#there is hayffie everywhere for those with the eyes to see

[mirixmoya]

hello friends welcome to GRADING TORTURED POET SOCIETY SONGS BASED ON HOW EASILY I COULD TURN THEM INTO A HAYFFIE FIC (PART TWO) i hope u enjoy.

(you can find PART ONE here, for anyone interested!)

i. the black dog: 8/10. excellent directly-post-war hayffie song. captures a moment when they haven't quite re-connected yet, but they're both dying without eachother. "my longings stay unspoken, and i may never open up the way i did for you" "six weeks of breathing clean air, i still miss the smoke" is all very them. a really effective illustration of how the world feels like a different place in heartbreak, it's desolate and aching, which is all very very hayffie.

ii. imgonnagetyouback: 9/10. this song is bananas crazy, but so is effie. so it fits. it reeks of the turbulent, on-again-off-again, boundaryless, situationship parts of hayffie. once again, i think this could be a VERY good directly-post-war vibe. "i can tell when somebody still wants me" "you'll find that you were never not mine" "even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you" are all crazy thought processes which i can 100% imagine effie having.

iii. the albatross: 7/10. i know everyone is really stuck on this being a lucy gray / katniss / snow parallel song, but i see the hayffie vision! i think it would be a good song to juxtapose all of effie's relationships with capitol men against her relationship with haymitch. how is she made to behave by love? how does her fame + position loom over her relationships? effie is mythologized by the men in her life, almost made unreal by their perceptions of her, and it's haymitch who makes her real again. if any of that makes sense.

iv. chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: 8/10. EVERYONE HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE, but i have this vision of really angsty post-canon hayffie where they try to make a proper relationship work, they really do, but they just... can't. but there is an ache to this failure. a regret. they thought that they would always be able to come back to this, to eachother, but they discover that life is actually a series of closed doors. things change over time. they're forced to grieve this past version of their relationship that they simply don't have access to anymore. "you turned me into an idea of sorts, you needed me but you needed drugs (ALCOHOL) more" "could it be enough to just float in your orbit?" "if you want to break my cold, cold heart, say you loved me" ... yeah, the angst potential is endless.

v: how did it end?: 7/10. ONCE AGAIN, excellent bones for an angsty post-canon 'well, it didn't work out' hayffie vibe. good general thg imagery with "lost the game of chance, what are the chances?" + "the empathetic hunger descends" etc etc. "we were blind to unforeseen circumstances" very very them.

vi: so high school: 5/10. i feel like i could twist it to be hayffie if i tried really hard. like maybe a post-canon movie-verse traumaless fluff vibe where everything just falls into place. "no one's ever had me, not like you" is a very good line for hayffie tho.

vii: i hate it here: 8/10. excellent potential for a pre-canon / during-canon hayffie where effie uses their relationship as her refuge from the rest of the world, it's the only place she can truly be herself. the precocious child stuff, the debutant stuff, "i'm lonely but i'm good, i'm bitter but i swear i'm fine", all feels veryyy effie. this song would also be a good framework for effie being incapable of articulating her relationship with haymitch to other people, the magic of it is lost on them, it comes out clunky and awkward. but SHE knows it's real.

viii: thanK you aIMee: 2/10. not a hayffie song. but i feel like i could make it about effie & The Other Escorts if i really tried.

ix: i look in people's windows: 6/10. listen, this album is just an post-canon hayffie gold mine. "i had died the tiniest death" (the war) "i'm afflicted by the not knowing" (her relationship with haymitch) "what if your eyes looked up and met mine, one more time" (they can try again, can't they?). the anxious, almost neurotic ruminating is very effie to me.

x. the prophecy: 10/10. THE HAYFFIE SONG! if you saw the twitter edit before it got taken down, you KNOW. "don't want money, just someone who wants my company" "i'm so afraid i've sealed by fate" ... devastating. i think the illusions to prophecy & fate & this lack of control all play into her role in The Games really well. the idea that she's being punished for her sins by this lack of love. so much of effie is controlled and precise, i think the fact that this one thing (her relationship with haymitch) is sooo out of her control would drive her insane. perhaps insane enough to beg on her knees...

xi. cassandra: 4/10. not really hayffie focused, but good potential for one of my more politically focused fics. maybe the year of the 75th, leading right up to the rebellion. cinna & portia strike me as very cassandra-coded.

xii. peter: 1/10. not hayffie. maybe seneca & effie relationship study, but def not hayffie.

xiii. the bolter: 10/10. PERFECT EFFIE SONG! NO NOTES! SHE IS THE BOLTER! a precocious child with a "quite bewitching face" who is "splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless"??? welcome back effie trinket! the chorus is very hayffie to me. i'm thinking pre-canon early affair vibes. we get all the fun contrast between her relationship with haymitch and her relationship with the capitol "trophy hunters". the bridge could not be more effie if it tried, "hearts are hers for the breaking, there's an escape in escaping". she falls through the ice (the war) but don't worry folks, she comes out alive!

xiv. robin: 0/10. i genuinely have no idea what i could do with this song. sorry.

xv. the manuscript: 3/10. potential for post-canon living-happily-ever-after hayffie but with effie reflecting on her past relationships with capitol men. there's lots of illusions to grooming and the imprint that age-gap relationships leave behind that i think could really work.

[gudvina]

the moments hayffie realized they were in love with each other

Of strawberry tarts and digging nails

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Serie: of Wildflowers and Ivies.

Can also be read on AO3! <3

67th Hunger Games, part one.

She didn’t enjoy having to walk around District Twelve. She felt out of place, she stood out too much with her colourful clothes and her wigs, and people stared a lot. Of course, it was very impolite, but she didn’t have time to lecture strangers. She’d searched for Haymitch everywhere, in the house, around the village, and she still couldn’t find him.

The reaping was in 5 hours, and the man was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t until she reached something that looked like an abandoned warehouse, bustling with people and merchant stands, that she saw him. He was sitting on a chair, eating what looked like soup from a bowl. It wasn’t her ideal place, but she was there, and he’d been rude not to wait at home.

She entered, making her way through the crowd, never losing sight of him. When she got to him, she waited for him to look up and acknowledge her, tapping her shoe on the tinned floor, but he clearly hadn’t expected her to be there and it took him a moment.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Had she been anywhere else, she would have laughed. Instead, she just chuckled.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, Haymitch, not only did you break Hosting Rules by going out when you knew you’d have a guest to wait for, now you also greet me in the worst way possible!”

“You shouldn’t be here”.

“Oh, I think here is exactly where I should be. That’s where you are”. It was obvious, wasn’t it? She looked closer at him and realized he was looking around, as if to check if anyone was looking at them. And of course they were, she was the only one dressed decently in that place!

The old woman behind the stand, who she suspected cooked the weird soup he was eating, was certainly looking.

Her face fell when a sneaking suspicion rose inside her. Was he ashamed? It wasn’t like no one knew that they worked together, it was her job to prepare everything in occasion of the Reaping, so she hadn’t thought much of searching for him. But he looked concerned and now she felt humiliated.

He was ashamed of her. She was okay behind close doors, a fun distraction maybe, but outside… She was aware they were nothing, that to him she wasn’t nothing more than the escort he slept around with, but seeing the signs hurt.

To avoid making it worse she wore her escort smile brighter.

“Alright, you finish your soup and I’ll wait for you at the Village. Later!” she quipped a little too enthusiastically and turned around, retracing her steps. She left the weird marketplace- or whatever it was- and strutted back to the Victors’ Village, trying to be quick on her heels.

When she passed the Gates she sat down on the fountain at the centre of the Village, trying to look at the at the rippling water. Trying, because it was blurry due to the tears she refused to shed.

It was in that moment that she couldn’t ignore the truth. She’d known it all along, but now she felt it even more. She loved him. She loved who he was, his fine points and his flaws. And she’d been so stupid because she was never supposed to fall in love with him, and now she was reaping the results of her naivety. She heard steps behind her, so she proceeded to blink her tears away, breathing deeply.

“You shouldn’t have gone there”.

She turned and glared at him, charged with anger. Who did he think he was?

“Why? Do I look so ridiculous that it’s so bad to be seen with me?”

“Well, you do look ridiculous with those… dots? on your cheeks, but it’s not that” he said, and his voice was so even that it irritated her more. What was his reason, then?

“What, then? Is there a future Mrs Abernathy I don’t know about? Because if there is you can just forget ever touching me again!”.

When she was done speaking, she had expected him to leave her with her anger, maybe throwing a cutting remark to end the conversation. But he simply laughed. A roaring, exhilarating laugh, a real one. And it was for her. All for her, not because of a joke from Chaff, not because of someone’s lopsided wig or odd dress. Because of her.

She couldn’t help laughing as well, joining him despite her previous anger. She loved him so much.

“You really think that is a problem? You shouldn’t go around the District without Peacekeepers with you. It could be dangerous and then it’d be my job to kick someone’s ass. Don’t make me do it. Now let’s get inside, I bought a strawberry tart from the bakery. Because ‘hosting rules’ or whatever”.

“Well, it’d be only polite, given how badly I was received. A guest should never have to wait for the host!”

“Whatever let’s go” he said, offering his arm which she took gladly.

He smelled of alcohol, his house was a mess, and she knew she would end up nagging him to put on decent clothes, but for now it didn’t matter. She’d seen him laugh and he’d bought her a tart. Maybe daylight wasn’t made for them, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the little things.

67th Hunger Games, part two.

Dawn came fast, casting a dimmed purple light in the bedroom. Their bodies were tangled together, covered only by a flimsy white sheet, as they swayed and rocked back and forth. It was slow, lazy. They had been in bed for hours at this point. They started in the early hours of the night, alternating drowsy rest with sex.

That year their tributes died in the bloodbath, and since their stylists were often busy with whatever meeting, they had almost the whole day to themselves. He’d spent the evening with Chaff, drinking at the sponsors’ lunge, and when he came back, he made a beeline for her room. He had his way with her like she always allowed him, especially after losing the tributes so early.

It had begun with rough handling and earthquaking orgasms, but gradually turned softer. He lied to himself, saying it was just the fatigue taking over, but that was all it was: a lie. Being inside her was becoming an addiction. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

“Effie” he groaned, sinking into her again.

“I can’t” she held him closer to her, her limbs shaking.

“You can take it”.

She whimpered and let her nails dig on his shoulder blade, as her body’s movements became more erratic. He could feel her walls tightening around him, and her legs shaking.

What perplexed him was that it wasn’t that different from anything they’d ever done, he knew her body so well by now that it should have made it boring. Or at least so he thought. Four years. A four years long affair that had started after her tumultuous start as an escort, one he’d made frustrating and vexing.

He was used to Lavinia’s ways. To be left alone unless strictly necessary, especially when it came to his drinking, but Effie was different. She was bubbly, determined, and, even though he’d tried his best to discourage her, she was unbeatable. Nothing deterred her unless it was truly impossible.

And even then, he wasn’t quite sure flying was impossible for her, if she put her mind to it.

Irritation had turned into a sexual tension so thick one could cut it, and after much fighting they both caved in. They’d told each other it was a mistake, but then it happened again. And again, gradually becoming a thing. If it was a mistake, they seemed keen to their errant ways.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew that what they were doing was dangerous, if not outright stupid, that it shouldn’t be anything more than it was, but he felt… something. Want, a feeling he’d never felt so strongly. And what did he want? More. More of her, everything that made this hellish woman what she was.

Looking into her blue eyes, that were hazy with pleasure, he tried to keep eye contact as he slid deeper inside her. He saw her lips part and her face contract slightly, her nails now digging on his waist. His hand travelled down to her core, and it took only a little teasing to have her come undone with a squeal that she tried to muffle with her hand.

Then he also reached his peak, coming inside her with a grunt. Her grip on him was softer now, and she soothed his body with gentle caresses. In the wee hours of the day, their bodies still trembling with the aftermath of their union, he realized.

It was the reason he didn’t want her to get the promotion, the reason he glared at Finnick every time he suggested switching escorts, the reason he’d felt relieved when her relationship with Crane ended. The reason his heart leapt when she smiled. The reason he was distressed when she was, even if he didn’t want her to see it.

He couldn’t bring himself to admit it, but it was there. It was that feeling that meant death, it was that feeling that could put her in danger. And yet she held him so tightly, kissed him so sweetly. As if he wasn’t cursed, as if touching him was the most natural thing in the world, and not something that could be very well fatal. Like she wasn’t afraid.

When he drew back to look at her, he saw something in her eyes. It laid there, unspoken, the proof of her own feelings. She stroked his jaw and he let her, transfixed by the simplicity with which she bore what she felt.

They were both fucked. This was the moment he should have gotten up, taken his clothes and ran away from there, but he knew it wasn’t going to last. He would end up between her legs the next morning, his body acting on his feelings despite common sense.

So he just kissed her, claiming her lips with a kiss more gentle than they could afford. There was nothing left to do.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Intoxication (part 2)

(NSFW. Sexual content. 🔥🔥 Intense Hayffie experimenting with emotional drugs as an alternative to forced sobriety in District 13. Hayffie trying to have a sexual relationship without falling in love, and basically failing at the latter. The tattoo I created for Effie is revealed.)

“‘I’LL be her escort,’ he said. ‘I’LL look out for her,’ he said. ‘But I can’t promise she won’t get a scratch or two,’ ...Ha! The audacity to wink at me with those eyes and all the places they’ve been. How patronizing! Why did I expect HIM to keep ANY of those promises!” Effie ranted to herself as she paced her living quarters. She paused long enough to glance at her reflection in the small circular mirror. I’M the fool for trusting him.

It’s not like Effie would have escorted Katniss to District 2 or anywhere outside the relative safety of 13, but she should have INSISTED on... something. Though her heart knew that nothing was safe anymore.

“Thank god for Cinna. Still protecting our victor from beyond the grave. ...I hope somehow he’s in a better place than this.”

When the broadcast had shown Katniss shot down, Effie feared the worst, even knowing the design of the Mockingjay suit.

“What if one of those bullets had hit her neck? Her head? What if the loyalists had gunned down everyone in that tunnel?... Everyone except for Haymitch, of course. He’s preserved by a quarter century of alcohol. The only thing not bulletproof is his liver.” Her rant continued, but dark circles beneath her eyes told a more complex tale of worry. Effie hadn’t been able to sleep until they were back in 13.

She’d seen Katniss in the hospital. “Bruised ribs. A bruised lung! That child has already been bruised more than anyone should have to be in a lifetime. She deserves better. She will ALWAYS deserve better.”

Usually when Effie spoke to her ‘mirror on the wall’ about deserving things, she was thinking of herself, but not now. She realized — she believed — that she didn’t have the capacity to make the kinds of sacrifices required to be truly deserving.

She thought again of Cinna, wondering how his eyes had opened within the Capitol. She thought about her victors.

She had passed Haymitch in the hospital earlier without saying a word. She was angry with him for making promises that couldn’t be kept and angry with him for not keeping those impossible promises. She was more angry with herself for worrying about him and not being able to stop that feeling. And she was angry with herself for looking at him with her terror coated in the relief of seeing him unharmed.

She knew he’d recognized the look because he hadn’t pressed her for conversation. He’d let her walk away and fume by herself. Now she was angry too that he hadn’t followed her and angry with herself for thinking that he might have.

Even still, the knock on her door after an hour of pacing didn’t surprise her. She took her time opening it, glancing first in the mirror again. What am I doing? What am I even doing here?

She opened the door regardless. She didn’t stop herself. “What!?”

“Well, hello to you too, sweetheart.”

She didn’t ask him in, but she stepped to the side and left the door open. Familiar with Effie’s brand of agitation and nonsense, he saw the invitation for what it was. He ventured inside, sliding the door closed behind him.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She pretended to busy herself with clothing and accessories on the table. “No.”

“Do you want to just be angry with me.”

“Yes.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

He stood beside her without touching. “What’s happening here?”

“Preparations for Finnick and Annie’s wedding...”

He captured her wrist and asked again, holding her pulse with his thumb. “No. What’s happening HERE?”

She tried to pull free, and he wouldn’t let go. “Haymitch!”

He stepped closer and loosened his grip. She didn’t withdraw her hand; she let him touch her, feeling exactly what her heart was doing. “Damn you.” She looked in his eyes this time and saw the reflection of her own intensity.

The wildness came out all at once and they were kissing. It wasn’t calm or familiar like the night before the Quarter Quell. This was not about comfort.

She bit his lip. Inadvertently? It didn’t matter. His mouth was rough with her too.

The bite stung. He tasted the metallic flavor on her tongue. His blood or hers? That didn’t matter either.

“Where?” he asked, “These bunks are so damn small.”

She knew what he was asking. “Anywhere... everywhere.”

He shoved her against a wall, “Haymitch! These walls are thin. The neighbors will hear.”

“The floor then,” he said, unbuttoning her shirt.

“The floor!? We’re not animals!”

“Yeah, we are,” he muttered into her mouth. She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t contradict him.

“The table,” he suggested.

“Civilized people EAT there.”

“Fine!” He let go of her, frustrated and in the frustration he just wanted her more. “This was a bad idea anyway.”

His irritation was erotic, and there’s no way she was letting this feeling go to waste. She positioned herself between him and the door. “If this is a bad idea, then why does it feel so good? ...Stay.”

The boiling reduced to a simmer. He reached behind her to make sure the door had latched. Then he pinned her against it, and methodically began taking off her clothes, starting with the turban. He interrupted her objection, “Shhh. No talking.”

Her hair fell to her shoulders, and he leaned in to smell it. “This is my favorite part of you.”

“Well, don’t get used to it.”

“We’ll see.”

“There are other parts of me you’re going to like more.”

Unbuttoning more of her shirt, he glimpsed a tattoo below her left breast. — a red tree branch scattered with colorful leaves shaped like feathers. The colors were natural: a bluebird rather than Caesar’s former hair, morning sky before rain rather than cotton candy. The branch curved with her breast and continued somewhere within her shirt. He traced the curve. “What do we have here?” Wanting more of her breasts could wait a moment.

“Something one of a kind.”

Like you. He didn’t say. Instead he pushed her shirt to the floor, wanting to see the rest. The branch transitioned into red ribbons, flowing and crisscrossing down her side and disappearing into the waistband of her pants. He tugged those to her hips, far enough to trace the ribbons which crossed the small of her back, hugging more of her curves. The ribbons separated at her spine, ending in a tiny pair of dancing shoes in the hollow of her sacrum.

“Jesus, Effie...” Capitol people are known for tattoos, but this one was unexpected. He wanted everything with her at once. “... I want to fuck you.”

“Shhh,” she mimicked his earlier statement, “No talking. ...It’s my turn.”

To hell with buttons. She pulled up his shirt, and he lifted his arms to encourage. The shirt caught on his chin, so she yanked it until it was free. It fell to the floor with hers.

“Are you trying to take my head off?”

“That depends on which head.” She toyed with the button of his pants.

He pulled her to him, unhooking her bra, stripping it away, and learning the shape of her breasts in his palms. Kissing her again would have meant taking his eyes off her body, and he didn’t want to do that yet. Without an alcohol-induced haze, everything was sharp along the edges, including his desire for her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced this quality of feeling. How much of this could he say without saying too much. Then again, maybe they were better off not talking.

The fine hair on his chest and stomach tickled her, gold and silver. Her smile wouldn’t stop.

“You’re beautiful,” he caressed her cheeks.

She knew.

“I’m a sure thing tonight, sweetheart,” she teased him with his sarcastic endearment.

He knew.

Still, he wanted this to stay as good as it felt right now. It had been longer for him than he cared to admit since the last time he’d had sex, and maybe the only time in 25 years that he wasn’t doing this drunk. Plus this was the first time with Effie. They’d been dancing around it for quite a while, and he wanted it good.

“Come here.” He lead her to one of the bunks. This time she didn’t object to the location. He could have fucked her against the door, as ready as she was.

They stripped down pants. His body was gorgeous. She stroked him in lieu of telling him so. “I don’t usually do this naked,” she said.

“And I don’t usually do this sober,” he admitted. His sexual experiences with women were usually just for him. The other wasn’t particularly relevant. But Effie was relevant, even when she was ignoring him. As her strokes turned to tugs. She definitely was not ignoring him.

He grabbed her waist and lifted her up onto the bunk. She wrapped her legs around his back, keeping him in front of her.

He kissed along the length of her tattoo from her breast to her hip, then slid his hand along the curves of the rest, stroking where he knew those dancing shoes lived in the hollow of her sacrum.

Why the shoes? He wondered without asking. He’d ask her later if she didn’t tell him first.

He rested his forehead against her chest and slid his palms up her thighs to the apex. He brushed against her with his thumbs circling.

She hadn’t expected this gentleness. Like this, he terrified her. She was too full of feeling.

“How do you want this, sweetheart?”

Keep going, exactly like this, she thought, but she denied the impulse. “Rough and impersonal,” she said, “...I don’t want to fall for you.”

He met her gaze, surprised again. She was pleading, but he kept touching her the same, even more tenderly. “Rough I can do, but not falling for me is up to you. I can’t make any promises.”

“That’s exactly why this can’t be too personal.” She said it with her hands behind his neck, stroking his hairline with her fingertips. Her touch tingled down his arms and legs and to his groin. He wondered if he could come like this, with just her hands in his hair.

This was personal. She was right. This wasn’t the time to fall for anybody, especially a Capitol girl who he knew all too well to be irritating as hell and now incredibly attractive in nakedness.

Effie moaned softly. “Are you going to fuck me or make me come in your hands because I’m close, honey.”

They needed to switch this up. Like now.

“Get on your knees,” he told her.

She hesitated, not used to men making demands of her.

“...If you want this rough, then get on your knees.”

She lifted her legs onto the bunk, and complied. He was quickly behind her grazing the length of her tattoo with his palm, and teasing her before slipping inside, all the way to her cervix.

The fit was perfect, curving to just the right spot. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying so, but her body betrayed her, with pleasure building so fast.

He clutched her hips, digging in and moving with a force that she certainly couldn’t call gentle. The ribbons of her tattoo danced in his hand. It was such a turn on, and curiosity got the better of him, “Why the red shoes.”

“To remind me that I make my own life... Oh, god... Haymitch...”

“‘God,’ works just fine, sweetheart,” he taunted as she clenched around him.

“Oh, you arrogant fuck... Oh, god...” she couldn’t help but say it again.

He reached around her body and flicked the sweet spot, without tenderness.

In the mix of pleasure and pain, she exploded with an intensity that wouldn’t be a secret from her neighbors after all.

“Honey, I like the way you make your own life,” he groaned, caressing the image of those tiny red shoes in the hollow at the base of her spine. It was erotic — the bit of gentleness that he couldn’t resist offering, the feeling of her skin, his sober awareness of her orgasm, the way her hair brushed against her neck as he moved inside her.

This was personal. This was just as personal as looking into her eyes. It wasn’t the how of it. It was her.

He tried to make it last because maybe this was a one time thing and this was all he’d have of her. And maybe they would be better off that way.

He didn’t think to ask, is this okay? This felt so much better than okay. He didn’t think to ask, where should I come? All at once it was just happening, and inside her was the only place he wanted to be. The release was almost better than liquor on his tongue, down his throat, into his veins. For a moment she was the best thing he’d felt.

As he came down from the high and his body eased, he could feel her crying.

Shit. He pulled out and lay beside her.

“Hey.” His voice was tender now. Screw what she’d said about the need for roughness. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head ‘no’ and laid it beside his.

He wiped his thumb across her cheeks catching her tears.

“I thought you might be dead,” she said, “Both of you. When Katniss was shot and the transmission stopped. I couldn’t know what was happening, and I thought maybe...”

“I’m here.” He kissed her cheeks, tasting salt and faint flowers, like a remnant of the froofy Capitol cocktail she used to be, and like what he imagined of the seashore. He wondered if she’d ever been there.

“We’re a team. ...I don’t want to lose you.”

He slid his hand up her spine and held her with their foreheads touching. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

Shit. This was so goddamn personal. They gave into the desire to let it be so. Who kissed who first was irrelevant. There was no clashing of teeth or tasting blood — just silk, like feathery leaves and ribbons, and dangerous words they thought but didn’t say.

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, Chap. 21

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

I hope you like angst on your fanfic sandwish :) Leave a comment and tell me your thoughts!

Also: (spoiler not a spoiler) I included the Capitol anthem from the new THG book “The ballad of songbirds and snakes” but it doesn’t give away the story so it’s safe to read.

Chapter 21 The betrayal

*ring ring*

… What?

*swallows back a sob* Haymitch? Haymitch, it’s me.

Ah. There she is. Long time no princess. What can you want?

I’m sorry. I know I should have called you a long time ago.

Oh, I remember that voice. Effs Trinket needs a shoulder to cry on, huh? So she goes to good ol’ Haymitch. Course. *takes a mouthful of something* It’s too bad mine’re all the way down here then. Both of ‘em.

I can take the train. If I go now I ought to be…

Here in a day. Yeah. And I’m supposed to just welcome you with open arms?

Haymitch…

That’s my name.

I really must speak to you. It’s im…

What for? I’m a dead-end drunk, remember?

I’ve never called…

No, that’s right. Your words were much fancier.

I know you’re angry. This is not easy for me either but…

I’m fine, sweetheart. Just fine. Can’t ruin a life that’s already ruined, right? I s’pose you want all your crap back? Yeah, the kids have it. They think you’re gonna come back, you know. “When hell freezes over”, am I right? But you know Peeta. I’ll just tell ‘em to send it over straight away so you never have to set your foot here ever again. Great, huh?

You left me, Haymitch! I didn’t want you to go! I didn’t want it to end!

Could’ve fooled me. *twists the top of another bottle* And don’t you worry your pretty head, sweetheart. You’ll get over it. Trust me. Soon you’re gonna find some nice, wholesome guy who does exactly what he’s told. It’ll be all: “Yes, Euphemia. No, Euphemia. Whatever you say, Eu…”

Don’t call me that! Haymitch, please! Mrs. Q, she… she tried to… I need you! If you care about me at all…

Oh, I cared about you. A lot. More than a lot. Should’ve fucking known better. So why don’t you call Plutarch or Octavia or any other of your friends and just leave me alone. Cause I owe you nothing. Nothing at all.

*sobs* I’m so stupid.

Have a wonderful life, Eff. I’m sure you’re gonna be deliriously happy.

*toot toot*

xXx

There was still some broth left. Katniss slipped her flask into a jacket pocket and poured a second mug.

The storm had finally blown itself out, for now anyway, but one look through the window quelled all hope for a hunting day. No point roaming the woods for sustenance when the snow lay waist-deep.

She fed Buttercup her last piece of bacon and carried the mug into the living room.

“I’m going to the bakery.”

Nightmares had made Haymitch kick all the cushions off the couch again. He lay on his side with the knife cradled against his chest like some scary version of a teddy bear.

“There’re scrambled eggs if you want it,” Katniss said. “And some bacon. I left it on the stove.”

She couldn’t set the mug down. Wasn’t enough space on the coffee table and Haymitch grunted at the sound of glass against glass when she tossed the empties in the container by the door.

He muttered something she couldn’t make sense of and pulled his arm up over his eyes to ward off the light from the one lamp. “Drink the broth at least.” She placed the cup at arm’s reach and was gone.

It was almost a month now since Haymitch set up camp on their couch. One day mid-dinner he just staggered into their living room and he hadn’t left since.

He was decent enough to not completely trash the place but still, you didn’t want Haymitch Abernathy for a roommate. He was hard enough to deal with nextdoor.

Katniss couldn’t stand it being at home these days. Haymitch woke both her and Peeta almost every night with the agonized sounds he made in his sleep and daytime was no better.

Their mentor, hollow-eyed and shrunken on the couch – it all reminded her too much of her mother and Katniss fled when she couldn’t help. She kept to the woods as much as possible and if not the woods the bakery or the Hob or Hazelle’s.

Anywhere but home.

When they finally asked him if it wasn’t time he moved back to his own house, they cleaned it for him, Haymitch only shot them a long look, like a dog they had just mistreated and rolled over so he faced the couch.

“She’s there,” that’s all he muttered.

And what could they do? Not tie him up and dump him somewhere. He was their mentor and they already owed him more than they could ever repay.

They had known something was off the moment they got home, the day before Christmas Eve.

They walked up the old pathway, loaded with bags and the first thing they saw when they passed Haymitch’s house was the Christmas tree lying in the snow, still green and frosty and covered with ornaments. Like someone had just thrown it out the door.

And it wasn’t the only thing.

In the ever-growing light they saw the ground littered with items. Towels and bed sheets and bath robes lay in bundles, all frozen stiff. Soggy, old newspapers and magazines too, blown apart by the frisk wind.

Her clothes were everywhere, along with an endless number of bottles and jars and other beauty products half-buried in the snow. They found napkins and slippers, perfume bottles and pillows. Hairbrushes, tea cups, blankets, curtains, shower curtains, even anagrammed towel hangers attached to chunks of the bathroom wall.

The state of his house was even worse, like a twister had gone through it. They asked him about it but Haymitch was a closed book.

Then, of course they found Effie’s note on their kitchen table and it wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened in their short absence.

They wanted to help. Of course they did. Only, how? Wasn’t like they could change what had already happened or say anything to make it better.

Not that Peeta didn’t try to talk to him. Talk at him. Finally Katniss stepped up and said, not unkindly,

“Just leave him be.”

Haymitch had said next to nothing the whole time but when Katniss and Peeta turned to leave he stopped them in their tracks.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said and looked Peeta straight in the eye; a feat considering how intoxicated he was. “You don’t get any ideas ‘bout calling the Capitol, alright. I mean it, boy. This is my wreckage.”

Sun set early this time of year. For the remaining hours, Katniss and Peeta dug for treasures in Haymitch’s garden, until they had to squint in order to see. And even then some of Effie’s belongings would probably not be found until Spring.

They brought it all back to their house. Silently, Peeta filled the sink with hot water and suds and washed the plates and glasses and tea cups while Katniss stood at the ready with a towel, both of them deep in thought.

Back in District 4, when Peeta gathered her in bed, he had teased her about their cosy, up-coming Christmas. Painted her pictures of Effie plaguing both her and Haymitch with her bright holiday spirit and bringing them gifts – wrapped in regular wrappings so she didn’t technically break Haymitch’s rule of “no Christmas presents.”

Dinner at the Hob would follow where Effie would spend about two thirds of it clucking over Haymitch’s table manners and Haymitch stating he should just hire her voice to cut his turkey for him and “we’re not doing this again, that’s for sure”, all the while not quite able to keep his hands to himself.

“And then they’ll top the evening with a see-through excuse like ‘I’m gonna go get a bottle’ or ‘I am simply exhausted. Do you mind if we call it a night?’,” Peeta finished and grinned at Katniss who squirmed like a worm in hot ashes.

It just felt good to make fun of their mentor being happy for once. Happy with Effie.

Now, everything was in ruins and tomorrow would be just like any other day, with Haymitch drunk and getting drunker.

Not that Christmas had ever been a busy affair in the Victor’s Village. They had dinner and that was pretty much it. A slightly fancier one, perhaps, with about a 50% chance of Haymitch joining. He only ever showed up last New Year’s because of Effie.

Because of Effie. That phrase applied for many aspects of Haymitch’s life, didn’t it? He’d deny it but just the fact she got him to even consider drying out pretty much said everything.

“Maybe we should call her,” Peeta wondered, not sure himself.

“But you heard him,” Katniss said. “This is none of our business. And they’ll come around, eventually.”

They were both so used to their mentor and escort’s antics. Those stubborn, old fools were always at each other’s throat and through and through they found a way back to one other. Back at each other’s side.

This too would pass, surely? Sooner or later, one of them would swallow their pride and pick up the phone.

And while Katniss and Peeta waited for that call they stored Effie’s things for safe-keeping, well out of Haymitch’s sight and stopped asking questions.

But February rolled to a close with dark days and even darker nights. Life in Twelve was just one storm after another and people were forced to seek shelter at the Hob so as not to get lost in them. The vixen’s cry echoed in the night and Katniss and Peeta stored up on candle sticks for the blackouts.

March came with the deceiving breath of spring only to bury the district in a second winter. Hazelle’s kids put her on bed rest after a sprained ankle. Brooks gushed in plentiful streams under the ice and an apple-cheeked Katniss returned from the woods, game bag loaded with wild turkey.

April arrived with warmer weather. Tiny greens peeked in people’s gardens and the patches of last year’s grass grew bigger for each day. Water dropped down every icicle and town’s kids and Seam kids alike melted snow in water barrels to make the spring come faster.

Everyone kept busy. It was a time of change, of rebirth. Winter was finally over and it had a rejuvenating effect on everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

Effie’s name was never mentioned and yet she was ever present. If an outsider walked past and saw Haymitch on the couch he might think “same old, same old”. But Katniss and Peeta were family and they knew him better than that.

Haymitch had never been an easy person to deal with and definitely not a happy-go-lucky one. But every once in a while, if he had a couple hours of dreamless sleep it was like he got an energy boost.

That’s when he got up, checked on the geese, helped Peeta in the bakery, maybe just had a hot meal down at the Hob before he returned to his bottles.

Now, it was like he didn’t care about anything anymore. He just lay on the couch, drinking and God help the one who bothered him. He only ever left for the bathroom breaks or when his liquor ran out.

But even that came to an end.

It happened when Haymitch staggered into the Hob on a Sunday morning.

“Usual,” he slurred and tossed handfuls of money on Ripper’s bar counter.

“Sorry, Haymitch. You’re too early,” she said. “The train doesn’t arrive until Monday. We’re all out now.”

“Usual!” Haymitch repeated, louder this time like she was slow. Sighs rose from around the tables.

“It’s Sunday,” Ripper told him patiently. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll get your bottles. I can’t sell it to you now because we’re out.”

She couldn’t make him understand. Each time she tried Haymitch only got surlier. “Wha’s the problem?” he whined. “I have money. Wha’s the problem?”

He scared some of the little kids eating breakfast with their parents. The temperature in the diner seemed to have dropped twenty degrees and finally a gray-haired old man muttered, loud enough for Haymitch to hear it,

“Who’d have thought we’d ever wish for that fancy sow to come back?”

That’s when Haymitch wielded his knife. He was so drunk it was pathetic but for Ripper that was it! She kicked him out and told him either he left his knife at home or he would have to get someone else to buy him his liquor.

From then on, Katniss and Peeta stocked up his supplies and Haymitch found even fewer reasons to get up.

What for?

Maybe it would have been better, Katniss thought. Less cruel, if he never got those precious few months with Effie. Because losing her, losing her altogether and not just as a lover, seemed to have opened a crack in his rock bottom and pushed him down that hole as well.

And Effie, how was she doing?

xXx

May. God, he hated May. Ever since he turned twelve, the month right before the Hunger Games was nothing but a ticking clock. Even now, years after the war had ended, there were still times when he started awake, thinking,

Reaping day’s almost here!

He couldn’t sleep. While he marinated his liver a bug had detoured in to the house and was now buzzing about in the window.

The sound unnerved him because the bloody thing just wouldn’t give up! It bumped and thumped against the glass over and over again, yearning for freedom.

It was Peeta’s damn fault. He always opened a window when it rained.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright, alright,” Haymitch growled and swung his legs off of the couch.

It was a wasp. Not the tracker jacker kind, just a regular one. It crawled along the window sill, flew into the glass once more and wiggled it’s antennae in irritation.

“Out with you now,” Haymitch muttered as he struggled with the window hooks. “Be free.” And watched the bug disappear.

The night air felt balmy against his skin. He took his time unscrewing the lid on the silver hip flask. The geese were quiet for a change but the mockingjays were still up, frisky and begging for company. He ran his hand through his wild beard and drank the flask dry. It didn’t take long.

He was just looking for something to fill it up with when he heard the sound. One even his soaked brain could place.

A phone. Ringing.

His mind jumped to Effie and he could’ve kicked himself for it. He resisted the desire to slam the window shut and closed it before he returned to the couch. The coffee table held nothing but empties. They clinked under his fingertips until he found one with some in it. He lifted it to his lips and greeted the burn with a sigh of relief.

Outside, the ringing continued. Even with the window closed, there was no escaping it.

It’s not her. Why’d she call now? No reason for her to call now.

After what felt like 10 years, the phone silenced. The knot in his stomach eased somewhat and after he promised himself to tear the phone out the wall as soon as the sun rose he walked over to the cabinet and peeked inside.

“Thank you, kids,” he mumbled at the welcomed sight. He grabbed same bottles at random and brought them back to the couch. But before he got the chance to flop down on his ass-print the phone went off again.

“Oh, fuck me,” he wheezed.

Who called him at three in the morning? No, strike that. Who called him, period?

Sweat trickled down his sides in never-ending streams. The sound played on his nerve strings like a violin. It was the wasp all over again because the caller, whoever it was, didn’t give up. Refused to stop until he did something about it.

A hundred whispered insults spilled over Haymitch’s lips as he pulled on his shoes.

He hadn’t seen the inside of his house in months. The last time he was here had been a fucking nightmare. Broken furniture, broken everything.

The long, hard signals cut through the stillness like a knife.

It’s not her.

He picked up the phone and the blare of music nearly ripped her ear drum. He held the thing a meter away.

“Hello?” someone called. “Helloo?”

He brought the phone closer.

“Who is this?”

“Well, hi to you too!” the person laughed. It was a woman’s voice. One he recognized, only he couldn’t quite place it. From the Capitol at least. “How’s the bachelor’s life treating you, Haycock?” the stranger woman asked. When he didn’t answer she went on, “It’s me, Gloria! Gloria Highgrass. We met at Octavia’s birthday party, remember? Yellow dress. Good-for-nothing cousin by my side.”

Haymitch drew a silent sigh. Of course.

“Where you’ve been hiding, hm?” she asked. ”Haven’t seen you in a while. Finally tired of your afternoon delight?”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

“Oh,” Gloria chuckled. “You kiss your bottle with that mouth? What would Effie said?”

Her words drew giggles. Clearly, they had an audience and he was just about to slam the phone down when she said,

“I just saw her, that little cock-warmer of yours. And between you and me: I don’t blame you for leaving. What a mess, haha! You screwed her up good, Haycock! She’s so unfuckable now! Well done, sir. Well done.”

And her brilliant laughter hammered his head.

“Do you know we all placed bets on how long the two of you would last? It’s true! You cost me a fortune, Haycock! You guys stuck it out way longer than I thought. And then my useless cousin told me about your little scene at the train station. ‘Get your shit together’ and all that. God, I wish I was there!”

She had a sip of something and then rallied on,

”You wanna know what I think? I think she planned the whole thing. So you’d never leave her. Too bad she forgot that district scum scurry off like cockroaches once the light’s on. Well, she’s paying for it now, isn’t she? How’d she tell you? Before or after you cleared out?”

It was a wonder the phone didn’t break in Haymitch’s fist. He could hardly breathe, that’s how furious he was. But he refused to give this woman the satisfaction of him losing his temper.

“Hey, lady,” he said, in a very measured voice. “If you know something about Effie, spit it out. Or else you can just stop wasting my time and go back to your pathetic little life.”

That finally silenced her. For about three seconds.

”You don’t know?” she said. “You kidding me? He doesn’t know!”

And everyone on the other end broke down in hysterical laughter. Gloria contained hers just long enough to say,

”Come back to the Capitol, Haycock! See for yourself!”

And she slammed the phone in his ear.

He couldn’t stand another second in this place. Her things may be gone but he still felt Effie’s presence in every corner of the house. Like fumes slowly killing you.

He didn’t realize how much his hands trembled until he was back on the couch. He balled them into fists.

The nerve of that woman! “Come see for yourself.” The hell’s that supposed to mean?

He needed a drink. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and tipped the first bottle he found in to his mouth, again and again until he came up choking.

The liquor numbed his worries like they numbed everything else.

“You screwed her up good.” Yeah, that’s likely. He didn’t fancy himself being important enough to lose even a minute’s sleep over.

Maybe so. But you’re not the only bad thing that’s happened to her. Remember?

“She’s fine,” he told the empty room. “Just fine.” Probably thrived now that she didn’t have to deal with him anymore. That low-life Gloria Highgrass was just fucking with his head. She wanted to cause a spectacle, get some gossip material, that’s all.

If Effie was in any kind of need all she had to do was pick up the phone and call him.

Besides, wasn’t like she kept in touch to see how he was fairing. It was damn clear she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. And if she didn’t care, why should he?

Yeah, he thought and reached for the next bottle. Let her deal with her own demons.

xXx

If Haymitch thought he was the only one up he was wrong. Katniss slept a deep slumber for once but all the creaks and groans coming from the floorboards downstairs finally wormed their way into Peeta’s dreams until he flinched awake.

The room burned with morning light. Peeta’s heart pounded in his chest but he remained still so as not to disturb Katniss while he listened to the sounds below.

It wasn’t the first time Haymitch “ghosted the halls”. Peeta remembered it especially well from their train rides together and back at the penthouse during the Games.

Sometimes it seemed like Haymitch just couldn’t stand to remain in the same place, locked inside his own head. And that’s when he stalked from room to room, aimlessly. Like a bear in a cage. Well, a bear with a bottle in its paw.

No, it wasn’t the first time but it was the first time in a while. And he used to go to bed with the sun so what was he still doing up?

At least with Haymitch on the couch, you knew where you had him. Finally Peeta carefully extracted himself from Katniss and slipped out of bed, just to check on him. That wouldn’t be a first either.

He reached the foot of the stairs just as Haymitch returned in to the living room, surprisingly sober. Sobered up. He sunk down on the couch, elbows on his knees. He never noticed Peeta. His eyes were squarely focused on something in his hands.

Peeta couldn’t tell what it was at first but then Haymitch shifted it over and the penny suddenly dropped.

It was a paper goose. The paper goose. He knew it well because it used to sit on the window sill back in his studio. Haymitch must have ventured inside and stumbled upon it by co-incidence.

Effie’s paper goose. Well, Haymitch’s really since she gave it to him.

Peeta remembered the day she made it. It was the summer Haymitch had brought her here after the over-dose.

She had one of her good days and joined them for breakfast in the studio. He painted, Katniss ate cheese buns, Haymitch doodled a horrible caricature of Effie and in exchange she made him this little origami creature.

A good day in an ocean of bad ones.

Shortly after, the night terrors sent her in a down-ward spiral again and just to keep her from clocking out Haymitch said he thought about getting some geese. What’d she think?

The idea probably originated from Chaff. Eleven’s victor loved everything made from the bird. Roast goose and buttered potatoes, corned goose hash, fried eggs with mushrooms.

Those were the dishes he ordered at the training centre before the third Quarter Quell and if memory didn’t deceive Peeta he even told Caesar Flickerman after he was crowned victor, that he liked to raise geese once he returned to District Eleven.

Now he never really got that idea off the table. Instead, Haymitch did. Well, sort of. None of his birds had ever wound up on a plate.

In any case, Peeta bet the whole ”let’s go to Eleven” adventure wasn’t motivated by some great desire to buy geese. That’s just what Haymitch had her believe. Because for whatever reason Effie lived up a little whenever she got to plan things. It gave her a sense of control.

It was slick how he played it. Made her think “This will be good for Haymitch” when really it was “good for Effie”. Something to keep her mind occupied. His own way to try and coax her out of her depression.

A hundred memories drenched up by one paper bird. That’s what Peeta witnessed this very moment. Haymitch could have crushed it easily. Just made a fist and tossed it on the fire. He tossed everything else that even vaguely reminded him of her.

He didn’t. The way he held it, you’d think it was one of his goslings and he had a look on his face that would not have been there, had he known someone was watching.

“Morning,” Katniss yawned as she walked in to the kitchen, hours later. Peeta stood by the stove, quietly pouring hot water through the tea leaves. She reached for the jug of orange juice to set it on the table. “Where’s Haymitch at? I didn’t see him.”

“On the train.”

Katniss stopped, eyebrows lifted.

“You sure?”

In answer, he pointed at the table and she discovered the note, jotted down on a scrap of paper.

I’m gonna go see Effie. Call her and tell her I’m coming, OK? Thanks.

“You talked to her? What’d she say? What?” she asked at the look on Peeta’s face.

“I tried, for about an hour,” he said. “I can’t get through. The phone’s disconnected.”

xXx

Gem of Panem Mighty city Through the ages, you shine anew

Intertwined with their laughter, the Capitol anthem echoed around the deserted city. Morning light stretched their shadows into four giants as they walked down the street, arm-in-arm. Their makeup was smeared, the flowers in their outfits drooping. All evidence of what a smash hit the night had been!

We humbly kneel To your ideal And pledge our love to you!

Coriana’s voice rose highest of them all, the only member in their quartet who could hit all the high notes, drunk or sober, but they all joined in just as merrily with the voice they had.

Gem of Panem Heart of justice Wisdom crowns your marble brow

It felt good, comforting, to chant the age old verses of their childhood. The real anthem of Panem. The politically correct atrocity Paylor whipped together didn’t hold a candle to it!

You give us light You reunite To you we make our vow

Tipsy to say the least, Priscilla wobbled dangerously in her sky-high heels but each time she careened to far to the left, they steered her right again with many giggles and “Oopsy-daisy!”

Gem of Panem Seat of power Strength in peacetime, shield in strife

“Oh, this is my favorite part!” warbled Imogen who couldn’t carry a tune with a gun to her head.

Protect our land With armored hand Our Capitol, our…

Lancer gasped, mid-through the final crescendo. Linked with the others he almost toppled them over at sudden halt.

“My gracious!” he said. “It’s Haymitch Abernathy!”

Up ahead, a man had just appeared round a corner. Ruffled clothes, hair hanging forward, everything about him completely out of place here. He paid them no attention but it was him, without a doubt. The drunken traitor of District 12.

“You heard about him and Effie Trinket, right?” Imogen asked in a loud whisper.

“Of course we heard,” said Coriana. “The whole town knows.”

“Ugh. Just look at him.” Priscilla wrinkled her nose. “At least on television he dressed decently. Disgusting!”

“She’s the one who’s disgusting,” Lancer said and pursed his lips. “He’s district. What did you expect? But a Capitolian really should know better.”

“I would jump off a cliff if it was me!”

“It could never be you, Imogen, the very thought!” said Coriana. “What’s he doing here again? Flaunting himself on our streets after what he did. What they did!”

If Haymitch heard them he didn’t show it and he didn’t change his course. When they remained shoulder to shoulder, gawking at him he sawed right through them like they were a flock of pigeons and they jumped apart with furious cries.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Priscilla shouted to his back. “I really think you should!”

Those four weren’t the only ones who questioned what Haymitch was doing in the Capitol. Had there been one positive consequence of him and Effie breaking up it was that he would never have to see this place again.

Well, the joke’s on him.

She’s not back on pills, he told himself as he kicked a squashed ice cream cup far up the street. She promised she wouldn’t go down that road again.

The train ride was hell on earth. Throughout the long hours he failed to quiet his mind, to shake off his worries over Glorias’s words and why he couldn’t get a call through to Effie. Just thinking about their impending reunion made him sick, until he finally caved in to the bottles in his duffel.

Ironically, the one thing that stopped him from drinking himself completely senseless was the paper goose, now hitching a ride in his pocket. It helped him focus.

Walking the deserted avenues, through glitter and serpentines left from some party only reminded him of the first time he came here unannounced.

Little Ms. Hypocrite. She was one to talk about having someone almost die in your arms.

But she’s not back on pills.

The brightness of the sun reflected in the candy buildings, the lush public gardens alive with bird song, the bounty flowerbeds, the gushing fountains. It was like the Capitol mocked him with its splendor. Days like this were Effie’s favourites.

And there her building was. He saw it over the roof tops, windows reflecting bits of the blue sky. With a grimace, Haymitch slowed his steps like he’d run out of gas. Fuck it. He needed a drink. One more or less, what did it matter? He wasn’t going to stay here long anyway.

He was still struggling to close the zipper as he entered her street, her curb. He pulled the straps over his shoulder, about to give the door a knock.

And he just stared. Dumb-founded, for half a minute or more. Gaped at her front door, like the gaggle of fools he passed earlier.

No, no this can’t be right, he thought, unable to take in what his eyes were telling him. It’s gotta be a mistake.

The name plate on Effie’s door was gone. The window shutters were all closed. He turned the handle. It wouldn’t budge. He rang the bell. He knocked, pounded rather. No one opened. The place was completely dead.

But it made no sense! Effie had lived in this apartment almost all her life!

He walked over to the windows, shielded his eyes from the sunlight as he tried to peer through the shutters for any movements inside. 

“Eff?”

He returned to the door, raised his hand for another knock.

“She’s not here,” a voice rung out.

He turned at the sound. On the other side of the road, just across from him, stood an old lady. The same dry twig of a woman he’d seen twice before. At least twice.

“Mr. Abernathy,” she said. The sun glinted off the gem stones in her wrinkled cheeks. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Didn’t think I would ever see you here again.”

He crossed the road.

“The hell’s going on here? Where’s Effie?”

The woman’s pale green eyes pierced his. She had to lift her chin to do it. Just like Sae she barely cleared his shoulders but that’s where the similarities ended. Because this woman’s eyes held none of her warmth or gaiety.

And yet, behind the frost he noticed that same sadness he’d seen there before. Only not for him.

“I warned her”, she said. “I told her from the very beginning not to get involved with someone like you. A man who would give her nothing but heartache. But she never heeded my advice. She didn’t want to listen.”

“Here’s an idea,” Haymitch cut her off. “How ‘bout you quit playing games with me and tell me what you know.”

“I blame myself,” the woman continued, unfazed by the interruption. “I insisted she applied for an escortship. If she became an architect like she first wanted, she wouldn’t be where she is now. Maybe none of us would.”

“Who are you?” Haymitch demanded. “What’s your name?”

“Mrs. Quinlan.”

Quinlan? He had definitely heard that name before. Nothing Games related, at least he didn’t think so. No, Effie had mentioned her at some point. Yeah, at the hospital, after her rescue. She asked if she was still alive. If she was safe.

Mrs. Q.

“You’re Eff’s landlady.”

The woman shook her head.

“Not anymore.”

“Because you kicked her out.”

“She’s beyond my help,” Mrs. Quinlan said. “Euphemia was a good girl, Mr. Abernathy. A good daughter. I have wept blood for her sake but I never gave up on her. Even after the war. She got one last chance to make amends. To build up a life for herself that she could be proud of. And she went and threw it all away the moment she decided to keep your young.”

Haymitch heard the words, loud and clear, but it was like he couldn’t absorb them. Make sense of what she just said.

It was like when he was little and broke his arm, falling down a tree. They all saw it was broken but it didn’t hurt. Not straight away. Like the shock was so great nothing registered.

“’Keep my young?’ he rasped. Heat rose up his throat and face until it burned. “What do you mean ‘keep my young’?”

For the first time, a flicker of surprise registered on Mrs. Quinlan’s face.

“Where is she?” He didn’t think his voice would carry at all. Instead it echoed around the buildings. “If not here, where’s she staying?”

“Go home, Mr Abernathy,” she said. “You have done enough damage as it is.”

“If you don’t want me to wake the entire neighborhood, you tell me where she is!”

Sleepy heads already poked out windows at the commotion. There were murmurs, curious looks thrown their way. Mrs. Quinlan’s lips pressed into the same tight line.

“She moved in with Caesar Flickerman’s daughter. I assume I don’t have to tell you which one.”

xXx

The bearded dragon slumped on her favorite spot in the vivarium - a gnarled old tree root and basked in the warm rays slanting through the windows.

When they first got her she fitted in your pocket. Now they had to use both hands to carry her properly. Sandy yellow and with a look on her face like “you’re all beneath me” you’d think she was the distant cousin of a certain District 12 cat but it was only an illusion.

“Hey, you,” June said and slipped a hand inside the enclosure, knuckles down, fingers outstretched in an inviting gesture. The reptile crawled down the root and over to her. June gave her a soft scratch under the spiky chin and the animal climbed up her palm.

Annabel sat by the secretary desk, her tea long cold and forgotten, but when June passed, she took the time petting their dragon before she returned to her letter. She eyed what she’d just written, critically and gave a deep sigh.

“They won’t even…”

“They will,” said June. She had settled on the couch with the dragon on her lap. The animal closed her eyes under the soft strokes.

It had been a quiet, docile morning with just the occasional car passing by and the gentle scratch of pen against paper.

“The crates should arrive today,” said June and reached for her own cup of tea.

Right on cue the bell rang.

“Speaking of the devil,” said Annabel. She set the pen down and slowly and painfully flexed her fingers.

It rang again, on her way through the hallway.

“Coming!” She pulled her hair back in a hasty pony tail. A shadow moved behind the frosted glass. She took the chain off the door.

And came face to face with the victor of District 12.

”Mr. Abernathy,” she said, eyebrows lifted. “I…”

He didn’t let her finish.

”Effie,” he said. His face was a deep red. “She here?”

“Bel?” June’s voice fluttered in from the living room.

“Is she here?” Haymitch repeated, the fury behind the words only barely contained. “Never mind that. I know she is.”

“She’s here, Mr. Abernathy,” said Annabel.

That’s all he needed. He pushed past her.

“Eff?” he called as he stalked into the living room. June had risen, face white as paper. The dragon’s tail flailed between her cupped hands at the sudden alarm.

Annabel had followed inside and he turned on her again.

“I know all about it,” he spat. She could smell the hard liquor fumes on him. June quickly set the reptile back in the safety of the vivarium. “I know she’s pregnant so don’t try and lie to me!”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s resting.”

“Well, go and wake her up!”

“Mr. Abernathy,” she said, voice suddenly firm. “You will not shout in my house.”

“I don’t care! She thought she can just have my kid and never tell me? Who the hell does she think she is!? I wanna talk to her. Give her a piece of my mind!”

“Not until you’ve calmed down!”

“The hell with you! I’ll go find her myself.”

He turned for the door but she was right at his heel.

“Stop it!” June cried when Haymitch shoved Annabel’s hand off of him. The tea cup knocked over and crashed against the floor. The dragon ran frantically around in its cage. “Stop!”

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Haymitch, what are you doing!?”

Her cry made them all turn. Flushed and out of breath from the rush and alarm Effie stood in the doorway, a robe carelessly thrown over her nightdress. Her eyes locked on his, for the first time in months and the words choked in his throat. It was like the rest of the room and everyone in it just disappeared. Everyone but Effie.

And through the blood pounding in his head he could make only one coherent thought.

What have I done to her?

xXx

“I’ll be in the back if you need anything,” Annabel said as she swept up the last of the broken cup. A spitting mad June had already retreated to their bedroom, carrying the dragon with her and now Annabel went as well, leaving Haymitch and Effie to talk in private.

Not that Haymitch looked like he’d ever speak again. He hunkered in the armchair with his arms crossed over his chest. Effie sat on the couch but they could just as well be light years apart.

“Who told you?” she asked in a hushed voice.

”Does it matter?” He wasn’t yelling now. Wouldn’t even look at her. He seemed to have aged ten years in the past half hour.

“No,” said Effie. “No, I suppose not.”

She had a blanket draped over herself. Like that was going to hide anything.

“I thought you were on the pill?”

“I was.”

“Time and money you could’ve saved, clearly,” he said through gritted teeth. “And the whole Capitol knows I’m the father?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I wanted to tell you.”

“So why didn’t you? If you have my kid rolling around in your tummy I deserve to know about it, don’t you think?”

When she didn’t answer straight away his eyes darted to her face. And his insides contracted all over again as cold panic flooded his limbs.

“What, Eff?”

”It’s...” Her voice faltered. “We’re not...”

“We’re what?”

He saw his own anxiety mirrored in her eyes. She placed her hand against her stomach and his throat closed up. Because he knew the truth before she said it.

No! No, I don’t wanna hear it!

”It’s two,” she said. “Haymitch, I’m so sorry you had to find out this way. I didn’t…”

But Haymitch had already heaved himself to his feet. He wanted to throw up. He would throw up.

“I can’t do this.”

”Wait,” she said but he didn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her and her big stomach.

”I need some air.”

xXx

“Good afternoon, Mathilda,” Mr. Bumble smiled when he crossed her door. His elegant, twirled up mustache was dyed a dusk pink today, the same color as the lap dog, freezing at his feet.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bumble,” Mrs. Quinlan said, hoping he would pick up on the very inappropriate use of her first name.

He didn’t.

“I’d stay and chat,” he said, “but Helga is waiting for us.” And he gave his bouquet of blue roses a little wave. “It’s our anniversary, you know! 25 years!”

“How wonderful. Give her my best,” Mrs. Quinlan said mechanically as he trotted off down the street. If Helga was home or even remembered what day it was, she would eat up her hat.

She dropped the key in to her handbag and crossed the road, mindful of any ice patches hidden under the fresh snow.

The door was locked but that she only expected. So she slipped her hand into her handbag and got out different set of keys. Normally she took pride in not using them but the girl had sounded very off on the phone. Sad.

“Euphemia?” she said as she stepped inside. The flat was dark but she turned the lights on as she went. She knew her way around this apartment, almost as well as her own. “Euphemia, where are you?”

She heard noises from the master bedroom. Retches that led her straight for the adjoined bathroom.

Effie’s nightgown clung to her with sweat. Slumped down on her knees, she clutched the toilet seat as she threw up. Tears and perspiration rolled down her face from the ordeal.

She didn’t hear anyone come in. That way she never saw the complete and utter shock on Mrs. Quinlan’s face. But she quickly composed herself again.

“Euphemia.”

Effie looked up, startled.

“Oh”, she groaned. She was pale as a sheet, her eyes wet and red. “Mrs. Q, now’s… not a good time.”

And she disappeared inside the bowl again as the next wave rolled in.

Mrs. Quinlan didn’t say anything. She just pulled up a stool and seated herself. She gathered Effie’s hair with one hand and held it back from her face until the worst was over.

When Effie grew still, head heavy against her arms, just heaving breaths of both exhaustion and relief Mrs. Quinlan reached for a towel.

“Here,” she said and soaked it under the faucet. “Clean yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Q,” Effie mumbled and dabbed her mouth with it. She felt Mrs. Quinlan’s eyes on her and tried to elude them by wiping the tears off her cheeks. “I am not quite myself today.” 

“Euphemia.”

“Must be something I ate.”

“Euphemia, look at me, please.”

With an enormous effort, Effie lifted her head. She swallowed and swallowed. The color of her face had returned, from barely holding it together.

“Are you with child?”

Those words did it. It was like a dam broke. Effie buried her face against her babysitter’s lap and now they came. All those pent-up tears she hadn’t been able to shed since that awful day with Haymitch on the train station.

Mrs. Quinlan’s face was taut as a string.

”There now,” she murmured and stroked Effie’s hair. ”You will be alright. It’s going to be just fine.”

Effie soaked Mrs. Quinlan’s skirt with her sobs and it was like she was little again.

She’d been four or five and accidentally knocked over a vase. Everything in Mrs. Quinlan’s apartment was either ancient or valuable or both and little Effie stared in horror at the broken pierces. Finally she ran off and hid.

For the next half-hour Mrs. Quinlan had to go from room to room and from closet to closet, peer inside the cupboards and behind every thick curtain, calling her name. When she finally found her in the laundry basket Effie was so terror-struck she burst in to a wail of tears.

But Mrs. Q just scoped her up, pulled a dirty child sock off the side of her dress and carried her into the living room. With her skinny arms linked around Mrs. Q’s neck Effie sniveled and whimpered the entire time, her little body racked with sobs.

Mrs. Q. wrapped her in one of her own shawls that smelled of perfume and to the rhythm of the creaky old rocking chair, she hummed her to sleep with a Capitol lullaby.

She had never felt so safe.

“Why don’t you take a shower, Euphemia,” Mrs. Quinlan said once Effie’s sobs had subsided a little. She patted her hand between her own icy ones. “And then you and I will have a cup of nice, hot tea.”

“Oh, that is awfully sweet, mrs. Q, but I think I rather,” she started to object but Mrs. Quinlan only waved a finger in the air.

“It will do you some good,” she said. “Tea at my place, four o’clock.”

Effie had avoided Mrs. Quinlan’s flat for the past almost two years. She had spent a great deal of her childhood in the company of her landlady when mother and father couldn’t or wouldn’t take their daughter with them to one of their events.

But these days there was only one subject Mrs. Q wanted to discuss when they met and Effie found herself coming up with excuses. Because it didn’t matter how many times she tried to change the subject, Mrs. Q always steered the conversation back on the same sole topic.

Haymitch Abernathy.

Effie never talked about her and Haymitch’s relationship. Not with Mrs. Q or anyone else. But living just across the road, Mrs. Quinlan seemed to know everything anyway.

She didn’t approve. She never liked the gruff and unrefined victor of District 12 and nothing could change her mind.

She just didn’t understand. How could she? No one in the Capitol did.

“How far along are you?” she asked and poured them tea from the plump china pot. Effie tried to breathe through her nose. Just thinking about ingesting something made her queasy.

“Nine weeks.”

“Have you told him yet? Are you sure it’s his?”

“Mrs. Quinlan,” said Effie tiredly. “We’ve been through this. I’m sorry, but it’s private and really no one else’s business.”

“So, I take that as a yes,” she said mildly.

Exhausted, Effie’s eyes wandered longingly to the snow-specked window beyond Mrs. Q.

“He should have taken precautions,” the old woman said. “The situation he puts you in.”

”It wasn’t his fault,” said Effie. ”It just… happened.”

Mrs. Quinlan poured cream into her cup but Effie didn’t touch it. All she really wanted was to lie down.

There were cookies rounded up on the silvery cake stand. The frosting wasn’t like Peeta’s. Not nearly as nice but looking at them only reminded her of those lazy days in District 12 and Haymitch, teasing her for having such a sweet-tooth.

”Drink now,” said Mrs. Quinlan. “Add a little honey. Or would you rather I put some ginger in? It helps with the nausea.”

“No, it’s OK.”

Effie lifted the cup just to humor her. She was about to take a sip when the warm scent curled into her nose. A crease appeared between her eyebrows.

Mrs. Quinlan didn’t like surprises. Her routines had been virtually unchanged for the past decades. She washed her hands with the same kind of rose soap, combed her hair with the ivory comb that had survived two wars and she always drank jasmine tea.

This wasn’t jasmine tea. Effie should know. After all those tea parties at this very table, the flowery aroma was forever ingrained in her memory. She took another tentative sniff of the strange and unfamiliar fragrance.

It had a faint minty quality but not quite like the mint tea in District 12. She doubted she ever had it in the Capitol either. And yet the smell tugged at her, tried to tell her something.

Her eyes flitted to Mrs. Quinlan. The old woman stirred her own cup in slow, precise circles. The silver spoon rasped the bottom of the china. A cup she had yet to touch.

And a wave of dread flushed Effie’s face when the name surfaced.

”It’s pennyroyal.”

Mrs. Quinlan looked her in the eye. Her face was as hard and unyielding as the gems in her cheeks.

”You should never have let him into your bed.”

The beverage scalded Effie’s hands when she pushed back from the table. She stared at Mrs. Quinlan, eyes wide in terror.

”It’s for your own good, Euphemia. Nobody ever needs to know. It will be like it never happened.”

Effie didn’t stay to hear the rest. She fled the room, didn’t bother with her coat just bolted for the door. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t work the locks and one terrible moment she thought herself trapped.

Footsteps approached or she imagined they did and a shriek escaped her lips. Then the door flew open and she staggered out into the sleet.

Blood pounded her ears as she locked her front door, fled into her bedroom and locked that door as well. She was shaking all over and slumped rather than sat down on the bed, hand clamped over her mouth.

I didn’t drink it. I never drank it.

Her vision was so blurred it took her three efforts to dial the right number. Her hand found her tummy and she tried to draw slow, deep breaths to calm the erratic beating of her heart.

”It’s OK,” she whispered to the unborn baby in her belly. ”It’s OK. You’re OK.”

So many signals just came and went, her hopes faltered with each one. Until,

“What?”

A sob slipped between her lips at the sound of his voice. She couldn’t help it. Her palm remained against her bump that wasn’t even a bump yet. Just a slight swelling beneath her dress. It made her feel stronger.

”Haymitch?” She fought to keep her voice steady. ”Haymitch, it’s me.”

“Ah, there she is,” he said with the nasty edge that sometimes crept into his voice when he drank, especially now under these circumstances. “Long time no princess. What can you want?”

“I’m sorry. I know I should have called you a long time ago.”

“Oh, I remember that voice. Effs Trinket needs a shoulder to cry on, huh? So she goes to good ol’ Haymitch. Course.” She heard him take a swig from a bottle. “It’s too bad mine’re all the way down here, then. Both of ‘em.”

“I can take the train.” Tears threatened to spill over her lashes but she held them back. Didn’t want to break down in to a blubbering mess. ”If I go now I ought to be…”

“Here in a day. Yeah. And I’m supposed to just welcome you with open arms?”

“Haymitch…”

“That’s my name.”

“I really must speak to you. It’s im…”

“What for?” he cut her off. “I’m a dead-end drunk, remember?”

“I’ve never called…”

“No, that’s right. Your words were much fancier.”

A wave of despair rose up within Effie. It was like a physical pain.

“I know you’re angry,” she said. ”This is not easy for me either but…”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just fine. Can’t ruin a life that’s already ruined, right? I s’pose you want all your crap back? Yeah, the kids have it. They think you’re gonna come back, you know. ‘When hell freezes over’, am I right? But you know Peeta. I’ll just tell ‘em to send it over straight away so you never have to set your foot here ever again. Great, huh?”

“You left me, Haymitch!” Effie cried and her voice broke. “I didn’t want you to go! I didn’t want it to end!”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He twisted the top of another bottle. “And don’t you worry your pretty head, sweetheart. You’ll get over it. Trust me. Soon you’re gonna find some nice, wholesome guy who does exactly what he’s told. It’ll be all: ‘Yes, Euphemia. No, Euphemia. Whatever you say, Eu…’”

“Don’t call me that!” she cried at the sound of Mrs. Quinlan’s name for her. “Haymitch, please!” She didn’t care that she begged now, hand clutched against her stomach like she could somehow protect it that way. ”Mrs. Q, she… she tried to… I need you! If you care about me at all…”

“Oh, I cared about you,” Haymitch said. “A lot. More than a lot. Should’ve fucking known better. So why don’t you call Plutarch or Octavia or any other of your friends and just leave me alone. Cause I owe you nothing. Nothing at all.”

Tears rolled down Effie’s face and she abandoned all efforts to try and stop them.

“I’m so stupid.”

“Have a wonderful life, Eff. I’m sure you’re gonna be deliriously happy.”

And she was left with just the flat audio tone.

Author’s note: I don’t know who I feel the most sorry for. Haymitch or Effie. How about you? And hayffie twins are on the way!

What did you think of Mathilda Quinlan? I face claim Geraldine Chaplin for her, the way she looked when she played Aurora in “The Orphanage”.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

2000 miles

(Post-revolution Hayffie halfheartedly trying to move on and wholeheartedly longing. Some sexual content.)

She let the water run over her body until it turned cold. The cost would be extravagant. Nothing was a luxury taken for granted anymore. Even the water flowing from her tap came at a price. The price was worth it in order to stop smelling like the man who was asleep in her bed. With a few cocktails in her, he’d felt good enough. The more she sobered, the more she was disappointed with her choice for the night. The sex was alright enough to keep going, but the deal didn’t close for her, and she didn’t care enough to do anything with him other than fake it. She wished he had left rather than falling asleep. She hoped he’d slip out in the morning without saying goodbye. Unfortunately, he seemed like the type who would leave a note on her pillow with his number. He seemed like the decent type who would hope that she’d call. Effie just couldn’t get into the decent type. She closed the deal in the shower, alone with memories of Haymitch’s eyes on her.

***

He traced around the handle of his knife, the way he’d done thousands of times before. Sometimes the pattern helped him sleep. Usually it was just something to do in the dark to keep memories at bay. Fuck with me, and I’ll slit your throat. Memories were stubborn. Usually they were the ones who did the slicing. The smell of his sheets didn’t help: coffee and cheap perfume. The blonde from the Hob whose name he kept forgetting had stormed out of his house an hour ago. He’d climaxed murmuring “Effie... God, Effie.” It was barely a whisper, but the woman had sharp ears. Some memories he just couldn’t shake.

***

Effie turned off the shower and felt the memory of Haymitch letting go of her hips and leaving her body. Her heartbeat echoed in her chest with so much emptiness. She wrapped her hair in a towel, slipped on her robe, and stared at the blank screen on the counter. Since the revolution, there were still screens everywhere, but the government no longer used them to force broadcasts into homes. The technology was available for personal use. She called him with her body still pulsing. She dialed before sanity could creep back in and change her mind.

***

The call was a relief from the sleep that eluded him. He had just used someone else’s body to fuck her, and now here she was on his screen nearly naked.

“Can’t stop thinking about me?” he teased.

“Well, I’m not calling to exchange recipes, sweetheart.” She slipped in his mocking endearment before he had a chance.

“No? I have some delicious ones.”

“Yes, you do...” The taunting in her voice disappeared, replaced by an unmistakable ache. He sat with it a moment and felt it too.

“You look good, Effie.” It was a relief to say her name to her rather than to the blonde who sells coffee at the Hob and resembles her faintly.

He looked good too, wearing a rumpled t-shirt in a darkened room. “Did I wake you?” she whispered.

“Can’t sleep. ...Why are you whispering?”

She hesitated before answering, even though there were no promises between them, only feelings that wouldn’t quit. There was no reason not to be honest. “Buckley’s asleep.”

“Buckley?” Haymitch felt his skin crawl and then light on fire. The thought of someone else in Effie’s bed made him physically ill. He reached for a bottle of liquor and took a large swallow.

His jealousy was palpable. She liked it and played with the feeling. “The bartender. I gave him a hand at closing time.”

“Yeah. I’ll bet you did,” he scoffed, not even trying to make light of his annoyance.

“Haymitch!”

“I don’t want you with him.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite. Peeta says you’ve been seeing someone who works at the Hob.”

“That boy should mind his own business.”

“THAT BOY is a friend you barely deserve!”

She was right about that, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her. He’d play HER game instead.

“She was here tonight — the girl from the Hob.”

Effie grew stone cold. She slipped the towel from her head and brushed her hair. She knew this simple act turned him on. She knew what lit him up better than anyone else did. That’s the story she told herself as she pictured him fucking the Hob girl.

“I’m pretty sure that thing with her is over.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Apparently it pisses women off when you fuck them with your eyes closed and then call them ‘Effie’ when you come.”

She froze. “Liar.”

“Why would I lie about that? You and I have no promises.”

Hadn’t she thought those exact words just moments ago?

“If we have no promises, then why don’t you want me with the bartender?”

“And why are you calling me at midnight instead of being in bed with him?”

They didn’t need each other’s affirmation to know that the answer to both questions was the same.

Confessions were safer at a distance, but 2000 miles still felt dangerously close.

“I think of you when I come too,” she whispered for nobody’s benefit except his. “...Every time.”

“What do you think about?” he asked, simultaneously aroused and doubting her sincerity.

“Your eyes. The way we fit. How you feel inside me. How I feel with you inside me. Kissing you before... after. Everything.”

Her robe slid down her shoulder, and she didn’t bother pulling it up.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered this time.

“You tell me.”

“You have some bartender in your bed, and you’re fucking with me.”

“I don’t want the bartender. I want you.”

“I want you too. Get on the train tomorrow.”

“I have to work.”

“Then Saturday.”

“Haymitch, each time I’m with you it gets harder to leave.” The ache was in her voice again.

“I know, honey.” 2000 miles was a lifeline and a kiss of death. “...Come anyway.”

They were playing with fire.

“Okay.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

[ellanainthetardis]

Oh you know now I need to prompt a hayffie fic for that post you just did about person a not being able to sleep until person b comes and it's all fluffy. Love your work btw.

Here you go! I’m glad I’m finally able to publish one of your prompts! Thanks for always leaving a like [X]

Nocturnal musings

Effie had long given up on the idea of sleepingand was now staring at the crack on the ceiling. Well… She couldn’t really see the crack on the ceiling becausethose compartments were dark once the lights were turned off – it would havebeen less dark if she hadn’t kept the curtains giving on the corridor closedbut she was still puzzled as to who wouldhave thought it a good idea to have a window giving out on a public area forpeople to look through and gawk at you as if you were a zoo animal. The only reallight was coming from the dull red numbers on the wall.

The numbers informed her that it was twothirty-six in the morning.

She had been staring at them since eleventwenty-two. Well… That wasn’t quite true. She had tossed and turned at first ina misguided attempt at getting a little warmer. She absolutely hated being forced to sleep inlong-sleeve shirts and pants – she never sleptin constricting long sleeves and pants, never ever – and she couldn’t get comfortable so she had tried a fewpositions only to end up on her back, staring at the crack on the ceiling whenshe wasn’t watching the number pass by.

If she had been at home – or even at thepenthouse, really – she would have either caved and found a sleeping pill orshe would have gotten up and tried to do something productive. Or she might have gone for a soothingcigarette. But she wasn’t allowed cigarettes in that place. She wasn’t allowed anything, least of all wandering thecorridors at night after curfew. She didn’t have the special authorizationsHaymitch had.

Truly, she understood Katniss’ frustration withhim. It was very unfair that he seemed to have all the privileges when Effie was being relegated at the bottomof the food chain. She resented that. She was not a bottom of the food chainperson. She was a predator. Well… A socialpredator at the very least.  

And now she wanted a cigarette.

She should never have thought about that.

With a sigh, she turned on her side and feltonly irritation when the leg of her pant inched up. She wriggled until she managedto pull it down with her other foot. She hated the cold. She hated it even morethan the clothes. But now that her mind was on it, even the cold wasn’t enoughto distract her from the attractive fantasy of a cigarette.

When was the last time she had one? Rightbefore the Quell’s launch, she thought. There had been no time afterwards. Herpacket had been lost in the kidnapping – Plutarch Heavensbee might call it howeverhe pleased, the rebels had grabbed her disguised as Peacekeepers and thatcounted as kidnapping in her book. There musthave been a black market somewhere in this District – wasn’t there everywhere? – but nobody trusted her andfinding it would take some digging and more free time than she had.

Because that was the irony, wasn’t it? Shewasn’t allowed to do anything after curfew if not specifically orderedotherwise but during working hours, she had to follow the timetable printed onher wrist to the minute.

Who even came up with the idea of printingtimetables on one’s wrist? It was convenient perhaps but certainly notaesthetically pleasing. If she had wanted a tattoo she would have gone and geta nice one, a pretty one.

For a few minutes, she amused herself picturingHaymitch’s face if she had done just that, if he had one day undressed her tofind a spiral or… Oh, the face he would have made if he had ever found his nametattooed somewhere on her! He would have freaked out, certainly. And then hewould have probably fucked her reallyhard because he might claim otherwise but there was nothing that turned him on morethan her somehow professing that she belonged to him.

He was a stupid contradictory man like that.

It might have been one of the reasons she hadnever grown bored of him.

And now it wasn’t just a cigarette she cravedand the possibility of sex was just as unreachable at the moment as a smokewas.

Two forty-two.

She rolled on her other side, hit her pillowtwice – honestly, they called that apillow but it was so soft it hardly filled its purpose – and closed her eyes,willing sleep to come and take her.

It was too silent.

Who could even sleep in such a place? Shemissed the background buzz of the city behind the soundproof glass. It wasenough to prevent the noise from being a bother but never enough to cut it out completely. The city was always there,within reach, comforting. Who neededthat much silence?

She didn’t like silence. Her parents’ house hadalways been too silent with indifference and latent loathing. She liked music.But music was probably either forbidden or strictly regulated in Thirteen.After all… They were all about soldiers,not artists.

The dark and the silence weren’t a goodcombination.

They threatened to swallow her whole.

She kept on her inner rambling about whyThirteen was the worst place in Panem because she could feel her mind slowlysliding down the familiar path it sometimes took at night when she couldn’tsleep. And she didn’t want to think about dead children right then. She didn’twant to think about all those faces haunting her dreams because…

The metallic squeaking of the door startled herand she laid completely still, not sure if she ought to scream or run for it.The door was slid open and closed slowly, almost as if whoever it was wastrying to be quiet about it. Then there was a muffled thud and a muttered curse and Effie relaxed when she recognized thevoice.

Whatever he had bumped into, it couldn’t havebeen a serious injury because it wasn’t long before he appeared in the sleepingarea. She could feel his presence in the small room, imposing and reassuringall at once. She listened as the silence was finally filled with the soft clicking of a belt being unbuckled andthe ruffling of fabric, followed by the annoyed mutter about bunk beds.

She hummed a tired agreement even as shecrawled back toward the wall to leave him some room to climb up. It wasn’texactly a smooth proceeding.

Eventually though, he managed to get under theblankets, lying on his back and taking up almost all the space on the narrowbed. It didn’t bother her, she snuggled as close as she could, practicallypurring at how warm he was, resting her head on his heart and draping a legover his stomach.

It was one thing she loved about Thirteen,perhaps the only good thing about theDistrict: if Haymitch went to bed at all, it was to hers, no matter whathappened between them. It had taken some getting used to on her part, this newhabit of his to just assume he was welcome in her room at any time and for anyreason but, truly, it thrilled her.He had spent years keeping her at arm’s length, denying her any expression offeelings and now… Now he was treating her as something more than just thefriend he slept with – and she loved that.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice rough andexhausted. He was always exhausted lately and it wasn’t just about the war. Sheunderstood, she felt the same way. It was also about Peeta and the others. Itwas about the withdrawals they had forced him through.

“I hate this place.” she mumbled as she had athousand times before.

It came out sulky and childish and he snorted,his fingers attacking her loose braid. It wasn’t long before he wasdistractedly playing with her hair, massaging her scalp from time to time, andshe relaxed like a very content cat. The thumping on his heart under her earwas making the silence less overwhelming, the room felt calm rather than deadnow.

She felt safe.

Perhaps it simply came down to that in the end.

She drifted off long before his hand stilled,buried deep in her hair, and his first snore definitively disrupted the silencebut she wasn’t awake to hear it anymore.

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, Chap. 9 (part two)

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M Chapter 9 A rain of tears Part two The steady sound of the sewing machine filled the kitchen. Soup cooked gently on the stove and it was one of those rare peaceful moments in the Abernathy household. Helena steered the textile under the needle and her large stomach pressed out her own dress as she worked. A content little humming came from under the table behind her. The fresh table cloth reached almost all the way down to the floor and the fabric flickered when a child’s foot poked out before it quickly drew back in again. Helena lifted her gaze when a shadow moved outside the window and she saw her husband as he bent over the rain barrel. He did so every day when he got home from work, ever since Haymitch was born. Washed off the worst, put on some fresh clothes so he could spend more time with his son. “Where’s my boy?” Dom asked the moment he opened the door and Haymitch scrambled out so fast he nearly pulled with him his mother's neatly set table. “Here!” Haymitch shrieked and threw himself into his father’s embrace. They laughed like maniacs, both of them as Dom swung him around in his arms. Helena didn’t even turn her head. Almost five years had gotten her used to her two boys and the racket they were making.

“Again!” Haymitch shouted and Dom swung him around over and over until his own chuckles deteriorated into a fit of coughing. He put Haymitch down and the boy tumbled over, dizzy and giggling. Dom pressed his hankie against his mouth trying to stifle the coughs. Haymitch pulled himself up, grinning and tugging at his father’s shirt tail. “Again!” Dom waved him off good-naturedly. “’nother time, kid. Pull me… pull me a chair, will you, Haymitch?” He did so and Dom slumped down on it, panting and wheezing. But he wiped his mouth with the hankie and smiled at Haymitch when the boy crawled up on his lap. Dom ruffled his hair and Haymitch had already begun searching through his pockets. This was a common game in the Abernathy household and it didn’t take Haymitch long to find what he was looking for. “That’s for you,” Dom said. Haymitch held the round smooth gray stone on his palm. It glittered in the afternoon light. He stroked it against his cheek. They were his most beloved treasures. His father had given him one every other day since he turned three. At night Haymitch kept them in a box by the kitchen sofa since his mother didn’t want him to have them with him in bed. It was grandpa Harold who built it. Each night pa lifted the wooden seat off the kitchen sofa revealing the soft beddings underneath. Before they tucked him in and turned the lights off, both he and ma sat with him for a while. Haymitch would then hold on to his father’s large hand and talk nonstop. About what they would do on Sunday, about his little brother or sister. And school. Most of all school. It was still a few months to go. Helena wanted to make him something new for his first day. Something else than his usual clothes made from Dom’s hand-me-downs. A new shirt, a pair of trousers. Haymitch would get to choose the colors. If they could save up enough money until then. Haymitch always woke before anyone else in the family. But one sunny summer morning when breakfast was already on the table Haymitch burrowed down into his pillow and didn’t want to get up. And it didn’t take Helena long to find the first pox on his skin. Dom moved out into the kitchen and their son was installed in their bed. The two of them had already had chicken pox but Haymitch had no fun days to come. Red spots covered him from head to toe and he whimpered and cried and kicked around the bed sheets when his mother wouldn’t let him scratch. Greasy Sae came with a salve from the apothecary and Haymitch spend most of his days sticky and miserable, clutching his mother, disgruntled that her large stomach was so much in the way. Seven days in though, the spots had scabbed over and Haymitch was almost back to normal. A little subdued maybe. By then Helena badly needed to make a visit to the Thornleys in town. The best would have been to leave Haymitch on the bed contentedly and with a book but with Sae not home and with no one else to look after him there was nothing else to do but get the boy dressed and bring him. The market day was in full swing. Haymitch’s pants pockets clinked with each step he took, filled as they were with some of his favorite rocks. He hummed to himself and swung his free hand that wasn’t holding ma’s but when they reached the Thornley’s door and he realized where they were going he resisted, just like Helena knew he would. “Not dagon lady!” “Don’t call her that, Haymitch. She’s not a dragon lady. And it won’t take long.” But Haymitch put his heels in and shook his head, as stubbornly as only Haymitch could be. “No, no, no!” Helena swallowed a sigh. “Alright,” she said. Market stalls had been put up all around the square and in the middle a group of children played, jumping rope and playing clap games. “Then you’ll stay here with the other children where I can see you.” “Mm,” said Haymitch and Helena let him loose, crossing her fingers he’d behave. "I expected you here three days ago," Ruth said when she opened the door. Her daughter peered out behind her skirt. They were very alike Gertie and her mother. Same brown hair, snubbed noses and spotty skin.

Gertie eyed the sewing basket suspiciously. She hated it when Helena arrived since the clothes she made were usually for her. Sometimes she had fits of rage and threw herself on the floor kicking and screaming and boxing herself with her fists. “Haymitch had the chicken pox,” Helena said. “He’s not contagious,” she added but the woman had already ushered her daughter inside. “I shouldn’t have to wait,” Ruth said. “Just because the Seam are spreading around diseases I shouldn’t have to…” Helena listened with very measured features. It was always the same. A rant always followed when she knocked on Thornley’s door, about one thing or the other. “I’m so sick of those brats from the Seam!” was her favorite subject. That Helena might take offence didn’t even seem to have crossed her mind. But she was the only regular customer Helena could count on besides the Undersee’s. And afterwards she could be almost mild. Helena got a feeling Ruth needed someone to talk to, even if it was just to pour out all of her bitterness. She was divorced. And to be devorced was all but unheard of in Twelve. Maybe that’s why she was so angry all the time.

They kept to themselves, Ruth and Gertie, but she liked the baker and his wife, or at least approved of them because Helena saw them often enough in the bakery. Not a surprise really. Kinder people than the Mellark's were hard to come by. And their goods were first class.

Gertie always stood close to the door then, in her brand-new dress and nibbled on the tip of her thumb, not quite sucking on it and when Mrs. Mellark saw it she always told her son to go and say hi to her.

Graham was just two years older than Haymitch but he'd always been big for his age. He never talked much but he was a kind soul, just like his parents. He trudged over to Gertie when his mother told him to. And then the pair of them stood there next to each other, until Ruth was done with her purchases.

They agreed on a new time to take the measurements and bid each other good morning. Helena shifted her weight to her other foot, rubbing her hand against her back. But she hadn’t more than turned from Ruth’s house when she heard a loud shriek. A shriek she recognized.

On the ground in a cloud of dust, Haymitch rolled around with one of the other children. Both he and the girl screamed and hit each other everywhere they could. The other children, frightened and alarmed stood around them and one girl cried with her hand pressed to her face.

Just when Helena and another running woman reach their children the girl with flying blonde hair pressed Haymitch into the dirt. She sat on him and both of them hit their fists on the other wherever they could. “Maysilee!” Mrs Donner pulled the girl up just when Helena pulled her son up. They still tried to kick each other and she kept him away from Maysilee. They were covered in dirt and grazes. And the other girl, the sister, cried more than ever. “What is this, Haymitch!?” “She took my rock!” Haymitch yelled and angry tears ran down his pox covered face. “I didn't!” Maysilee pushed her long blonde hair from her eyes and mouth furiously, her face all red. “I just looked at it!” “Mine! Mine!” Haymitch stomped his foot on the ground. “Stoopid!”  “Haymitch, that’s enough of that,” Helena said and Haymitch silenced but he rubbed his wet cheeks angrily, making them even dirtier. Helena and Mrs Donner pulled their children towards the sweetshop. Haymitch, Maysilee and Leonore who sobbed uncontrollably, holding on to her mother’s hand. In the apartment above they washed off their fighters. Haymitch glared at Maysilee who glared right back while their mother’s put band aids on elbows and knees. Leonore, seeing her sister wasn't in any immediate danger had stopped crying. She watched Haymitch curiously. “Hi,” she said. “Hm,” said Haymitch but after a look from his mother he muttered, “Hello.” “I have a birdie, Maysilee have a birdie too.” “Why don't you show him Pip and Flip,” their mother said. Leonore nodded eagerly and took her sister's hand. Haymitch watched them disappear into the next room. His face was still dark but the curiosity won over and he followed them. Mrs. Donner pulled out a chair for Helena and set the kettle to boil. The canaries sang and twittered in the next room and they heard their children’s voices and most of all Leonore when she eagerly presented the birds. “They grow up so fast,” Mrs. Donner said when she poured tea into their cups. Her long hair was tied back in a bun. Helena remembered her at school, always smiling always surrounded by a group of friends. It was her father’s sweetshop and she had never been short on suitors before she became Mrs Donner. “They’re around the same age, aren’t they?” ”He’ll start school in September,” Helena said. ”The girls too.” She blew on her tea and took a sip. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Mrs. Undersee told me what excellent work you did on Ollie’s school clothes…” xXx And as sunny as anyone could ever wish for, the first day arrived. For Haymitch, for Maysilee and Leonore and all the other five year olds. Haymitch came to school washed and combed and dressed in a sky blue shirt. Pa was in the mines and ma had to be home with his two day old brother. But grandpa Harold was there. He and all the other parents and relatives lined the walls. Haymitch was shown into a bench just behind the Donner girls and when the boy sought him out his grandfather gave him a hint of a wink and Haymitch smiled, a little less nervous. “You’re growing like weed, Haymitch,” pa said when they were all seated at the dinner table. Ma and pa and Haymitch and grandpa Harold. And baby Amadeus. Haymitch carried out the moses basket for ma to put him in so he wouldn’t feel left out. “Soon you’re gonna want to borrow my shaving kit, won’t you?” Dom said and Haymitch grinned, mouth full of stew. ”I don’t have a beard!” “You sure?” Dom said and reached out to feel his chin. But before he could, a spasm of bone rattling coughs ripped through his body and he tipped the water jug over when he pressed his hand against his mouth. A sea of water flowed over the table before Helena could snatch it. Amadeus wailed, Haymitch patted him and tears tilted down Dom’s bright red face. When he lowered the hankie to try and draw a breath it was covered in black mucus. ”You have to see the doctor,” Helena said. That was when they were in bed and both the boys were sleeping. “Helena...” “That’s what he’s here for,” she said. “It’s his job to take care of the coal miners.” “You know what’d happen. He’ll just say I’m not fit to work.” “You can’t go on like this!” she said, fighting to keep her voice down so she wouldn’t wake the children. “There’re four of us now.” “We’ll talk to pa. Maybe the woodshop …” “They haven’t had an apprentice in almost six years now. You think the master’s gonna want a 30 year old hand-me-down coal miner?” Amadeus whimpered in his crib and Helena pulled the covers from the bed. She didn’t look at Dom. “Don’t worry about me, Len,” he said when she put the baby to her chest and the whimpers stopped. “I’ll be fine.” He watched her back as she fed their child and even though neither of them said it they were both thinking it. Dom would be fine, because he had to be. to be continued... Author’s note: I’m really enjoying writing this timeline and a tiny happy clueless Haymitch with his family still alive.

I hope you enjoyed reading. What did you think? Did you recognize all the canon characters? Remember reviews are love and always appreciated and it really help me to update faster. :)

[ellanainthetardis]

Haymitch and Effie try not to be caught for obvious reasons when having sex so they keep the volume of their "love making" to a minimum but could you do a one-shot where they simply go "screw it" and have crazy loud unrelenting Hayffie sex as if the world was theirs? That would be magical. XD

So, as some of youhave noticed, I’ve been having troubles keeping up with a prompt a day lately,due to a certain number of reasons ranging from inspiration, passing through‘it’s spring so I want to do stuff outside’ and I’m playing dragon age again,and ending with I’m totally binge writing a huge hayffie story right now andI’m obsessed with it, which means I have less time to actually tackle prompts.

So I will keep to twoprompts a week for now (I’m thinking Tuesday and Thursday because I have thoseafternoons free usually but it may vary from week to week) but probably notfour anymore for the time being. It’s not a carved in stone rule, obviously, ifI’ve got time and inspiration I might publish one a day but… For now, I preferwarning you that it might stick to 2 a week for a little while. I hope nobodymind =)

[X]

Thirteen’s Rules

“Quiet.” Haymitch reminded her when a lowwhimper passed her lips. “Be quiet for me, Princess…”

He soothed that reprimand with a kiss, keepinghis thrusts deep and almost brutal, more frustrated than aroused by the way shewas fighting not to make a sound. It couldn’t be good for Effie. She was sofocused on trying to keep a hold on herself, there was no way she was going torelax enough to actually enjoy it.

Fucking District withits fucking rules…

Thirteen had taken everything from them. Theyhad taken his alcohol and his knife. They had taken her blinding armor ofcolors and her cheerfulness. They would nottake away the sex. Not if he had anything to say about it. It was his lastderivative, his last guilty pleasure in this life, and he would fight for it aslong as he could.

So, of course, contraception wasn’t availableat all in this place and abstinence was the only way to prevent a pregnancy –they had tried that, it had lasted a good total of two days before driving themcrazy and up against the nearest wall, which had prompted them to agree thatwith her fertility problems and his years of alcohol abuse, they would probablybe fine if they were careful about what they did. Of course, with a security astight as it was and with people coming and going to find him and drag him backto Command at every hour of the day, they were now more or less an open secret.Of course, Effie was angry and he was desperate and it made for a bad mix ofrough hate sex.

Of course.

But it wasn’t enough to stop them.

Even if they had been forced to sit through avery embarrassing lecture from a guard the other day about keeping it down forthe neighbors.

It seemed they were being too loud and thatthere had been multiple complains from the adjoining compartments.

Effie had sat through the whole thing lookingstoical, with a touch of polite interest on her face but not much else. Thewhole thing had enraged Haymitch to no end. The lecture had been given on thethreshold of her compartment, public enough that he was sure a few peoplepassing by had heard, and had so clearly be meant to humiliate them or to makethem feel ashamed – well, her mostly,he figured, because he wasn’t that vocal in bed – that it was all he could do notto punch the guy.

And he had never been prouder of Effie thanwhen she had simply smiled at the soldier at his end of his little speech, hadthanked him for sharing his concerns and had simply shut the door in his face.

They had avoided having sex again for a fewdays because, as much as it annoyed him, he knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

And there they were, with Effie keeping hereyes shut tight, breathing hard through her nose, her neck strained, so red inthe face, her hands clenching the crumpled standard sheets under her back…

He pressed a kiss on her throat, not quiteenjoying himself either. He didn’t like seeing her like that, restraining herself. She was sobeautiful when she lost control…

“Don’t.” she croaked. “Just… Finish, please.”

“You ain’t going to come like that,sweetheart.” he sighed, slowing down his pace. He hooked his elbow under herknee, forcing her leg higher, switching angle, hoping that maybe… What came outof her mouth was almost a sob. She bit down on her hand and he frowned,immediately prying it loose from her teeth. “None of that.” he chided her.

“I hatethis place.” she spat. “I hate it.”

“Yeah.” he agreed wholeheartedly, resting hisforehead on her collarbone, trying to convince his hips to stop their rocking.“Look, we’re just gonna…”

“You can finish.” she cut him off, snatchingthe pillow from under her head to press it against her face.

With each new thrust, she hugged the thingtighter and he was afraid she would suffocate. He held on for a couple ofminutes and then took it away and tossed it on the floor, far enough that shewouldn’t accidentally kill herself out of frustration.

“What do you need?” he asked, lips pursed inirritation. “What can I do to help?”

She shook her head. “If I let go, I won’t bequiet, Haymitch. It is not you. You are doing it very right, which is the problem…”

He stared into her blue eyes, calculating, andthen came to a decision.

“Fuckthem.” he declared, punctuating that statement with a brutal thrust. “Screamfor me.”

A strangled noise escaped her throat but shebundled the sheets in her hands even more, as if trying to find purchase.

“We will get in trouble.” she reminded him inan urgent whisper. “It is not worth it. You will…”

“Oh, yeah, it’s worth it.” he grumbled. “Ifthey’ve got a problem with us having fun in bed, maybe they need to loosen up alittle, have a good fuck of their own. Might even take that pole off their collectiveass.”

“But…” she argued and it morphed into a longmoan when he bit down on her neck.

“I’ll take care of anyone who complains.” hepromised. “Don’t worry your pretty little head…” The tension slowly left herbody to replaced by another, more pleasurable, kind. He could have gotten highon the little sounds she made before it became full moans and whimpers. Herewarded each and every one of them with open-mouth kisses on her sweaty skin,tongue poking at her flesh. “So beautiful…” he coaxed against her mouth,slipping his free hand between their bodies when she started wriggling a littleunder him. “Come for me, sweetheart…”

“Haymitch!” she shouted, loud enough to beheard two compartments away probably.

It made him smirk and he sunk his teeth on herneck in a kiss that would leave a mark, somehow answering to the primitive urgeto claim her as his. His thrusts werefrantic now and he hooked her leg even higher, thankful that she was soflexible because she was boneless under him and no help at all, lost to her ownbliss.

He felt her fingers run in his hair and downhis sweaty back, felt them trail lower until they shamelessly grope him hard,nails digging into the tender flesh of his butt cheek…

“My name.” she requested. “Say my name…”

It was more than he could take.

He barely had time to pull out before he cameon her stomach and breasts with a rare loud groan that vaguely sounded like hername. For a moment, he rested his whole weight on her, too far gone to think orcare.

She kept him there, one hand coiled at the backof his nape, her legs hooked around the back of his thighs. Eventually helooked up, feeling the sticky mess on their chests resisting the pull, andlicked his lips because she was so beautiful, so sexy, he could almost go for a second round. She had tossed herfree arm over her head on the mattress and she had that particular spark in hereyes that she always got after a good fuck.

He felt sorry for anyone who could ever thinkstopping her from being loud in bed was a good idea.

As far as he was concerned, it was part of thefun and he loved it.

And he didn’t care if it was bothering theneighbors.  

It was one thing to be quiet when they werehaving a quickie in the restrooms, in a supply closet or in a locked room in apublic place but it was completely another to be quiet in bed, where they couldtake their time and where it wasn’t about the rush of a hasty affair.

“I used my allotted hot water time for the dayalready.” she pouted.

“Yeah, me too.” he winced.

Five minutes of hot water every day wasn’tmuch.

She groaned even as he pressed an apologizingkiss against her throat. He should have known better and aim to the side. Itwas easier to clean messes from sheets or the floor than from themselves.

“I am sonot in the mood for a cold shower…” she complained. “I am finally warm…”

“We’re sweaty anyway.” he pointed. “We’ll catcha cold. Come on.”

He dragged her out of bed. She followed more orless willingly, knowing he was right but not happy about it.

He didn’t like cold shower any more thananybody but he didn’t mind them so much either. Cold water was all that oftenhad been available in his childhood and Twelve wasn’t exactly Four, you didn’tgrow up there and not develop a tolerance for low temperature. Effie, on the otherend, was sensitive to the cold and was forever complaining about the lack ofproper heating in Thirteen.  

The shower was small.

It was barely more than a square on the floor –and it left water everywhere in the tiny bathroom every time they used it. Heusually had to duck his head if he wanted to get it under the streamingfreezing water – which he wasn’t keen on at the moment. Fitting together inthere was a feast they had yet to perfect but Effie didn’t quite seem to mindthat her back wasn’t completely under the spray. She cleaned herself up veryquickly and stepped away, leaving him room to do the same.

Since she had yet to be assigned a roommate,there was only one towel and they were forced to share – which she grumbledabout a little. By the time she was back in woolen socks, the long-sleevesundershirt she had stolen from him and a pair of loose grey cotton pajamasbottoms – with which she had a love-hate relationship with because she hated sleeping in pants even though itkept her warmer than anything else she owned – her teeth were still chattering.

She hurried back into bed and under theblankets, immediately snuggling up against him when he eventually joined her.She trapped her cold feet between his legs, sneaked her freezing hands underhis shirt and buried her nose in his neck. It wouldn’t be comfortable to sleepbut he knew she would shift at some point after a few minutes, probablyinsisting on him draping his whole body over hers by spooning her, so she couldsleep in a warm cocoon.

Thirteen had forced them to adopt domestichabits he wasn’t quite sure about.

He disliked sleeping in his own compartment ifshe wasn’t there. He didn’t even mind justgoing to bed without anything happening if it meant having her close at night.He was slowly being forced to acknowledge feelings he had been denying for solong it almost was ridiculous…

Yeah…

Thirteen sucked.

“Will they punish us, do you think?” shewhispered, sounding a bit worried.

With good reason, he guessed. Punishmentsaround there hardly fitted the crimes.

“They won’t touch you.” he mumbled, turning hishead to her hair. Something else he wouldn’t really have done before. Gesturesof affection were getting out of hand on his part lately. Somehow, they hadstarted to become natural responses and…  

“You do not know that.” she breathed out.

“Oh, yeah, I do.” he snorted. “They need me andKatniss. Coin’s not a fool enough to go after you now… It’s not a total freepass but… She won’t go after us just‘cause we…”

“Have enthusiastic sex?” she finished, ateasing note in her voice.

“Yeah, that.” he chuckled briefly.

She chuckled too, right into his neck and hetried not to love the intimacy of it as much as he truly did.

“I love having enthusiastic sex with you.” sheteased. “It is the best sex.”

“The best, yeah?” he smirked, probably a bit toosmug.

Her chuckles turned to giggles and she shiftedon her other side, pulling his arm over her waist, effectively forcing her tobecome a human blanket. He wrapped himself around her willingly enough, mainlybecause with the war raging outside and so much of their friends missing, hecouldn’t help but feel overprotective of the ones he had close.

He was drifting off, lulled to sleep by thedistracted patterns her nails were drawing on his forearm, when she finallyanswered.

“The verybest.” she murmured, almost to herself. “The only kind I want for the rest ofmy life.”

Months earlier, it would have sent him in apanic.

Now, it still unsettled him but not enough thathe bolted from the bed.

He kissed her nape instead.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” he muttered. “Maybewe can get you to wake the neighbors tomorrow morning…”    

It would certainly be more fun than the sirenthat passed for an alarm clock in this place.