Jester

If Victor Frankenstein is the shitty, abusive parent, of course the Creature has to be the abused and neglected child but by God, did GdT commit.

He did not have to go this hard.

He did not have to film Jacob Elordi like that, curling in on himself, folding all his miles-long limbs up into the fetal position because no one else will hold him. Watching a leaf float away, out of his cold, dark prison, with nothing short of wonder. Gazing at the camera with his big, soulful eyes. Meeting a wild and dangerous creature and gently feeding it a berry.

Being able to speak only one word, the most important one, Victor, because this - his father - is the only thing in the world to him.

And of course Victor, tragically commonly unequipped to handle the responsibility of parenthood, resents him for it. He built the Creature from the ground, exactly as he wanted, carefully chose every bone, every muscle, every neuron in his body. And yet, when he comes to life, when he breathes, and moves, and needs, Victor recoils. All his hard work, the toiling that drove him to near insanity, was only just the beginning. But this, this slow caretaking, this is different: there's no glory in it. Not the excitement of discovery, not the grandiosity of defying God and nature. This work is repetitive, frustrating, exhausting, and Victor very quickly tires of it.

I do not need to explain the metaphor.

This is usually where the story turns around and says, well, it can't be denied that the Creature is horrible to look at. He is violent and dangerous. Victor may have failed but really, can we blame him?

Well. Yes we can.

A/n: Haymitch deserve's some happiness.

It started with the flowers on Peeta’s leg. But once the cookies were in the oven and her hands were full of markers, there was no stopping her.

Haymitch had made the critical mistake of lying down on the couch.

Now, half-asleep and vaguely aware something was happening, he cracked one eye open to find your daughter hovering above him, tongue poking out in concentration as she carefully pressed a butterfly sticker to his forehead.

“What the—”

“Shh,” she whispered, patting his hair. “You’re a garden warrior now.”

He blinked up at you from under a halo of multicolored glitter and marker swirls. “A what?”

“You fight the bugs,” she said very seriously, reaching for a green marker to start drawing vines down his arm. “But only the mean ones. And you live in a sunflower castle.”

“Oh,” Haymitch replied, nodding like it all made perfect sense. “Course I do.”

You stifled a laugh as she started drawing a sword—more like a squiggle—on his cheek. He didn’t even flinch.

Peeta, from his place at the kitchen table, leaned over and whispered to Katniss, “Five years ago he’d have cursed the sky if someone looked at him sideways. Now look at him.”

Katniss smirked. “Covered in stickers, getting bossed around by a four-year-old.”

“Don’t laugh too hard,” you told her. “You’re next.”

“I’m going to be a moon witch,” your daughter said, looking at Katniss with delight. “But you have to wear a hat made of leaves.”

Katniss raised a brow, but there was a soft tug at her mouth. “I can live with that.”

Haymitch groaned theatrically, sitting up just enough to look at his arms. “Do I at least get a cool name?”

“General Glitterbeard,” she declared proudly, placing one final flower sticker on his chin.

Haymitch blinked. Then let out a short laugh, surprising even himself. “Alright, kid. You win.”

You watched them—your wild little girl and the once-gruff man who now wore flowers like medals—and your heart swelled with something deep and quiet and full.

Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it was just beginning, here, with cookies in the oven and glitter on the couch.

Katniss and Peeta left, excusing themselves for the day. Which meant that Haymitch can sit down and relax...if you can call it that since the man found himself trying to fix something his adorable child had made.

The man was distracted, as he carefully tried to tie the string around the newly crafted “garden warrior” paper crown Lina the adorable four year old had made him out of construction paper and pipe cleaners. He was muttering under his breath, frowning at the tangled knot.

That’s when she struck.

Lina tiptoed behind him, holding her newest treasure—a tiny fistful of loose glitter, freshly pilfered from her “art treasure box.” With the kind of chaotic glee only a four-year-old can channel, she leaned over his head and dumped it—glitter cascading like fairy dust over his black curls.

“Lina!” you half-gasped, half-laughed though it turned into a full blown snort, your turning your body away to hide your laughter. Your husband fully covered in glitter.

Haymitch froze mid-knot, his entire body going still as fine gold and silver sparkles settled into his hair, his shirt, even his eyebrows. A shimmer coated him like magic.

Before he could speak, Lina gasped dramatically and clapped her hands.

“Daddy!” she said, voice full of pure, glittering wonder. “You’re beautiful forever now!”

He turned to look at her, one brow raised, glitter clinging to his lashes. “Forever, huh?”

She nodded, bouncing slightly in place. “It’s special glitter. Can’t come off. Even if you take a bath. Now everybody will see you sparkle and know you’re the best daddy in the world.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Haymitch looked at you, silently begging for rescue.

“Don’t look at me,” you grinned. “You are kind of glowing.”

With a resigned sigh, he leaned back, letting her climb into his lap—glitter and all. She smooshed his cheeks between her hands and giggled when it puffed some of the glitter into the air.

“You like me this way?” he asked, teasing.

“You look like a hero,” she whispered seriously.

And for once, Haymitch didn’t make a joke. He just pulled her close, glitter and all, and rested his chin on her head.