don't talk to me or my son ever again // gay panic v mutts

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Night crawls in with storm clouds and the feeling of electricity striking through the air; a roar of thunder to his ears as he feels the air growing tenser and tenser. Clothes put back on as soon as the light of day starts dipping over the edge of the horizon; an echo of what was shown to all of Panem. Lucas would see him as an idiot, but his word was his word. Bellamy Scott wasn't going to be known as the guy who broke his own word, even if it was to someone as crazy as Mauve. Blood stained arm, stitched together by his own hands as he stares up and up to nothing more than the sky. A hum in his voice as he listens to the thunder roaring in the clouds. Lightning striking somewhere farther away with a bright flash. Memories of sitting by a windowsill with his notepad and a storm to coat the district in a pouring rain.

The silence of Three when storms come in with loud pouring rain against the glass of windows. Memories of writing down how many raindrops would hit the glass, drip down until it mixes with the mud outside the orphanage. Kids laughing and playing house behind him as he stares into the vast emptiness of the streets, catching glimpses of men and women rushing to work despite the wet weather. It's underneath the thunderstorm where he finds a soothing presence of his own; deep within his head where the memories of good, calm days reside. A boy with a sunshine smile pulling him from the windowsill with a laugh upon his lips. Brightening up the tragedies of a boy who's been broken by blood and death.

Bubby is somewhere farther away. A good few feet from him as Bellamy leans back against the grass, fingers gripping his knees gently, eyes to the stars as the words fall from his lips. A teasing smile attached to his comfortable form. "Promise I won't get naked again, Bubby." Looking back down to him, he smiles and throws in a joking wink to add to the red that'll surely appear on Four's face. "Though, you are cute when you're flustered. Whoever that boy you talked about before is missing out." Silence falls over him as he looks back to the clouded skies, unable to see what stars were once there. A whirling of gas and water above them; crackling lightning and friction of heat and cold ringing through the air.

"I used to love thunderstorms." His voice escaping on it's own before he starts setting himself down. Eyes drooping from the exhaustion of the day before. A bug biting at his hand gently as he smacks it once, twice, and thrice. "Lucas. My... friend.... He used to come down and pull me away from the window when I was scared of everything. He gave me some hope in the world. Find some peace after losing my father." A soft laugh echoes from his throat as he bundles up softly into himself. "I used to tell him his smile lights up the rooms he's in. Like the sun, bright and filled with a comforting warmth." The silence is enough for him to give in to sleep, memories of the smile filling his head.

The dullness of sleep where dreams don't come fades for a moment. A heavy air hanging over him as he feels distraught. Eyes unable to open fully, but he's tired. Exhausted from everything with the day before. Muscles sore from pushing himself to the limits in order to fight the creatures from the day before. The sound of grass crunching underneath feet as he barely opens his eyes. Voice distraught from the grogginess of his own exhaustion. Mauve's form seeming to walk away, but his brain can't catch up with where she's going. His eyes follow here for a moment, barely able to process what's happening.

"Mauve."

Barely a whisper to the air as he slides up to sit, just barely. His eyes blinking at the grogginess around his senses. If Mauve had been another tribute, he could have been killed instantly. Throat bled red with the death of his own carelessness, but he can't say that. He can't think that. His brain feels heavy as his eyes droop and he almost slips back into sleep. All that's on his brain is the memories of Sierra and Lucas being careful behind his back. Whispered words and close comforts to one another; A broken butterfly wing in his stomach as he groaned at the memory. Two words leaving his lips with the groggy heaviness of way too early morning.

"Stay safe."

Drifting back to sleep, he can't remember which way she even went.

Morning comes with the announcements from a gamemaker. Another death had been in the sky, but he'd crashed too early to remember who. "Good Morning Campers. I've always found storms to be rather calming. I hope you feel the same, for your sake. It doesn't look like it will be letting up any time soon. I'd ask you not to disappoint me, but if yesterday was any indication..." A laugh almost breaks from his throat; the itchiness of bug bites littered across the exposed skin showing proof that the message clearly was for him. Nudity wasn't going to be tolerated. Rebellious in his youth, he's used to authority not liking him for one reason or another. Having told Peacekeepers they're horrible at their jobs for being unable to find his father's killer. Taken in custody for pushing on witnesses too hard and having his name upon the lips of some of the older Peacekeepers in Three. "Good luck. May the odds be ever in your favor." The odds would be in his favor. Statistically, he'd make the odds in his favor.

"She has her uses huh?" Liara's the one to catch his attention now. Mauve's nowhere in sight and he almost wants to sigh in frustration, but avoids doing so. Last night must've not been a dream like he originally thought, but reality. Thumb and pointer already at the bridge of his nose, squeezing what tension he can out of it. "Her face will light up the sky tonight now that I'm not with her to keep her alive." Mauve could handle herself. The reason he'd asked her to this alliance was to be a fighter for them. A killer so he didn't have to push himself to becoming like that person who killed his father. Instead, he's got a volatile, do it herself ally who he can't keep tabs on at all. His voice comes back in annoyance, but firmness.

"She can handle herself. We'll meet up with her again. I trust her enough to not outright ditch us. Otherwise, I will take care of her myself." A seriousness in his eyes as he looks to Liara before pulling his supplies together, fixing what he can of the uniform he'd hastily put back on the night before. Following Liara towards the next place they were heading to he's got his eyes open for whatever was meant for them in the next day. His feet were starting to get sore again, but he bit his tongue to stop himself from complaining about it.

The campfire circle is interesting. Wood piled high for a bonfire where kids their age would tell stories and eat smores. His own hands trace the piles of wood, trying to come up with uses for these; built up tall until he can see over it, just barely into the open grass around them. His eyes stare at the circle, noticing all of the litter everywhere around them. Clearly, some sort of sign of another alliance or worse, other humanoid mutts around them. Who knows what the capitol is capable of anymore. A sigh almost falls from his lips, until pain bursts from his hands.

Crashing into a pile of wood, knocking over some solid pieces as a fluffy sheep rips at his thumb, teeth sharper than he expected. Gritting his teeth, he notices they're surrounded by a handful of mutts now. Strange bug-like creatures with scythes for arms; sharp and covered in Bubby and Liara's blood. His hand reaching for the fire poker at his side as he swings it around. The words upon his lips ready to speak out. Liara moves towards the sheep that's taken his thumb, clearly ready for action once more.

"We've got company. Take them out as fast as possible."

His feet burn with soreness, but he's gotta fight in order to live. A thunderstorm above them roaring back at them as the clouds cover most of the sky. A humidity surrounding them already making him covered in a thin layer of sweat. Pulling forward, he strikes, eyes focused on finding another way to deal with these mutts. He's killed a creature before, but he's not sure he can do it again. His heart beats in his chest, but he had to fight for Lucas. He had to fight to see Mauve once more.

The smell of gunpowder upon his nose; a strike of lightning in the distance as he clashes.

*   *   *

Ripping flesh from a leg; blood splattered along where the dried blood of the day before rests on the fire poker. Sharp edges staring back at him as he can feel the change within himself coming. The fear across his mind pulling back the layers of his own act; he's just a scared kid once again. Hidden in a room with nothing, but his own mind to keep him company. The silence just like the shining moon above; watching over the people of Panem slowly moving one by one. His fingertips gripped to the fire poker with his life on the line just like before.

Bubby cuts deep into the chest of one of the bugs with scythes for arms; blood spilling onto the ground with dripping wounds and pain. Blossoms of agony glittering like the flames of a fire; over and over again. His eyes follow the creatures for a moment. The sheep coming up and striking once more; flesh ripping from his thigh as it drips down his calf and to his feet. Blood coating his pants with a deep red mark; reminding him he's here and he's being torn up. Biting his cheek until he can taste the metallic taste he knew his father felt before dying. The wound bleed with pain and he's stumbling back a little bit onto the wood pile behind him.

Mauve wasn't there to tear down these mutts with them. She'd left them to their own devices and he's not sure they can handle this many mutts on their own. His eyes follow the others for a moment; noticing Liara move, but unable to see past his own thoughts. Worries bubbling along his brain over and over again. Neurons striking together with thoughts of their own demise appearing across his mind over and over again. Lucas would have smacked him. He'd have told Bellamy to break free from his own mind, but there's fear beneath his heart. Rumbling like the earth would cave in and break him piece by piece in order to survive.

Bellamy Scott didn't want to die.

Bellamy Scott couldn't die.

He's weaker than expected, but he carries the fire poker with a sudden calmness. Pain present along his features, but he's got to keep fighting. Wounds like these were common in the games and to be getting worked up over them made him feel weak. The gamemakers clearly didn't like him clearly from the messages. Bellamy had to do more than just stand by while Mauve goes off and does something crazy he's sure. Atticus believed in him too. Probably more than Mauve, if he had to guess, but he keeps the thought down for later as he watches Liara swing again and strike only barely. The words leave his lips too quickly.

"Aren't you supposed to be a career? Hit hard than that!"

Frustration in himself is evident. Pulling back the fire poker, he can feel himself knowing the sheep is on it's last leg. He's breathing heavily with the same worries as before. He doesn't want to be a killer. He doesn't want to spill blood anymore. He didn't want to turn into someone like the person who killed his father. Except, this is the games. The place where it's kill or be killed. Worries shoved down to the depths of his chest, he pulls back and swings the fire poker forward, eyes focused on the sheep as he can feel his heart beating in his chest.

Fear keeps him moving.

Fear keeps him alive.

*   *   *

It's not enough.

Blood coating the end of his fire poker; red along the blackened edges of it. A vision of a smoking gun and those cold eyes starting back at him; death whispering in his ears as a child to run. Run as far as he can and scream as loud as he can, but he never did. Feet planted like cement to the floor as he breathes heavily. A flashback to that day where the person stares at the closet where he peeks through the slanted boards in the darkness of the hiding place. Afraid of the world around him, but everything comes back in a flash of thunder, echoing along his ears as he can hear Bubby now.

"Can we stop being so mean to each other?" Blood dripping from between his teeth; Bellamy throws a curious glance. His heart in his throat as he smiles with a mischievous glint. None of this was to be mean. Bellamy Scott was a pusher; striking the matches along their anger to push them harder than before. It wasn't mean. It was strategic. Make the ones close to him fight harder to prove themselves. Naïve in a way, but he pushes the thought down. "Only one of us gets to go home. But we agreed to help each other. We agreed to be a team. If you aren’t willing to protect each other than make like Mauve and disappear. Now kill the damn thing."

A team. Bubby wanted them to be a team and protect one another, but this wasn't a real summer camp where kids gets to sing by the campfire. Each of them were fighting to survive, pushing their own limits in order to get the crown and go home to their family. A silence falls over him as Bubby finishes his words in the most Bubby way ever. "Sorry for cussing." His swing is slower than before, but it's enough to make Bellamy smile. Enough for him to miss the stance of the sheep as he steps to the side, getting a smaller cut along his forearm, blood dripping as he grits his teeth.

"Drop the label. I'm only human after all."

His eyes can see the anger behind them. A small smile as he holds his own weapon out. Deadly in it's own way, but not seeming like the weapons the others carry. A laugh almost wants to escape his throat, but he keep himself quiet before standing carefully. They were pushing themselves to keep themselves safe. A front is all he's ever known to put up; pretend he's the smartest in the room and accept his own faults. Fingertips brushing along the edges of his fire poker as he watches Liara rip into the sheep; blood sprouting from the head as he grimaces. Words from his lips already.

"I'm not trying to be mean. I was pushing buttons to try and get Liara to hit harder. A little anger helps in these situations." A soft smile as he switches his own position, letting the teasing fall from his face and pull back the curtains. The fear still shrouded by his own demeanor as he pulls back for a moment. "No labels. Got it. We're all humans here. " Mauve. Bubby had said to run off like Mauve. He wanted to defend her for some reason, despite his dislike of her. Mauve's cold unnerving eyes flaring through his mind, but he bites down the thought and forces himself to speak once more. "If you want a team, then I'll bite. Let's do this!"

Black across his vision, the red edge of metal as he dives over the body of the sheep, away from the log tower of wood and towards the creature Bubby had attacked. If they were to be a team, Bellamy was gonna show his worth. The fear from before bubbling behind his ears, burning heart in his chest, as he pulls forward once more. Deadly arms pointed at them in a threat, but he's got to keep his head on. The shake in his hands have become nothing more than an eerie calm as he focuses on the task at hand. The bladed arms were it's strong point, finding a chink in it's position would be hard, but Bellamy wasn't no quitter.

Sliding to the side, he goes for the lower part of the creature, figuring he could get a better angle from that point. Home was watching him. He wondered if Atticus was rooting for him or Mauve. There's only one way for him to find out. A feeling of anxiousness bubbling over his stomach as he stabs with the fire poker, aiming to try and do something more than he does.

To be a team player, he had to start acting like one.

That meant to be something he didn't want to be.

A killer.