Legally Blonde (2001) Dir. Robert Luketic

Legally Blonde (2001) dir. Robert Luketic

The Pink Rose, part 7

Part Seven- July 11th, 74 ADD

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x reader

Word count: 954

Warnings: reference to danger, anxious/fear/PTSD response, implied history of abuse/assault

Here's a little filler action to move the story along. ✨#Backstory✨

The day had come. The 74th Annual Hunger Games. Katniss and Peeta attempted to mentally prepare themselves to go to the arena. After Effie said her goodbyes, [Y/n]- flanked by Haymitch- approached them. [Y/n] smiled in an almost motherly way and Haymitch crossed his arms and looked them over.

“Any final words of advice?” Peeta asked.

[Y/n]’s face turned serious, “When the gong sounds, get away from everyone- don’t stick around and risk getting caught in that mess. The Cornucopia will be a bloodbath and you’ll need to find water and somewhere to situate yourself”.

“And after that?” asked Katniss.

“Stay alive,” Haymitch said. Everyone knew he was serious this time- there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm or humor in his voice.

After leaving their tributes to the airstrip entrance, [Y/n] and Haymitch made their way to public viewing area to watch the start of the Games. As soon as Haymitch was pulled away by a group of potential sponsors, [Y/n] felt a breath in her ear, “Are the odds in your favor?”

Startled, [Y/n] whipped around to see the familiar citrus orange face of Porcius Perfidius. His pompous grin looked down at her, “Hello sweet girl,” he sneered. [Y/n] felt her wall of confidence begin to melt as her palms grew sweaty and her heart began to race. Porcius was more than twice [Y/n]’s age, pear shaped, and weighed somewhere in the realm of two baby elephants. He wouldn’t stand a chance in the arena, but [Y/n] historically shut down whenever she came face to face with him. His pale skin had the slightest tint of orange, but his hair, eyelashes, and goatee were bright coral. Before she could respond, a green, stick-shaped version of Porcius appeared. His partner in crime: Janus Caesonius.

“Come now, Porcius. [Y/n] is a woman, we know that for a fact,” he whispered with crude amusement, “What do you think of your tributes this year? Will we get a woman on fire when this is all done?”

[Y/n] felt her cheeks burn. These men fueled a quiet rage that she didn’t know how to act on. She had to think of something to say to sate or deter these men. They’d been demeaning and harassing her for 13 years and she kept letting them. Her heart skipped a beat when she decided not to please them this time.

“Don’t you think you’re a little old to keep up with the tributes now? Your stamina can’t possibly be the same,” [Y/n] questioned Porcius with her sweetest smile.

The men looked at her in shock- Porcius glowered at her and hissed through his teeth, “Look here you little bitch, you know exactly how hard I can make life for you and for your tributes. Don’t think the whole Capitol loving you is going to protect 12,”

“Oh I am counting on that, you can’t possibly make things any worse for me,” she shot back.

Janus grabbed her upper arm tightly, “Well if you think-”

“Janus,” a calm voice called from nearby, “It doesn’t look like you asked Ms. Bellwood if you could touch her,”

Plutarch Heavensbee.

“Stay out of this Plutarch!” Porcius sneered

Plutarch looked at him with the demeaning smile he was so good at giving others, “Well, we’re in a very public place right now and it’d be a true shame if a friend of Mrs. Caesonius or Mrs. Perfidius saw you so close and touching another woman. We know how rumors are like wildfire. And it appears District 12 has enough fire to go around right now,”

Janus let go of [Y/n]’s arm; but not before whispering in her ear, “We’ll finish this later,” He directed Porcius to follow, leaving [Y/n] rubbing her arm and standing alone with Plutarch.

With an embarrassed smile, [Y/n] thanked Plutach for intervening.

“Your boyfriend was gone for mere seconds before the vultures made their descent,” he held out his arm, “Take a turn about the square with me?”

She suspiciously took his arm and followed his lead, “You’re not in my inner circle, you’ve never paid for the pleasure of my company, and I can’t say we’ve had more than a ‘good morning’ or ‘nice to meet you’. So what makes you think I have a boyfriend?”

Plutarch smiled as he looked ahead, “Ms. Bellwood, before you learn the hard way, I’ll let you in on a secret: I know almost everything- I’m in the business of knowing other people’s business. And fortunately for you, I’m quite observant, unlike most of the Capitol.,”

“And you’re quite humble. So who’ve you been talking to?”

“No one,” he could see the confused and frustrated expression on [Y/n]’s face, “It’s about to be confirmed a second time, but you might teach Haymitch to not drool when he looks at you. The Capitol may be full of self-indulgent imbeciles, but I’m not one of them,”

[Y/n] opened her mouth to respond when she heard Haymitch’s voice, “Heavensbee, are you picking a District to sponsor?”

“Not this year. I was simply picking Ms. Bellwood’s brain about the confidence we might hold in your tributes this year. You are noticbly more invested in them,”

“Well, sometimes you get dealt a hand you can work with,” Haymitch gave a half smile.

Before Plutarch could respond, the countdown started. Ten… nine… eight- the tributes readied themselves- seven… six… five- the camera hopped from panicked to confident tributes- four… three… two… one.

Peeta jumped and ran for the woods.

Katniss hesitated and ran straight into the cornucopia- to the bloodbath.

In a quiet, breathless voice, [Y/n] whispered, “Fuck…”

Masterlist

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The Pink Rose, part 2

Part Two- July 4th, 74 ADD

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x reader

Word count: 2,778

Warnings: drinking, references to sex, threats, implied PTSD

**** Almost all characters and parts of the storyline are not my original creation and are credited to Suzanne Collins.

Effie Trinket stood out like a sore thumb in District 12. Her face was caked with white foundation, colorful lines, and lipstick in classic Capitol style. Piled on her head was a large, curly wig with a pinkish tint. To complete her ensemble was a spring green suit with matching high heels. The only thing that didn’t match was the extremely uncomfortable expression on her face as she stood outside Haymitch’s house.

Not long after being interrupted, [Y/n] emerged from the house and was immediately met with a look of disapproval from Effie. [Y/n] tried to avoid eye contact as she bit her lip, feeling like a schoolgirl awaiting a lecture from the teacher.

Effie stared her down as if waiting for an explanation until the front door swung open and out came Haymitch, bottle in hand.

“Can you be sober for one ceremony?” Effie trilled angrily.

“I was sober for a ceremony and once for a ritual,” Haymitch said calmly before taking a swig from his unlabeled bottle.

“Oh really? When was this?” Effie scoffed.

Haymitch licked his lips and then looked down at Effie before saying in a very serious tone, “I was sober at my own reaping ceremony, sweetheart; and as for the ritual,” he quickly kissed [Y/n]’s cheek and smacked her rear playfully, “You just got a front row view of that one,” he laughed.

Effie scoffed in disbelief and marched ahead of them impressively quick. Once she was a reasonable distance away, [Y/n] punched Haymitch’s arm.

“I can’t believe you said that to her!”

“She barged into my house without knocking,” he raised his voice to imitate Effie, “It’s just bad manners,”

[Y/n] then got close enough to Haymitch that she could smell the liquor accumulating on his breath, “Well Mr. Abernathy before you get too drunk, was it a ritual or just a moment of lust?”

He gulped, “Can I say both?”

[Y/n] narrowed her eyes and gave a suspicious half-smile, “That’s acceptable,”

After one last peck on the lips, they returned to their respective houses and readied their appearances for the Reaping Ceremony.

* * *

Two hours later, Haymitch, Effie, and [Y/n] made their way to the square for the Reaping. [Y/n] dreaded this every year- and from the smell of Haymitch, he did too. The sickening, sweet scent of Effie’s perfume and the pungent odor of alcohol on Haymitch made for an interesting cloud around the trio.

“I have a good feeling about this year,” Effie said awkwardly, breaking the silence.

“You’ve been saying that,” [Y/n] grumbled, “All morning; tsk, a reaping ceremony- that’s like saying a funeral gala,”

“Oh stop it!” Effie hissed at the same time Haymitch laughed.

District 12’s square was decorated with happy banners that were an unsettling contrast to the sad grey buildings and grim feeling in the air. There were camera crews already situated on the rooftops like gargoyles. This allowed the Capitol to efficiently observe the people of the district under the guise of the televised games.

[Y/n] and Haymitch were seated on the stage. Other districts had rows of chairs for their victors, or at least a cluster. In District 12, they had 2 seats for their living victors, an empty one in memory of the only other victor from 12, one for the mayor, and one for Effie. Haymitch began to slump in his chair- [Y/n] understood the alcoholism, but she really could’ve lived without the public drunkenness on days like today. She sat in her chair and tried to ignore the snoring and muttering from next to her. With a flat affect on her face, [Y/n] watched intently as the youth of District 12 filed in. Only comparable to the livestock she’d seen in District 10, the 12- to 18-year-olds filed into the roped areas and were sorted by age. Like animals set for slaughter, [Y/n] thought, how fitting. The families of the youth lined the square, waiting intently to learn who would be saying goodbye to their children. [Y/n] pursed her lips as she noticed two men off to the side setting bets for whether the names drawn would be from the Seam or not. It was in poor taste- but she knew they weren’t necessarily wrong. Those from the Seam were the poorest in the district. The more times one entered their name, the more tesserae they got. The oldest siblings from the Seam appeared as tributes more often than not- taking the odds out of their favor by supporting their family the best they could.

The final touches were brought out to the stage. Two large glass orbs with an opening in the top of each; the contents were slips of paper with the names of eligible tributes. One orb was full of the names of every male 12 to 18, and the other was full of the names of their female counterparts. The town clock struck two and the mayor approached the podium and began to read the history of Panem. The history [Y/n] had heard what seemed like a million times before. Disasters- natural and man-made- plagued the land formerly called North America. The war ravaged the land and finally, it all ended, and up rose Panem. Panem: a Capitol and 13 Districts. Then more war, the Dark Days, the loss of District 13 via revolution, and finally current-day Panem. Only one small twist- Panem got the Hunger Games. [Y/n] scoffed quietly as the Hunger Games was referred to as a “pageant”. 24 young people, 1 male and 1 female from each District stuck into an arena to fight to the death until 1 lone victor remained. [Y/n] sighed at the thought of her own hands having killed someone- four someones to be exact. Haymitch got out having killed two- but the Capitol didn’t like his style so they killed his family and his girlfriend. Forgotten by most, [Y/n] had angered President Snow with her post-games interview- coincidently, her mother, father, and four siblings all died of some mysterious illness that no other household caught.

“It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks,” the mayor finished before pausing, “And now a moment of silence in memoriam of the lost and celebration of the victors of District 12: Lucy Gray Baird, Haymitch Abernathy, and [Y/n] Bellwood,” He gave a nod to [Y/n] and a short half smile- a smile that said “sorry I have to keep bringing this up” rather than “thank you”. The crowd briefly hesitated before giving an applause. The applause sounded like no one knew what they were clapping for.

Haymitch sat up and yelled something unintelligible. Effie flinched away from the sudden sound and [Y/n] sighed. Effie’s face looked like a mother who almost could not tolerate any more of her child’s outbursts. [Y/n] put one hand on Haymitch’s shoulder and whispered calming words in his ear- he sat back down and put his face in his hands. The mayor then redirected the attention of the people to Effie.

Bouncy and bubbly, Effie almost danced to the podium and beamed as she gave her catchphrase, “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!” Her pink wig has gone slightly askew- not noticeably- but [Y/n] knew Effie well enough to tell. Effie kept talking in her unnecessarily happy tone about how honored she was to be there (which no one believed). Suddenly, Effie proudly said, “Ladies first” and waltzed over to the glass orb with the female names. She dug around and pulled out a slip of paper. Despite the over 8,000 people in attendance, you could’ve heard a button hit the ground a mile away from how quiet it was.

[Y/n] gulped- which child was she going to be forced to give advice to and lead down the glitzy, demeaning path of the Capitol to their death in an unfamiliar arena surrounded by strangers who want to kill them?

“Primrose Everdeen!”

The crowd grumbled with displeasure- Primrose must be a young tribute- an under-14. Districts typically dislike it when the young ones get picked. [Y/n] finally spotted her- a tiny, thin girl with blonde braids was slowly creeping up the aisle between the groups. Her face was completely drained of whatever color it once had but she still looked sick at the same time. Her arms were rod straight at her sides and her hands were balled into little fists. [Y/n] could almost feel those little fists grabbing her insides and twisting them. Watching the little ones die was always the hardest- it was never fair for them. [Y/n] bowed her head slightly so any emotion she showed wouldn’t be televised.

A cry choked out from the crowd “Prim!” and every head whipped towards the source.

“Prim!” the girl shouted again. She pushed- with minimal effort- through the sea of 16-year-olds and into the aisle where Primrose was. The peacekeepers were so shocked that the older girl was able to make it all the way to Primrose at the base of the stage. The older girl pushed Primrose behind her and shouted “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

The crowd rumbled with whispers as if this girl had just committed some great scandal. She hadn’t, but the last time District 12 had a volunteer was well before [Y/n] was ever born. Technically, once a tribute’s name has been drawn, any eligible person of the same gender can step forward to take their place. This was commonplace in Districts like 1 and 2- sometimes 3. But in the outlying Districts of 9-12, this was almost unheard of.

“Lovely!” Effie beamed, “But I believe there’s a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um- uh ...” she faltered, finally experiencing what it’s like when your mouth acts faster than your brain.

The mayor interrupted her, “What does it matter? Let her come forward,”

As soon as it was clear that the volunteer had been accepted, Primrose became hysterical and began to scream.

“No, Katniss! No! You can’t go!” Primrose screamed as she wrapped herself around the older girl.

The older girl- Katniss- had a pained expression as she tried to remain calm “Prim, let go,”

[Y/n] thought these girls must be related or at least indebted to each other in some way. Her eyes happened to glance up at a camera and her thoughts turned to how the citizens of the Capitol would be eating this up as they watched the dramatic scene unfold. However, the other victors could see the emotional situation as a weakness. Yes, this Katniss would be marked off as another easy target from 12 to pick off from the start. [Y/n] thought the presumptions and attention may not be bad for Katniss.

“Let go!” Katniss shouted as a tall young man quickly came forward from the 18-year-old group and pulled Primrose off Katniss’ back. He picked her up off the ground as if she were a doll and Primrose began to thrash as he carried her away.

Katniss slowly made her way up the few steps to the stage as Effie beamed, “Well, bravo! That’s the spirit of the Games! What’s your name?”

“Katniss Everdeen,”

Effie’s face lit up at that dramatic tidbit, “I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her

to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!”

Effie was the only one to clap.

The square became silent. Not a soul in 12 dared to show even a fake approval of what they had just witnessed. District 12 was always allowed the short end of the stick and [Y/n] thought it a credit to the District when they collectively acknowledged the unfair position they’d been given. No one clapped. Suddenly, an older woman touched the three middle fingers of her left hand to her lips and then held it out to Katniss. One by one, more and more people joined in the salute until nearly the whole square had their hands up pointing at Katniss. [Y/n] was shocked and had never seen such a display of collective respect for anyone out of District 12. [Y/n] had seen this salute at a funeral once before- it was an old and now uncommon gesture of the district. It is a sign of thanks and admiration typically given to one who is deeply cared for.

Appropriate, thought [Y/n]. Welcome Katniss Everdeen. Welcome to the Hunger Games. Goodbye Katniss Everdeen. Say goodbye to District 12 as you know it.

[Y/n] gasped as Haymitch suddenly staggered across the stage and threw an arm around Katniss “Look at her! Look at this one!” he shouted, “I like her! Lots of ... Spunk!” he beamed almost as much as Effie had. He removed his arm from Katniss: “More than you! More than you!” he pointed to the nearest camera. He continued to shout until he stumbled so far forward that he fell off the stage and sprawled out drunk and unconscious.

Effie groaned with displeasure. [Y/n] massaged between her eyebrows with her thumb and pointer finger as she gave a deep sigh. Katniss impressively placed her hands behind her back and stared into the distance as two peacekeepers moved Haymitch away with a stretcher.

Effie could always be counted on to break the silence- even if it wasn’t required.

“What an exciting day! But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our boy tribute!”

She floated over to the second glass orb and pecked a name slip out.

“Peeta Mellark.”

There was no dramatic family interference this time. Just a classic, somber silence as the stocky, blonde young man of 16 made his way up to the stage. The realization of his name being selected slowly moved across his face. Effie probed for any other volunteers, but no one stepped up for young Peeta.

The mayor routinely concluded the ceremony by reading the Treaty of Treason to his District. Upon conclusion, he prompted Katniss and Peeta to shake hands. The two 16-year-olds turned to face the sea of people looking up at them as Panem’s anthem began to play on the loudspeakers. A minute later, Peacekeepers marched the newest tributes through the front door of the Justice Building and out of sight.

* * *

[Y/n] followed the small procession into the justice building and a peacekeeper pointed her to a room down the hall. When she entered, she noticed a large translucent vase full of pink roses. This made her freeze where she stood. She suddenly became very hot and her heart began to beat a million miles a minute. She’d once told Cesar Flickerman that she enjoyed the color pink and that it was difficult to find in District 12. But [Y/n] knew these roses were not for her enjoyment; they were a warning to behave herself.

Haymitch was fast asleep on a dusty gray sofa against the wall. They’d left him in a seated position with his head slumped back. [Y/n] thought his neck would probably ache when he woke up. She glanced back at the roses and felt the tears well up in her eyes. She tried to brush them away as she walked towards the sofa and sat down- she couldn’t be weak or look as if she’d cried before meeting the tributes. Haymitch startled awake at the feeling of someone sitting next to him. He looked at [Y/n] with glassy eyes and smiled a drunk, awkward attempt at a smolder.

“Just go back to sleep,” [Y/n] chuckled softly, “You’ll need to meet the tributes later,”

[Y/n] knew Haymitch would enter the stage of “functioning drunk” after a nap. He would be able to interact and remember longer snippets of what happened, but he would still be drunk nonetheless.

[Y/n] put her feet up on the sofa on each side of Haymitch. He stretched out and laid his head down on her chest, immediately falling back asleep. She looked down at him and began to stroke his hair. She smiled to herself at the thought that they’d been intimate only hours earlier. So much had happened in one day. She’d been caught naked with a man by Effie Trinket; a girl volunteered as tribute to protect her sister; the Capitol threatened her with flowers; and she realized she had fallen for Haymitch Abernathy.

Masterlist

Legally Blonde (2001) Dir. Robert Luketic

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