#stole this joke from effie

[peapodsinspace]

WHAT IS THIS

#NOTMYWAWA

[destourtereaux]

just a little bit of hope - peeta mellark x fem!reader

⤷ summary: with katniss and gale both gone, peeta steps in as an unlikely hunting partner for y/n. ⤷ wc: 2.6k ⤷ requested? yes. see request here. ⤷ follow @lovebirdupdates and turn on notifs to be on my 'taglist'!

⤷ a/n: two things - one, peeta has dimples here, it's just how i imagine him, so please bear with me; two, pretend gale's father is alive please, i didn't think our girl would be able to support two families, no matter how strong she is.

___

The day is horridly warm, exacerbated by a heavy humidity. As you wake, hot air suffocates your surroundings, and the sun glares through the window, hung on a span of blue sky. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, your bare feet find the ground, then immediately retract. The floor is burning hot, baked by the sun. You grit your teeth and force your feet back onto the wood, ignoring the searing heat. You have things to do.

You make a bowl of porridge, watery, but edible. You drink half, and leave the rest for your mother. Your father is off to the mines already, his boots absent. You get dressed, pulling on the prettiest dress you own. You're ready. Or, as ready as one can be. 

Today, there will be no hunting with Katniss and Gale, no trading at the Hob. Today, there is only the reaping.

___

You spot Katniss at the edge of the square, gripping her sister's hand. Your friend looks nothing like she normally does. Gone are the boots and hunting jacket, replaced by a simple blouse tucked into a modest skirt. You nod grimly at her; neither of you feels like smiling.

Gale is over on the other side of the square, across from the stage they've set up. Your eyes meet, and he mouths "good luck".

After a few minutes of the routine announcements, Haymitch is introduced, then Effie. By now, the crowd has settled into an air of grimness, despite the clear blue sky overhead.

You don't hear Effie's jokes, and nobody laughs. She finally stops smiling, looking extremely awkward – you almost feel bad for her. Almost.

Then, she sticks her hand in the ball of names, each carrying a life, and pulls one out. Her smile is back on her face when she announces, "Without further ado, our female tribute is: Katniss Everdeen!"

You freeze, repeating her words in your head as if hoping they'd sound different. Your oldest friend – determined, brave Katniss, given a death sentence.

But Effie doesn't wait. Her next words are just as devastating. "And for our male tribute: Gale Hawthorne! Come on up now, dear, don't be shy."

Peacekeepers erupt through the crowd, grabbing your two best friends in the entire world by the shoulders, and forcing them up to the stage. Katniss whips her head around, looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what she's asking for.

"I'll take care of her, Katniss. I won't let her die. And you can't let yourself die, okay? Promise me. Katniss! Promise me!"

Your last words are hysterical, but ironically, Katniss is not. Having heard your commitment to Prim, she is satisfied. She yanks her arms free of the Peacekeepers and walks by herself, her head held high and her face serene.

You grab Prim's hand. Her whole body is shaking, wracked with sobs. You don't hear Effie's last words, but you know what they are.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

___

It's been two weeks since the reaping which stole your best friends. It's shocking how quickly you fell back into routine, as if nothing has even changed. The only indicator of their absence is an added part of your day: splitting your earnings between your family and Prim's.

There are now double the mouths to feed, so you spend double the hours in the forest hunting. Villagers are sympathetic – that may be the only reason you're all still alive. They love Prim, and they trust you. Everything you hunt manages to be traded.

But still, you're cracking. It's just too much, and you don't know if it'll ever get better. You have no idea what Katniss and Gale are going through right now, and you don't let yourself think of them. It would break your heart.

___

Peeta Mellark has always been observant. His teachers told his parents this, back when he was a child. It's this trait that makes him notice you. The girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders, killing herself day after day to provide for not one, but two whole families.

He doesn't understand how no one else sees it. But maybe they do – it's just that no one in District 12 is really in a position to do anything about it. Still, the fact remains that you're close to breaking. You can't keep doing this alone.

Peeta Mellark has never been brave. His mother yells at him, beats him, and he takes it. He has never talked back to teachers, or dared disobey the Peacekeepers. So when he offers to hunt with you, he surprises even himself.

"What?"

"I'm Peeta Mellark. We were in the same class, and my parents run the bakery. I was wondering if I'd be able to hunt with you?"

So you weren't hallucinating. The baker's son – a boy you didn't think could kill a fly – had just asked to hunt with you. Your shock translates into a small laugh, not that anything about the situation is funny, really. Hurt flashes in Peeta's eyes, and you quickly backtrack.

"I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm Y/N L/N, I know who you are. I just didn't think you'd be the hunting type," you explain. Because you're gentle, and kind, and I've never seen you hurt anyone, with your words or physically. But you don't add that last part. 

"I've only ever hunted with Katniss and Gale, you must know them, they were reaped this year." Your voice cracks a bit with those last words, and Peeta acknowledges the fact with a nod. His hand twitches; he wants to pat you on the back, or grip your shoulder, anything to stop the melancholy leaking into your eyes, but he doesn't.

"But you're welcome to join me," you end with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

___

The new partnership starts early the following day. You meet a groggy Peeta near his home, and the two of you begin the walk to the Meadow.

You hear no electrical hum from the fencing, which means it's safe to touch, and you guide Peeta across the boundary which separates the Seam from the forest. This is all illegal, you know, but you're too used to it to even notice. Peeta, on the other hand, feels an exhilarating sense of rebellion as he crosses the barbed wire, following your figure into the woods.

"You've never hunted before, have you?" you probe, although it's more of a confirmation than an actual question.

Peeta nods. "But I'm a quick learner. And I won't get in your way, I promise."

You smile, a genuine one this time. "We'll see about that, Mellark."

Over the next hour, you go over all the traps you had set from the day before, collecting from Katniss and Gale's traps as well. True to his word, Peeta picks it up quickly, and even has a great eye for camouflaging the traps. This becomes his task, using grass and twigs and flowers as his medium, painting a deceptive scene which looks safe and welcoming to the many squirrels and rabbits in these parts.

You also start him on foraging. Only one type of berry is poisonous in the Meadow, and it's easy to identify. You make sure he's clear on which to avoid, and leave him to it, while you head to the hollowed out tree where you've hidden your knives. The familiar sight of Katniss' bow and arrows within the trunk brings a pang in your heart. You leave them nestled within and retrieve only your daggers. You were never a good archer.

Another hour passes, and you return to Peeta with a deer. You're happier than you have been in weeks – this will be enough for almost a week's worth of food. Peeta is not empty-handed either, he has two buckets of progress, one filled with strawberries, the other with raspberries. He gives you a soft smile – he has dimples, you think. He then immediately turns a faint shade of green, having noticed the dead deer. 

You're seized with the desire to laugh, "Why'd you offer to hunt with me if you get queasy from the sight of game?"

He looks at you with an indignant pout, and you can't stop the giggle that tumbles out, then the full on laughter. 

"I'm not like this with all game, just, you know, the larger animals. I can look at dead squirrels just fine – stop laughing!"

Making your way back, within the District, you stop just outside of the fence to split your gatherings.

"Take the squirrels and rabbits, and the bucket of raspberries. I'll keep the deer and trade the strawberries with the mayor," you offer.

"No, you take it all," he crosses the barrier carrying the buckets, and you follow after him, shaking your head.

"I can't, Peeta. That wouldn't be right. This is a fair split."

"I never said I wanted to keep what we hunt. Only that I wanted to hunt with you, Y/N. Take it. I know you need it more than I do. I'll see you next weekend?"

And with that, he pops a strawberry in his mouth, smiling at the sweetness, and walks away.

You're left with your mouth open, unable to process what had just happened.

___

The next morning, you show up at the bakery. His bakery. You earned a few dollars from selling your strawberries to the mayor, and you figure that if Peeta won't take anything, you should buy from him instead.

A few dollars is enough for two loaves of good bread, and so you head to the bread aisle. But your gaze catches on the beautiful cakes on display, decorated with multi-colored icing and swirling script written in melted chocolate.

"I did those," comes a voice from behind you.

Whipping your head around, you see Peeta himself, looking at the cakes with fondness and a bit of pride.

"You did what?"

"The cakes. I decorated them. My mom bakes, but I decorate. I like doing it – it's like painting, just on a different canvas."

"They're really lovely. You have a talent for it," you confirm, "I bet that's why you were so good at hiding traps yesterday. You can see nature's patterns."

He gives you a soft smile in return, and you can see the dimples again. They're adorable, you think. I want to see them every day.

He gives a small cough, looking at you questioningly.

You startle, and blush a deep crimson. "Sorry, I lost my train of thought. I'm here to buy bread. Two loaves," you say as you lower your head to stare down at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

It's only when you hear a chuckle that you lift your head back up. Peeta's eyes are sparkling, and his dimples are clear as ever.

"I'll give you three."

___

Two months after the reaping, your partnership with Peeta is still going strong. Every Saturday, the two of you head to the woods, and spend half the day fishing, gathering, and hunting. Originally silent company has evolved into true friendship, with witty banter, fleeting touches, and shared smiles.

You have come to know Peeta Mellark. He isn't just the baker's son, the one who decorates cakes and hates seeing dead animals. He's the boy who saved you, when no one even knew that you needed saving. 

Day after day, he has shown up, offering kindness, companionship, and warmth, without expecting anything in return. You care about him more than you thought you could ever care about someone who wasn't family. You care about his messy blond hair, and you care about his broad shoulders. You care about his blue eyes which sparkle when he tells a joke, and his beautiful heart which leads him to give the occasional customer an extra free loaf. Most of all, you care about his dimples, which come out when he smiles at you. You care so much about him, that it scares you.

And Peeta cares about you. He cares about your hands, calloused but nimble, lethal when holding onto your twin daggers. He cares about your face, how it glows when you laugh at his jokes in the woods, but dims a bit when you're back in the district. He cares about your hair, always tied in a ponytail when in the Meadow, but left to flow freely down your shoulders when hunting's over. Most of all, he cares about your smile, which comes out when Prim thanks you week after week for your help, and forces you to take bottles of goat milk and pet Buttercup. He cares so much about you, that it scares him.

___

This hunting day, Peeta comes with news from the Capitol. A few weeks back, he started giving you updates on the Games, after you told him that you couldn't stomach the thought of watching your friends fight to the death.

"Y/N! Good news!" he greets, exiting the bakery. As the two of you begin your walk, he adds, "I'll tell you when we get to the Meadow."

"You're insufferable, Mellark. You can't just hook me like that, and not tell me what it is."

Peeta doesn't answer, so you start walking twice as fast, ushering him toward the edge of the Seam so you could figure out what exactly he wanted to tell you.

Once in the grassy plains of the Meadow, between the forest and the fence, you turn back to the boy, the impatience evident in your face.

"Tell me, Peeta, or I swear I'll –"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, "but it's not really good news, per se. It's just a little bit of hope."

You nod, urging him to continue.

"It's about the Games. About Katniss and Gale."

The last traces of your smile fade. Concern is etched onto your face, and your eyebrows scrunch up, your jaw tightens.

Noticing this, Peeta pulls you in by the waist, so that your head lands on his shoulder. "It's good news, Y/N. Don't look so defeated. They're both still alive, and they're fighting."

"But at least one of them won't be coming back," you whisper into his neck, so quietly you wonder if he even heard. But Peeta always hears you.

"Y/N. That's the news. They could both come back. Caesar Flickerman has just announced that they will be changing the rules this year – allowing two victors of the Games, provided they're tributes from the same district!"

You look up at him in awe. A change to the Games. Katniss and Gale, not one or the other. Both could win. Both could come back.

You choke down a sob, staring at Peeta's brilliant smile and those mesmerizing dimples. And before you can process what you're doing, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a bout of bravery.

Peeta's frozen for a second, before he begins to reciprocate the kiss in earnest. He pulls you in, one hand holding your neck and the other wrapped around your torso, pressing himself impossibly closer. He tastes like icing and strawberries, and you can smell the comforting scent of warm bread.

The kiss ends far too quickly for your liking, and you're suddenly impossibly shy, all bravado gone. You lower your eyes so you won't have to meet his eyes, but realize that you're practically sitting on his lap, having moved there at some point during the kiss. This observation brings a flaming blush onto your cheeks, and you scramble to move away, but you're held in place by Peeta's arms, forming an iron-tight cage around your figure.

He brings a hand to your chin, lifting it up, and kisses you again, more gently this time.

"Don't go all shy on me now, Y/L/N," he teases, and holds the back of his hand against your forehead, as if feeling for a fever. "You're burning up, darling."

"You know damn well that's not a fever–", you start, but you're cut off by his laughter, and once again distracted by those dimples of his. 

Maybe Peeta was right. Maybe there is just a little bit of hope left for you.

___

interested in other works of mine? see my masterlist!

[lulublack90]

Prompt 16 - Puddle

@jegulus-microfic June 16, Word count 837

Previous part First part

He watched James and his brother run off into the crowd towards the biggest ride at the fun fair. A soft chuckle from Effie reminded him that James had just left him with his parents. At least he had Remus still. He turned his head to check and his brother’s boyfriend was slowly trying to back away unseen. Regulus shot his hand out and grabbed him by the forearm, giving him a warning look, daring him to try and leave him alone with the Potter’s. 

“Effie my darling, I can see a teddy bear with your name on it,” Monty crooned at his wife, linking her arm and walking her away from them. “See you later, boys,” He winked over his shoulder as he and Effie disappeared towards the prize games. Regulus felt a sudden warmth for the elder Mr Potter.  

“What was that Lupin?” Regulus hissed as he turned on Remus, dropping his arm. “You were totally about to abandon me,”

“Hey, they're your in-laws, not mine,” Remus joked at him. Regulus raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, judging how well my brother gets on with James and his parents, my guess is soon you won’t be able to make that claim,” Joking with Remus was quickly becoming one of Regulus’s favourite things to do. “Besides, I thought you were taking me on a date. Not a great start, leaving me to the wolves when we've barely gotten through the entrance.” Remus snorted and rolling his eyes, linked Regulus’s arm much the same way Monty had Effie’s and walked him into the fair.

“So what shall we go on first?” Remus asked, turning his head to look around the place. 

“Waltzers, obviously,” Regulus drawled. Remus, having spotted them, pulled Regulus along to wait in the queue. They sat beside each other in the small space and waited for the operator to come around and check that all the doors were closed before he set them going. Regulus grabbed hold of the wheel in front of him and Remus copied his actions. 

A sudden jerk had Regulus bashing into Remus’s side before the ride started moving. Their car began to slowly turn, gaining speed with each rotation of the floor beneath them. Remus gave Regulus a wicked grin and turned the wheel they were holding, increasing their speed. Regulus accepting the challenge helped spin it too. 

Soon they were spinning faster than any of the other cars and showed no signs of stopping. They spun the wheel as much as they could before the main floor began to slow. Their car refused to stop, and the operator had to grab hold of it and yank it to a stop. Remus flew onto Regulus, pinning him on his seat. They exited and thanked the man as the world around them continued to spin, laughing their heads off. 

“Candy floss,” Remus barked and pointed at a stand. It was Regulus’s turn to grab him and drag him away. The kind lady sticking sticks into the machine and floating candy floss onto them happily added double the amount to the sticks for the smiling pair. Regulus was sure it would spoil their dinner, but at that moment he didn’t care he wanted the sweets. 

He took a bite and savoured the sweet sugar as it dissolved into a puddle on his tongue before he swallowed it. He was about to take a second bite when he saw his brother tear past him. 

“Hi, love!” James called over his shoulder as he chased after Sirius. Regulus tutted at them before releasing a groaning when he saw Effie and Monty making their way towards him and Remus. He plastered a smile on his face and gave them a little wave. 

James’s parents were torturing him on purpose. There was no need to describe the way a chocolate cake oozes in the amount of detail that Monty Potter had. He’d finally been forced to send a message to James begging him to hurry up when Monty had begun to describe how he had slathered the ganache over the cake and spun it under his palate knife to smooth it over the entire cake. He stole a glance at Remus, whose facial expressions screamed with ravenous hunger. 

“Oh, where are those two?” Effie grumbled over the missing boys. She turned to Regulus. “Darling, would you be terribly upset if Monty and I headed back to the house? I need to finish up a few things for dinner, or we won’t eat until midnight,” Effie asked him. He nodded furiously. 

“Of course, Effie. Go ahead. We’ll wait for Sirius and James,” She smiled at him warmly and pecked him on the cheek before bravely moving on to Remus. Regulus had been worried about the woman for a split second as Remus was still glassy-eyed at the thought of the mouthwatering food waiting for them. 

No sooner had the Potters driven off, than James and Sirius came bounding into view, both carrying huge stuffed animals and beaming madly. 

Next part

[until-the-house-shakes]

Autistic Remus and Regulus

Written by an Autistic Person

Remus always has headphones on, even if he isn’t playing music he likes having the buffer between his ears. If he does have music playing it’s acoustic guitar covers of his favorite songs

Regulus has awful texture problems. He feels the most comfortable in a silk long sleeve top and cotton pants (this is his public outfit. When he’s home he’s in soft sweatpants and a very well loved bowie t-shirt he stole from Sirius). If he’s wearing/feeling textures he hates he will slowly become very agitated and sometimes non verbal because of how overwhelmed/uncomfortable he feels

Both boys have short hair because they hate the feeling of hair on their neck/shoulders. If either of them are cuddling with Sirius they make him put his hair up in a bun

Remus’ comfort object is a worn down cardigan. There are so many holes in it but he refuses to get it fixed or replace it. Any time Sirius or James offers to get him a new one or bring it to Effie he starts getting very anxious and agitated

Regulus gets incredibly overwhelmed with pranks. It can something very simple and silly such as the boys moving everything around in his room, and he will have a panic attack due to how stressed out it made him.

Remus and Regulus will often times sit together on the couch and read while sharing a weighted blanket. They never talk. They just sit and enjoy each other’s company.

Regulus is a very literal person. He takes every joke at face value. This has lead to James housing 10 cats before. After that, all the boys quickly learned to say if they’re joking or not

Both of the boys get overstimulated by James and Sirius a lot, especially if the other two are in ‘prank’ mode, but they find a lot of comfort and calm with Peter, Lily, and Pandora.

[memetrashmom]

For Lemon: 12, 24, and 42

For Effie: 21, 38, and 45

and, if so inclined, for Daffodil: 25, 30, and 39?

For Lemon: 12, 24, and 42 12. What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific! Someone playing pretend/doing a bit and letting her in on the joke. Examples include: Rinn dropping her off and kissing her hand then calling her Fair Lady like a goober, Cael calling her Ms. Bakhouzin and that she drives a hard bargain all over deciding who pays for what at dinner, Nick doing something similar about her driving a hard bargain over something silly. It always gets her giggling. Lemon also loves a good play on words. They’re like little word puzzles, and she loves puzzles! 24. Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it? Lemon has snuck multiple cookies, hand pies, fritters, and once managed to inhale an entire tray of Special Brownies when no one was looking. She was fine, just incredibly stoned with a slightly upset tummy, so her big cousins kept an eye on her while the leaf worked its way out of her system. It’s surprising what one tiny puppy eyed halfling lass can get away with lol. She actually got her deer rib bone runes from Coyote by trading an entire kitchen's worth of baked goods and trading it when she was under 10 years old, and got grounded from baking lessons from Rosalind for a month >>’  42. If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be? Lemon could give multiple TED Talks, because she is a Giant Nerd, but her four main hyper fixations are arcana, nature, baking, and romance smut novels. So she might host a “Biology and Magic: How the Two Overlap” or “Local Species: What’s On the Menu, What’s a No Go, and Why?” or “Basics of Baking With Bakhouzin's” or lastly “Top Best and Worst Romance Novel Tropes”.

For Effie: 21, 38, and 45 21. What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it? Effie is a whirlwind of over the top nonsense, but shockingly she does follow most common etiquette rules out of habit. She was raised in court by her politician parents, so she follows most of them without really thinking. What she doesn’t disagree with is the supposed etiquette of “minding her own business”. If she can hear it, that makes it free game. She wants all the facts in the correct order. Will she do anything with all that fact checked gossip? Most likely not, but it could be important some day!  38. What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why? I like to think Effie has a lovely soprano singing voice, but for some reason when you put her in front of people suddenly she has to make a joke out of it and just cannot sing normally. Mostly because she really enjoys singing, and doesn’t want to be told she’s bad at something she loves.  45. What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately? Socks and sandals. She knows entire cultures do it, that it isn’t exactly a fashion thing for them, etc etc. She Knows. Effie still hates it with a fiery passion. Not as passionately as she loves Temperance, but only by a few degrees.  

and, if so inclined, for Daffodil: 25, 30, and 39? 25. What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot? All of the gossip in and around her human family’s court from 300-ish years ago. Who was besotted with who, who was caught talking the lover’s walk unattended into the gardens after midnight at Sir Macavoy’s last ball, who stole money at card night! Daffodil also can’t follow up on this gossip, because the humans involved are all dead now and her elf mother is MIA. She is very frustrated by this fact.  30. When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional? Honestly, personal is so much worse than professional. Professional mistakes happen and can be a combination of many things not entirely in her control, but disappointing one of her muses? Her light and love and joy?? The very core of her songs??? Her inspiration that makes life worth continuing???? Devastating. She will take to her bed in a faint.  39. Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there That depends entirely on why she isn’t wanted there I think. Daffodil enjoys a bit of extra drama, so if her showing up would cause a bit of stir she totally would want to be invited anyway and show up with bells on. If her family didn’t want her there because her presence would cause issues for them, then she wouldn’t want to be invited.

[strobingthingsfoundindumpsters]

Fantasy

Summary: Catalina, Capitolite, talks about Finnick Odair’s recent record-breaking Hunger Games win with Celeste-- and maybe also Celeste’s very massive crush on Finnick Odair. 

1/8 of Idols, available in full on AO3 alongside two further instalments of the Burn Butcher Burn series, all about a group of Capitolites and their daily lives in the Capitol, attitudes to the Games and eventually-- the Revolution! There’s idol worship, celebrity culture, cultural commentary, Finnick Odair, Effie being terrifying, and so, so many bad jokes. 

It’s always awkward, having to make small-talk with Cat. Because well, Cat’s older than Celeste, and Cat’s not really Celeste’s friend: she is her sister’s. Strict property of Aurelia Berry. And Cat’s just awkwardly fiddling with her long-since drained glass of water, as she’s waiting for Aurelia to finish getting ready. Because not just is Cat firmly not her problem: she’s weird, too.

Instead of colourful wigs piled sky-high on her head and sprawling designer gowns and despite coming from one of the most influential dynasties, Cat’s got her naturally boring brown hair and she’s slashed it to rest right above her shoulders, and she’s wearing a simple black turtleneck that’s tucked into belted, black (ugh! The fashion travesty continues) jeans. If Celeste had Cat’s kind of money, she’d be doing better things with it.

And yet, Cat's got the kind of back muscles that she gets away with showing up to a charity luncheon in a silk slip with a sloping back and a long caviar fur stole as her only guard against the harsh Capitol winds. It’s kind of annoying, and it’s kind of even more annoying that when she flips her holo towards Cat to get her comment on a fashion she’s considering and to slice through the awkward silence between them, Cat just kind of shrugs and says, “Sure, that’ll look good on you.”

It sounds a lot like that’ll look good on you because it’s not on me and I think it’s hideous. It’s annoying, and it’s even more annoying that Aurelia’s left her alone in the kitchen, sitting across from her best friend who’s refusing to do her biology homework for her, on top of everything else.

She’d plead, and she’d plead and she’d brought up how everyone knows that Cat’s a prodigy, and that she’s going to present at her family’s expo, and she’s going to do it before she’s even had her first proper boyfriend. Doing biology homework would be a piece of freaking cake, and yet, Cat just chuckles into her hand and insists that there’s no point in her doing it, because then Celeste won’t learn anything from it.

So what? Celeste’s not going to be a fool like Cat and Aurelia, who wants to go into science. There’s so many handsome men, and her family might not have as much money as Cat’s, but they have money. So, she’s not going to have any troubles marrying up, and she doesn’t understand why Cat and Aurelia act like they don’t have the same options and decide to work when they just… could not work.

After a long beat of oppressive silence that doesn’t culminate with Cat stretching across the table to pick up her homework and get going, she brings up the only safe topic with absolutely everyone and anyone.

“So, what do you think about the Victors’ Gala this year?” she asks, and Cat rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.

“Why does that one weirdo always dress the poor bastards from Seven like motherfucking trees?” Cat laments, and Celeste cackles, because it’s true. It’s not even that Seven’s the worst one—they’ve got good Victors! But none of them look very nice, if they’re not allowed to style themselves. Which is rare, because most people from the Districts don’t know anything about fashion and need a lot of help.

“C’mon, Cat,” Celeste presses, “You know that no one’s talking about the outfits this year, except for one.”

Cat tilts her head playfully. “Hm,” she muses, “I couldn’t possibly put a finger on why that would be. Perhaps because Finnick Odair’s rippling abs just look so damn good next to that expensive, shimmering trident?” She sticks out her tongue when Celeste cackles at her for obviously seeming so much more interested in the weapon, instead of the dreamboat at the gala that Cat had attended, and yet, she wasn’t coming out with some story about how she’d jumped down Finnick Odair’s throat until he’d pulled her close and kissed her.

Truly, Cat was wasting her connections.

When Celeste brought this valuable concern up to her, Cat flushed redder than Celeste ever thought possible—especially from someone who’s generally as composed as Cat is.

“You know,” Celeste continues to press, “Despite all of your many, many faults such as thinking that anyone cares about what’s inside a cell, you do have really nice tits. You should do things with them.”

Cat squeaks. Brings her hands up to cover her tits, even though she’s not showing them off in the first place. But you’d be an idiot to not say that Cat was attractive, and Finnick Odair wouldn’t be the perfect accessory hanging off her arm, to compliment that beauty that she so rarely uses. Again, it was a miracle that Cat had people like Celeste and Aurelia, even though Aurelia could use some work, too.

Cat would be hopeless without them, just strutting around the streets in her oil-stained tank tops and jeans that are way too loose around the waist and not near tight enough around the ass and thighs; jeans are a crime against fashion on their own, but if you’re wearing them, you might as well put in the effort to try and make it look like you hadn’t completely given up on yourself.

And Cat hadn’t even turned twenty yet, and she was already dressing like a mom with seven kids and no nanny! Tragic. What a waste of potential. At least she always made interesting gossip, whenever her mother would force her to attend an event and be semi-presentable.

“I’m just saying,” Celeste insists, “You know that he’s going to be a Victor that’s in high demand. You should do all of us little people a favour and nab him for one of our parties—”

“Your family are associates of ours,” Cat interrupts, scoffing, “Just because you’re not the bosses doesn’t mean that you can’t buy your own Victors.” She crosses her arms, and the glare she sends Celeste is more withering than Celeste thinks she deserves. She’s just being honest, and that includes admitting that even though she doesn’t think Cat deserves it, Cat’s the one who’s at the top of the food chain, while herself an Aurelia are locked in the basement of it.

“Tell me,” Cat says, shifting the topic, “What are you going to do for your birthday this year?”

That’s one of the things she really, really likes about Cat, despite all her many, many shortcomings—she always asks about Celeste, and she doesn’t ask about her in the boring ways that the other adults do. Cat doesn’t ask if she’s thought about her future, if she’s going to be attending any debutante balls—it’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s that she doesn’t know what she wants in a boyfriend and a husband yet, only that he should be richer than her, and it would be really, really nice if he were richer than Cat.

Cat always jokes that she wants a perfect prince that doesn’t exist, and that’s obviously just because Cat has a bad taste in men. Cat’s always hanging around Seneca Crane, for crying out loud. That’s a bad choice, if Celeste’s ever seen one—even though he’s rich, and he’s as rich as Cat is.

Cat leans back against the chair, breathes out.

“I was thinking of renting out the botanical gardens,” she says, proud of herself, it’s been ages since she’s gone to a party that’s not in a club, so this is going to be something new and fresh that no one’s thought of doing yet, “And I was thinking of making it as masquerade, or another theme. And of course having custom decorations, a fireworks show is a must and the cake’s got to be bigger than me, which shouldn’t be that hard, because I haven’t had my growth spurt this year, yet—”

“Well,” Cat adds, “You are fourteen. I think I stopped properly growing at fourteen.”

“… But you’re tall.”

(And I’m not.)

(Cat’s a good six-foot-something, and Celeste’s barely pushing five-five.)

“Ye-p.”

Because she doesn’t want to think about being five-foot-five for the rest of her life, and how Cat’s popping the p like a rude person, she puffs out her chest and says, “Maybe I’m short, but I’m prettier than you.” She purses her lips, hoping that Cat will comment on the fact that they look bigger. She’s been disappointed in the results, until now—but Aurelia insists that it can take up to a month for fillers to really settle, and look how they’re going to look forever, so she’s going to wait.

But she’s already planned what she wants done next.

Cat’s got the kind of slender, angular face that she’d like to get, too—and she’s even sure that Cat’s got it naturally, the lucky little bugger, because she’d gaped when Celeste had started talking about getting cosmetics done last month—she might even show a picture of Cat’s face to the surgeon, after all: Cat’s pretty well known, and she’s the reason that everyone wanted to wear black silk, last year, when she officially entered high society.

Cat’s parents are almost as weird as Cat is, and that kind of makes sense, because well—weird people make weird people, that makes sense to Celeste. Cat’s parents are so weird that they wouldn’t let Cat properly into the public eye until she was sixteen because her father said something about brain development and twenty-five and making good on his investment.

“Is there anything you want for your birthday?” Cat asks, steering the conversation back on course. Celeste works her jaw, wonders if Cat’s asking because she’s tucking it behind her ear. She always says different things, depending on who’s talking.

“Well,” she suggests, “It would really boost the profile of my party, if one of the most desirable and most current Victors attended. And your father works for the Games, doesn’t he—”

“There’s a difference between having a contract and being directly employed,” Cat corrects, and it’s Celeste’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Who cares, Kitty-Cat? Your father makes those cool mutts, and you’re supposed to take over and Aurelia’s been telling me that you actually made a couple in the last Games and it’s just a huge secret that you’re waiting to announce before the Cain expo—”

Cat huffs.

“—I’m just saying,” Celeste tries, “You have those connections. And you know I love having the party that everyone talks about. So, that’s what I want. I want the party that everyone’s going to be talking about, even after years. I want people to think about Celeste Berry and think, wow, Celeste Berry was cool enough to have Finnick Odair at her party before he was cool—”

“I think that ship’s sailed,” cackles Cat.

“You know what I mean!”

Cat leans across the table, smirking. “I really, really don’t,” she plays, “You’re going to have to enlighten me. Remember, I’m turning eighteen, which means I’m an old hag compared to you. You’re going to have to tell me why you think Finnick Odair is so cool.”

“I mean,” and now it’s Celeste’s turn to blush, because she’s thinking about watching him walk around the arena without a shirt on, watching him kiss that girl before he stabbed her in the back and she crumpled in his arms and how Celeste kind of envied her, and how she wondered if he could kiss her like that and mean it, if she could string him up against the wall and kiss him like the books had instructed her to, or if he was the type who wanted to take control.

She fiddles with one of her stiff, gelled ringlets, even though she knows that she shouldn’t mess up her hair. It takes hours to do, and it looks great when it’s done—and she just has to remember not to mess around with it, because then they’re going to have to do it again. And just a hair out of place is enough, because she wants to look good.

“I mean,” she fumbles, “He’s my age.”

Cat laughs.

“True that.”

Celeste really, really needs to change the topic. So much that she’s willing to ask about Cat’s job, which she never is, because that gets Cat too excited, and then you’re in for a free biology lecture that no one wants.

“Is it true that you’re keeping Finnick’s arena so people can visit it?”

Cat sighs. “You know what?” she says, “Fine, if you don’t tell anyone, yeah, I’ll let that cat out of the bag, ha. We are going to make it into another tourist trap, and yesterday I got to both hose off blood—”

“But that’s cool! You should keep the blood!”

Cat raises her hand, shushes her.

“As I was saying,” she speaks, “I had the absolute honour of pressure-washing crusty blood off the side of the cornucopia, because real blood gets nasty after a while. We’re going to draw it all up with fake blood, so it looks real for longer. Real blood even though you’d think it would, doesn’t look real for all that long.”

She crosses her arms. She supposes that’s fair. She supposes. Even though she’d like to see the real blood, and now that she knows it, when she inevitably visits Finnick’s arena to see the stream where he stripped down to nothing to go for a swim, and later drown the District Eight Female, she’s going to look at the painted blood and notice how it catches the light, and whether she can see that it’s fake.

She’s going to have a secret that’s all her own, because she visited Cashmere’s arena already, and she didn’t know that it was fake blood. The thought of knowing something that others don’t is exhilarating, so she asks Cat if there’s something else that she doesn’t know.

“Well,” Cat says, “I did find some ripped-up shirt that I had to call Dad about, because I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to leave it to decompose—”

“Do you have it?”

“What?”

“Do you have the shirt?”

“Uh,” Cat looks like she’s being interrogated, and perhaps she is, since Celeste notices that she’s pushed herself to slam her knees where her butt should be on her chair, and she’s leaning across the dining table, “My office garbage has it?”

“I’m willing to root through your office garbage.”

“That’s disgusting, Celeste.”

“I want that man to treat my clit like a pigeon getting sucked into a jet engine.”

Cat swallows. Takes a moment. A long one.

“What are you talking about?” chides Aurelia as she butts her head into their conversation, standing at the door, a hand on her hip.

“Science!” Cat shouts. Yelps. She pushes herself away from the table like she’s been burnt. “I’m coming!”

Cat’s such a boring prude. Just like her hair.

🧨

Want more? Check us out on AO3! I might post a couple more chapters of Idols on here, because I totally was unaware Tumblr ruled the HG renaissance, but I usually write long pieces that I don’t think fit the format of Tumblr well, so if you want more, I will probably never get my shit together into formatting Burn Butcher Burn’s full story into something I could post here so come say hi on AO3 and I’ll just silently lurk everyone else’s writing on here lol! 

Why should you read Burn Butcher Burn? 

because

everyone

is 

like

that

[lilyflowerpot]

The Prank That Never Got Old

Summary: The Marauders attempt to pull a Halloween prank, but not everything goes to plan.

-🎃-

October 31st 1974

James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are lounging in their dormitory, the record player buzzing its way through 'Monster Mash.' They had just returned from the Halloween Feast after practically eating their body weights in toffee apples and pies. Sirius and Remus are sat on Remus' bed playing a game of chess, Peter is silently concentrating as he leans over his Transfiguration homework, and James is throwing and catching his stolen golden snitch, it's wings flapping eagerly.

"How do you always win?" Sirius asks once Remus plays his winning move, pouting.

"It's called skill Pads." Remus replies as he gets up, his knees disagreeing with himself as they pop and crack, and walks over to his bookshelf. Sirius scowls and throws a pillow at his back and Remus chuckles. Slotted between a History of Magic and an Astronomy book is the Marauders Map, and Remus picks it up and sits back down, opening it up on his bed and tracking his eyes over every inky hallway and crevice.

"Look there, that's Minnie!" Sirius points, leaning over Remus' shoulder. Remus blushes, but it goes unnoticed- it always does. Little does he know, not for long, but for a little bit longer.

James sits up and pockets the snitch. "Wonder what she's up to... trick or treating for catnip maybe?" He chuckles, running a hand through his untamed brown mop. The other two laugh too, a quiet chuckle emerging from Peter, until James joins their viewing and spots the name Severus Snape hovering in the wobbly drawn lines of Slughorn's classroom.

"Guys..." James looks like he's stumbled upon the thought of the century.

"What Prongs?" Sirius asks.

"Grab your bedsheets."

Remus gets up and slots the map back.

"Grab my wha-hey!" James pulls the bedsheets from under Sirius, causing him to roll off of the bed with a thump. That gave them all a laugh.

"Honestly Prongs, what are you doing?" Remus finally asks, pounding on the bathroom door after James stole all their bedsheets and dragged them into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"Almost done!" James calls back. Peter's homework is long forgotten now as he sits on a bedsheet-ridden bed. Sirius is still rubbing his back, complaining to a completely done Remus that Prongs "broke his precious back."

In the middle of one of Sirius' whines, the bathroom door unlocked and James comes out with 3 bedsheets, with two eye-sized holes roughly cut in each. He hands each of his friends their bedsheets back.

"What on earth do we do with these?" Remus asks, poking a finger through one of the holes, his face showered in confusion.

"You wear it, obviously!" James rolls his eyes. Peter's the first one to get it right, and to James it looks absolutely amazing.

"How do I look?" Peter jokes.

"Like a professional Gryffindor ghost."

"Oh! So that's what this is?" Sirius exclaims and throws the sheet over his head. Remus rolls his eyes, but fondly.

"I don't reckon I've heard an explanation for cutting my fucking bedsheet, Prongs." Remus says, turning to James.

"Oh Moony, foul mouth! We are going to scare our pal Snivellus. Sharing some Halloween... spirit, you could say."

"Yeah, I'm out. I'm not wearing this." Remus laughs incredulously and throws the sheet at James, walking back to his bed and flopping down into it.

"Oh come on Moooony! This'll be fun!"

"Yeah Moony, imagine his face!"

"I'll imagine it from up here, thanks." Remus denies, and grabs his book from his bedside table.

"Fine mate, your loss!" James settles and the three exit the dorm.

"Fucking dorks."

- 🎃 -

"Ow that's a wall."

"Jesus Prongs, didn't Effie teach you cutting spells?"

"Who just bumped into me?"

"Peter."

"Hey! It wasn't!"

"Okay, yeah it was. But you stopped!"

"Thank god these halls are deserted... We forgot the cloak..."

"Guys! We're here." James whisper-shouts. He gestures the other two to move back a little, and he jars open the door. He takes a peek and sees Severus' greasy head bent over a steaming cauldron.

"Wait for my signal, okay?" The other two nod, and James goes in. He tiptoes, the ends of the sheet dragging along the wooden floor, and he gives Sirius and Peter the signal. James is just out of sight, in the far corner of the room behind a bookshelf, and the two join him. Severus continues working, adding and chopping ingredients, unbothered.

"It's freezing in here..." Sirius complains. And it's true, all of their arm hairs are on end, and Peter's shivering slightly.

Suddenly, objects begin to move on their own. They don't float or anything, but Severus places a vial of his potion on his left side, he turns around to put away his equipment, and when he turns back, the vial is on the other side of him. Puzzled, he puts the vial back, but it moves back to where he moved it from, visibly in his eyesight this time. He does it again, and the same thing occurs. James, Sirius and Peter are just as confused as they watch from under their burgundy sheets. This isn't their doing, it's somebody else...

And then, stools begin to fall, vials drop to the floor and smash, books fall from the same bookshelf the three boys are hiding behind, making them jump, and something is tapping loudly on the windows. Candles are lighting themselves then extinguishing themselves, and mysterious footsteps are echoing on the pannels.

Terrified screams come from both parties, Severus running out of the classroom first, almost tripping on a book on the way to the door. The boys rip off their sheets and leave them on the floor, darting to the exit.

They never got to execute James' prank, and when James, Peter and Sirius came down to breakfast the next morning and told Remus all about their chilling experience and what he had "missed," Remus only smirked and asked them all about it- like he didn't know already.

Remus loved the invisibility cloak. He never knew that they and Severus screamed like little girls when they were scared...

It was the first time that Remus had used the invisibility cloak to prank his fellow Marauders, but it certainly wasn't the last.

And it never got old.

But neither did they, so.

[dazeyrains-blog]

Keep me warm. Cliche trope. Hayffie summer week Day 4!!

"Haymitch, if you want to argue with me, fine, carry on, but I will not relent! I know that girl better than anyone of you and why? Because I'm a woman too"

He looked at her questioningly just to push her buttons.

"Just leave, please!" She ordered, dismissing him towards her door with a wave of her hand "I'm bored of your face and I want to go to sleep"

'THIS IS AN EMERGENCY CONTAINMENT ANNOUNCEMENT!'

Coins pre recorded voice suddenly bellowed over the compartment speakers...

'PLEASE CLEAR ALL DOORS FOR THE EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN PROCEDURE'

"Oh hell no!" Haymitch cursed, running towards the door to find it already electronically sealed shut.

'ALL THOSE OUTSIDE OF THEIR LIVING COMPARTMENTS, MUST IMMEDIATELY HEAD TO THE NEAREST SECURITY POD LOCATION, ONE MINUTE COUNT DOWN TO FULL EMERGENCY LOCK DOWN, COMMENCING NOW. 60, 59, 58, 57...

"What's happening?"

Haymitch was still trying at her door

"Haymitch!?"

"We're on lock down sweetheart! Must have the cavalry on its way towards us"

52, 51, 50...

"Oh, an air raid?"

"Must have come in fast if we didn't get time to all get to the base level pod"

He was pulling and pushing but nothing would give.

"Question, Haymitch! If we are on emergency lockdown, why on earth are you trying to unlock my door!?"

47, 46, 45, 44...

Haymitch paused his efforts for a second to explain...

"Because, sweetheart, last time we had a lock down, how long were we confined to our quarters for?"

39, 38, 37, 36....

"Two days"

"Two days, exactly! And Unless I can get this damn door open before the full lock down kicks in, guess who's got me as a roomie for the next-"

"Two days!? With you?! In here!?"

28, 27, 26, 25, 24....

"Well done, sweetheart!"

Effie ran towards her door and the two of them pulled together

"There's simply no way I'm spending the next 24 hours in here with you! Let alone two days!"

Ego slightly bruised, Haymitch nodded towards her "Likewise!"

10, 9, 8, 7...

"No, no, no, no! Open you damn door!"

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1...FULL EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN PROCEDURE COMPLETE"

"Fuck!" Haymitch cursed, massaging his hands. Effie tutted at his language but realised it was fitting.

They heard the steel clangs echoing around the facility, the sound of lockdown. The lights went out and the heaters went off. For the next day/ night or two days/ nights, they were stuck, in a one bed compartment, together.

As the emergency strip lighting kicked in dimly, Effie and Haymitch faced each other awkwardly.

"Well..." she pouted "Not such a comfortable night ahead for you" She said, throwing him one of her pillows and the extra woolen blanket at the bottom of her bed.

"Don't worry, I've slept in worse"

He lay the blanket and pillow down on the concrete floor, kicked off his shoes and lay down on top of them with a heavy sigh. "Ah, yeah, this is just heaven"

Effie stifled a laugh. The temperature was dropping fast already, she could already see her own clouds of breath.

"Will you be warm enough?" She asked, rubbing at her arms

"Human radiator me, princess" then he looked her way "Will you? Or you ah, need a spoon tonight?"

"Ugh" she rolled her eyes as he giggled at his own joke "I wouldn't spoon with you if you were the last man in hell and hell froze over!"

He laughed again, she was witty when she wanted to be. He closed his eyes and wriggled his butt a bit, but he was as comfortable as he was going to get tonight.

"Night sweetheart"

"Stop calling me that! And don't you dare snore, or I'll smother you where you sleep!"

Effie went to her wardrobe and fished out the ugly grey sweater that she had been given as part of her uniform. Well, at least it came in handy for something. Looking over her shoulder to make sure his eyes were closed, she unravelled the headscarf from her head, pulled out her hair pins and ran her fingers through her blonde curls before slipping the sweater over her head and crawling into her bed.

The emergency lights were giving off a small humming sound which was slightly frustrating, but they were dim enough to sleep under. She looked towards the door and saw that the emergency food supply box had unlocked itself, which meant it was cold oats and water for the foreseeable.

Haymtich looked already asleep she noticed, as the hand that rested over his abdomen rose and fell steadily with his deep breaths.

It. Was. Freezing.

She pulled the covers up to her chin and made her best effort to fall asleep.

.....

"Haymitch...? H- Haymitch...?"

He heard her voice, tired and whiney from across the room

"Haymitch is sleeping..."

"Please?"

He groaned loudly on purpose, sitting up and squinting his eyes to look over

"WHAT WOMAN!"

"You're...You're..."

"What? Snoring too loud? Sleeping to quiet? What!?"

"You're g-g- going to have t-t-to get in this bed with me"

Had he heard right?

"Excuse me? Come again?"

"I c-c-can't feel my body, I'm s-s-so cold. I n-need you to come over here a-a-and keep m-m-me warm"

Although her teeth were chattering, she still spoke with all the grace of a well to do lady.

Haymitch rubbed his eyes again, unsure if he was still dreaming or not.

"So, what you're saying is, you want me...to get into bed with...you?"

She heard the smirk in his tone

"For crying out loud H-haymitch, w-w-would you rather I die of pneumonia!"

He didn't ponder over that one for too long.

"So you're saying...you...miss Effie Trinket, want me, Mr last man in hell, to come over there and...spoon you?"

She wanted to scream at him and tell him to go fuck himself, but then she would still have to freeze to death in her own bed before she could get any sleep so she swallowed her pride...

"It ap-p-pears that hell has frozen over. And I t-t-take it b-back, I do n-n-need you?"

"Say that again?"

"I need you?"

"One more time, its hard to hear all the way over here in hell"

"God damnit Haymitch!! G-g-get over here!"

He laughed out loud, springing to his feet and bringing the extra blanket and pillow with him. He placed it next to hers and draped the blanket over her as she faced away from him, scooting as far over to the wall as she possibly could.

He pulled her blanket back and she tensed.

"Oh, sorry...want me to sleep on top-"

"Just. Get. In!" She ordered to which he shrugged and obliged, but not before slipping his t-shirt off...

Effie caught sight of him over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" She asked bluntly

"You need my body heat Effie, do you want to be warm?"

If she had heard any sort of sarcasm in his tone she would have changed her mind about the whole thing, but he sounded serious and just as tired as she was...

"Ok" she answered, pulling her side of the covers higher over her chin.

Haymitch slipped in beside her and got himself comfortable first but quickly noted her tense body edging as far away from his as she possibly could.

He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Get over it Effie, it's not like I'm going to brag about this" he stated, wrapping his arm around her waist and dragging towards him strongly, making her gasp as her back hit his chest.

She was stunned to silence as she watched how he professionally worked the blankets around them, tucking them both into a little cocoon. He didn't say a word as he slid his right arm under her neck, giving her an extra pillow and wrapped the other over her crossed arms, pulling her in tighter.

He let out a small sigh, signalling he was done faffing around and ready to sleep.

Effie felt his warmth melting through her sweater already and with her head resting in the crook between his collar and jaw, she slowly felt the lul of sleep washing over her. She was comfortable...too comfortable. For a moment she felt the ache of her loneliness poke her in the gut, but she squeezed her eyes shut to block it out and allowed herself to settle in beside him.

.......

Haymitch yawned himself awake. The emergency lights had lowered still, allowing it to be dark enough to sleep but still light enough to see your way around the room if need be.

He was thirsty, but the supply box was over by the door and his arm was stuck under Effies neck. He lifted himself up best he could to try and slip his arm away but she was pretty much wedged into his side, snoring gently, he was amused to discover.

He sighed and remained where he was for a second, stretching out his back. He wriggled his fingers but dead arm was well and truly set in which was frustrating.

Move her and wake her or just let it be, he thought. His head was saying 'Just move the damn woman, she's getting a good sleep, you are not!' But looking down at her, sleeping peacefully in his arms, he couldn't do it.

He pushed the hair out of her eyes and let one of her soft curls linger between his fingers. She was actually quite beautiful when he thought about it, but as soon as he thought about it, his head took over and he decided to move his arm.

Tugging beneath her gently, he felt her stir and in her sleep she began to slowly shift position, rolling to face him with a heavy yawn.

He got his chance and pulled his arm free, but just as he did, Effie rolled in closer, burying her face into the crook of his neck and pressing her chest into his as her arm slid around his waist.

He froze. Languishing in the moment.

Her soft fingers gently carving circles along his side as her lips grazed at his throat. He swallowed hard, more thirsty than ever, but he couldn't wake her. Or should he?

The feeling was slowly returning to his arm which now hovered above her head, unsure of where to settle. He rolled onto his back slowly, hooking his arm around her to move her with him so she wouldn't wake.

Now, although he was in a much more comfier position, Effie was now sprawled over his chest, so he wasn't overly sure that move had been the best idea.

He was stuck again, this time between what was the right thing to do or what was the most sensible...

Her head was still nestled in his crook and he could still feel the tip of her nose and lips at his skin. It was everything not to caress her gently, at one point he absently mindedly stole another curl between his fingers and started to twirl it around before realising what he was doing and let go, clenching his fist together to stop him from doing that again.

Sleep was evading him. Either because he just wasn't tired any more or that he was too distracted.

An hour turned into two, and around 5am the next morning, as Haymitch was finally starting to doze off, Effie stirred on top of him and roused herself awake.

"Morning, sweetheart" he mused as she yawned and stretched her limbs for a second before smiling sleepily and falling back over his chest like it was the most usual morning thing...

"Hmmmm good morning" she sighed, but less than a second later Haymitch felt her tense before she woke fully with a start, screaming and then accidently kicking him out onto the floor

"Haymitch! Oh god! I'm sorry! I thought I was...I thought I was dreaming! Then you were...close!"

Haymitch rolled onto his back rubbing his head. "Damnit Effie, had you forgotten that it was you who invited me in last night"

Effie bit her lip when she saw him hurt, he must have whacked his head on the bedside drawers on the way down. She threw her covers back and hopped onto the floor, kneeling infront of him.

"I must have...I'm sorry, are you ok?"

She tilted his face up to see his bump better, he stopped squinting as soon as her eyes met his, as soon as he saw those messy bed curls tumbling over her face again as she looked at him worrisomely.

They were having a moment.

Already missing the protective warmth that had surrounded her in her dreams, Effie realised he was still shirtless. Now, kneeling between his open legs as they sat upon the cold floor, she started to feel something else, stirring inside.

With Haymtichs face still resting in her hands, she smoothed her thumb over the thump on his head before replacing it with a gentle kiss.

His hands shot to her arms but they didn't push her away, they held her in place as her lips trailed from his brow to the corner of his mouth, her nose slowly caressing the side of his hesitantly.

"If you wanted me out, just just had to ask" he joked, trying to stay in control although he was losing it very quickly.

Effies thumb grazed over his lips before she swooped her mouth around to his ear and whispered "Come back to bed"

She stood and pulled him up with her and as they stood face to face in the dim light. She slowly removed her sweater and threw it to the ground

"You warm enough now, sweetheart"

"Warm? Yes..." she almost purred, licking her bottom lip.

She pushed him back until the back of his knees felt the bed, then the two of them tumbled back down together

"But no where near warm enough"

[ellanainthetardis]

Day 2: The Haymitch Who Stole Christmas

And on this second day of Hayffismas, I give you some good old crack with steam and feelings on top! [FF] or [AO3]

Nobody Can Steal Christmas From Effie Trinket

“Haymitch.” Effie sing-sang cheerfully, impatiently tapping the top of her heeled shoe against the floor. “We are past fashionably late! Do hurry!”

She inspected her reflection in the mirror that faced the elevator, studying her golden and white dress critically. She looked like a magnificent bird. The skirt part was long and flowed down to the floor and the top part was like a sleeveless jacket made entirely of white feather adorned with golden paint. It was lovely. Exquisite.

And it would be the talk of the evening if they showed up before the red carpet was over.

She usually loved Christmas and its numerous parties but this year, she was stressed out.

Annie Cresta’s Victory Tour was a phenomenal nightmare. Not that it was official, of course, everything was all hush-hush and need-to-know only, but Seneca was so exhausted with the whole thing he had told her all about it the other night at dinner. The poor girl was so disturbed still they were forced to keep her appearances short and even Finnick Odair in all his glory couldn’t compensate the elusiveness of the new victor all by himself.

The solution to that problem had been to bring back as many victors as possible to the city for the duration of the Tour and the holidays as a decoy. And it was working. The Capitol was not looking at the expense to throw luscious parties every day, keeping the Games’ dream alive. Effie loved Christmas and she was having a lot of fun at all those themed parties.

But she was also tasked with babysitting a very grumpy Haymitch – who, as she had been told numerous times, hated Christmas, hated the city and didn’t understand why he needed to be there at all given that nobody wanted to see the drunk victor from Twelve anyway – and that was a constant source of stress. He seemed to be acting out even more than usual, getting drunk with Chaff at all times of day under the pretext of sampling mulled wine and being very vocal about his lack of love for the holidays.

Which had led to more than one fight and she had lost count of how many lectures and rants.

Earlier that afternoon, she had firmly and very seriously told him that she didn’t intend to let him ruin her fun that night. It was Christmas Eve and she wouldn’t let him spoil it for her. She had insisted he was to show up ready to celebrate and that she didn’t care where he would find it but that he better had summoned some Christmas spirit.

He had scoffed and told her to go to hell, of course, but she thought the part about her swearing to not let him touch her for a very, very long time if he didn’t had caught his attention.

Now if only he could be on time…

Finally, she heard a door slam down the corridor that led to the bedrooms and she rolled her eyes before checking that her right fake eyelashes were holding. It seemed heavier than the other one and the tiny golden stars on it kept flickering in her sight every time she blinked. Her reflection looked alright to her though so she supposed she would simply have to bear the discomfort.

“You look like a goose.” Haymitch grumbled as a greeting.

She pursed her lips and turned toward him to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was a ruffian with no sense of fashion but the words died on her lips.

She stared.

Honestly, what else was she supposed to do?

He was wearing antlers. Plushy brown reindeer antlers.

And an awful Christmas sweater over his pressed shirt and tie.

Her first reaction was to be pleased he had taken her request to get into the spirit to heart. Her second was to try to find the diplomatic words to tell him to get rid of the whole thing because they were going to a party with cameras, not to someone’s Christmas brunch – and, then again, she wasn’t sure it would have been appropriate to wear that sort of things at a casual brunch anyway, they weren’t fashionable. Her third reaction was to look more closely at the sweater.

She forgot all about the antlers when she realized that what she had mistaken for an ugly – and yet seasonal – Christmas sweater was a fraud.  

“Please. Do tell me this Santa Claus is not urinating the words ‘Merry Christmas’ on your chest.” she requested in a terse tone.

The Santa was fortunately turning his back on the world so nothing untoward could be seen. But the yellow spray was definitely supposed to be urine. She was certain. She supposed that made the white background snow.

How classy.

Not to mention typically male. Why they were always so proud of being able to urinate while standing up was beyond her…

“You said to gear up for Christmas.” he shrugged with nonchalance. “That’s me. All geared up.”

She narrowed her eyes at him – which had the unfortunate effect of making her almost blind on her right side because of those irritating fake eyelashes. “Where did you even find this?”

“Well, you also said I should learn to like Christmas shopping…” he mocked, pressing the elevator’s call button. As if she would ever allow him to leave like that. She swiftly moved between him and the elevator doors but that didn’t seem to disturb him at all. “Chaff and I found this little shop… You were right. Lots of fun. Wait until you see his sweater, sweetheart.”

“Chaff may do whatever he wants on his own escort’s terms.” she hissed. “You are not wearing this monstrosity to the party.” She pouted. “I will be nice and let you keep the antlers. It is appropriately whimsical, I suppose.”

“Whimsical.” he repeated in that mocking tone that meant he thought she was being condescending. “Can’t you say funny like everyone else? What do you’ve got to talk like a dictionary for?”

“To compensate your dreadful use of grammar.” she deadpanned. The elevator chimed behind her back and she hastily spread her arms when she heard the doors opening, barring his path. “Take the sweater off.”

“No way.” he refused. “I like it.”

“Of course, you do.”  she gritted through her teeth. “Then, you can wear it tomorrow morning for Christmas breakfast. It will only be you and me and I will make the effort not to be offended. But tonight, you are taking it off.”

“Always so eager to take my clothes off.” he taunted, pushing past her and into the elevator.

She glared at him. “You are not going to this party like this, Haymitch.”

He defiantly pressed the ground floor’s button. “Looks like I am, Trinket.”

“I will murder you.” she threatened. The doors were closing and she sneaked between them before she could be left behind – she had no doubt he would leave her behind. “I swear. If you try to get into the car with this thing on your back I will…”

“Do your worst.” he smirked.

He wasn’t going to cave.

She had been Haymitch’s escort for eight years now. She knew him. This wasn’t just a simple case of pushing her buttons for the pleasure of annoying her but eventually giving in to her pleas. He wasn’t going to cave. This was probably a planned prank that involved Chaff and the two of them intended to show up with shameful tasteless sweaters come hell or high waters.

She wasn’t sure if she hoped Viola had actually managed to stop her own victor or not. She didn’t want those two idiots to get the satisfaction of pulling this out but she didn’t want to be the only escort unable to control her victor either.

It was harmless enough, she figured. People would laugh, Caesar would have them on air to talk about it, Haymitch would gloat and she would rant… Same old, same old.

But still… At the end of the day, she would be the butt of the joke because she was the one who was in charge of his PR.

“Why do you hate me so?” she pouted, tugging on the hem of the sweater.

“So many reasons.” he snorted. “You want a complete list?”

She deepened her pout, looking up at him from under her fake eyelashes in her best kicked puppy impersonation. She fingered the soft wool, inching it up slowly so she could run her free palm over the shirt he had underneath…

It was a nice shirt. The one that went with the tuxedo he had been supposed to be wearing.

There would be no jacket and that would be a fashion faux-pas but at least he would be presentable. Now if only she could convince him to take it off for a second… They might be too late for the red carpet then but priorities.

“You ain’t gonna fuck me out of this sweater.” he warned, more amused than turned on. “But I don’t mind you trying, Princess.”

She huffed and stepped away from him, her pouting turning into a genuine sulk. “I hate you.”

“Right.” he drawled out, taunting.

She refused to bite.

“I am not speaking to you again while you are wearing this thing.” she declared.

“Shit. I’m never gonna take it off now.” he chuckled.

The car trip was short but it felt endless. Mainly because he kept trying to make her break her oath not to talk to him by plucking feathers from her lovely dress. At least until she kicked his leg with the blunt of her stiletto – that made him stop, if only because he needed both hands to rub his now bruised shin.

It was immediately clear to her they were amongst the last to arrive and she distanced herself from him as much as possible, posing for pictures and waving at fans but being very careful not to be caught on camera next to Haymitch. His sweater and his antlers were getting him a lot of attention but it was the sort she could do without.

She didn’t find it as hilarious as everyone else.

The hotel the party was at was gorgeous. There were ice sculptures everywhere, a giant Christmas tree and fake snowflakes slowly pouring down from the ceiling… It looked like a winter wonderland.

Haymitch seized two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and handed her one. She took it but only because it was a necessary accessory at a party – not because she had forgiven him or was swayed by this rare show of manners.

It didn’t take her long to spot another pair of antlers in the crowd. She gasped when she caught sight of Chaff’s sweater though. She had thought he would be wearing a matching one to Haymitch’s not…

“Please, tell me those three reindeers are not doing what I think they are doing.” she begged.

“They’re not.” Haymitch replied. “Unless you think they’re having a threesome. ‘Cause… They’re clearly not dancing the rumba, sweetheart.”

“Oh my…” she let that sentence trail off, blinked and took a generous sip of champagne. “I need something stronger. Do not get wasted, Haymitch, I mean it. I am not carrying you back.”

She headed to the bar, allowing him to go join his friend and laugh about that prank they had pulled all their might. And laugh, they did. They were ridiculous. Like children.

“Your tasteless fashion sense has rubbed on Haymitch, I see.” Viola commented, sliding between her and the group of people next to her and signaling the bartender she wanted the same thing Effie had ordered. “Did he have to get my victor involved?”

“I rather think your victor is the real culprit here.” she scoffed. “He is always getting mine in trouble.”

Eleven’s escort eyed her up and down with disdain. “You look like a bird. What is even this dress?”

“The trend everyone will follow tomorrow.” she retorted with a charming smile. “What are you wearing? Last month’s outfit?”

Viola scoffed, grabbed the drink the bartender had poured her and disappeared in the crowd, no doubt to talk ill about her lovely dress. Effie smoothed her ruffled feathers – metaphorical and otherwise – and started mingling too.

Those cocktails were strong though and she felt tipsy before long. She tended not to drink when Haymitch was, so one of them would be sober in case some emergency damage control was needed, but it was Christmas and at Christmas she let loose. Still, when the room started swaying, she decided to quit for the night. She ended up perched on the armrest of the armchair her victor had commandeered, glaring at Chaff’s sweater in distaste.

“Face it, love…” Eleven’s victor joked, wriggling his eyebrows. “You wanna be the middle reindeer…”

She wrinkled her nose and Haymitch’s hand landed on her thigh, a not so subtle possessive declaration faced with that disgusting innuendo.

“Crass.” she grumbled, swaying dangerously. Those cocktails had been a little too much. Everywhere she looked, everyone seemed completely wasted.

“Careful.” Haymitch muttered, sneaking his arm behind her back because she had almost lost her balance. “Can’t you use a chair like a normal person? What happened to ladies don’t sit on furniture?” She confusedly admitted he had a point and she was too tipsy to trust her balance so she did the natural thing and slid down onto his lap. His arm immediately wrap around her waist in reflex. He scowled. “Great. Now we’re fifteen.”

Chaff, meanwhile, was laughing like it was the best joke.

Effie shifted until she was sitting sideway with a clear view of the urinating Santa. She poked it hard with her sharp nail, prompting a groan of pain out of Haymitch.

“I will not let you steal Christmas away from me, you grumpy bear.” she declared.

“Oh, you’re her bear, now, buddy.” Chaff chortled. “This keeps getting better and better. The boy’s gonna be sorry he missed it.”

Effie glared at Eleven’s victor. “Stop mocking me. Haymitch, tell him to stop mocking me. It is not nice. He is hurting my feelings, that makes me nauseous.”

“That’s probably all the booze you drank, Princess.” Haymitch teased.

She rolled her eyes. “I am less drunk than you are… I am always less drunk than you are. And do you know why? Because I am the responsible one.”

“Sure, you are.” he humored her.

“Hate to break it to you but you’re toasted, love.” Chaff chuckled, tilting his glass in her direction.

Effie decided to ignore him. She turned her attention to the antlers on Haymitch’s head instead. She brushed her fingers along their length, up and down again and again, humming in surprised pleasure at the plushy texture. “It is so soft… I could touch it all night.”

Chaff was laughing so hard he bent in two.

“Quit it.” Haymitch grumbled. “Seriously. She’s got a point, you know. You act like you’re five sometimes.” But a smile was tugging at his own lips and he took off his antlers to plant them on her head. “Here, sweetheart. You keep the soft stuff on your own head but don’t touch it like that, yeah? You’re gonna give someone a boner.”

“Thank you.” she beamed at the gift, thanking him for his generosity by pressing a long peck on his cheek. It landed close to the corner of his mouth, which was really a big no-no in a crowded room. She wasn’t drunk enough not to realize that. She immediately bit down on her bottom lip, glancing around guiltily.

“Okay.” Haymitch snorted. “Time to call it a night, yeah?”

She nodded sheepishly. “Perhaps I am a little bit drunk.”

“Yeah. Just a little bit.” he teased, reaching out to clap Chaff’s shoulder. “You want to ride back with us?”

“Do not offer him to ride with us.” Effie protested. “He will think you mean it like those reindeers of his. He has a dirty mind, you know.”

“Thought it was rude to talk about people in front of them or some shit?” he rebuked, eyes twinkling with mirth, giving his knee a little shake to jostle her.

She pouted. Both because he was right and she didn’t like being scolded about her manners and because her stomach didn’t feel that good.

“That’s fine, buddy.” Chaff refused, clearly not offended since he was still laughing. “I’m gonna try to find a bird to pluck.”

“Charming.” Effie commented under her breath.

“Come on. Up.” Haymitch demanded jerking his legs again. That was directed at her, she figured, and she stood up, surprised by the suddenly tilting world. Haymitch’s hand was at the small of her back before she could fall though, his other one gripping her forearm tight. She wasn’t sure how he had moved so fast. Or maybe it was her who was slow. He didn’t look so amused now. “You know I hate those role reversals, right? Let’s go, sweetheart.”

She let him stir her away toward the exit and usher her to the car. There were a few flashes but there weren’t as many people outside as usual. It was Christmas after all, people had other things to do than stalk celebrities.

She curled up against his side in the car, manhandling his arm until it was wrapped around her. He sighed with clear annoyance but let her cuddle him – to her absolute delight. Well, the delight lasted until the car started moving, then she buried her face in that awful – but surprisingly soft – sweater.

“I feel sick.” she complained.

“Try not to puke on me.” was his only request.

“You would deserve it.” she mumbled against his sweater. “You tried to spoil Christmas.”

She didn’t need to look to know he was rolling his eyes.

She was a little sleepy by the time the car arrived at the Center and she refused to move when he tried to get out of the car.

“Are there people outside?” she asked.

He glanced out the open door and then shrugged. “Just the Peacekeepers.”

“Good.” she declared. “Then you can carry me.”

He did a double take at that and then snorted. “Like hell. You’re walking.”

“No.” she sulked, moving away from him just enough to outstretch her arms. “I am tired and drunk and it is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault you got shit-faced?” he scoffed.

“You urinated on my Christmas.” she retorted, pointing at the guilty Santa on his chest. “It upset me and I drank to forget.”

“You get upset over the smallest stuff.” he dismissed, getting out of the car before she could make a grab for him. “Get out of here. It’s freezing outside.”

“Carry me.” she repeated.

He pursed his lips in annoyance. “I hate when you’re acting like a spoiled brat. You walk or I’m leaving you here.”

“You would never leave me here alone!” she gasped.

“Wanna bet?” he challenged.

“Fine.” she snapped, dramatically flopping down on the car bench seat, letting her legs dangle out the door. “Leave me here for any passing ruffian to do what they want to my poor drunk body.”

She was confident there were enough Peacekeepers around that she was perfectly safe. She might even convince one of them to carry her up to the penthouse. After all, she wasn’t without charms. Haymitch was simply impervious to them.

“Alright, then.” he shrugged. “Night, sweetheart.”

He turned and left. He actually strode away toward the Center’s doors. Effie lifted her head to watch him go and then dropped it back down, staring at the ceiling of the car and trying to force herself to move. But she was drunk and tired and her feet were hurting her.

And he wouldn’t leave her.

Would he?

Deep down she wasn’t sure and it upset her even more than the urinating Santa. Her lips started wobbling and she hastily blinked away the tears that suddenly burned her eyes, making the uncomfortable right fake eyelashes even more problematic. He would leave her to be possibly assaulted. He would. And on Christmas Eve too! He was horrible and she hated him. She did. And she didn’t have feelings. Not at all. Because that would be bad. And…

Someone brutally grabbed her legs and pulled her out of the car. She shrieked in fright because for all her talk about possible danger she had never thought…

“You’re fucking impossible.” Haymitch spat, tossing her over his shoulder like a caveman. “Fucking impossible.”

She shrieked even harder. “That is not a proper way to carry a lady!”

“You’re not a lady, you’re a drunk mess.” he riposted. “Quit that screaming or I swear I’m dropping you here and I won’t come back this time.”

But he had come back so she stopped shouting.

The position was making her face burn as blood rushed to her head though. And the pressure of his shoulder digging in her stomach… “I do not feel good.”

“You don’t say.” he grumbled. “Like I care.” But as soon as he had pressed the call button of the elevator, he put her back down on her own two feet. His grey eyes studied her, concern replaced by irritation when he realized she wasn’t about to be sick. “You’re a spoiled brat.”

It was the second time he had accused her of that tonight.

“You tried to ruin Christmas.” she hissed back.

“Fuck, you’re a broken record tonight, ain’t you?” he scowled. “What’s so important to you about Christmas anyway? I swear you’re like a kid.”

She pouted and tried to step into the elevator gracefully once the doors opened but all she managed to do was stumble on the long hem of her dress and fall. She didn’t break her neck but she hit her knees hard and she looked up with eyes full of tears when Haymitch burst out laughing.

“Shit, it’s almost worth not being completely wasted.” he commented.

She sat down and sniffed, both in pain and bruised pride, letting him push the right button as she bundled her dress to her waist to inspect the damage. She didn’t care if he could see the white lacy thong she had on underneath – or maybe she did a little and she was doing it on purpose, it was punishment because he certainly wasn’t going to touch it or take it off now.

“You’re not hurt, yeah?” he asked.

Far too late in her opinion.

She didn’t think she was hurt.

“I told you I did not want to walk.” she pointed out. “This is your fault.”

“Sure. Blame it on peeing Santa. Makes sense.” he deadpanned, crouching next to her to take a look at her legs. His palm was warm when he rubbed it against her knees and shins. “You want me to kiss it better, Princess?”

She tossed her dress back over her legs with a huff. “No.”

He chuckled but didn’t insist.

She busied herself taking off her shoes, wriggling her toes as soon as they were free to get rid of the ache in her soles. Her ankles were a little swollen but she didn’t think that was from the fall, more likely it was from being up on those tight stilettos all night.

The elevator eventually chimed when it reached the penthouse but she wasn’t sure she knew how to get up without falling again. Haymitch took pity on her and grabbed her under the armpits, lifting her up like a child. She thought he had only aimed to pull her to her feet but she took advantage and locked her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him like a monkey.

He sighed but didn’t protest, carefully exiting the elevator, arms locked under her ass to support her. He was walking toward the bedrooms and she started struggling.

“No! We have to go to the living-room!” she protested.

“Why?” he frowned.

“Because it is Christmas and I want to see the tree.” she explained.

“The tree’s still gonna be there in the morning.” he argued. “You’re wasted and you need to go to bed before I strangle you for being such an irritating little shit.”

“I want to see the tree.” she ordered and she would have stomped her foot, had she been standing.

“You know… Try to pull a temper tantrum on me and I’m gonna dump you in a cold bath. We’re clear?” he threatened.

She pouted and unlocked her legs from around his waist, letting go of his neck once she was on her feet. “I will go by myself.”

He didn’t let go of her.  

“You’re gonna fall and break your neck with this fucking dress.” he denied. “Stop being such a difficult bitch. I’m being nice here, yeah? I’m even gonna help you take that wig off if you just…”

He had a point about the dress and she stopped listening after that. Her clumsy fingers found the zipper hidden between feathers on her side and the fabric flooded down to her feet. She hadn’t realized how heavy it had been. She felt much lighter in only her thong.

Haymitch was suddenly very quiet.

Then again, he always tended to grow quiet once faced with her bare breasts.

“Ain’t gonna lie…” he said eventually. “Never though those antlers could look so hot.”

She patted her wig, having completely forgotten about the antlers perched over it. She shrugged and carefully stepped out of the fabric of the dress pooled around her feet before heading straight for the living-room. Or trying to, at least. Straight was a relative concept when the floor wouldn’t remain steady.

She was aware Haymitch was hovering behind her, ready to break a possible fall, but she was a woman on a mission and she wouldn’t get distracted.

The living-room had been entirely decorated for the holidays, of course, and the tree in the corner was impressive. As were the wrapped boxes underneath but she wasn’t after the gifts for now.

“Alright, you saw the tree.” Haymitch grumbled. “Now let’s get you to bed…”

“I want to watch the lights!” she argued. “I always watch the lights on Christmas Eve. It is tradition.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” he frowned.

Without paying him any more mind, she pushed a few of the gifts aside to make room for herself and lied down with her head right under the tree, grinning in bliss when she saw the twinkling lights overhead.

Haymitch waited for a moment but when it became clear she wasn’t going to do anything else but stare at the fairy lights, he headed to the liquor cart in the corner and poured himself a drink. She heard the ice clicking against the glass.

“I do not understand why you hate Christmas so.” she remarked.

“’Cause it’s fake.” he sneered. “Just another excuse for you lot to party and give gifts.”

“Gifts are important.” she nodded, missing the point. “You will love mine.”

She had bought him a gold pocket watch engraved with his initials. He would grumble and rant and swear he hated it but it was the type of fashionable accessories he actually loved and she knew he would like it.

“Shouldn’t have bought me one.” he retorted. “Told you I didn’t do Christmas. Don’t go thinking I got you something.”

“You got me a darling pair of shoes actually.” she hummed, patting the red gift with the golden ribbon to her right.

“What?” he frowned.

“You cannot not do gifts when you are in the city, Haymitch.” she sighed in a long-suffering tone. “Of course, I had to purchase gifts for you. I sent Chaff bourbon on your behalf. I trust he will enjoy it. As for myself, I chose shoes.”

“With what money?” he growled.

“I have your checkbook.” she reminded him.

“Oh, so you just forged my signature and stole my money, that’s it?” he scowled. “Tell me, sweetheart… How are you gonna like getting your tongue cut for theft?”

She laughed because he would never report her. And also she had been doing him a favor. He would have felt stupid when he would have realized that Chaff had sent him a gift and he had nothing to give back. As for her herself… She liked to call it compensation for all those years of hard work. And it hadn’t been that expensive anyway. And this way she was sure to get something she liked – because let’s be honest if she had given him the watch and he hadn’t had anything to exchange for it, he would have made a fuss about her buying him off or something and it would have ended in a fight where he would have eventually gone to buy something at random to make it even.

“I love Christmas.” she sighed happily.

“You like free shoes.” he accused.

“That too.” she smiled, peeling the annoying eyelashes off her right eye and taking off the left ones too for good measure. She blinked a few times, glad to be able to see properly again. “I am cold.”

“That happens when you lie naked on the floor in the middle of winter.” Haymitch remarked, amused.

She heard the clicking of ice coming closer and she patted the spot next to her before he could sit on the couch. “Come watch the lights with me.”

“What’s so special about watching a bunch of lights twinkle anyway?” he scoffed.

“You are a regular Grinch.” she complained.

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

But he did come closer.

Something dropped on her lap and she looked up to find his offensive Christmas sweater on a heap on her thighs. She wasn’t sure she was that cold but since he did sit down next to her, she made an effort and pulled it over her head.

“If you tell anyone I wore this I will deny it and destroy your reputation.” she warned, wrinkling her nose at the Santa that now paraded on her lower stomach.

“Don’t think I have much of a reputation left to ruin.” he mocked.

The sweater was warm from his having worn it and it was really soft so she just lied back down, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt so he would to. Their sides pressed together, the twinkling lights overhead, the smell of pine she always associated with Christmas tree… Effie was in heaven.

“I’m still not getting it.” Haymitch declared after a couple of minutes.

She sighed.

Her brain was slowed down by all the cocktails she had drunk earlier and now that she was warm and comfortable… It was difficult to keep track of her thoughts.

“Christmas is all about colors.” she tried to explain. “Colors everywhere. I love colors. It’s all bright and shiny… Happy… Pretty… Ice skating in secret… Hot chocolate even if I am not supposed to because I am a little princess and princesses are allowed hot chocolate even when they are on a diet…” Memories from long ago made her throat close up and she blinked, focusing on the lights. “I love colors…” she whispered. “They look so happy… Mother hates colors the rest of the year… Almost everyone does… They say they love them but it is all pretend…  They wear colors out… Pretty bright colors… It is not their fault the world is so dull… They get washed out… They fade… And then everyone is angry with them for not being as bright and they toss them away, get new ones… But at Christmas, everything is color… Everything is happy… I love colors… So pretty…”

She reached out but before she could touch the fairy lights – and either make the tree crash over them or burn herself – he grabbed her hand. He had turned on his side at some point during her little slurred speech and he was watching her, studying her like he sometimes did, like he could see down to her soul, like the necessary masks she always put on didn’t fool him for one second…

“You’re so fucking bright, you’re blinding.” he offered quietly, squeezing her fingers. “You’re too bright to let them wash you out, sweetheart.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant but it sounded important somehow. She felt small and fragile like one of the glass ornaments on the tree.

“Do you promise?” she asked, a bit anxious even if she didn’t really understand.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheek and she let him turn her head toward him, she let him press a kiss against her lips. It was chaste and it wasn’t a promise because he never made promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“I promise I’m never gonna try to ruin Christmas for you again.” he muttered against her mouth instead. “How’s that?”

“Good.” she grinned. “I love Christmas.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I think I got that.”

“I love my antlers too.” she added, reaching out to touch her soft plushy antlers. “Thank you.”

“You’re so gonna regret tonight in the morning…” he teased, his hand trailing from her cheek to her throat. It coiled loosely around the side of her neck. “No blaming me for you putting the peeing Santa on, yeah?”

“I have to go to my parents’ Christmas brunch in the morning.” she groaned, rolling on her side to curl up closer to him, pushing a knee between his legs so she could take advantage of his body heat.

“Skip it.” he shrugged.

“Mother would kill me.” she complained.

“I’ll be your bodyguard.” he smirked, clearly finding her drunk self hilarious.

It was tempting, truth be told, because brunches at her parents on Christmas were always tedious – brunches at her  parents were tedious as a rule.

“What would we do instead?” she hummed, snuggling closer when he rolled on his back so she could use him as a pillow. She was tired and she wanted to sleep now. She didn’t mind if it was on a bed or on the floor. Her body felt so heavy…

“Fuck each other brainless?” he deadpanned.

“That does sound more fun.” she granted thoughtfully.

“Right? I’ll even add some hot chocolate to sweeten the deal.” he teased.

“Do you know how to do it right? With whipped cream and cinnamon?” she hummed sleepily.

“I know how to boil milk. You can teach me the rest.” he declared.  

“Oh, but I cannot have hot chocolate with whipped cream…” she lamented, remembering too late. “The calories…”

“I’m gonna fuck the calories out of you.” he promised. “Besides, you’re a princess, yeah? Princesses are allowed hot chocolate. Seems like it’s a rule or something.”

“I am your princess, that is true…” She nuzzled his shoulder a little, stifling a yawn. “I think I will sleep now.”

“What? You mean you’re falling asleep on me?” he asked in a faked shocked voice. “Fucking didn’t notice.”

“Language.” she mumbled. “What will you do while I sleep? You will not leave, will you? You cannot leave me. You are my pillow.”

“I’m gonna watch the colors.” he said, a bit wistfully.

“Oh good, then.” She felt something being pulled off her head and she gasped a sleepy drunk gasp. “Do not steal my antlers! I love my antlers! You said they were a gift, you cannot have them back now.”

“Ain’t stealing them. Just putting them aside so you don’t crush them. Safe keeping, yeah?” He was rolling his eyes at her. She was sure he was rolling his eyes at her. “I’m gonna take the wig off too, alright? You hate sleeping with that stuff on, remember?”

She did. And there was a couple of pins digging in her skull. And she loved the way he ran his fingers in her hair once it was free.

The petting lulled her to sleep.

It was the best Christmas Eve ever, as far as she was concerned. Nobody could steal Christmas from her. Not even a grumpy Haymitch or an urinating Santa.

[giulyshipsarelife]

Day 2: The Haymitch who stole the Christmas

I'll not let you ruin my Christmas

She was furious, very, very furious. She had received a letter that morning and she had felt angry. They hadn't even had the courage to say it on her face.

They had only sent her a letter, not even a personalise letter, as she punctualized everytime she thought about that. The words written on the piece of paper could have been addressed to another person if there wasn't her name written clearly and simply, black on white on the paper.

Her eyes were glued on the signature of President Snow, at the end of the sheet, in a beautiful handwriting. But it could have been even a stamp.

She had only a year and then if she didn't succeed at making district 12 memorable for at least some days, she will be replaced. They had written that her victor's stunt of the previous year hadn't pleased the most important sponsors. In others words The President hadn't liked it at all.

Well, he had a point. Haymitch shouldn't have shout that the wife of a very rich sponsor was a closed friend of Finnick. That poor guy.

Effie had tried to stop him, but he had been a hurricane. And she had failed.

She's been worked with him for eleven years, since the 63th hunger. Now they were approaching the 74th. She should have known better.

And now, there she was. On the train directed to the district twelve after she had begged Seneca to sign an official permission to go to the district.

She had brought with her the best Liquors from the capital that she had succeeded in finding and she had practically used them as a goes out.

It hadn't been a very loyal move from her part, but she had succeeded in making Haymitch climb on the train with the help of some Avox.

This year they would attend the annual event that it was hosted on Christmas Eve. That wasn't even a bad thing. The worst part was that she was usually at home during those days so she could go out and buy new clothes for the parties. But this year she hadn't have the time to do some shopping or doing her Christmas tree.

The nerve of that man!

Haymitch was still unconsciously and she started to worried.

When he woke up it's left less than an hour to reaching Capitol City.

"What I'm doing here?" He mumbled. "Is a new edition already started?"

How can he reduce himself in this state? She asked herself. He will be ended killed.

"No" she answered patiently. "You are here to attend the Christmas' party with me. So we could know more sponsors who could help us with the tributes."

His expression was priceless. It could be comparated to the one of a child who was dragged with some tricks to a visit.

"What the fuck?" He shouted. "I don't want to attend any stupid party. Especially a Christmas one. I hate it. It's meaningless and colourful." He continued.

She rolled her eyes even if a Lady shouldn't do that. He was acting like a child and she was the spoilt brat?

"Before you say something else," she didn't want to start a fight "I bought you two cases of your favourite liquor, and you could have them only after we had gone to the party. They are also my gift for you." She smirked.

"You are lying" he commented.

He was so diffident? "I could never be so deceitful" She fooled him using a serious tone. "Joking about something as vital importance as the whiskey. What kind of woman would I be?"

He scrutinized her, thinning his eyes without saying a word- He was aware that hers was a farce.

"I want to see" he demanded.

Why can't he behave like an adult?

She rolled her eyes again, but she accompanied him to her compartment, where she had hide his precious cases of liqueurs. " Happy?"

He nodded, but as he tried to reach out one hand towards his booty she slapped it away.

Haymitch mumbled some oscenety and then he decided to return to his room.

"And take a shower" she added raising her voice to be sure he would have listened her as he walked away.

It followed a cackle. "They are only two boxes, Princess. Not the whole shop. And if I were you I would pay attention because I'll have my revenge."

She should have expected that kind of answer...

*

As they arrived at the Penthouse he tried to lock himself in his room but she blocked him in time.

Continue to read it on AO3o

[thenextrush]

On Assignment for Sydney Scoop Editor: Rebecca Varidel rebecca.varidel@gmail.com

The show opens with a short film on the work of Action Aid who present this powerhouse of a showcase and the work they do overseas in empowering women who suffer in povery and social injustices.

The audience is given a first account of how the tickets they have bought to the show this evening impacts the lives of these women before a more in depth conversation with the company’s Executive Director, Michelle Higelin. ActionAid celebrates it’s 10 year anniversary this year, presenting Frocking Hilarious again as part of the Sydney Comedy Festival season.

Nikki Britton set the tone nicely offering comebacks and one-liners for the single woman who chooses not to have kids while in the company of her married friends throwing baby showers.

The Line-Up was an all-star assembly of veterans, cult stars and up and comers:

Nikki Britton (MC)

Zoe Coombs Marr

Double Denim

Lauren Pattison

Demi Lardner

Fiona O’Loughlin

Effie

Chris Ryan

Steph Tisdell

Judith Lucy

Women standing together for other women with material that took us through issues, thoughts and insights from a multi-generational perspective when tying it all together.

Funniest Moments:

Zoe Coombs Marr was the country girl who cleverly played a cheeky innocence exploring big city themes.

Demi Lardner’s short skits were spectacularly funny including an impersonation of Jesus.

Chris Ryan delivered some of the most hilarious analogies as she likened her marriage and sex life to a swimming pool.

Steph Tisdell throws at the audience a very direct and racially charged set up enthralled in humour with a very endearing and contagious laugh enjoying her own jokes.

The climax was the insight into the aboriginal name of the white whale. It was great to see Effie (Mary Koutsas) back on stage again while she did have her moments, it did lack the punch we were seeing all night.

Action Aid Ambassador, Judith Lucy closed the show with a post menopausal themed set full of belching laughs and very confronting material with men in the audience pre-warned.

Honestly, I was worried the material was going to centre solely on social injustice and political themes, it was a relief to be able to enjoy the evening that brought together some of the most prominent women in Australian comedy standing up for women, but share a laugh over themes that we could all relate to – relationships, ageing, with just the perfect amount of gender inequality, racial and social injustice themes carefully weaved in without having to over-remind us of the cause and the point of the evening.

Frocking Hilarious was a one night performance at the Enmore Theatre as part of Sydney Comedy Festival

Pre-Show Dining? The Duke of Enmore Sirloin with your choice of gravy or herb & butter sauce – $19 Cooked medium well it hit the spot quite nicely.  Beverages range from

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It was the speech from a remote far north Queensland town that stole the hearts of many in the LGBTIQ+ community. Where resources are much more scarce and social support setup in impossible conditions with minimal discretion, Josh Goyne defends his title as raining winner of Brisbane Pride’s Queen's Ball. We take a look back at some of his biggest moments that cemented his influence as a leader in parts of the #lgbt community that still suffer in silence reminding us how very lucky we are even post-equality. The decades of work that achieved #equality was just the starting point for unrecognised problems and issues like the ones @thegaycowboyaus aims to address as a competitive rodeo athlete, charity founder assisting sufferers of stroke and a string of community projects making his mark in his sometimes isolating hometown. A demonstrate of strength and resilience – who will you vote for? #rodeo #cowboy #bullrider #brisbanepride #brisbane #brisbanegay #gaysydney #canberra #gaycanberra #cowboysnation #gaymelbourne #rodeolife #cowboystyle #pride #ukpride #gayadelaide #gayperth #gaybrisbane #ruok #acon #sydneymardigras #perth #darwin #loveparade #twenty10 #bendigo #joondalup #loebethal

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Shitbox Rally – Cancer Council’s biggest national fundraiser – is finishing this Friday May 17 in Centennial Parklands, Sydney. Over 550 people and 270+ cars will be crossing the finish line and celebrating finishing a ten-day outback journey from Perth via Uluru. SHITBOX RALLY CAR AUCTION Beloved cars from the rally will be auctioned off at the Manheim Auctions, Moorebank with all funds raised going towards the Cancer Council. There is NO RESERVE on any cars – all will be sold. Many have had recent mechanical work done including new tyres. It’s a great opportunity to buy your very first car, a bargain second car for the family or a fun ride for backpacking around Australia. Saturday May 18, 2019- 10AM – 12PM Manheim Auctions – 144 Moorebank Ave, Moorebank NSW 2170 • Since 2010, Box Rallies has raised over $18.6 million to Cancer Council EXAMPLES OF RESEARCH FUNDED • Testing new drug combinations for pancreatic cancer • Preventing people with immune deficiencies from developing lymphoma • Finding new compounds to target the deadliest type of malignant brain tumour • Developing a way to calculate the safest and most effective dose of radiation for prostate cancer patients • Analysing the largest data set of melanoma genome sequences in the world, and identifying a treatment to block the development & spread of neuroblastoma cells #cancerresearch #community #fundraiser #cars #perth #sydney #uluru #charity #cancer #memorial #friends #commadery #sydneylife #centennialparklands #dindinsvideo #sydney #sydneylocal #sydneyevents #auction #carauction #domain #payitforward #ruok #gift #life #tribute #family #travel #fcba #fbas #sydneyrestaurant

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Action Aid unites a powerhouse of female comedians for one epic showstopper! Watch it here! On Assignment for Sydney Scoop Editor: Rebecca Varidel rebecca.varidel@gmail.com

[fridaythe13ththeseries]

The Quilt of Hathor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Episode Recap #19: The Quilt of Hathor

Original Airdate: May 2, 1988

Starring:

John D. LeMay as Ryan Dallion Louise Robey as Micki Foster Chris Wiggins as Jack Marshak

Guest cast:

Scott Paulin as Reverend Josiah Kate Trotter as Effie Stokes Diego Matamoros as Matthew David Brown as Elder Fraser Helen Carscallen as Sarah Good Carolyn Dunn as Laura Grange Araby Lockhart as Elder Florence Rebecca Lamb as Diana Rowland Patricia Strelioff as Jane Spring

Written by Janet MacLean

Directed by Timothy Bond

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We open on a carriage ride in a village. A man, the revered, and a young woman are riding together, he is anxious for the night they will be will wed. They stop and kiss and are caught by Effie Stokes, who is surprised to hear they are betrothed. The reverend Josiah snaps at Effie, telling her there is nothing wrong with their marriage. He then takes the young woman, Jane, inside, leaving Effie to deal with the horse.

That night, Effie pulls a quilt out of the bottom of her cedar chest. Elsewhere, Jane is saying her prayers before bed. Effie goes to sleep under the quilt. She goes to sleep dreaming about the reverend, and in her dream, she is the bell of an old-fashioned ball. Josiah dances with her but when he sees Jane, he tosses Effie aside. As they dance on the balcony, Effie tells Josiah "it's time". He then tosses Jane off the balcony to her death, the continues to dance with Effie. In reality, Jane dies in her sleep.

At Curious Goods, Ryan is rocking out to music until Micki alerts him to a guest. Sarah has arrived from the Penatite colony in answer to one of their mailers. She once purchased the Quilt of Hathor from Lewis. She says she knew the quilt was evil, but it was stolen from her. She believes one of her sect stole it from her. Jack tells her they need to get it back. Sarah tells Micki and Ryan they need to dress quite simply if they are going to fit in back at the Penatite colony, as they shun modern ways.

Sarah brings Micki and Ryan to her colony, showing them the buildings and people as they go by in the carriage. Ryan makes jokes, but Sarah is serious. There are punishments for transgressions, she tells them. Sarah tells Laura, the reverend's daughter, that Micki and Ryan are her sister's children. When Ryan smiles at the girl, the carriage driver, Matthew, makes sure to mention he is betrothed to Laura. Ryan notices that Laura doesn't seem as happy about that as Matthew. Sarah tells them all the marriages here are prearranged by the elders.

That night, at dinner, Ryan can't take his eyes off of Laura. The reverend Josiah offers a prayer over his lost fiancee, Jane, whom he still mourns. Effie makes sure to mention that even Jane had faults, but Sarah scolds her. Ryan makes small talk, finding out Matthew and Laura are to marry in a week.

Later, Sarah brings them to her rooms and tells them to wait until everyone is in bed before searching for the quilt. Effie listens in. Ryan goes outside to look around. He spots Laura going into the barn and follows. He finds her singing to a horse. He tells her the song is beautiful, startling her. They then proceed to sing together and dance a bit. Matthew rushes in and tackles Ryan, telling him he can see the lust in Ryan's eyes. He tells him the penalty for that is death.

Laura tries to stop Matthew from killing Ryan and eventually convinces him to give her the razor in his hand. Matthew then tells Ryan they will settle this at a hearing, even though Ryan says he did nothing. Laura tells him that her father, the reverend, will make the judgment about what Ryan has done.

The next morning, at the hearing, the reverend calls Ryan and Laura forward. Ryan tells him he did nothing wrong. Matthew says Ryan is an adulterer. The reverend says he isn't, as Laura is not yet married. Laura tells them what happened and says it is her fault, not Ryan's. She then sings the song a bit, reminding the reverend that her mother used to sing it to her. Micki sticks up for Ryan, telling the group everyone dances where they come from. The reverend makes his decision, telling Ryan that he will abide by their laws while he is there and that he must stay away from Laura. If he messes up again, there will be consequences.

At a meeting, a question comes up about the colony's finances. The reverend tries to move to another subject, but the others persist. He scolds them. Effie then brings up the fact that, per their law, the reverend must take a new wife. Josiah says he is still mourning. But they tell him he must marry. Effie tries to present herself, but Josiah doesn't pick up the hint.

Later, Effie practices accepting Josiah's proposal. She wants the power that comes with being the reverend's wife. Micki and Ryan meet up after searching for the quilt, but other than a dirty magazine, they come up with nothing. Micki then searches Effie's room unaware the woman is there. Micki finds a mirror and is startled when Effie surprises her. Micki drops and breaks the mirror. She makes an excuse, saying she thought this was Sarah's room. Effie is suspicious and threatens Micki if she tells that Effie had a mirror. Micki leaves.

At dinner, the reverend praises Rebecca for the meal. He then makes an announcement about his choice of a bride. He then asks Rebecca to be his bride, much to Effie's dismay. Rebecca agrees and everyone is pleased, even Laura. Effie sits, simmering in her rage.

Ryan sneaks into the barn later to see Laura. She is surprised, but tells him she feels an attraction to him, as well. When Matthew calls her name, she has Ryan hid in the haystack. Matthew arrives and offers to help with the horse, using the pitchfork to get hay. As Laura leaves with him, blood seeps out of the haystack where Ryan was hiding.

That night, Effie again pulls the quilt out and sleeps beneath it. Her dreams are of Rebecca this time. At the same old-fashioned ball in her dream, she is pushed aside by Rebecca. Effie then poisons the woman's wine. Rebecca drinks and then chokes and dies. The reverend dances with Effie. In real life, Rebecca dies in her sleep.

Micki is out searching for Ryan and heads into the barn. She calls for him and hears a moan. She pulls the pitchfork from the haystack and Ryan sits up. He was wounded in his arm. Micki tells Ryan it is hard to watch someone she cares about make a mistake. Ryan says it isn't a mistake, that Laura is special. They hear a commotion and are told that Rebecca died. Ryan wants to check on Laura, but Micki says they should look for the quilt.

The next day, at a funeral for Rebecca, the reverend questions God as to why both Jane and Rebecca have been taken away. He wonders if it is to punish him. Ryan and Micki watch and wonder who could be using the quilt. They wonder if someone either hates or loves the reverend enough to use the quilt this way.

Ryan chases Laura, wanting to ask about who would want to marry her father. Laura tells him that Effie Stokes has been infatuated with Josiah for years, but the reverend never notices her. She asks why, but Ryan says he can't tell her. Ryan leans in and kisses her and Laura kisses him back. Matthew again jumps Ryan, striking him. He is ready to kill Ryan, but the reverend appears and stops him. He tells them they will solve this the old fashioned way. Laura tells Ryan there will be a cleansing.

That night, the men build a frame around bonfire. Ryan must fight Matthew above the fire and whoever falls in is the loser and the colony will be cleansed. Micki says it is barbaric. Ryan tries to make them listen to sense, but they won't hear of it. Matthew begins struggling with Ryan and Ryan has no choice but to fight back. Micki stand by, worried. Matthew thinks he has won, but Ryan saves himself and fights back. The men struggle and Ryan eventually knocks Matthew down. He walks toward Micki and Laura and then walks off with Laura.

Later, Effie follows Sarah as the woman enter's Effie's room. Sarah tells Effie she is looking for the quilt stolen from her. Effie plays dumb, but Sarah says she knows what is going on in Effie's mind about the reverend. She says she is evil and leaves.

Micki then tries to get some help in dealing with Ryan. Sarah's says if it is God's will, then let it be. She then tells Micki she believes Effie has the quilt.

That night, Effie again goes to sleep under the quilt, dreaming about Sarah. At the ball in her dream, Sarah is a maid who keeps calling Effie a liar and a murderess. Effie then strikes Sarah with a candlestick and drops the flames onto the old woman. In the dream, Sarah burns and in reality, Sarah's room is also on fire. Ryan and Micki are too late to save Sarah, who dies. They then go to Effie's room and find the quilt and Micki grabs it. Effie calls them thieves, but they flee.

The next day, at Sarah's funeral, the reverend again wonders aloud what the colony has done to suffer so. Micki is packing when Ryan arrives. He tells her he is staying at the colony. Micki asks about all the other antiques, Ryan shrugs. He says he is in love with Laura, and that he has found a sort of peace with the way of life at the colony. Micki asks about the store, the antiques and Jack, but he just says he has to do what he has to do. She says she deserves better. She says she can't keep hunting the antiques alone. He says Jack will be fine and she is strong, she doesn't need him anymore. She grabs her stuff and goes to leave, telling him she will miss him before heading out the door. Ryan watches her get in the carriage and leave.

At Curious Goods, Micki arrives with the quilt. She sees a horse statuette and sings the lullaby Laura sang. Jack asks where Ryan is and she tells him. He is shocked, confused that Ryan would become a Penatite to be with the girl. He says he will miss him. Micki says she will, too. She then shows Jack the quilt. He tells her what the curse on the quilt does. As he moves the quilt, it tears. Jack then uses his lighter and burns the corner. He tells Micki the real quilt can't be destroyed and they realize this quilt is a fake.

To be continued!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My thoughts:

Quite a different episode of the show! Not only do we get a unique locale - an Amish-like place - we get Ryan actually choosing to leave the store and Micki and Jack for the love of a woman he just met!

I can see Ryan's thought process. He was so young and carefree when we first met him and now he has seen so much horror and death, a place like the Penatite colony would be appealing to him, especially since he think the cursed item is now gone from there. But I have a bit of a hard time buying that he would just dump the entire responsibility of the store and, even more so, the hunting of the antiques, on Micki and Jack. Love makes one do stupid things, but wow.

Micki shows some of her deepening feelings for Ryan here, too. She at first plays off Ryan's infatuation with Laura as a lark. And when he fights Matthew, she is shown hoping Ryan is rushing to her. We see her visibly saddened when he instead goes to Laura. And then when he decides to stay behind, she is angry but also very heartbroken. Quite a moment for them, even if Ryan can't see it.

They should have known Effie was playing them for fools when she doesn't fight them over the quilt, but maybe they were just eager to get the quilt.

Love the idea of a quilt, such a simple, benign object, being able to bring up such horror through the curse. Creepy!

Also love how, at the end, even thought they are both sad, Micki and Jack never say they are just going to give up, as well. Ryan might have deserted them, but they both seem determined to keep hunting the items. Good on them.

Next week: "The Quilt of Hathor: The Awakening"

[readbookywooks]

4 For a few moments, Peeta and I take in the scene of our mentor trying to rise out of the slippery vile stuff from his stomach. The reek of vomit and raw spirits almost brings my dinner up. We exchange a glance. Obviously Haymitch isn't much, but Effie Trinket is right about one thing, once we're in the arena he's all we've got. As if by some unspoken agreement, Peeta and I each take one of Haymitch's arms and help him to his feet. "I tripped?" Haymitch asks. "Smells bad." He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing his face with vomit. "Let's get you back to your room," says Peeta. "Clean you up a bit." We half-lead half-carry Haymitch back to his compartment. Since we can't exactly set him down on the embroidered bedspread, we haul him into the bathtub and turn the shower on him. He hardly notices. "It's okay," Peeta says to me. "I'll take it from here." I can't help feeling a little grateful since the last thing I want to do is strip down Haymitch, wash the vomit out of his chest hair, and tuck him into bed. Possibly Peeta is trying to make a good impression on him, to be his favorite once the Games begin. But judging by the state he's in, Haymitch will have no memory of this tomorrow. "All right," I say. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you." There's any number on the train. Cooking for us. Waiting on us. Guarding us. Taking care of us is their job. "No. I don't want them," says Peeta. I nod and head to my own room. I understand how Peeta feels. I can't stand the sight of the Capitol people myself. But making them deal with Haymitch might be a small form of revenge. So I'm pondering the reason why he insists on taking care of Haymitch and all of a sudden I think, It's because he's being kind. Just as he was kind to give me the bread. The idea pulls me up short. A kind Peeta Mellark is far more dangerous to me than an unkind one. Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there. And I can't let Peeta do this. Not where we're going. So I decide, from this moment on, to have as little as possible to do with the baker's son. When I get back to my room, the train is pausing at a platform to refuel. I quickly open the window, toss the cookies Peeta's father gave me out of the train, and slam the glass shut. No more. No more of either of them. Unfortunately, the packet of cookies hits the ground and bursts open in a patch of dandelions by the track. I only see the image for a moment, because the train is off again, but it's enough. Enough to remind me of that other dandelion in the school yard years ago. I had just turned away from Peeta Mellark's bruised face when I saw the dandelion and I knew hope wasn't lost. I plucked it carefully and hurried home. I grabbed a bucket and Prim's hand and headed to the Meadow and yes, it was dotted with the golden-headed weeds. After we'd harvested those, we scrounged along inside the fence for probably a mile until we'd filled the bucket with the dandelion greens, stems, and flowers. That night, we gorged ourselves on dandelion salad and the rest of the bakery bread. "What else?" Prim asked me. "What other food can we find?" "All kinds of things," I promised her. "I just have to remember them." My mother had a book she'd brought with her from the apothecary shop. The pages were made of old parchment and covered in ink drawings of plants. Neat handwritten blocks told their names, where to gather them, when they came in bloom, their medical uses. But my father added other entries to the book. Plants for eating, not healing. Dandelions, pokeweed, wild onions, pines. Prim and I spent the rest of the night poring over those pages. The next day, we were off school. For a while I hung around the edges of the Meadow, but finally I worked up the courage to go under the fence. It was the first time I'd been there alone, without my father's weapons to protect me. But I retrieved the small bow and arrows he'd made me from a hollow tree. I probably didn't go more than twenty yards into the woods that day. Most of the time, I perched up in the branches of an old oak, hoping for game to come by. After several hours, I had the good luck to kill a rabbit. I'd shot a few rabbits before, with my father's guidance. But this I'd done on my own. We hadn't had meat in months. The sight of the rabbit seemed to stir something in my mother. She roused herself, skinned the carcass, and made a stew with the meat and some more greens Prim had gathered. Then she acted confused and went back to bed, but when the stew was done, we made her eat a bowl. The woods became our savior, and each day I went a bit farther into its arms. It was slow-going at first, but I was determined to feed us. I stole eggs from nests, caught fish in nets, sometimes managed to shoot a squirrel or rabbit for stew, and gathered the various plants that sprung up beneath my feet. Plants are tricky. Many are edible, but one false mouthful and you're dead. I checked and double-checked the plants I harvested with my father's pictures. I kept us alive. Any sign of danger, a distant howl, the inexplicable break of a branch, sent me flying back to the fence at first. Then I began to risk climbing trees to escape the wild dogs that quickly got bored and moved on. Bears and cats lived deeper in, perhaps disliking the sooty reek of our district. On May 8th, I went to the Justice Building, signed up for my tesserae, and pulled home my first batch of grain and oil in Prim's toy wagon. On the eighth of every month, I was entitled to do the same. I couldn't stop hunting and gathering, of course. The grain was not enough to live on, and there were other things to buy, soap and milk and thread. What we didn't absolutely have to eat, I began to trade at the Hob. It was frightening to enter that place without my father at my side, but people had respected him, and they accepted me. Game was game after all, no matter who'd shot it. I also sold at the back doors of the wealthier clients in town, trying to remember what my father had told me and learning a few new tricks as well. The butcher would buy my rabbits but not squirrels. The baker enjoyed squirrel but would only trade for one if his wife wasn't around. The Head Peacekeeper loved wild turkey. The mayor had a passion for strawberries. In late summer, I was washing up in a pond when I noticed the plants growing around me. Tall with leaves like arrowheads. Blossoms with three white petals. I knelt down in the water, my fingers digging into the soft mud, and I pulled up handfuls of the roots. Small, bluish tubers that don't look like much but boiled or baked are as good as any potato. "Katniss," I said aloud. It's the plant I was named for. And I heard my father's voice joking, "As long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve." I spent hours stirring up the pond bed with my toes and a stick, gathering the tubers that floated to the top. That night, we feasted on fish and katniss roots until we were all, for the first time in months, full. Slowly, my mother returned to us. She began to clean and cook and preserve some of the food I brought in for winter. People traded us or paid money for her medical remedies. One day, I heard her singing. Prim was thrilled to have her back, but I kept watching, waiting for her to disappear on us again. I didn't trust her. And some small gnarled place inside me hated her for her weakness, for her neglect, for the months she had put us through. Prim forgave her, but I had taken a step back from my mother, put up a wall to protect myself from needing her, and nothing was ever the same between us again. Now I was going to die without that ever being set right. I thought of how I had yelled at her today in the Justice Building. I had told her I loved her, too, though. So maybe it would all balance out. For a while I stand staring out the train window, wishing I could open it again, but unsure of what would happen at such high speed. In the distance, I see the lights of another district. 7? 10? I don't know. I think about the people in their houses, settling in for bed. I imagine my home, with its shutters drawn tight. What are they doing now, my mother and Prim? Were they able to eat supper? The fish stew and the strawberries? Or did it lay untouched on their plates? Did they watch the recap of the day's events on the battered old TV that sits on the table against the wall? Surely, there were more tears. Is my mother holding up, being strong for Prim? Or has she already started to slip away, leaving the weight of the world on my sister's fragile shoulders? Prim will undoubtedly sleep with my mother tonight. The thought of that scruffy old Buttercup posting himself on the bed to watch over Prim comforts me. If she cries, he will nose his way into her arms and curl up there until she calms down and falls asleep. I'm so glad I didn't drown him. Imagining my home makes me ache with loneliness. This day has been endless. Could Gale and I have been eating blackberries only this morning? It seems like a lifetime ago. Like a long dream that deteriorated into a nightmare. Maybe, if I go to sleep, I will wake up back in District 12, where I belong. Probably the drawers hold any number of nightgowns, but I just strip off my shirt and pants and climb into bed in my underwear. The sheets are made of soft, silky fabric. A thick fluffy comforter gives immediate warmth. If I'm going to cry, now is the time to do it. By morning, I'll be able to wash the damage done by the tears from my face. But no tears come. I'm too tired or too numb to cry. The only thing I feel is a desire to be somewhere else. So I let the train rock me into oblivion. Gray light is leaking through the curtains when the rapping rouses me. I hear Effie Trinket's voice, calling me to rise. "Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" I try and imagine, for a moment, what it must be like inside that woman's head. What thoughts fill her waking hours? What dreams come to her at night? I have no idea. I put the green outfit back on since it's not really dirty, just slightly crumpled from spending the night on the floor. My fingers trace the circle around the little gold mockingjay and I think of the woods, and of my father, and of my mother and Prim waking up, having to get on with things. I slept in the elaborate braided hair my mother did for the reaping and it doesn't look too bad, so I just leave it up. It doesn't matter. We can't be far from the Capitol now. And once we reach the city, my stylist will dictate my look for the opening ceremonies tonight anyway. I just hope I get one who doesn't think nudity is the last word in fashion. As I enter the dining car, Effie Trinket brushes by me with a cup of black coffee. She's muttering obscenities under her breath. Haymitch, his face puffy and red from the previous day's indulgences, is chuckling. Peeta holds a roll and looks somewhat embarrassed. "Sit down! Sit down!" says Haymitch, waving me over. The moment I slide into my chair I'm served an enormous platter of food. Eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes. A tureen of fruit sits in ice to keep it chilled. The basket of rolls they set before me would keep my family going for a week. There's an elegant glass of orange juice. At least, I think it's orange juice. I've only even tasted an orange once, at New Year's when my father bought one as a special treat. A cup of coffee. My mother adores coffee, which we could almost never afford, but it only tastes bitter and thin to me. A rich brown cup of something I've never seen. "They call it hot chocolate," says Peeta. "It's good." I take a sip of the hot, sweet, creamy liquid and a shudder runs through me. Even though the rest of the meal beckons, I ignore it until I've drained my cup. Then I stuff down every mouthful I can hold, which is a substantial amount, being careful to not overdo it on the richest stuff. One time, my mother told me that I always eat like I'll never see food again. And I said, "I won't unless I bring it home." That shut her up. When my stomach feels like it's about to split open, I lean back and take in my breakfast companions. Peeta is still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in hot chocolate. Haymitch hasn't paid much attention to his platter, but he's knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it's some kind of spirit. I don't know Haymitch, but I've seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He'll be incoherent by the time we reach the Capitol. I realize I detest Haymitch. No wonder the District 12 tributes never stand a chance. It isn't just that we've been underfed and lack training. Some of our tributes have still been strong enough to make a go of it. But we rarely get sponsors and he's a big part of the reason why. The rich people who back tributes  -  either because they're betting on them or simply for the bragging rights of picking a winner  -  expect someone classier than Haymitch to deal with. "So, you're supposed to give us advice," I say to Haymitch. "Here's some advice. Stay alive," says Haymitch, and then bursts out laughing. I exchange a look with Peeta before I remember I'm having nothing more to do with him. I'm surprised to see the hardness in his eyes. He generally seems so mild. "That's very funny," says Peeta. Suddenly he lashes out at the glass in Haymitch's hand. It shatters on the floor, sending the bloodred liquid running toward the back of the train. "Only not to us." Haymitch considers this a moment, then punches Peeta in the jaw, knocking him from his chair. When he turns back to reach for the spirits, I drive my knife into the table between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers. I brace myself to deflect his hit, but it doesn't come. Instead he sits back and squints at us. "Well, what's this?" says Haymitch. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" Peeta rises from the floor and scoops up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He starts to raise it to the red mark on his jaw. "No," says Haymitch, stopping him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena." "That's against the rules," says Peeta. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," says Haymitch. He turns to me. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" The bow and arrow is my weapon. But I've spent a fair amount of time throwing knives as well. Sometimes, if I've wounded an animal with an arrow, it's better to get a knife into it, too, before I approach it. I realize that if I want Haymitch's attention, this is my moment to make an impression. I yank the knife out of the table, get a grip on the blade, and then throw it into the wall across the room. I was actually just hoping to get a good solid stick, but it lodges in the seam between two panels, making me look a lot better than I am. "Stand over here. Both of you," says Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." Peeta and I don't question this. The Hunger Games aren't a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull more sponsors. "All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," says Haymitch. "But you have to do exactly what I say." It's not much of a deal but still a giant step forward from ten minutes ago when we had no guide at all. "Fine," says Peeta. "So help us," I say. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone  - " "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," says Haymitch. "But  - " I begin. "No buts. Don't resist," says Haymitch. He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it's as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains, they were easy targets for the Capitol's air forces. Peeta Mellark and I stand in silence as the train speeds along. The tunnel goes on and on and I think of the tons of rock separating me from the sky, and my chest tightens. I hate being encased in stone this way. It reminds me of the mines and my father, trapped, unable to reach sunlight, buried forever in the darkness. The train finally begins to slow and suddenly bright light floods the compartment. We can't help it. Both Peeta and I run to the window to see what we've only seen on television, the Capitol, the ruling city of Panem. The cameras haven't lied about its grandeur. If anything, they have not quite captured the magnificence of the glistening buildings in a rainbow of hues that tower into the air, the shiny cars that roll down the wide paved streets, the oddly dressed people with bizarre hair and painted faces who have never missed a meal. All the colors seem artificial, the pinks too deep, the greens too bright, the yellows painful to the eyes, like the flat round disks of hard candy we can never afford to buy at the tiny sweet shop in District 12. The people begin to point at us eagerly as they recognize a tribute train rolling into the city. I step away from the window, sickened by their excitement, knowing they can't wait to watch us die. But Peeta holds his ground, actually waving and smiling at the gawking crowd. He only stops when the train pulls into the station, blocking us from their view. He sees me staring at him and shrugs. "Who knows?" he says. "One of them may be rich." I have misjudged him. I think of his actions since the reaping began. The friendly squeeze of my hand. His father showing up with the cookies and promising to feed Prim. did Peeta put him up to that? His tears at the station. Volunteering to wash Haymitch but then challenging him this morning when apparently the nice-guy approach had failed. And now the waving at the window, already trying to win the crowd. All of the pieces are still fitting together, but I sense he has a plan forming. He hasn't accepted his death. He is already fighting hard to stay alive. Which also means that kind Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me the bread, is fighting hard to kill me.

[ellanainthetardis]

Sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know, please!

[ff] or [ao3]

46. 13 Weeks (3)

Effie woke up snuggled against a warm body and she smiled against the soft fur.

“You really should not be here, my pretty baby.” she chided, immediately making a face because her throat hurt. She opened her eyes, not quite surprised to find Snowball had made himself at home on Haymitch’s side of the bed. The dog really wasn’t a puppy anymore, he was big and he took a lot of room. Not that she really minded. She distractedly petted him, rubbing her face with her free hand, her eyes automatically checking the alarm clock.

Six: twenty-four pm.

She frowned.

Why had she been asleep in the afternoon? She sat up and let out a small groan when her leg started to throb. Cleary, her throat wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t quite right. Her head hurt, she felt a little dizzy and her stomach was unsettled. She must have felt off and decided to take a nap… She vaguely remembered Eileen coming to fetch her dress and then…

Snowball jumped off the bed, distracting her. At the speed he took off, she figured he was hungry or wanted to go out. It was nearing his usual walking time.

She picked up the baby monitor but it was completely silent. Haymitch must have kept April with him. She felt a pang at that thought and she couldn’t help the gnawing worry that made her stomach churn unpleasantly. She needed to find April, make sure she was alright…

She felt exactly like those few days after she had given birth when she hadn’t been able to bear having their daughter out of her sight.

However she had become better at controlling that, she reproached herself. She took a few deep breaths, not quite sure why her hands were shaking so much or why her heartbeat seemed to be erratic.  

She really wasn’t feeling that well.

She used the bathroom, washed her hands and her face and then brushed her teeth for good measure. Cleanliness was next to godliness, or at least that was what Elindra always said. It didn’t really made her feel better. Her reflection looked back at her in the mirror over the sink, deadly pale. The throbbing in her shin finally worried her enough that she pulled up the leg of the sweatpants she didn’t remember putting on.

It was bandaged and her knee was scratched.

She dropped the fabric, unable to tell what had happened to her. She had tripped on a root, she thought but that was ridiculous. She never went to the woods if she could avoid it. She took Snowball there sometimes during her daily jogs but she always stuck to the very edge where the trees were spaced out and roots were easily avoidable.

Maybe she had been in the backyard when she had started feeling faint, she mused. That was a much more likely explanation. She must have a cold or something, the flu perhaps. It would have explained the sore throat, the dizziness and the cramps.

“You just need some tea.” she muttered at her own reflection, patting her cheeks to make herself look less pale – she didn’t want anyone to worry on her account. She made a quick job of braiding her hair back and making sure there was no trace of smudged make-up left around her eyes before she finally ventured downstairs.

She wanted to find her daughter but she was wary of whatever she had being contagious. She was quiet and avoided the creaking steps out of reflex, in case April was asleep somewhere. Her daughter wasn’t, that became clear once she was at the foot of the stairs, she could hear baby noises and more sounds coming from the kitchen.

She passed in front of the living-room and did a double take when she realized Peeta was asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace, next to April’s playing mat.

“Yeah.” Haymitch scoffed, apparently in answer to one of April’s sharp cries. “Bunch of idiots, the lot of them. You know what I’d do? Not going to tell you ‘cause… Well, not going to tell you, shrimp, but your papa’s not a victor for nothing, don’t mind telling you that. Stupid politicians with their stupid…”

He stopped mid-rant when he realized Effie was leaning against the doorframe. April was in the baby seat on the table, sucking on the cat ragdoll’s ear when she wasn’t busy making random noises, not really interested by whatever Haymitch was saying.

Effie lifted a pointed eyebrow when she caught sight of the mess on the kitchen table all around their baby. It seemed Haymitch had gathered every vegetable they had in the house and had made it his mission to chop them in very small pieces.

“Why are you chopping carrots?” she asked.

He blinked, studied her for a second and then made a face. “’Cause it’s the only thing they’re letting me chop.”

“They.” she repeated, confused. She shook her head and went straight for the kettle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I must have come down with something… I’m sorry to ask but do you mind taking care of April by yourself tonight? I don’t want to risk passing whatever bug it is to her…” She put the kettle to boil, rummaged in the box full of tea bags for a flavor that would relax her and then dropped it in a mug she fished from the drying rack. “What happened to Peeta? Is he feeling sick too?”

Haymitch had stopped maiming his carrots to watch her attentively. He seemed guarded to her, almost careful. “He fell asleep playing with the shrimp. He had… an episode, remember?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder with another frown. The information was right there in her head, she knew it was, but for some reason she couldn’t access it. And she had learned from experience that when something like that happened, there usually was a good reason why her mind didn’t want her to remember.

She slowly licked her lips and turned to the fridge. She wasn’t really aware of taking the chocolate ice cream tub from the freezer or even grabbing a spoon from a drawer. It was hard and she was forced to stab it a few times to be able to eat some.

“Effie.” Haymitch called in a soft voice.

She still startled.

“I’m sorry I…” she hesitated. “I feel out of sort.”

The ice cream was doing some good to her sore throat though.

“Yeah, I bet.” he snorted without any amusement. He looked grim actually. “It was a bad one.”

“A what?” she asked, reaching out to turn off the stove and pour water in her mug. Her hands were unsteady and some water splashed on the counter. She pretended she didn’t notice and relocated mug and ice cream to the table. She felt better once she was sitting down next to Haymitch, April in her line of sight. Her daughter was staring at her with her bright blue eyes. Effie waved at her with one of those silly faces the baby loved so much and April gave her one of those delighted little smiles.

“A flashback.” Haymitch said after a few seconds, covering her hand. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Do I want to remember?” she joked but it wasn’t as light as she made it sound. She had a feeling she would be happier if she kept on thinking she was sick. “I really don’t feel that well.” He stole the spoon and some ice cream. She saw it for what it was: an evasion, a delay… She took a small sip of her tea and sighed. “What was the trigger?”

“You walked Eileen back to the coffee shop…” he explained with obvious reluctance. “The work crew was there…”

“The work crew…” she repeated, snatching the spoon back from him. She was confused. What would her father’s work crew had to do with… And then she remembered… Brown eyes… Her breathing became shallow…

“Stay with me.” Haymitch demanded firmly. “Effie. I’m here. You’re safe.”

“I know.” she said through the ringing in her ears. She kept her eyes on her daughter and forced herself to breathe. Everything else was a blur. She remembered seeing the Peacekeeper. She vaguely remembered Peeta… Then… April was waving her arms in the air, unhappy because she had dropped the ragdoll and nobody had noticed, her little face scrunched in annoyance – that, or maybe she was pooping, Effie always teased Haymitch by telling him her pooping face was an exact replicate of his sulking one. It was silly but it helped her stay focused. “Was it terribly embarrassing?”

She had been in public when she had lost it.

He shrugged. “Not really the important part, sweetheart.”

He told her what happened afterwards with care, clearly not sure simply recounting it wasn’t about to trigger anything. To be honest, she barely had any recollection past the initial shock of finding herself face to face with one of her former jailors.

“It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?” she commented, feeling strangely detached. She kept on spooning little amounts of ice cream as if it was a remedy to all her problems. She wasn’t even hungry, she didn’t know why she was eating. She supposed her body was just craving something sweet and sugary to bounce back from the ordeal. “Low-ranked Peacekeepers were released.” She closed the tub of ice cream and wrapped  her hands around the mug instead. “Do you know where… Do you know where he went?”

Because she wasn’t leaving the house ever again if that was man was out there. It wasn’t something she could face. Clearly if Peeta’s instinct had been to attack, hers had been to flee. And she had been lucky. She could have hurt April. She could have…

“That’s the thing.” he spat, grabbing his knife back to violently chop another carrot. She absent-mindedly thought they were going to eat vegetable soup for a week. “Had them drag him to the Peacekeepers station while I was looking for you… Called Plutarch… Made a fucking fuss… Managed to talk to Paylor… You believe they left me to hang? Fucking politicians…”

“Language.” she rebuked, taking a sip of her tea. She was so tired… She felt… removed from the situation. “So?”

“So legally they can’t keep him in custody.” he snapped. “And when I told them I’d take matter into my own hands…”

“You won’t.” she cut him off quickly, stilling the knife he was wielding by placing her hand on his wrist. “I am serious, Haymitch.”

It took him a long moment to look up at her and, when he did, his grey eyes were hard. “Should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“And end up in prison for it?” she retorted. “We aren’t at war anymore.”

“Aren’t we?” he sneered. “’Cause those assholes are walking free and…”

“So am I.” she whispered. He opened his mouth but she shook her head, squeezing his wrist. “For a lot of people, it is the very same.” And it wasn’t even the point anyway. She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “I don’t want you killing anyone for me. I know what it does to you and I won’t… Not for me, Haymitch. Not for…”

She was getting upset. There was a lump in her throat and tears burning her eyes she hastily blinked away.

“Okay.” he said hastily. “Okay.” He ran his fingers in his hair, clearly at a loss. “I’ll just… I’ll talk to him. Maybe punch him a little, that’s alright, yeah? As long as he’s still breathing at the end of the chat that’s really not…”

“Haymitch, no.” she hissed. “Let’s just… I will call Father. He will have him transferred elsewhere. Peacefully.”

Haymitch obviously wasn’t sold on that approach. His hands were gripping the carrot and the knife so tight his knuckles were white. “That guy hurt you and the boy. You’re asking me to…”

“Yes, I am.” she cut him off firmly. They glared at each other until she averted her eyes. “I need you. Punishing that man won’t bring me any peace, you will end up in jail and what will we do?” She jerked away from the table and walked around him to pick up April. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. “She needs her diaper changed.”

“I can…” he offered.

“I will do it.” she snapped. She stopped on the threshold but didn’t look back at him. “I don’t want you doing that sort of things for me. It is one thing to defend me, to protect me, but what you are suggesting… You are angry, I know…”

“Try furious.” he countered.

“Furious, then…” she amended. “But this happened to me, not to you and…”

“When you run off in the wood with my daughter because those assholes hurt you so bad you can’t tell reality from memories anymore, it’s about me too.” he retorted, harsh.

She closed her eyes, her arms tightening around April. He was right of course. And he was right to be furious with her. If she couldn’t be trusted to be alone with their baby…

“If I had hurt her I would have killed myself.” she confessed softly. “You have to know that. I…”

There was a clatter and she turned around in time to see that he had bolted from the table to march toward her. She instinctively took as step back but she didn’t go far, she was engulfed in his arms. He didn’t hold her too tight, not with April trapped between them, but the embrace was firm enough. His breathing was quick and loud too and she realized she hadn’t been the only one battling with their inner demons.

“I never meant that.” he growled. “I never thought that. It’s not with you I’m furious. It’s this whole thing. It’s…” He shook his head and pressed a long kiss against her temple. “You protected her, sweetheart. Even at the worst of it… You’d never hurt the baby. Never. You’re her mama. Even when your mind’s not quite here, you know that. Instinct, yeah? I never doubted that. Never.”

She relaxed a little against him, a weight lifted from her shoulders. “I’m really tired.”

It didn’t feel like she had slept half the afternoon away.

He pressed another kiss against her head. “I can take care of the shrimp… You should get some more rest, yeah?”

She hesitated and then refused with an apologetic smile. “I want to keep her close.”

“Alright.” he humored her, brushing his hand against her cheek. “Aside from being tired, you’re good? How’s the leg?”

She didn’t think it was bleeding anymore but she wasn’t about to check. Just in case. The less blood she saw, the better.  

She wasn’t exactly peachy but the ice cream and the tea had gone a long way into making her feel a little better. She discreetly rubbed her stomach with her free hand, aware something was… odd on that front but unable to pinpoint what exactly. She was still slightly dizzy but she thought it would pass soon if she remained calm. Her blood pressure was probably skyrocketing.  

She reassured him as best as she could and kissed him, sending him back to the kitchen so he could do something productive for dinner with all those chopped vegetables. The more rational she acted, the calmer he seemed to get so she pretended to be perfectly fine and back to normal.

She took April upstairs, changed her diaper and took some time to play with her. Her daughter wasn’t really interested in playtime though. She had had a difficult day too and she was a little fussy. She sat in the rocking-chair and cuddled her close, humming the now familiar “Hush little baby don’t you cry…” tune until she fell asleep.

Leaving her in the nursery was much more than she could bear though so she carefully took the sleeping baby downstairs and placed her back in the baby seat. Haymitch seemed unfazed by that. He flashed her a small smirk that didn’t reach his eyes and stirred the vegetable soup that was cooking in the biggest pot they owned.

She plastered herself to his back, arms wrapped tight around his waist, and slowly breathed out.

“I love you.” she said in a quiet soft voice.

She had spent so many years swallowing back those words. She knew how uncomfortable they made him feel, knew he was still a bit uneasy with them… But it felt good to say them out loud. Good to…

“I love you too.” he said slowly, purposefully. It was still difficult for him, she knew that and she appreciated it even more for it.

She completely relaxed against him. Those words were a magical balm on festered wounds. They made her feel strong. They made her feel…

“I’m sorry I worried you.” she offered again. “I…”

The knocking on the front door was unexpected and they both froze, listening to Snowball barking loudly from the backyard, echoed by the geese’s honking.

“Stay here.” Haymitch muttered eventually, detaching himself from her to leave the kitchen.

Naturally, she didn’t obey. She made sure April was still asleep and then rushed to check the living-room where Peeta was still sprawled on the floor, dead to the world. Haymitch had already opened the door by that time and he tossed her an annoyed glance when he realized that she hadn’t followed his instructions.

“Mr Smoth.” she greeted flatly when she caught sight of the foreman.

Her father’s employee was clearly ill-at-ease and Haymitch didn’t make it any easier for him. “What do you want?”

“I’m glad to see you seem to be feeling better, Mrs Abernathy.” the man said politely after clearing his throat, looking anywhere but at her. Haymitch ought to step aside and invite him in but he stood firmly between her and the foreman, his hand on the door, blocking the path. It was rude. She didn’t point it out and remained behind him, wary of the rest of the world. The construction worker seemed to realize that because he buried his hands in his pockets and winced. “Look, I’m not quite sure what happened earlier but… Al quitted. He’s at the train station right now. He’s leaving so… He doesn’t want any problem, you see? He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry for any discomfort caused.”

“Sorry for any discomfort?” Haymitch repeated in a low threatening growl.

Effie fisted his shirt at the small of his back, as much to potentially hold him back as to draw some comfort from him.

“Thank you for informing us.” she answered quietly.

“Sure.” Smoth nodded, pulling a creased envelope out of his pocket. “He gave me this for you.”

She stared at the envelope he was handing her, making no move to take it.

“We want nothing from him.” Haymitch refused.

The foreman flinched at the obvious fury in his voice but shrugged. “I don’t know… I don’t know what it’s all about but… Al’s a good kid. Really. Hard worker. Never complains. Whatever it was…”

“He’s a Peacekeeper.” Haymitch spat with the same hatred in his voice some people put in her former title.

“With all due respect, sir, we’ve all got a past.” Smoth countered, placing the envelope on the old bench on the porch. “Good night.”

Haymitch slammed the door shut with obvious irritation.

It had the double disadvantage of waking up both April and Peeta.

She pursed her lips and tossed him a look but aside from looking vaguely guilty he refused to apologize. They bickered over his inability to close doors properly while she tried to get April to settle back down. Peeta looked very dazed and a bit nauseous but he sat down at the kitchen table and waited for dinner to be ready.

Nobody mentioned the Peacekeeper or what had happened that afternoon.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad night.

And if Peeta hugged her a little too tight after dinner and if she ran her fingers through his hair with a little too much affection… Nobody said anything out loud.

They exchanged quiet goodnights and she cleaned the table to do the dishes, like every other night. Haymitch offered to do it but since he had spent hours chopping, she figured it was her turn to do some chores. Besides, she didn’t mind the repetitive pattern of it. She let him carry April to the nursery after the mandatory goodnight kiss and went to work with Snowball sprawled at her feet. The boiler started protesting not long after, sure sign that Haymitch had commandeered the shower.

Perhaps, they should get that fixed, she mused, it certainly made a racket.

When she was done with the dishes, she relocated to the porch with the chocolate ice cream. She had vaguely hoped the wind would have taken care of the letter but the creased envelope was still there and Effie picked it up with a small sigh.

Did she want to open it?

She wasn’t sure.

She watched the lights in the neighbor’s houses going out one after the other, spooning the ice cream without even realizing it. She was distracted, a bit on edge.

“Never seen you eat that much sweets in one day.”

She startled and looked up at where Haymitch was leaning against the front door’s frame. He was wearing low sweatpants – that, she was sure, would be discarded as soon as he would reach the bedroom – and nothing else. It was as improper as it got to wander outside looking like that. Sex on legs. It ignited a spark on interest in her but she was so tired she doubted she would have been able to see anything through.

She glanced down at the ice cream tub on her lap and frowned. “I am not really sure why I keep eating that.”

She had never been a stress-eater. Her mother would never have allowed it for one thing.

Eating had been so problematic since the war… Even things she used to love… Even when she had been pregnant it had been a struggle… And there she was that day, eating gallons of ice cream as if she didn’t already have an upset stomach on top of it.

“Comfort food.” he suggested with a shrug.

“Perhaps.” she hummed.

He pointed at the envelope next to her with the hand that was holding the baby monitor. “You’re gonna open that?”

“I don’t know yet.” she answered honestly.

His face closed. “You don’t have to. You know that, yeah?”

She nodded slowly and then flashed him a small smile. “You should go to bed. You look ready to collapse.” He was about to protest, she could see it clearly. “I am fine, Haymitch. I promise.” Snowball swept past him and hopped on the bench next to her to place his big head on her lap, pushing the ice cream to the side. Apparently it was dog cuddle time. It made her chuckle. “Look, I have my bodyguard with me. I will be fine and I won’t be long. Go to bed.”

She outstretched a hand and, after a short moment of hesitation, he placed the baby monitor in it before leaning in. The kiss wasn’t exactly chaste or short but she didn’t complain.

She spent a few minutes humoring the dog, petting, scratching and hugging him until he was clearly over it and simply fell asleep right there as if she were the perfect pillow or as if he could still fit in her lap.

The envelope was still glaring at her.

She picked it up with a small sigh. Who was she kidding? She had never been able to resist information. Information was power. It could be used and abused. Whatever was in that letter… She needed to know.

She braced herself for something upsetting when she opened it. She told herself the content wouldn’t matter, that she wouldn’t let it. Still, she wasn’t entirely prepared for the unsteady scribbles.

I know it won’t matter much to you and I know I’ve got no right to ask for your forgiveness but I’m really sorry. They told us we were doing our duty. That was bullshit. It wasn’t right what happened, what we did. I know now. I knew then to be honest. I should have said something, done something… I’m a coward. Comes down to that. I’m a coward and I did what they told me and some days I forgot why it was wrong and it makes me feel sick to think about what I became and I’m sorry. Can’t say how much.

I really didn’t think being in Twelve would be a problem, I thought I could avoid you. It was stupid of me. I’m leaving. You won’t ever see me again, I’ll make sure I stay out of your way. I owe you this at least.

I’m really sorry. For everything.

Al Terson

Her first instinct was to tear the letter until there was nothing left.

She folded it and placed it back in the envelope instead. She would give it to Peeta in case he wanted to read it, in case he could find some peace in those words.

She didn’t.

That Peacekeeper’s guilt, his regrets… They were his story, not hers. She could understand on some level, she had her own regrets, had done her own share of unforgivable things, but she wouldn’t feel sorry for him, not when he had been one of the men who had tortured her to near insanity.

She was careful to remain quiet when she came back inside and made sure everything was locked for the night. Snowball padded to his bed in the living-room and she went upstairs, pausing long enough in the nursery to check April didn’t need her.

“I love you.” she whispered to her daughter, gently brushing her fingers in the soft blond curls on her head. She would have a mane later, Effie decided, just like hers. She hated her own hair so much… But it would look fabulous on their baby, she was sure of it. April could never be anything short of perfect. She brushed her finger against the little palm, happy when the baby closed her fist around it by reflex. “Mama loves you so much…”

It scared her how much sometimes.

She would move mountains for her child.

It took her a long time to tear herself away from the sight of her sleeping baby.

Haymitch, as she had guessed, had discarded the sweatpants and was sprawled in the middle of the bed on his stomach, naked butt peeking out of the sheets. It made her smile. She got rid of her own pants, never having been one to be constricted in bed, and made a short stop in the bathroom before joining him.

He grumbled a little when she pushed him to have some room.

“Move or I will be forced to sleep on top of you.” she threatened.

He opened heavy eyelids, sneaked an arm around her waist, rolled on his back and brought her down with him. She did end up on top of him but her shriek and her laughter woke him up for good.

“You’re a pain.” he muttered.

“Am I?” she hummed, nestling her head in the crook of his neck.

“Yeah.” he confirmed. “Good thing for you I like it.”

She chuckled and he snorted. His fingers made a quick work of undoing her braid and he petted her hair, lulling them both to sleep.

“I will probably have nightmares tonight.” she warned softly. And she wasn’t looking forward to that but she knew her body and she knew she had reached her limits. If she tried to remain awake… She would crash soon anyway.

“Yeah. Me too.” he admitted.

That was a warning of its own. If he had a nightmare, she needed to be ready to get out of bed or risk getting hurt. She wondered if there would come a point in their lives where they wouldn’t be afraid of what their sleeping selves might do to their partner.

“I read the letter.” she confessed after a few minutes.

He didn’t answer at once and she thought he had fallen asleep. Up until he dropped his head against hers, at least. “Did it help?”

“Not really.” she sighed. “But I will be alright. It might be bad for a few days but… I will be alright. I just wished I could handle this sort of things better. Sometimes I feel as if I made absolutely no progress since the war.”

“Yeah… No.” he scowled. “You’re definitely doing better. That’s just a setback.”

“I know.” she hummed, nuzzling his neck. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“My job.” he countered with pride and affection. His hand covered hers on his chest and briefly played with her wedding ring. “How long do you think before April starts crawling?”

She welcomed the change of topic.

Their daughter had been figuring that out lately and she didn’t think it would take long at all. She fell asleep halfway through describing just how clever a baby they had.

As far as she was concerned, it was the best way to go. 

[ellanainthetardis]

Could you please do something with haymitch calling Effie 'Euphemia'? ;D

Here you go [X]

4 Times Haymitch called her Euphemia

1.

Haymitch stole the glass of bourbon from Seeder before he even droppedon the free chair at Eleven’s team table. The mentor lounge was packed, likeoften when the Games were advanced enough that only a handful of players wereleft, and he hoped it would afford him some peace.

“We need a plan.” he said very seriously.

Seeder and Chaff exchanged a glance, not bothering to keep their amusementin check.

“Are we having escort troubles again?” Chaff chuckled.

“This woman is a nightmare.” Haymitch growled. “A fucking walking nightmare.”

Seeder shook her head with a small smile, clearly not understanding thetrouble he was in. Effie Trinket was impossible.She was… She was everything he hated.And she refused to be intimidated. She refused to be scared off. She refused everything even his clumsy attempts atseducing her into quitting.

Short of strangling her, he had no idea how to get rid of her.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think we’re losing Viola so thatstupid bet the two of you have going is still on.” Seeder offered, patting hisshoulder.

Haymitch made a face, not quite comforted by that. One escort a year wasthe aim. Driving them to leave was the challenge. It had been going for so longit was a running joke in the business at this point.

It seemed this year they had bitten on more than they could chew.

Or maybe Head Gamemaker Torello had finally gotten tired of their gameand had found them women a little too strong-minded.

“I got rid of Summercket.” hemuttered with a touch of pride.

Viola Summercket was a harpy. Even Trinket wasn’t that bad incomparison. He could admit he wouldrather have dealt with the new one for another year than with Summercket. Atleast, Trinket wasn’t nasty for the sake of it - not with the tributes in anycase.

“Yeah, yeah, we know.” Chaff looked chagrined as he took a sip of hiswhiskey. “You’ve played all the usual cards?”

He rolled his eyes. “All and then some. She’s just so…”

He stopped, at a loss for words.

He had tried every of his habitual tricks and nothing had worked. Shejust stared him down from behind her fake eyelashes with disdainful amusementand claimed she would stay whatever he did.

“Hot?” Seeder suggested, definitelyamused now.

He made a face at his friend, feeling as if he ought to be insulted.

“Please.” he scoffed.

“Well, she’s your type…” Chaff agreed. Haymitch glared at him but hisbest friend lifted his stump and his good hand in the air defensively. “Feisty,difficult and probably easy…”

“She’s a fucking pain in theass, that’s what she is.” he growled.

He caught sight of his brand new escort entering the room and heslouched a little, hoping she wouldn’t notice him. She was exhausting.

Naturally, he wasn’t so lucky. Her eyes darted to him as if she alreadyknew where she would find him. Maybe she had magical powers that allowed her tomake his life a living hell…

Torello would find her anescort like that just to get even with the troubles he always caused theGamemakers.

“Euphemia Trinket.” he grumbled under his breath as she confidently strodetoward their table. “Mark my words, she’s gonna be my fucking end.”

He fled the table and ducked between Woof and Mags before she could comeclose enough.

He had no hope of escaping her forever but it wouldn’t stop him fromtrying.

2.

Haymitch followed in his escort’s footsteps, trying to figure outthrough his drunken daze if irritating her further was worth his hide or not.

She had been in a mood sincetheir path had crossed her sister’s at a sponsor’s party. He wasn’t sure whather purse had done to deserve behind flung to the other side of the penthouse’sliving-room but he was fairly certain she would have no qualm resorting to thesame degree of violence towards him that night if he said the wrong thing.

Naturally, the clever thing would have been to retreat to his bedroombut five years of working with her had taught him that not a lot could driveher to that sort of disturbed state. Even his worth gibes didn’t rile her upthat much and he had made a career of pushing her buttons. And all her sisterhad done was chat about nothing. There had been no snide commentor hidden mockeries that he could detect… Her sister was actually nice.

Of course, he should have known better than to tell her that. He had shared that thought withher hoping to get more information and he had been treated to the coldest glareshe had ever given him. A record, surely. She had told him in no uncertainterms that if he ever only hinted atwanting to sleep with her sister she would never let him touch her again.

He wasn’t sure exactly what theywere playing at. Hate sex. Stress sex. Rough sex. Make-up sex. Too manypossible labels he wasn’t sure truly applied.

He was really sure however that he wasn’t about to give up having sexwith her for a woman that didn’t even sound thatinteresting.

Effie was quick with her tongue and she was sharp when she wasn’tstubbornly playing dumb. Her being hot didn’t hurt but two times out of threeit was her wit that made him lose it and pin her against the closest flat surface.

He should have left well enough alone but he was drunk and he couldn’treally remember a time when she had made a beeline for the liquor cart like shewas doing right now. Straight for the tequila too…

“Hey, sweetheart…” he started only to backtrack when she glared at himagain. He might be drunk but he still had a keen survival instinct. “Why do yougo by Effie?”

It wasn’t really what he had wanted to know but he was a question likeanother. The sister had kept calling her ‘Euphemia’. She never used her givenname so he had completely forgotten about it.

She studied him for a second but eventually relaxed and poured him aglass of whiskey. He saw the peace offering for what it was and took it.

“Euphemia is who my mother wanted me to be. Effie is who I made myself.”she explained, clicking her glass against his in an pitiful toast.

He nodded and then pursed his lips. “Yeah… That makes no sense.”

She let out a small bitter snort. “Euphemia was supposed to be thisperfect lady… A perfect trophy wife for the highest bidder… I wanted more outof life.”

“Fame?” he asked.  

Something flashed in her eyes but it was gone before he could try todecide what it was. Her lips stretched in a bright smile. “Of course! Whatelse?”

“Euphemia.” he repeated, testing it out. “That’s a mouthful.”

“I have enough troubles convincing you to call me Effie instead of one of your ridiculous pet names… Imagine if Istill went by that one.” she joked.

He made a face. “Point taken.”

3.

It was too bad stars were almost impossible to guess at in the Capitolsky. It would have  made this moment almost…strangely perfect.

As perfect as a moment could be when you were lying on your back on aroof, stark naked, exposed without a care in the world, a little sleepy fromthe aftermath of a very satisfying fuck session. He felt boneless, as if he wasfloating outside of his body, and the stars would have been the finishing touchto that ridiculous picture.

Thoughts of what it would be like to fuck her in the meadow, in a cradleof fresh grass and with an ocean of stars overhead, entered his mind. Hedismissed them of course but even the now familiar jolts of guilt and unease atconstantly letting his imagination run wild with her when he should have beengetting those impulses under control wasn’t enough to stop him from lazilyrunning his fingers up and down her calf.

Effie was sitting with her back against the low wall of the roof, herlegs tossed carelessly across his chest, apparently not in any hurry to snatchher torn clothes from the floor.  Hespared a regretful thought for the – for once – nice dress, then remembered shehad mauled one of favorite comfortable shirts in retaliation and rolled hiseyes to himself.

“What is it?” she asked, sounding only mildly interested.

He let her enjoy a few more drags of her post-coital cigarette – not that she was a regular smoker, no, of course not, it was just the occasional one; he wondered who she was lyingto with that line, him or herself? – before stilling his hand around her ankle,prompting her to wriggle her pink painted toes.

“Just wondering how fast you’d get kicked out of the lady club if theycould see you now, sweetheart.” he snorted. She huffed but didn’t quite deny itso he riled her up a little more. It was always fun. “Or is that a thing?Harlots in the bedroom, ladies in the drawing-room?”

Her foot moved fast.

So fast he could barely brace himself before it was placed over his mostvulnerable assets. She pressed down a little, not quite enough to cause damagebut enough to get her point across.

“Did you just call me a harlot?”she casually inquired.

“Not an insult.” he muttered, trying to move her foot away.

She applied more pressure and rubbed it back and forth, suddenly makingit difficult for him to remember why he wanted it gone. He hated it when shewas acting like that, all easy confidence and sass. He hated it because itturned him on.

“You could have fooled me.” she hummed, grinning around her cigarette.

She planted her heel more firmly, rotated her ankle twice…

He was back to caressing her leg, except it was less lazy and morefrantic now.

“Don’t get why you get your knickers in a twist anyway.” he grumbled.“You’d hate it if I treated you like a lady.” He knew that with absolutecertainty. The rougher he was, the harder she climaxed. “You wanna try that, Euphemia?”

It was a bluff mainly aimed at salvaging the small amount of dignity hehad left. It was a bit off-putting that she could take him apart with only a foot.

“I do happen tolike vanilla once in a while.” she stated. “Although it has never been myfavorite flavor.”

“You’re made for chocolate.” he mumbled, closing his eyes because hiserection was now throbbing against his lower belly, entirely dependent on herfoot to give the right amount of pressure. It wouldn’t be enough to make himcome but it was enough to make himlose his mind. “Hot dark bitter chocolate. Not vanilla.”

He wrinkled his nose at the offending thought but soon groaned inpleasure when she straddled his hips. He wasn’t completely reassured by thecigarette in her hand and it was the only reason he allowed her to stay on top.

“Well…” she chuckled, wrapping her free hand around his erection. “Youare certainly dark and bitter. The comparison seems adequate.”

“Forgot hot.” he pointed out, thrusting in her fist without any shame.

“Did I?” she hummed, blowing out some smoke in his direction.

She had no right tobe this hot.

No right at all.

4.

Haymitch knocked on her compartment door once before stepping inside. Henever bothered with that kind of things but he figured it wouldn’t be clever tostartle her that night. The Tour of Hell had taken a turn for the worse in Six.They had managed to keep the children out of it but they hadn’t avoided watching a guy’s brain being blown out by aPeacekeeper’s gun.

Effie had been composed all night but she had claimed a headache to turnin early as soon as they had stepped back on the train.

She was in bed, a book propped open on her bent knee, a mug of what hesupposed to be herbal tea clutched in her right hand. She didn’t even freak outover the fact that she had her reading glasses on or that her hair was incomplete disarray.

“I do not wish to talk about it.” she warned, only glancing up longenough to shoot him a warning glare.

Fair was fair, he decided, and he didn’t particularly want to discuss iteither.

He dropped on her bed and snatched her book instead, snorting at thevery pink cover. “Romance trash again?”

“It happens to be very good.” she hummed, rescuing her book from hishands. She placed the mug on the nightstand and ran her fingers on the covers afew times as if petting it.

“Yeah? How’s the sex?” he teased.

“Actually, hot.” she retorted without missing a beat. “You should readit, you might learn something.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t try to erase the smirk from his lips. “Letme guess… There’s a bad boy and a girl who makes him become good.”

She pouted, clearly unhappy with this simplification. “He is a rake actually and a threat to hervirtue… I do believe she will reform him, though.”

Another glance at the cover told him it was probably taking place in atime long gone of ball gowns and gentlemen in breaches.

“Is he treating her like a lady?” he mocked, leaning in to drop a kissagainst her neck.

The book was discarded without another thought and Haymitch’s smirkdeepened against her skin. She gasped a little when his tongue poked at herpulse point.

“I do not believe he is.” she answered, a little short of breath. “Itold you. He is a rake. There is only one thing he is after… He is veryinventive in bed though.”

“Well, lady Euphemia…” hesnorted, pulling her on top of him. “Let’s see if I can compare with yourrake…”

Her giggles, he decided, were the best sound in the world.

[ellanainthetardis]

Hey hey hey! Are you ready for your Sunday dose of baby fic? Let me know your thoughts!

[FF] or [AO3]

22. Twenty-seven Weeks.

Effie passed her hand on the neatly folded piles of rompers, pants and little sweaters she had just placed in the brand new white dresser. They were starting to have a real collection of them but nowhere near enough in her opinion, the two piles looked small and lost in the big drawer. She was eager to go on a shopping spree but found herself hindered by the still deep coat of snow. Reaching the train station to see her mother off two weeks earlier had almost been too much for her, she had slept for hours afterwards.

People brought her clothes though, as well as stuffed animals or colorful toys… Eileen had brought a darling little elephant with a blue bowtie… So soft… She had placed it on the shelf Haymitch had screwed in a couple of days earlier along with a few other toys. The rag doll Haymitch had bought for her, the one he had brought to Four with him, was proudly displayed on the dresser for the time being. She liked touching it when her nerves played tricks on her. It calmed her down, reminded her they were in this together, that they could do it.

The nursery was finally taking form.

The dresser, the baby-changing table, a baby carrier that had been left in the corner for now, soft rugs and lovely little curtains, a rocking chair, shelves that were still mostly empty… She loved the cartoon animals Peeta had painted for their son…

She knew they had time yet, she had barely started her seventh month, but with the beginning of the third trimester, she was starting to fret again.

“We need to baby proof the house.” she declared. They needed to make sure plugs would be safe, kitchen drawers would remain shut, that no little hands would close on sharp objects or little lips swallow something vile… They would need a gate for the stairs and so many other things…

“By we, you mean me.” Haymitch snorted from where he was sitting on the floor, trying to piece the crib together.

There had been a long and heavy debate about cribs. Effie had wanted two. One for the nursery and one for their bedroom because it had seemed logical to her that a baby would require a lot of coming and going at night at first and it seemed stupid to actually get up who knew how many times every night – all the more so given that she would end up having to be the one to get out of bed since she would be the food source. Haymitch had absolutely refused the idea of a crib in the bedroom, arguing that the baby would get used to it and then they would have all the pain in the world getting him used to sleeping alone in his room.

At which point the actual idea of being separated from her child even if it was by a corridor had been too much and she had started to cry.

Haymitch’s face at that moment had been almost comical.

It was exhaustion mostly. She was suffering from bouts of restlessness followed by hours when her whole body felt heavy and tired and all she could do was nap or lie on the couch like the big whale she was in danger of becoming.

Everyone told her it was normal but she was still anxious.

She wanted everything to be ready, she needed everything to be ready. It didn’t matter that they had three months left.

“You will be the hands and I will be the brain.” she teased.

“Sure, sweetheart. Keep telling yourself that.” He rolled his eyes. “Sit down, yeah? You’ve been on your feet for a while.”

She pursed her lips at that deflection but snatched the notepad from where she had left it on the floor – not without a lot of difficulties because her belly was big – and settled on the rocking-chair. She added baby proofing to her long list.

Eileen said she was nesting, that it was normal.

She deeply resented the implication that she was acting like a poultry of some kind but couldn’t deny the truth of that statement.

During their last phone call, Lyssa had laughed at her complaining nothing was ready and had told her what she truly needed to get ready for was the birth, that there was a reason she had chosen to use a surrogate for her second pregnancy. Her sister had meant nothing by it, it was an innocent joke, but it had sent Effie in a state.

She hadn’t really thought about the actual birth yet. The aftermath, yes… Holding her baby, probably crying a lot out of relief at finally having him in her arms… But the actual birth was a sort of limbo she had been happy not to consider.

Reading chapters about delivery was somewhere on her list, between getting a diaper bag and buy more lotion because she was running low and she was very invested in avoiding stretch marks. Haymitch loved helping her in that endeavor even though it had less to do with what she would look like once she wasn’t pregnant anymore and more to do with rubbing cream all over her. It was alright with her, her belly was a hindrance now and they needed to be creative where sex was concerned.

“So, I was thinking…” he continued distractedly as he screwed together two pieces of white wood. She wanted to tell him to be careful with the paint but knew it would end up with a rant about how he could still put furniture together without making a mess, thank you very much Effie. “How about Silas?”

Finding a name was at the top of her list, underlined twice and circled three times. She had notepads filled with potential names. The problem was, they didn’t seem to be able to agree on any.

“Silas.” she repeated, testing it out. She imagined herself calling her little boy on the playground and wrinkled her nose. “Why not Chryses? It means golden. I knew a Chryses, very good name…” He tossed her a look and she rolled her eyes, rubbing her belly. “Daddy doesn’t want you to have a pretty name, baby. He wants to call you shrimp all your life.”

“I want him to have a good name, a solid name.” he grumbled. “And you and I don’t have the same definition of pretty.”

She rocked slowly, drawing soothing circles on her belly, humming the tune Haymitch had taught her. Learning nurse rhymes and lullabies were on her list too but for now she was content with only that one. A part of her was impatient for that moment when she would sit there with her baby cradled close to her chest, rocking him to sleep. Another part of her was terrified.

“Hush little baby, don’t you cry…” she sang softly when she felt their son stir a bit too violently. He would kick her bladder again and she would have to rush to the bathroom and she was tired of that happening. “Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby. Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird...”

She did have the best voice from the two of them but she couldn’t help a soft smile when Haymitch absentmindedly picked up the tune, so focused on what he was doing with that crib she hardly thought he was aware of even singing.

“If that mockingbird won’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a golden ring…” The crib was finally starting to look like a crib and he frowned, testing it by pushing down a little. “And if that golden ring turns to brass, Papa’s gonna buy you a looking glass. And if that looking glass gets broke, Papa’s gonna buy you a billy goat…” More like a pack of geese, she thought, as he distractedly went on with the song up until the crib looked done and secured and he reached out for her, brushing his knuckles against the swell of her stomach. “And if that horse and cart fall down, you’ll still be the sweetest baby in town.”

“I love you.” she grinned. “And you are cute.”

“I’m not!” he sputtered.

“Oh, yes, you are…” she insisted, her grin only deepening when the tip of his ears and the back of his neck started reddening. “You will be a doting father…”

“I’ll count myself lucky if the kid doesn’t end up hating me.” he mumbled, turning away from her.

“If he ends up hating one of us, it won’t be you.” she whispered, averting her eyes. They fell on the cat rag doll on the dresser, on the embroidered I love my mommy that she used as a reminder, and she forced a cheer in her voice. “Now, are you one hundred percent certain the crib won’t collapse?”

“No. I thought our boy would like it better if it broke.” he deadpanned. “More fun.”

She whacked him with her notepad. “I am serious.”

“Well, so am I.” he scoffed, testing the crib’s resistance by placing his heavy tool box in it. “See? It holds.”

She pursed her lips. “This box is filthy. Nothing filthy gets near my son. That includes your birds, by the way.”

“My birds aren’t filthy.” he argued. “And what about your dog? He fucking jumped in a puddle of mud this morning, you’ve seen the state of him?”

She had. Which was why he had been exiled to the backyard for the time being even though it meant the geese honked twice more as usual. She was hoping playing in the snow would wash some of the mud away.

“Snowball is not my dog.” she huffed. “I am not the one who was begging for a puppy like a five years old.”

“But you’re the one who corrupted him with your pretty baby bullshit.” he accused. “You made him a mama’s boy.”

“Oh, are we jealous, Haymitch?” she teased, cooing a little. She trapped his arm in hers and pressed a kiss on his shoulder, breathing in the smell of the woods that clung to the wool from his morning walk with Snowball.

“You stole my dog.” he muttered with a pout.

“I thought it was my dog.” she taunted but shook her head. “Do not be ridiculous. Snowball loves you.”

“Maybe.” he mumbled, burying his hands in his pockets. “But give him a choice and he will stay with you.”

“Because I am pregnant and he feels it is his duty to guard me.” She gently bumped her belly with his side. “Don’t you think he knows?”

Dogs knew things. And they had the smartest puppy in Panem. Of course, he knew.

“Yeah.” Haymitch agreed, smirking a little. “You get once the shrimp’s here, it won’t be our dog anymore, yeah? I bet whatever you want, the puppy will be all over him.”

A puppy this size all over her baby didn’t seem safe but she kept her tongue on that front for now. They could always teach Snowball to be careful. The puppy was a fast learner.

“Are you ready to bet chocolate chipped mint ice cream with maybe some whipped cream and a side of orange jam on grilled toasts?” she asked innocently. “Oh, and that hot chocolate with cinnamon they have at the coffee shop?”

“That’s very specific, Princess.” he snorted. “Is that a random bet or is it your way of saying you’re having cravings again and I’m gonna have to rush all around town to get all that?”

She raised on tip toes to press two kisses on his cheek and one at the corner of his mouth. “Please, please, please?”

She was dying for mint ice cream and hot chocolate. And toasts. With orange jam.

The cravings were hitting her late in the pregnancy, later than most women. They had been happening steadily for a week or so and if Haymitch had been amused at first by the few innocent requests during the day, he hadn’t been so amused when she had pitched a tantrum at three am because she wanted strawberries and there were none to be found in the dead of winter.

He made a face. “That’s a lot of sugar, sweetheart…”

“You kept saying I needed to fatten up.” she pointed out.

She was certainly fattened up now. Well… She still wasn’t huge by someone else’s standard but she was a tiny person and she felt like she was ready to explode. The fact that there were still three months to go was frightening.

“Yeah, put on some weight, not give yourself diabetes…” he commented.

She couldn’t stop a flash of annoyance from passing on her face at getting denied. “The baby wants it.”

“The baby wants to be healthy.” he countered and, because she had let go of his arm and was now openly glaring, he lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Tell you what… You can have the ice cream and the hot chocolate but we drop the whipped cream and the jam.”

“I want the jam.” she growled. “On grilled toasts.”

Haymitch had never been good at admitting defeat but he knew for a fact she would brave the snow and trek into town herself if she had too. Cravings weren’t to be taken lightly.

“No whipped cream.” he insisted.

“Spoil joy.” she accused, pecking his mouth. “Hurry, I am starving.”

He rolled his eyes and breathed out a long suffering sigh to let her know just how impossible she was before stealing another kiss.

“You’ll be okay on your own?” he asked once they were downstairs and he was slipping on his coat. “I can stop by the kids’ and ask one of them to…”

“I will be fine.” she interrupted him firmly, as much to convince him as herself. She had hardly been left home alone since… Since Clay. “I am keeping Snowball anyway. He needs a bath.”

And she would be fine with her guard puppy. She had no doubt he would jump at the throat of anyone who would try to attack her.

“Don’t overdo it.” he warned.

The second he opened the back door, Snowball came rushing in, joyfully barking at being allowed back inside. She had to grab his collar to prevent him from running around. Even then, when he shook the water off his fur, he sent speckles everywhere. He was a mess of wet hair and tangled mud crusted fur.

“You are one very disgusting puppy.” she chided him. “Jumping in a puddle of mud like a ruffian. I expect more distinguished behavior from you.” The rebuke flew high over his head. He barked, wriggling his tail left and right in excitement, his head nuzzling her hand, pleading to be petted. When he realized Haymitch was heading out, he tried to follow but she held fast.  “Ah. Ah.” She clicked her tongue. “Bad puppies don’t get to go out. Bad puppies get baths.”

“Can’t wait for you to give the same lecture to our kid, sweetheart.” Haymitch snorted as a goodbye.

Convincing Snowball to follow her upstairs wasn’t terribly difficult, neither was ordering him to hop in the bathtub. Haymitch had laughed at her and claimed she would make the puppy soft by pampering him like that, he had mocked her when she had ordered boxes of dog shampoo from the city… But having made sure the dog accepted baths easily from the very first week had made it a lot easier to keep him clean.

He enjoyed it well enough even.

He had grown a lot in the eight weeks they had had him. He was bigger than most dogs one could find in the Capitol now.

It took her a good total of twenty minutes to clean him up, brush him, towel him and then blow dry his fur – easily his favorite part of the whole process, he liked to roll around while she did it.

She was really yearning for mint ice cream and her hot chocolate by the time she was done but Haymitch still wasn’t back. She wandered upstairs, looking for something to do…

Her eyes fell on the attic trap almost by accident. She had never been up there yet. She wondered what Haymitch stocked there before her mind flashed to years of boxed clothes she had bought for him and he had deemed too ridiculous or fancy for Twelve – she had given him dozens of suits every Game season but he had only kept the other stuff around the house: the comfortable pants and sweaters, the sweatpants, the underwear and only a few good jackets. With nothing else to do and unable to keep her nesting tendencies under check, she opened the trap and climb the pull down ladder – harder than she had thought it would be.

She panted for a bit once at the top, sneezing because of the amount of dust she had disturbed. Stuck at the bottom of the ladder, Snowball whimpered and then lied down, resigning himself to wait for her.

She struggled to find the switch and made a face once the old bulb slowly flickered to life.

The attic was a mess, messier perhaps than the rest of the house had been when she had moved in. There were a lot of boxes haphazardly piled up, some weren’t even properly closed, the cardboard was wavy… There was a damp musty smell and she wondered if the roof was leaking in some places because some of the boxes were stained at the bottom…

A quick check confirmed that the closest boxes were full of mostly still good clothes. Some clips from newspapers and pictures had been crammed with the suits he hadn’t wanted, making it somehow easy to identify to which year the box belonged. As far as she could tell, there was a box for each of her years as his escort. Before her time, it seemed none of the clothes that he had been given had pleased him because there were at least four or five for each season and she gave up on sorting that halfway through. She did find a picture of Haymitch and Chaff with their arms tossed around each other’s shoulders, grinning hard at the camera, looking not a breath older than twenty and twenty-five, that she pocketed absent-mindedly…

More interesting was the junk piled up at the far end of the mansard roof. She didn’t understand what it was at first, it was only when she walked closer, treading carefully because the floorboard was made of uneven rough planks, that she understood what she was looking at. Twisted metal and charred wood…

Burned furniture…

Burned furniture that had been gathering dust in the attic for almost twenty-eight years.

She reached for the closest piece of wood and then thought better of it, not certain the whole thing wouldn’t crumble at the softest of touch.

She identified a couple of chairs, what looked like a metallic child-sized bed frame, a crudely carved rocking horse cut in half… The rest she couldn’t quite make out but she was certain it had belonged to a small house in the Seam once upon a time. Her eyes kept darting back to the destroyed rocking horse and she couldn’t help but blink back tears at the thought of what had happened to his owner.

Haymitch’s brother had only been eleven. He would have had her age nowadays.

She reached for her stomach but the baby was asleep now, which she regretted. The closest box to the furniture was also clearly the oldest in the room. The cardboard was pliant under her fingers, defeated by humidity. She sat down to better look inside.

It didn’t contain much.

A few forks and knives warped by the heat of the blaze that had swallowed the house, some equally distorted knick knacks and a few blackened books with missing pages, covers or spines. She wondered how all that stuff had ended up there and her heart bled at the thought of a lost sixteen year old Haymitch haunting the charred remains of his family’s house, picking up everything he could find and clinging to those odd mementoes.

Her apartment had been ransacked enough during the war that there hadn’t been much of anything left for her to find when she had finally been released from the rebels’ custody. She understood what it felt like to lose everything: your belongings, your keepsakes, memories, objects that were sometimes the only thing you had left from someone now deceased… It had nearly destroyed her at thirty-five, she couldn’t imagine going through that at sixteen.

She shouldn’t have been going through those boxes. It was clear they hadn’t been touched in decades…

The next box she opened was from his old house too but more terrible in the sense that it was almost empty. She picked up a crumpled yellowish glassy paper before realizing it was a picture that had been half swallowed by the fire. Ironically enough, the only face that hadn’t melted on the picture was Haymitch’s – which was why it had been crumpled no doubt. He looked younger than she had ever seen him, around thirteen or fourteen maybe, boyish still yet not quite carefree…

There was a metal box that looked rusty but untouched by the flames and absolutely too chiseled for something coming from Twelve. She turned it around, not quite surprised to find the mark of a now out of fashion Capitol jewelry maker underneath. She struggled to open it, not quite surprised either to find two rings in there. One was shaped like an iris and had probably been destined to the woman who shared the flower’s name. The other was plainer, a spiral of dozens of smaller diamonds, so obviously an engagement ring that it made her rub her belly again, too aware that in another life, things might have turned out very differently. She closed the metal box and placed it back down. Those were gifts that Haymitch had never had an opportunity to give…

She found various yellowed sheets of paper, half burned or torn away, pressed into an empty notebook. Numbers mostly, grocery lists, single words that made no sense without the context the missing parts would have afforded… It took her a minute to realize it was probably his mother’s handwriting. Likewise, she found a faded blue exercise book that had clearly belonged to his brother. Hayden Abernathy. The name was written on the inside in neat pointy letters.

She brushed the tips of her fingers against it, wishing with all her heart things had been different. No matter what it would have meant for the two of them… Haymitch would have been much happier not being the example. If he had only been allowed to keep his family…

She placed the exercise book aside and reached for the last item, an old warped tin can that might have belonged in a kitchen at some point. She opened it, expecting… something, anything… but not ashes.

She almost dropped the box.

“It’s not them.”

She startled and jumped, only managing by sheer reflexes not to spill the contents of the box. She placed a hand on her chest, trying to convince her heart to stop hammering as she glared at Haymitch.

“Do not creep up on me like that!” she snapped.

“I banged the door, the dog made a racket and I fucking called you three times.” he snarled, just as irritated as she was. “What the hell are you doing snooping around here anyway?”

Had he called her? She had been so wrapped up in this weird moment…

He was tense, in full fight or flight mode, and she licked her lips, her annoyance fading, knowing she needed to tread carefully.

“I was not snooping.” she denied.

“Could have fooled me.” he sneered.

“I apologize. I truly did not mean to intrude. I just… I saw the boxes and… I didn’t realize what these ones were until I had opened them.” She put the lid back and cautiously placed the box down where she had found it before trying to get up – something far more difficult than it used to be.

He hauled her up with a hand at her elbow and the other under her armpit, his face unreadable.

“Your snack’s downstairs.” he told her and turned away without a single look for the burned mementoes of his past.

He went down first and made sure she walked down the ladder without problem but he didn’t say a word. She tried to lighten the mood once they were in the kitchen and she spotted the chocolate chipped mint ice cream, the orange jam and the steaming cup of hot chocolate with cinnamon branded with the Clarkes’ coffee shop logo, thanking him cheerfully by kissing the corner of his lips. He suffered the kiss but didn’t encourage her to do more or joke about how cheap a date she was.

He grabbed the second cup that had been abandoned on the counter and sipped from it, paying her no attention as he watched the backyard through the window over the sink. She could smell the rich flagrance of black coffee from where she was sitting but she didn’t complain, spooning some ice cream directly from the tub instead. His back was on her, tension obvious in the line of his shoulders, and she bore it as long as she could.

The clever approach would have been to drop the matter entirely, to pretend nothing had happened and let him come back to her on his own terms, once he would have calmed down. That was what she would have done a few months earlier, not force the issue in fear he would run away from her.

But since the baby…

They had been good at talking the issues through – well, maybe not good but at least they had been trying. And that was a particular issue she had though he had laid to rest.

“Those ashes…” she ventured eventually.

“Told you. It’s not theirs.” he cut her off with a warning growl. “Probably not, anyway.”

“Haymitch…” she said, taking pain to keep her tone neutral.

“Their bodies were charred, alright?” he spat. “The mayor said… They buried little more than bones. I don’t know what I was thinking… I just grabbed what I could before they cleaned up to build another shack. And I thought… I thought… In the off-chance that…”

The pain in his voice was much more than she could handle, the way it broke even though it had been decades…

She moved in a flash, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades. “I understand.”

He untangled himself from her arms and took his distance. “No, you don’t.” He shook his head. “You don’t.”

“Alright.” she offered, lifting both hands in a peaceful gesture because she could see he was getting worked up and because she wasn’t sure they hadn’t moved right out of upset and right into trigger territory. “I am sorry. I should not have…” 

“No, you shouldn’t have.” he sneered, rubbing his eyes. “I need some air.”

“You just came home.” she argued.

“You want me to spell it, fine, then I need some space.” he snapped.

He grabbed his coat and slammed the door and she was left staring at it, not sure if she should follow or not.

She just hoped he wouldn’t go straight for a bottle.

At some point, the children arrived for dinner but their happy chatter slowly vanished when they realized Haymitch wasn’t going to show up. She invented an excuse, something about someone needing his help with a fence – a ridiculous flimsy excuse they saw right through in about a minute – and declared they should eat without waiting for him.

By ten, he still wasn’t back and Peeta tactfully asked if she wanted him to look around for him – at the bar was implied but not uttered.

“I am sure he is fine.” she promised again and again, to the children and then, once they had left, to the puppy and their unborn son.

She went ahead with her nightly routine, taking her time in the shower, hoping against all odds that he would be waiting for her in the bedroom when she would walk out of the bathroom. He still wasn’t back when she got into bed, so she exceptionally allowed Snowball to climb in with her, needing the cuddles the dog was always too happy to provide.

The baby was restless once more, having a mad party in her uterus, kicking and rolling.  

“Shh, he will come back…” she whispered, slipping a hand under her nightgown to stroke the tight skin of her belly. “That’s the thing about your father… He always comes back. Hush little baby don’t you cry…”

She hoped to calm the baby but she ended up singing herself to sleep…

She felt the light touch of his fingers brushing her hair away from her face and her eyelids fluttered open. He was wandering around the room, trying not to wake her as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the drawer. A glance at the clock confirmed it was late, past midnight.

“Go back to sleep.” he muttered when he realized she was watching him.

“Did you drink?” she asked, unable to hold it up any longer, just as he lifted the covers up to get in bed.

He froze. “Seriously, Effie?”

It wasn’t such a stupid question in her opinion.

“I was worried.” she argued. “I thought maybe… Where did you disappear to, then?”

His face closed up and he tossed the covers back down with a sneer. “Where my old house used to be.”

“Oh.” she winced, feeling like an idiot. He snatched his woolen dressing gown from where he had tossed it at the foot of the bed that morning and turned away. She sat up, confused. “Where are you going?”

“To sleep on the couch.” he declared.

“No, Haymitch, don’t be ridiculous…” she pleaded but he was already gone. Snowball hesitated for a moment and then jumped off the bed and paddled after him.

She was reasonably certain the issue wouldn’t be forgotten the next morning and she didn’t really know how they had gotten there.

A few hours earlier he had been singing lullabies to her stomach and now…

Now it was a mess again.