blog again under a different username in September, it took less than 24 hours for Faith to plagiarize the SAME FIC from @daryl-dixon-daydreams AGAIN!
@daryl-dixon-daydreams also realized that this time Faith had pre-emptively restricted her blog from reblogging or replying to any of Faith's posts, likely because she was trying to fly under the radar without getting caught, and so it would be more difficult to respond in a way that would make EVERYONE on Faith's page aware of what she really was; someone who steals content from hard-working creators who spend a lot of time building skills and practicing their craft.
Instead, @daryl-dixon-daydreams was forced to send an anonymous ask to Faith's inbox challenging her about her plagiarism again and again screenshot everything to document it.
Instead of AGAIN realizing she was caught, Faith doubled down and claimed she hadn't done anything wrong because she typed something about being "inspired" by the original drabble. But we all know inspiration and plagiarism are two completely different things... Faith blocked the original creator despite all the evidence.
It was also noticed by multiple creators that one account @/waywardchaos3 seemed to be one of her biggest supporters (discussed at the time in dms by multiple creators, we have receipts) and PLOT TWIST that username would later be one that Faith BEGAN POSTING CONTENT UNDER, SUGGESTING THAT SHE WAS RESPONDING TO, DEFENDING, AND LIKING HER OWN CONTENT AND SHITTY CONDUCT. Commenting on your own shit to act like people support the crap you are pulling is next level... This is one of those responses below.
The next day, after this repeated outing and realizing she was fucked because of all the evidence, Faith posted another bullshit "apology" and claimed she was going on a "writing hiatus." She also changed her username again, but she continued to watch what was being said about her and responded in reblogs in weak attempts to defend her conduct.
Below is @daryl-dixon-daydreams response to her "apology." If you look back to the post by @meggsngrits, you'll see that she has blanket shit she says in all of her so-called "apologies." It's basically a joke at this point... Why would anyone believe OR trust you?
Faith continued to respond in reblogs.
I think you mean *owning up, hun...
But this was not the end of the saga... vigilant content creators continued to keep watch for her and found several new accounts. They began notifying content creator accounts they were seeing Faith interacting with, and that's how Faith ended up causing another creator to delete ALL of her writing from Tumblr and leave the platform for writing.
Faith denied, then caved and posted a bullshit "apology", then deleted as is her usual pattern when she is confronted.
Faith responded to the writer (below) that she caused to leave and denied shit we have proof of... (We suspect she sends herself anonymous asks and requests but this is ONLY a suspicion...) She definitely was responding to herself though..with this account, which she immediately started using after we blasted her for the last one and she had to delete again. We showed proof of that above.
Some angry people also started threatening to dox Faith, but this account is not associated with those actions.
Was that the end? NOPE.
She's back and reblogging (tagging some things as "inspiration") fandom content on this account u/fandomimaginewasteland (hello MySpace theme lookin' blog circa 2006...)
and "writing" on this one u/fandom-reblogs-and-things.
Many of her posts lately are not actual writing (gifs + an imagine scenario), but could be scenarios she stole from other creators. She recently has started doing some "writing" but so far we have been unable to identify any specific plagiarism at this time of posting. However, her past conduct reveals that it is only a matter of time.
She is now claiming that her name is "Ann", which we believe is actually her middle name. Faith usually talks about being a "simp" (ew... *gag*) for fictional characters SOMEWHERE on her blog, and this is no exception. Her blogs also tend to have similar "looks". Yeah, think bad Myspace theme circa early 2000s...
Faith's behavior and actions within the fandom space can and DO cause REAL HARM. If even one creator leaves or stops writing because of what she's done, then she deserves to be banned from the space, and clearly she has done that and WILL NOT STOP.
The solution at this point is for EVERYONE in EVERY fandom space to keep watch for themselves and for their favorite creators, so that she is ostracized in this online space. That's what she has proven she deserves through her repeated lies and shitty actions.
Let us leave you with a final tidbit, this excerpt from Faith's latest blog rules where she specifically asks people not to plagiarize... Oh, the irony.
Fuck around and find out what happens, Faith. We are always watching, and we will always find you. You deserve to be ostracized in fandom spaces. Have the day you deserve.
PLEASE REBLOG AND SHARE THIS WIDELY SO WE CAN STOP FAITH'S BAD BEHAVIOR.
Fuck around and find out, Faith.
Guys, please share, especially if you are in a lot of fandom spaces. This kind of behavior deserves to get her banned, but at least we can raise awareness.
you most definitely can decline if you have too much on your plate/you don’t want to, but could i request platonic dad!daryl and daughter!reader? where they get separated when the prison falls (reader was on her own and then met with the group at terminus). After the events at Terminus they finally get a chance to hug and spend time together and reader is crying and ranting about how she was so scared and she wishes she could be strong like Daryl, and Daryl lets her in on his own worries and comforts her? i was thinking reader is like early teens (14-15)
again feel free to decline if you want! 🧡
His Little Girl—Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader
*GIF isn't mine.*
Summary: After Terminus, you finally reunited with your father. While he was busy bandaging your arm after an injury you sustained, you let all your emotions out. Daryl, in a rare moment, shared his own feelings with you.
Genre: Fluff.
Era: Post Terminus.
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of near death experiences.
Word count: 1.2k.
A/n: Had to throw in a little bit of overprotective Dad!Daryl at the end. I hope you like this!
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You winced in pain when your father poured alcohol over your open wound. Your hand instinctively jerked back, the long gash on your arm burning with the fire of a thousand suns. You scrunched your face in pain, closing your eyes against the pain.
“M'sorry, Bean,” Daryl apologized, pulling the bottle away and placing it on the ground. He reached into his bag and grabbed a bandage he had managed to find in some abandoned house, and he started wrapping it around the gnarly wound. “Jus' try and hold still, alrigh'? This'll be over sooner if ya do.”
“Okay,” you whispered, opening your eyes and looking at your father's face. His face betrayed no emotions; he simply focused on bandaging your arm, his usual stoic expression on his face. He showed no ounce of fear, nothing to show that he thought he was going to die. That made you kind of envious. “How do you do it?”
Daryl halted his movements with the bandage, his blue eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. “M'guessin' yer not talkin' 'bout bandagin' someone's arm, are ya?”
You shook your head. “No, I'm not,” you replied in a broken whisper.
“Talk to me, Bean,” Daryl urged you, slowly resuming with the task of bandaging your arm. “Wha's on yer mind?”
You stayed silent for a moment, your eyes straying to the rest of the group. The only thing you could see in the dark was the light that the campfire emitted. The group was seated around the fire, a couple of them laying down to catch some sleep while a couple of others stayed up, mindlessly staring into the fire while others were keeping a cautious eyes on the tree line, trying to see if walkers or the survivors of Terminus were going to attack.
Shifting your attention back to your father, you swallowed deeply, trying to will the lump in your throat to go away. “How are you so brave?”
Daryl frowned in confusion. “Wha'?”
“How are you so brave?” you repeated, diverting your eyes to the ground. “You're not afraid of anything. You weren't scared when the camp at the quarry got overrun. You weren't scared at the CDC. When the farm fell, and then the prison, Terminus... You weren't scared at all. I was. I still am. When the prison fell, I escaped with someone, but he didn't make it long. The walkers got to him. Then I was alone, and I was so scared. I thought I was gonna die out there, alone, without knowing whether or not everyone was alive or not. Then I saw the Terminus maps, and I managed to find my way there, but everything quickly went to crap. I got thrown into that train cart, and I thought I was gonna be killed, but there you were. You were alive and you all had a plan to get out. It was a close call, and I almost got killed, but we got out. Through all of that, you weren't scared. You're so brave, and I'm not. I'm not.”
Daryl tightened the bandage around your arm before he withdrew his hands. He stayed silent for a few moments before he sighed, shaking his head.
“Ya ain't got no idea how wrong ya are,” he started, chuckling slightly at the way you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion—a trait you had inherited from him. “Bean, I was real fuckin' scared. All those times ya mentioned, I was terrified. I jus' put on a brave face fer ya 'cause I know ya needed me to be. When I saw the walkers back at the quarry camp, and I couldn't find ya immediately, I thought the walkers got ya. At the CDC, when tha' asshole wouldn't unlock the door, I thought we were gon' get blown up. I thought tha' my twelve year old lil' girl was gon' die, and there wasn't anythin' I could do to stop it. With the farm and now the prison, I thought ya didn't make it out. I spent the whole time wonderin' if ya were alive. I thought—I thought tha' ya were dead. I was so scared, Bean. I ain't ever been as scared like I was when the prison fell. I felt broken, empty. And then I found ya, but those psychopaths almost killed ya in front of me. I jus'... I can't lose ya. Yer my baby girl, even if yer already fourteen years old. I'd rather die than lose ya again.”
You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, sniffling as Daryl wrapped his arms around you tightly. He pressed a kiss to your temple and slightly rocked you from side to side, just like he used to do when you were younger and had just woken up from a nightmare. Being in your father's embrace made you feel safe, like nothing could ever hurt you again. You wished you could always feel that way.
“I love you, Dad,” you whispered softly.
“Love ya too, Bean. More than ya know.” Daryl soon pulled back from the hug and gave you a small smile, and nudged his head in the direction of the campfire. “C'mon, let's head back. Ya need somethin' to eat.”
You nodded and got up, following behind your father as you walked back to the rest of the group. You settled down beside Carl while Daryl sat down next to Rick.
Carl sent you a small smile, nervously fiddling with his hands. “Hey, Y/n. How's your arm?”
You smiled at him and shrugged. “I'll live. I've had worse.”
“Yeah, and yet you're still alive,” Carl replied, still nervously fidgeting with his hands. “You're a badass.”
“Thanks, Carl,” you thanked him. Noticing his fidgeting, but mistaking his nerves for coldness, you grabbed one of his hands and held it in your own. “Here, let me warm your hands for you. My hands are like a furnace.”
You missed the way Carl ducked his head, a blush spreading across his face but he smiled in silent glee. “Yeah, okay.”
As you and Carl silently conversed to yourselves, with Carl staring at you in awe, Daryl watched the two of you closely. His glare rested on his best friend's son and the way he held your hand, and Daryl couldn't help the surge of overprotectiveness that flooded his body. He visibly stiffened, catching Rick's attention.
Rick followed his line of sight and chuckled at what he saw. “Look at that. Young love, huh?”
Daryl glared at Rick. “Yer son better keep his hands off'a her. They're too young to be thinkin'a tha'.”
“Do what you want, Daryl, but if they wanna be together, they're gonna find a way, despite your rules.”
Well, Daryl thought, then he'd just have to bestow the fear of god into the young boy, and make sure that if he ever hurt you, his little girl, walkers would be the least of his problems.
TWD Imagines - How they’d react to you wearing their jacket
A/N: REQUESTS ARE OPEN! I have not been active in ages but here we are! I started a small business so I’ve been a little busy but back now!
Daryl
At first, he wouldn’t say anything. Just silently stare are you walk around with it on. But then he’d chuckle to himself, and walk over to you asking what you’re wearing. You’d plead saying it’s cold but you both know it’s comforting in a different way. ‘Y’know if you’d ask, I’d’a given it to ya.’
Rick
Rick would smile to himself, looking around to see all the people who have seen you. He’s a touch possessive, and loves that you’re so confident in your relationship. He’s strut over to you, kiss you on the cheek before making some cheeky remark. ‘Well, look’s like you really love me after all.’ When you’d turn to him, you’d be about to defend your choice, when he’d pull you into kiss him - deeply but sweetly.
Negan
He’d wolf whistle the minute he saw you. He’d strut up to you and pull you in by the hips, kissing you roughly. ‘Wow, baby doll, look at you.’ You’d be a blushing mess, which only spurs him on. Let’s just say, you wouldn’t be in his jacket for much longer.
Merle
Merle would laugh at you. You’d get annoyed thinking he was been mean, really he was baffled. You’d take it off, leaving it with him, he’d get really quiet. Walking away, he watch you, annoyed at himself. He’d grab the jacket, and find you sitting out by the fence, watching the prison field. He’d drape the jacket over your shoulders, and apologise.
Shane
To him, it was the hottest thing you’d ever done. Everyone already knew you were his, but to see you rubbing it in peoples faces. He’d go feral, claim you need to go on a run, but really it’s just to get you alone for a while ;)
Words: 8714
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Reader pronouns: she/her
Era: the Greene farm
Warnings: Language, violence, gore, blood, severe injuries, fear, anxiety, death of a character
A/N: This is the FINAL part of a miniseries! You can find the other chapters on the Masterlist!
Summary: Y/N and Shane go missing.
Your name: submit What is this?
Two weeks later
“I can actually do it myself,” you insisted, feeling a blush in your cheeks as Daryl pulled your hand over onto his lap and bent over it, luckily oblivious to the pink glow now filling your cheeks.
He huffed at you. “I’m sure ya can,” he drawled, “but it’s definitely easier for someone with two hands, don’t ya think?”
You watched as he methodically and carefully snipped the stitches in your hand and pulled the sutures away, apologizing if they tugged at all. A lot had happened in the last two weeks. Pretty much everyone had come around to the fact that Shane had hurt himself in an attempt to get the group to abandon you. There had been a massive fight between him and Rick and since then Shane had been confined to his tent while he healed. When Hershel found out what had happened, he told Rick that Shane couldn’t stay, but Rick had already decided that he had go. His best friend seemed to be growing more bitter and more unstable by the day.
But Shane was still around temporarily, and because of that Daryl had refused to leave you to sleep unguarded at night. You’d argued that it would be fine and that you didn’t really think Shane would try to pull anything else, but the archer was insistent. Eventually, you caved. Daryl had hauled your cot and bedding to his tent and set them up along the opposite wall from his, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck at the strange nervousness and yet gratitude he felt knowing you’d be so close.
