![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moit_ficsTitle: Tribute to Victor: A Game Better Lost
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moit
Fandom: Hunger Games
Pairing: Haymitch/various,Haymitch/Katniss, Haymitch/Peeta, Haymitch/Effie
Rating: R
Warnings:slash, het, implied rape, PTSD, implied abuse
Summary: AU. Haymitch's POV: the events immediately following the Reaping until the beginning of the Games.
Genre: Angst, Drama
Word Count: 727
Author's Note: Much of the catalyst for this fic goes to Woody Harrelson's portrayal of Haymitch in the film adaptation of The Hunger Games. While there aren't any specific spoilers for the film, you might be better off skipping this fic if you've only read the book.
On the night of the Reaping, Haymitch gets outstandingly drunk, as has been his custom since he won his own Games. The District 12 Tributes usually keep to themselves, but Peeta can’t seem to be outdone by Katniss’s volunteering in place of her sister because he is knocking at Haymitch’s door.
Haymitch somehow manages to drag himself out of bed long enough to chat with the latest lambs for slaughter. But when he lays back down, he certainly isn’t expecting another knock on his door.
“What now—” He stops midsentence and crosses his arms over his chest. “What could the Ice Queen possibly want with me at this hour?”
“I need you to help me. And I’m willing to do anything.” She tugs at the collar of her nightgown.
Haymitch sighs and pushes the door to his room open. If he denies her offer, the girl is likely to die a virgin. He is training these kids to kill their opponents. If they are lucky, one of them would kill the other.
When he turns, Katniss is standing nervously in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around herself. “So, um, what now?”
“Awe, darlin’,” Haymitch says, laying a hand on her shoulder, “I’m not the monster you make me out to be.” Even if I am a murderer.
To win the Hunger Games, one must, at the very least, kill his final opponent. The odds are stacked too high to allow a Tribute to become Victor without first becoming Murderer. Then, once one becomes Victor, he is forced into the role of Mentor, Executioner, Rapist.
She’s asking for it.
Haymitch directs Katniss onto the bed. He does little more than unbutton his pants to pull himself out. Despite all the alcohol he’s drank he still manages to get it up for Katniss’s virginal, sixteen-year-old body. He pushes her nightgown up and enters her.
His breath stinks of whiskey.
Her breasts are firm and round.
It’s over as quickly as it begins.
Katniss climbs off the bed, clutching her nightgown to her chest. She leaves without meaning Haymitch’s eyes.
Haymitch pours himself another drink.
Becoming a Tribute is the end of your life. Even if you win, you still lose.
The next morning, Katniss is back to her normal, venom-spitting self. She sounds mat at the world, and Haymitch can hardly blame her.
That night, when Haymitch receives another knock on his door, he opens it expecting Katniss.
Wrong again.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister Mellark?”
“I know you were training Katniss last night,” Peeta says, pushing past Haymitch. “I want equal treatment. If you’re training her during the off hours, then you need to train me, too.”
Haymitch looks confused for a moment. “Training Katniss?”
“Don’t bother lying about it. I saw her come in here last night.”
“Oh, you saw, did you?” Haymitch says, advancing on Peeta predatorily.
Peeta stumbles backwards, frightened. He truly has no idea what he is asking. In the end, he gives it, too, and he doesn’t even cry. He leaves Haymitch’s room red-faced and shaking slightly.
Haymitch’s opinion about these kids is beginning to change—perhaps one of the will win, after all.
*
On their first night in the Capitol, Haymitch leaves his own room to seek out the company he’s been missing.
“Haymitch,” Effie sighs, answering the door. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Haymitch ducks his head and forces a grin onto his face. “You know I’ve been busy with the kids, darlin’.”
Effie pats him on the cheek. He embraces her, rubbing his face against her ample bosom.
She always smells so good.
*
Haymitch holds his breath as Katniss and Peeta are launched into the Arena. Five minutes in, he’s cursing a blue streak. Damn Katniss just can’t do as she’s told. She never could.
Haymitch shakes his head. Time to start working over the sponsors.
It is not common knowledge that the Victors are expected to perform certain . . . services for the wealthy Capitol citizens if they expect sponsorship for their Tributes. Small wonder that the Victors, who are still District citizens, are forced into veritable prostitution in a vain attempt to save the children from their homes. The Districts are doomed to fight an ever-losing battle.
For those in the know, it’s unsurprising why Haymitch drinks.
Author:
moitFandom: Hunger Games
Pairing: Haymitch/various,
Rating: R
Warnings:
Summary: AU. Haymitch's POV: the events immediately following the Reaping until the beginning of the Games.
Genre: Angst, Drama
Word Count: 727
Author's Note: Much of the catalyst for this fic goes to Woody Harrelson's portrayal of Haymitch in the film adaptation of The Hunger Games. While there aren't any specific spoilers for the film, you might be better off skipping this fic if you've only read the book.
On the night of the Reaping, Haymitch gets outstandingly drunk, as has been his custom since he won his own Games. The District 12 Tributes usually keep to themselves, but Peeta can’t seem to be outdone by Katniss’s volunteering in place of her sister because he is knocking at Haymitch’s door.
Haymitch somehow manages to drag himself out of bed long enough to chat with the latest lambs for slaughter. But when he lays back down, he certainly isn’t expecting another knock on his door.
“What now—” He stops midsentence and crosses his arms over his chest. “What could the Ice Queen possibly want with me at this hour?”
“I need you to help me. And I’m willing to do anything.” She tugs at the collar of her nightgown.
Haymitch sighs and pushes the door to his room open. If he denies her offer, the girl is likely to die a virgin. He is training these kids to kill their opponents. If they are lucky, one of them would kill the other.
When he turns, Katniss is standing nervously in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around herself. “So, um, what now?”
“Awe, darlin’,” Haymitch says, laying a hand on her shoulder, “I’m not the monster you make me out to be.” Even if I am a murderer.
To win the Hunger Games, one must, at the very least, kill his final opponent. The odds are stacked too high to allow a Tribute to become Victor without first becoming Murderer. Then, once one becomes Victor, he is forced into the role of Mentor, Executioner, Rapist.
She’s asking for it.
Haymitch directs Katniss onto the bed. He does little more than unbutton his pants to pull himself out. Despite all the alcohol he’s drank he still manages to get it up for Katniss’s virginal, sixteen-year-old body. He pushes her nightgown up and enters her.
His breath stinks of whiskey.
Her breasts are firm and round.
It’s over as quickly as it begins.
Katniss climbs off the bed, clutching her nightgown to her chest. She leaves without meaning Haymitch’s eyes.
Haymitch pours himself another drink.
Becoming a Tribute is the end of your life. Even if you win, you still lose.
The next morning, Katniss is back to her normal, venom-spitting self. She sounds mat at the world, and Haymitch can hardly blame her.
That night, when Haymitch receives another knock on his door, he opens it expecting Katniss.
Wrong again.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister Mellark?”
“I know you were training Katniss last night,” Peeta says, pushing past Haymitch. “I want equal treatment. If you’re training her during the off hours, then you need to train me, too.”
Haymitch looks confused for a moment. “Training Katniss?”
“Don’t bother lying about it. I saw her come in here last night.”
“Oh, you saw, did you?” Haymitch says, advancing on Peeta predatorily.
Peeta stumbles backwards, frightened. He truly has no idea what he is asking. In the end, he gives it, too, and he doesn’t even cry. He leaves Haymitch’s room red-faced and shaking slightly.
Haymitch’s opinion about these kids is beginning to change—perhaps one of the will win, after all.
*
On their first night in the Capitol, Haymitch leaves his own room to seek out the company he’s been missing.
“Haymitch,” Effie sighs, answering the door. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Haymitch ducks his head and forces a grin onto his face. “You know I’ve been busy with the kids, darlin’.”
Effie pats him on the cheek. He embraces her, rubbing his face against her ample bosom.
She always smells so good.
*
Haymitch holds his breath as Katniss and Peeta are launched into the Arena. Five minutes in, he’s cursing a blue streak. Damn Katniss just can’t do as she’s told. She never could.
Haymitch shakes his head. Time to start working over the sponsors.
It is not common knowledge that the Victors are expected to perform certain . . . services for the wealthy Capitol citizens if they expect sponsorship for their Tributes. Small wonder that the Victors, who are still District citizens, are forced into veritable prostitution in a vain attempt to save the children from their homes. The Districts are doomed to fight an ever-losing battle.
For those in the know, it’s unsurprising why Haymitch drinks.
