hearts that beat and bleed | {hades/astrid} blitz

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

He saved the best for last.

That wasn't the bias of Hades thinking the person he enjoyed kissing was better than the others he'd asked, but the honest truth. Astrid had experience in this, and though her Games did result in a toddler victor from a middle district, the Games ran pretty smoothly until the last couple of days when basically all of the upper-district favorites were killed off.

Eh, at least people had taken a shine to the winner. Cute kid. Rotten little shit, though, from what Hades had been told.

When she stepped through the door, he instantly felt his resolve soften. He hadn't gotten to see or speak to her since the public announcement had occurred this morning on the news. Could he have technically waited to ask her at dinner later? Sure. But this way gave him an excuse to see her earlier.

He kissed her cheek as Cinder circled around the two of them in excitement. Astrid had, after all, created the little guy as a gift to Hades for his help in the 87th.

He cleared his throat.

"You look lovely," and she did.

"I want you to be my... head junior? Senior Junior?" He huffed a small laugh, "Crisis management, making my other juniors do their jobs when I'm not there, taking my spot if I get, you know, knifed in the street or something. That kind of thing?" His hand tipped her chin up and he turned back toward his desk.

"Oh! Also," he found it easier when he was looking at the cityscape, at the still-growing crowd of people in the street below, waiting for him to go down and make his statement. For years now, Astrid had been there, waiting for him to let down his walls, and he'd refused at every opportunity. He hadn't ever realized why- even went to therapy about it, about how even though he felt more certain about his feelings for Astrid than anything else, he always felt like he had one foot out the door when she was around him. But here, now that he was finally running the Games, he'd realized he needed this to be happy, too. And now that he had it-

"I want you to move in with me. If that's... something you might also want."

He didn't look back, just in case his face might show the terror that had suddenly appeared within him.

[✨ zozo.]

☣

You dye your hair black. Girls grab at your wrists, pulling you into the shadows, whispering "He's dangerous."

You smile back, blinded by deep and dilated irises.

"So am I."

Nebula floats around your head and lights up the room. You can still feel the words that hung heavy in your throat the night it was delivered to you. Still taste the vodka in the air. Everything you wanted to say but could not, paralyzed by your own fear.

You were so much younger, then. So self-conscious. Nebula sang you to sleep and you'd slept soundly, waking up to sweet little lullabies that convinced you there was good underneath those dark eyes. Something worth opening yourself up for.

He had cracked your ribcage open.

You had let him. Gladly.

And still, still he stayed in the half-light.

They said he was terrifying, but you are the one that poisoned your tributes like nobody else had before. They said he was the bad guy, but whispered villainous tales about how you had gotten your position. All lies, of course. But you let them make you the villain.

They said you'd fucked the first Gamemaker you'd befriended - a lie. So let them tell the truth the next time they speak that way about you.

Let them make you just as bad as he, so that when they spat you deserved each-other it made your heart sing like Nebula's beautiful little melodies.

Cinder and Marina - your own blue-green prototype - squeal through the air, bobbing along in tow with you both. Nebula sits at home waiting for dusk, a secret kept just between you both. If I get knifed in the street, the thought makes you shudder as the kiss on your cheek lingers. Your mother had said you had shifted after the games. Become different. Darker, somehow. She thought it was a result of what you had had to do, not who you did it with.

Did it for.

You chuckle at his remark, "It would be my honour."

At first you had thought you had to pull him into the light, reveal his every secret and drink them in like blood. But the longer you lingered by his side, almost there - but not quite, tugging gently on his rigid hand, you realised that it was he who had to pull you into the shadows. So you waited, and waited, and waited --

when you feel the pull at your hands, you do not hesitate.

"Do you?"

You're the observant one. It's why the late Jeremiah had picked you.

But you are also young, and a little foolish. So into the shadows you plunge, only half-knowing if Hades Lochlan would be there to catch you as you fall.