#hayffie soundtrack

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Impossible things, part 2

NSFW 🔥. This fic is set about 9 years after Mockingjay. Part 1 is here. My Hayffie masterpost is here. — Reconnecting with what I imagine of Haymitch and Effie’s voices has been an imperfect and enjoyable experience for me after 19 months away from writing. The channel for creation in/through me feels very rusty... What once felt like my natural breath, like being breathed by the universe, at this point requires effort. That said, crafting this fic, surreal and awkward as it may be, offered me something good, and I’m paying that something forward. I needed this, therefore this is here. — The geese antics are a bit of playfulness for the incredible @hayffiebird 🌸… an amazing human, masterful creator, and beautiful friend. — Gratitude to Taylor and Lana for offering one more song for my Hayffie soundtrack. — I could edit this fic forever, but I’ll stop in order to receive the imperfections. It’s “just fanfiction” after all. And I’m “just human.” At least those are the stories I tell myself in moments when I forget what else I know.

She twirls in silk printed with budding yellow flowers. Her cheeks flush in anticipation as she follows the old familiar script.

“For the honor of representing District 12... Ladies first...” She reaches into the ball, pulls out a slip of paper, unfolds it, and reads her own name. “…Effie Trinket!”

She offers no resistance, no stubborn insistence that there’s been a mistake.

Haymitch tries to speak, and his tongue turns to cotton. He starts to move forward, and his boots tangle in tree roots and tiny bones. A well opens, flowing upward through his body, filling, filling, filling every fiber of his being with silent screams.

“Surrender,” she tells him, “It’s not what you think.”

He shakes his head. ‘Stay alive’ is what he knows.

“Is that enough?” she asks, “Or do you want to live?”

He wonders what’s the difference.

In the wonder, his head splits open and spills the sea. All the waters that have ever been and will ever be fall at his feet and become the tides.

Effie embraces him in the magic. His tongue returns to flesh, and his flesh burns.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

“The oldest game. …Come with me,” she beckons, “Like this…”

She kicks her shoes off in the sand and runs barefoot along the water to a carousel of painted horses. The flowers she wears come to life and bloom golden. Their petals take flight and swirl around him like warm flakes of snow.

🎶 …It’s coming down, it’s coming down, it’s coming down, it’s coming down... 🎶

The carousel plays as it turns. Effie goes by, and she goes by, and she goes by, and she goes by. The wind spins her hair into cotton candy.

At every turn she asks him, “What are you waiting for?”

***

Haymitch woke with the memory of her voice ringing in his ears. He was slumped over in a chair, like the mid afternoon sun dipping below the treetops. His head throbbed, and his mouth felt like cotton. He touched his tongue to make sure it was there. He recalled the dream but little about the days before. Just a dark haze, then a bright haze, then a dark haze, and so on. That was becoming his life again. Alcohol blurred the fine details of night and day. It’s not the life he wanted, but it’s the one he had. He knew there had been bourbon, a lot of it, but he saw no empty bottles. The room was clean. Cleaner than it had been since— “Effie?”

He stood up too quickly and fell down again onto the arm of the chair. Trying to catch his balance, he reached out and caught the pole of a floor lamp, toppling it through a windowpane. He ended up on the floor, without a scratch except for the cut on the palm of his hand that he didn’t want to remember. But the memories were staring at him nonetheless — a goddamn reporter, a phone call, unbloomed flowers, and loneliness.

The chill of winter blew in through the cracked window. Snow had fallen during the night or the day before, or possibly even earlier. He lost track of time. The geese were oddly silent, and he shuddered at the possibility that they were dead from his neglect. Things were falling apart again, including the dregs of himself, and he was letting it happen. If he let Effie’s goose freeze, she wouldn’t forgive him. Not that she was going to forgive any of his shit anyway. She was better off leaving him alone.

He stood up slower this time and peered into the kitchen. That room was clean too, and there was a fresh loaf of bread on the counter. Peeta. The kid had not lost his tendency to try to keep people alive who didn’t really want to be living.

Haymitch’s stomach rumbled in response to the aroma of the bread, but past experience along with the dried vomit on his shirt suggested that his gut wouldn’t be ready yet to keep down anything solid. He fumbled with scooping out coffee grounds and putting on a pot to brew. Then he dragged himself upstairs to sober up in the shower so he could track down the geese, wherever they were, before another night fell. Winter was the one season when they really depended on his attention. Their wild cousins were flying south. But his geese were long-domesticated, and they were stuck with him.

Without taking off his clothes, he stepped into the shower. It was more immediate than doing laundry and more logical than burning the clothes with the garbage. He took a wide stance to keep from falling down as warm water spilled over him and turned the muscles of his legs to jelly. He tilted his head up to the nozzle and opened his mouth to collect water for rinsing his teeth. This approach was quicker than using a toothbrush. The shower had become his answer to nearly everything that he couldn’t get in a bottle of liquor. Hell, if he woke up with an erection, he could even jerk off in here and pretend he didn’t need anyone for anything. But today there was no need for pretending, only flaccid emptiness.

He peeled off each article of clothing until he was naked and the shower ran cold. Then he stayed a moment longer to clear away the fog left in his head after yesterday’s binge. Goosebumps spread across his body, and the planet of fear that he drank to shove down crept into his chest, threatening to explode the world. He mollified it by telling himself he’d restock his alcohol while out looking for the geese, and he’d drink again later.

He turned off the water and pulled a clean towel from the cabinet. It was one of Effie’s, pink and soft. It held the scent of her which was gone now from the set of sheets that he’d been sleeping on for the month since she left him. He just stood there, dripping on the bathroom floor and holding her towel — not wrapping it around his shoulders or warming up his body, not going to a place of indulgence in what was. If he did that, it would be too hard to keep going. He put her towel back on the shelf, and dried off with one of his own that smelled of moth balls and stale reality.

He draped his wet clothes over the shower door then dressed for winter. He needed to check on the kids too. They had asked him for help repairing storm shutters. It was a project that wouldn’t require as much sobriety as, say, climbing up on the roof to clear the rain gutters or sweeping the chimney. When had they asked him? Last week? The week before? The first storm already hit before he got around to helping them. He wondered if it could ever be possible for him to not let everyone down and if there could come a time again when his small world would feel less like hell.

***

Effie stepped off the train onto the icy platform. A gust of wind chilled her neck, so she buttoned her ankle length coat to the top and pulled up the hood. She adjusted her purse over her shoulder and pulled a large rolling suitcase filled with all of the possessions she had taken away with her last month.

The storm she’d been watching through the windows on the train had arrived in 12 before her, and it laid on the ground a thick blanket of snow. The town was still dressed up with remnants of Yuletide. Buildings had been decorated with boughs of evergreen, symbolizing life, rebirth, and renewal. Doors, windows, and fireplaces were brightened with holly, signifying hope and potency.

Oh, mistletoe… and ribbons! She touched a gloved hand to her chest, admiring the simple splendor. The plant had been collected from trees and hung over doorways for protection and fertility. These were old customs resurrected from from ancient times, long before the Dark Days — from simpler times, almost forgotten and brought to life again.

During the past couple of years, Effie had taken to joining the seasonal festival committees, and she felt displaced now seeing that this holiday had come and gone without her participation. The aging decorations tugged at her heartstrings, and she felt sentimental about how it all might have been.

She did not know how this day would unfold, but she felt freshly determined to make this work, to continue to forge a life here, despite the pangs of doubt that kept coming back no matter how certain she felt at times that they were gone for good. She set her heels in the snow and made her way along the road.

I’m afraid… I’m afraid… I’m afraid… A voice from within repeated over and over. She didn’t know which part of her was afraid to be returning home or why. How would she be received? What emotionality would she encounter? Would she be forgiven for having left? Was she making a big big big mistake? Would she fail to fully grasp whatever it was that she was wanting so desperately?

She needed his heart with her heart, his hands with her hands, his body with her body. Screw the heartache from forever; she needed him now. And she was as terrified as she was thrilled to be heading again toward that possibility.

She hadn’t gotten far when she heard a commotion coming the Hob. From a distance, she saw Greasy Sae banging a frying pan with a large steel ladle and chasing a flock of geese out of the building.

“You birds come after my food again, and I’ll be cookin’ each and every one o’ ya in a stew!”

The hooligan geese were unmistakably Haymitch’s. Effie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. What in the world!

“Effie Trinket! I am glad to see YOU.” The mayor waved from a couple of blocks away and walked toward her. Effie wished a snow bank would open up and swallow her. Today she wanted to pass through town unnoticed, and she was not succeeding.

“Mayor,” she greeted him with a version of her old plaster smile.

“I trust that you are here to collect those geese! Haymitch has been informed in the past that district ordinances require livestock to be kept in agricultural and residential zones only. We simply cannot tolerate them around the businesses. No exceptions!”

Pulling her bag through the snow was challenging enough. She did not want to deal with the geese too, but she was uncomfortable thinking about how cold and hungry they probably were to have ventured into the Hob of all places!

Recovering geese who wandered off when fences went down or gates were left open was Haymitch’s work. Effie generally took little interest in them beyond gathering their eggs in support of Peeta’s baking or hollering at them to shut up in moments when she could not tolerate their noise.

“I will do what I can about the geese,” she told the mayor, “Regardless, they will be relocated to their coop within the hour, and they will NOT be returning to town under my watch.”

“I knew we could depend on you to remedy this nuisance. It is good to have you back.”

Effie reached into her purse and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in parchment. She purchased it from the dining car, but since she had no appetite on the train, now it would be a bribe. She made a clucking sound in the direction of the geese who were foraging at the foot of a dumpster. A large white goose with brown speckles on her neck waddled in Effie’s direction. The rest of the flock followed on her heels.

Haymitch had referred to that one as “Effie’s goose” since the day last summer when the bird injured her foot, and Effie wrapped her in a towel and spent the afternoon holding her on the porch. That day Haymitch was willing to name what he was feeling as love. That declaration was a long time coming.

Sometimes a thing gets so big inside us that we need to either come out with it or die. She knew that if love had been the only thing growing in them, then they wouldn’t be struggling. More was needing to be expressed here. She couldn’t work with what she didn’t know or couldn’t see clearly. It was like trying to juggle invisible balls.

The speckled goose looked up from Effie’s feet, glancing between her and the sandwich with rapt interest. The other geese eyed the food too. The birds started chatting and nipping at each other over which one of them had the biggest claim to it.

Effie stood up straight and held the sandwich in the air. “That is ENOUGH ruckus! NONE of you will be getting anything until you are back home where you belong. Come along now.” She set off again down the snow covered road, pulling her bag behind her with one hand and holding the sandwich toward the sky with the other. She was half-hoping the geese would follow her, and half-hoping Sae would come back out of the Hob and haul the lot of them into her soup pot! Except for the speckled one. Effie wouldn’t be letting that one go.

***

Haymitch held a steaming mug of coffee in both hands as he crossed the frozen yard. A large tree branch had gone down, blockading the door to the goose coop. Setting his mug on a fence post, he yanked at the branch until it pulled away. Then he opened the door and peered inside. Aside from soiled nesting material, the coop was empty. The birds were gone.

He unlatched the shed, and pulled out a bag of feed, hoping that the sound of grains and seeds clinking in their bowls would bring them in as usual. Then he wiped his dusty hands onto his jeans, picked up his mug from the fence, and resumed sipping coffee. Drinking anything was better than drinking nothing. Snow crunched under his boots as he turned his gaze up to the sky. “If I were locked outside during a snowstorm, where would I go?”

A flock of Canada geese passed high overhead, migrating to far off places with blue water, warm sand, and bottles of rum... Would he go with them? He’d be turning 50 soon, and he felt more alone than ever before. What was keeping him here in a town built on a graveyard of his people, in woods haunted by their ghosts, in a house filled with memories that he couldn’t stand to remember and was terrified to forget?

“Where would you go?” He whispered across the lawn to the sharpest memory, the tiniest ghost. The wind blew through leafless branches, and the wild geese flew beyond the horizon.

The graveyard was inside him. There was no escaping it.

He reached the bottom of his mug and went back into the kitchen for a refill before heading out to search for his geese in their usual hiding spots. As he poured the coffee, he heard more of them in the distance. Then their honking grew louder, much louder.

Through the front window he saw her, parading his geese up the road like a scene out of a bizarre fairytale. She rattled off a string of swear words punctuated by “Manners!!” and “Stop fighting!” and “This behavior is precisely why your kind is referred to as ‘fowl’!”

Adrenaline surged through his body. He felt the rush in his arms and legs, in each finger and every toe. What is she doing here? Was she showing up to collect more of her belongings, or…? A wheel of her suitcase caught on a chunk of ice, and the bag toppled over. It looked heavy, not empty. …Or she’s coming home.

Effie added to her litany of curses as she inadvertently dropped the sandwich she had been carrying. The geese swarmed at her feet and devoured the thing.

“I am DONE with this project! Now, shoo!” She waved them off toward the yard. The birds were already heading that way, interested perhaps in their wide open coop and the possibility of more sustenance.

Haymitch’s heart beat into his throat as he watched her right the suitcase and free the wheel from the ice. The hood of her coat fell back, and the wind caught her hair, setting it loose from its clip and blowing out her curls into something wild. Her lips, her cheeks, and the tip of her nose were all pink from the cold, and he thought about making promises that he couldn’t keep, just to have her. To have her right there in the snow on that fur coat.

What the hell is she trying to do to me? Anger was coming up to protect the wounded one within who had barely started to accept that he was living a life without her again.

Effie tucked her hair behind her ears and added wind to the list of all the nature she was cursing: geese, cold, snow, ice, wind, and the curious fear that nagged louder as she moved toward the house. This homecoming was not happening in any of the possible ways that she had envisioned. She was not looking how she intended to look or feeling the way she had imagined she would feel. Standing on the porch, she agonized a long time over whether she should knock on the door, or just open it with her key and step inside, or run back to the train station and avoid facing the fear entirely. The decision was ultimately made for her when the door opened.

“So are you coming in or what?” His voice was rough and shaky. He hoped she’d assume the shakiness was from drinking. And his bloodshot eyes could be explained by the liquor too, come to think of it. He preferred for her to know him now as the drunk he’d always been rather than as the man who’d spent the night before last crying himself to sleep, like an abandoned kid, and then spent last night drinking and trying to forget. The last thing he wanted from her was pity.

She took in the details of his appearance. His boots and coat, thick grey sweater and blue jeans, and woolen cap weren’t what she had been expecting. He seemed sturdy and solid. He’d let his beard grow in fully. He smelled of coffee and the woods and peppermint soap.

He’s going out. …Is he meeting someone? It was late in the day on a Saturday. …Is he dating someone?! She hadn’t considered that possibility. The thought of him being intimate with someone else made her sick. She pressed a palm to her empty churning stomach.

The pain on her face tempered his anger. “Effie, what’s going on?” His concern for her was too marked not to notice.

“Are you going out?” She asked, taking off her sunglasses so she could look him in the eyes.

Hers were swollen. Dark circles underneath were barely concealed by makeup. It looked like she was showing up here because she had lost some sort of battle with herself. “I was going outside to search for the geese, but I see you’ve already done that.”

The geese… “So you’re not seeing anyone?”

“Seeing anyone? What the hell kind of question is that? Is THAT why you’re here — to find out if I’m seeing someone?”

“Of course not.” But now she needed to know. “…Are you?”

He stormed off to the kitchen, leaving her standing in the doorway.

Typical. She wheeled her bag inside and closed the door behind her. For the second time that day, Effie felt out of place in dearly familiar surroundings. She took three deep breaths, hung her purse and coat on the rack in the entryway and set her boots on the doormat. She opened the curtains on the south facing window to let in the late afternoon sunshine. She unfolded a handkerchief from her pocket and dusted off the mahogany coffee table. “Hello, you,” she whispered to it like an old friend.

Haymitch gazed out the kitchen window looking over the yard. He pretended to watch the geese to avoid seeing her, but he was keenly aware of her presence. He heard her footsteps cross the kitchen. The hinges creaked as she opened a cabinet. She poured herself a cup of coffee as if she had never left, as if it was a regular day of them sharing their lives. Except they weren’t.

Effie noticed the bread on the counter. The dear boy. “How are the children?” she asked. It was a safer place to begin.

She persisted in referring to them as ‘the children,’ no matter how many years passed. Haymitch had been so absorbed recently in his own drama that he genuinely had no idea how they were. “They’re fixing storm shutters.” It was the best answer he could give.

“I’ve missed them. …I told them I’d be arriving today.”

Well, that explained the boy cleaning this house while Haymitch was passed out this morning. He knew the kids wanted Effie here.

“Thoughtful,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. If she had told him that she was coming, he would have thrown what she said to that reporter in her face and hollered at her to stay in the goddamn Capitol or wherever this relationship wouldn’t hurt her. But his truth was that he wanted her here. Every cell in his body wanted her here, and he didn’t know how to reconcile what he wanted with what she needed. So for the time being he kept looking out the window and said nothing more about it.

“Sae nearly cooked your geese today.”

Haymitch finally looked at her. She was wearing a red dress with long sleeves and pearl buttons up the front. When she moved, the hem brushed the seams that ran up the backs of her stockings. She looked prettier than all the ribbons folks put up in town for Yuletide. He cleared his throat.

She continued. “Apparently, they were brazenly eating out of her soup pot.”

He suppressed a grin. “Resourceful. They can be a pain in the ass. Thanks for bringing them home.”

“They were a handful indeed. I did not see another option. You know how the mayor loves to talk about zoning violations. And I was expecting Sae to come back out at any moment with a—”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” he interrupted her to say it.

“Neither am I.”

“I didn’t ask if you were.”

“Nevertheless, I want you to know. …I do not want to be with anyone else.”

What the hell? He was as frustrated about her showing up like this, all beautiful and shit, as he was about her leaving. She ran so hot and cold that she was either burning him or freezing his ass off. “You said you needed to stay away from me, and now you’re making yourself at home here as if it’s any old Wednesday.” He glanced at her cup of coffee.

“Today is Saturday, Haymitch, and this time apart has offered me some clarity.” She was still unclear about how much clarity she actually had but she said it anyway.

“What do you want, Effie?”

She took another deep breath. “I want us to name the baby.”

“The baby?” His gaze dropped to her stomach. He hadn’t seen her in a month. That was the way it happened when she was pregnant the first time and she came here to tell him. He recalled the discomfort on her face just a moment ago at the doorway and her hand on her belly. Effie…

Oh, the way he looked at her... She recognized his misunderstanding. “I’m not…” she didn’t say the word. Her tone held a tinge of sorrow. “I’m referring to the one I lost. I have been thinking about her often, and the therapist suggested I might want to give her a name.”

His stomach rolled in a mixture of relief, disappointment, and acrid emptiness. He didn’t know what to do with those feelings. He swallowed the urge to throw up.

She glanced out the window to the snow below the maple tree, naked now in winter. Tiny buds lined the branches, waiting for enough warmth to open and leaf out green.

Sadness bubbled up in Haymitch at the thought of naming a baby long-dead. Names were things written on slips of paper and thrown into reaping balls, not a way out of grief. But what harm could come from naming somebody who never got to live?

“I don’t know much about naming babies.” He didn’t want to be having this conversation, especially not with his head feeling like it was splitting open. But Effie never mentioned the miscarriage anymore. She just looked at that tree and sat in its shade during the summer. He figured it was on her mind sometimes, but she didn’t talk about it, despite her tendency to drone on and on about most subjects.

“In my lineage, girls traditionally receive a feminine version of their father’s second name.”

Talking about this felt like sand moving under his skin, but something in him kept going. “No baby needs any more of my name than is necessary. Her getting my genes was burden enough.”

Effie sighed, “She was perfect. I would not have wanted her to have anyone else’s genes but yours and mine.”

He said nothing more about giving her his name, and Effie didn’t push it. She offered something else instead. “‘Carissimi Unum’ means ‘Our dear one.’”

“No Capitol names.” The translation touched him though. “This is hard enough without bringing that place into this.”

“We conceived her in the Capitol. It was my home then.”

“Well, she was born here. Her home is here.”

He spoke about the baby in the present tense, even though she had been just a glimmer and then gone.

“There are less elaborate names that convey a similar meaning. ‘Cara Amare’ means ‘Dear love.’ It has old origins, but it’s more modest.”

“‘Cara…’” he nodded, “She’s been under that tree since the day she...” What he was thinking had him feeling so vulnerable that he almost couldn’t say it. But it felt too big not to say it. “…When I think about her, she’s ‘Maple’.”

Tears welled up in Effie’s eyes and threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “You think about her?”

He didn’t want to see those tears. Not now. He was already doing all he could to avoid scooping her up and crushing her to him and trying to give her the things he didn’t know how to give her and was afraid to give her.

“A person doesn’t forget a thing like that.”

“I would not have imagined that you’ve been holding a name for her in your mind. …‘Cara Maple’ fits her; doesn’t it?”

He didn’t know how anything could fit a dead baby, yet somehow it did.

She reached for his hand. She was asking him to meet her part way. He wanted to touch her and everything else, but he was haunted by what she’d said to that reporter, ‘It was hurting more to be in than out.’

“Effie, I don’t want to be hurting you.”

Then don’t. She slid a finger into his palm, and drew a circle around the cut from her hairpin. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

Then stop leaving me. He curled his fingers around the one she offered.

“After escorting all of those children to their deaths, it was my karma to lose her.”

He clasped her shoulders. “Karma is made up nonsense. It’s bullshit! You couldn’t have controlled any of that. All of those kids would have died regardless. …Even Cara.”

She softened to hear him call the baby by name. She slipped her arms around his waist and melted into the cracks of him, like butter on toasted bread. “This is the third winter since I lost her, and I’ve been losing myself all along. I thought I’d know myself again in my old routines and places. But in the Capitol there is nothing to hold onto. Nothing in that life seems to matter to me anymore.”

In the embrace, Haymitch felt her thinness. This month away had made her fragile, like an empty champagne flute. She sighed against his chest, and the vibration moved though his body, coaxing it back to life. It had been weeks since they held each other. Without her, there had been no release and so little feeling — just the old demons bashing around his skull and kicking relentlessly.

“What kind of baby would I give you? Another dead one? It’s no good, Effie. It’s impossible.” His feelings didn’t match his thoughts. He recalled the roiling flash of disappointment when she said she was not pregnant.

He enfolded her in his arms, fitting her against him. The fragrance of crushed leaves wafted in through the crack in the window, and the thought of a baby born full term and alive felt possible. Terrifying, yet possible.

He shut out the emotions and leaned into the feeling of her. The room was spinning lightly for him, like the carrousel in his dream. She centered everything somehow and kept his feet on the floor. Her hair smelled like orange popsicles with vanilla ice cream. He breathed her in and softened. His guard was coming down. His body was responding to her in the ways it always did.

“What if it could be impossibly good?” she murmured in that dangerous consciousness of hope.

For a split second he believed her. With his guard down, he let in her thread of hope, until age-old fear commanded, ‘Don’t. Don’t you dare hope.’

“You’re dreaming, honey. You’re imagining the same way you do about those curtains. Those flowers are never gonna open. You said it yourself, you’re lost in something that isn’t real.”

She moved her hands over his back, feeling his solidity. “This is real. Your body. My body. They decided the first time. What if we just let them decide again?”

His hand stilled its caress. “You said you were done with having sex to try to ‘fix’ us. I drink, and you feel alone. …A baby is not going to ‘fix’ that.”

She pulled back far enough to see the pain behind his eyes. She didn’t know how to reconcile what she wanted with what he needed. She could only guess about what he needed, about what would stop him from retreating into himself. “I don’t expect a baby to fix anything. I just long for her. …And I want you. I want our family.”

“Effie—”

“I need us to be talking about this, but I’m not trying to push you into another baby that you do not want.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want her until after she was gone. I’m not saying I don’t want her now. I’m not saying I don’t picture how it would be to have a kid with you. I just don’t see how I’m ever gonna not be mixed up about it.”

“What if we just love each other and see what happens?”

“The way I love you isn’t enough for you.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to. You left.”

“I would never THINK that. You KNOW what you are to me. When you’re with me like this, I feel like I’m swimming in the core of the sun.”

She was the sun for him too. But basking in a sunbeam is a hell of a lot different than swimming in plasma.

“Sounds painful.”

“It is NOT painful when we’re like this. The feeling of this is more than enough for me. It’s nearly everything for me.”

“Nearly? What more do you want?! I can’t be like THIS all the time. I am who I am.”

“I WANT who you are.”

“You don’t want me drinking.”

Effie hesitated in order to tread carefully around this subject, “You know how I have always felt about you, regardless.”

“What you’re feeling is not the same as what you’re thinking. You don’t want me drinking anymore.”

“Do not put that on me! You do not get to decide what I’m thinking or what I want. Perhaps YOU are the one who does not want you drinking anymore.”

“You’re being evasive.”

“Haymitch, I want you HERE! When you’re intoxicated, you’re someplace inside you where I cannot be, where I do not exist. I want what’s inside you that I only glimpse or never get to see.”

“There you go again, wanting impossible things. Even if I knew how to give you all of that shit, if you had it then you wouldn’t want it.”

“There YOU go again, deciding what I want and do not want. Those are NOT your decisions to make. I want all of you, and I want you to want all of me too!”

“You think I don’t?”

“Half the time you don’t even see me.”

“Maybe you aren’t seeing yourself, sweetheart. And if you were, then maybe you wouldn’t be asking me to do it for you.”

She huffed, “What am I not seeing?”

“I can’t know that. I can’t even know all the shit in me that you want me to give you!”

She had no retort to offer. In the silence, he heard her teeth chattering. She was shivering.

How long had she been shivering? He knew he wasn’t seeing her in all the ways he should, even in moments like this when he was basically sober. “You’re cold. The window’s busted. Some things have been falling apart around here.”

“I don’t know why I’m shaking. This conversation… I don’t want to give up on us. Haymitch, I refuse to give up on us! I will NOT allow this to be the end. There is so much here between us. Do you feel it?”

She touched his chest, and he couldn’t hide the things his heart was doing. If there were places in him where she didn’t exist, it was because he was keeping her out for her protection or because something in him was keeping his awareness out for the same reason.

He could have stepped away from her touch. Maybe he should have, but he shifted toward her. “It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“I do NOT need to convince myself of what I already know! I left you because I was despairing. I was wrong to despair. …I’m sorry.”

He felt responsible for that despair, and here she was apologizing for it. He sighed, not knowing how to change things between them so that she wouldn’t keep feeling it. “You’re not wrong. You’re just feeling what you feel…”

When he looked closely, he could see more layers of the Effie he’d known falling away. It scared the hell out of him. He didn’t know how to stop it. He cradled her face in his hands and caressed her. “…These cheeks are so hollow, honey.”

She released a breath she’d been holding. “Your eyes are too. Have you been sleeping?”

“Probably about as much as you’ve been eating. Do you want dinner? Peeta’s been dropping off a loaf of something most days.”

She shook her head no. She slid her hands up his chest and noticed new flecks of grey in his beard. She wanted all the details she missed, all the stories his body could tell her. “I want what’s happening now.”

His thumbs brushed the corners of her mouth. “You said if you came back our clothes would be off, and we wouldn’t be fixing anything at all. You said it like that’s the problem.”

His calluses were rough against her chapped lips. She felt the flying in her body, the certainty that she could make this work. The therapist said the high was a red flag. It unfurled in her awareness, wrapped around her like silk, and drew her in.

“There is nothing to fix tonight,” she told him, “I’m offering anything that you want from me, and I’m allowing everything that you want to give.”

Tonight. “Then what happens tomorrow? What happens the next time you’re hurting?”

She shook her head. “What is the point in not hurting if there is no joy either? I felt no joy without you.” After awhile, I was not even sure why I was living.

He echoed her feelings in his own confession. “Since you left, it’s been hard to keep staying alive.”

It’s what she wanted to hear — the pain he rarely spoke of and his need for her. Tears filled her throat. “Can I come home?”

“This is your place too. It’s no good without y—“

Their kiss was slow and full of memories. He felt her tears on his face, and he tasted them. He welcomed them now that he was no longer resisting. He needed this, not just for now. He needed this forever, even though nothing lasted and no one stayed. Needing people was a dangerous game, and he was playing it. He’d been playing it with her all along. He didn’t trust her with his heart. He didn’t trust himself. And yet, he was playing.

“I don’t want us to fuck this up.”

“I’ve worked too hard for this to let us.”

The red flag tightened as desire.

Their winter layers were coming off, as expected, as it happened hundreds of times before. Just enough to feel each other’s skin.

“Where?” he asked.

“You said that our first time. So long ago. Do you remember?”

“Yeah. You were indecisive then too.”

“Haymitch!” She slapped his chest, and he caught her wrist.

The room spun slowly for him, like a harvest time waltz. Around and around and around. “Tell me where, sweetheart, or it’s gonna be the floor.”

“In our bed for heaven’s sake!”

“It’s always the hard way with you,” he chuckled.

She lifted his arm over her shoulder, and they eased into the familiar… The third step of the staircase creaked on the way up, and the seventh was marred by a gouge where Haymitch had dropped his knife… The headboard jostled against the wall as they slipped between worn out sheets… They leaned into one another’s touch and felt a fleeting comfort in the ache of longing... Her legs were cool as she wrapped around him... “Let’s warm you up, sweetheart.”

He moved inside her. Soft moans emerged from her throat in concert with the motion. She met him with all that she was, even the parts of her that were lost to her awareness.

“Like this,” she murmured, “Fuck me like this.”

She lit him up. In that moment of incandescence, he’d do anything she wanted for as long as he could last, though she was feeling too good and he was too hungover to last long.

She was a bird in his arms, singing. A mourning dove on a lamppost, witnessing the loneliness of the world. I see you, the feathery creature croons, I’m here. — She was a goddess, holding his life in her hands. She could crush him.

This physical aspect of loving was simple. Nothing in his life felt more uncomplicated than being inside her, sensing her arousal build as it was happening in him. It crossed his mind to slow the pace in order to draw this out, but his body would have none of that.

And neither would hers. He was in deep with her — she knew he was — yet she didn’t quite have him, even after all these years, even in their most naked moments. The reaching was fire. Heat stung her cheeks as if he had slapped her. “Oh, god…” She wanted the sting.

He watched the flush of pleasure play over her face, and he said what he’d been wanting to since he saw her coming up the road with the geese, since he saw her in his dream with bare feet in the stirrups of a painted horse asking him what he was waiting for. Fear held his tongue, but he muttered through it.

“I love you — so hard.”

Her breath caught in her throat. With those grey eyes on hers, she was certain. About everything. She cried out as waves of delight moved through her, like the tide coming in and snow falling on the beach. Resplendence.

The sensations drew him to the edge. He felt it coming for him too, all powerful and alive and shit.

Holy fuck. He wanted it like this.

After all this time, he would have thought that pulling out of her would be as simple as being inside her. He’d perfected the art of it. Hell, he’d done it half-drunk dozens of times.

This time he was alert to everything, and leaving her body wasn’t instinctual at all. One more second. Just one more. Just… MORE. Hope seeped into the cracks, and, for a crushing instant, he wanted it all.

“Eff— I’m coming—” He said it as if she should run.

“YES.” Her heart pounded as if she were running. She held his hips lightly as his body claimed what his mind couldn’t wrap itself around.

In that instant, he stayed inside her as he found release.

🎶 …Coming down… coming down… coming down… coming down… 🎶 Like glistening petals and surrender.

She traced the length of his spine through beads of sweat. Her lips brushed his neck as she whispered protestations of love and something about him needing a haircut.

“Hmm…” was all he could muster.

The month had been so long without her. He clung to her as her voice faded from his awareness. He slipped into the unconscious world of sleep without thinking about what just happened between them, without thinking about his empty flask, without thinking about anything except the feeling of her hands in his hair.

Under the familiar weight of him, she experienced a flash of uncertainty. A vision of ten tiny fingernails shaped like perfect crescent moons, reaching for her — alone. After a year of wanting exactly this moment, the uncertainty showing up in it was as unexpected as it was predictable.

A question rooted in their tangled limbs and took hold in her awareness.

What have I done?

She couldn’t shake it loose.

[ellanainthetardis]

I am aware that “I know places” by taylor swift is already such a THG song buuuuut that song gives me such “Running from Snow” vibes and i love it! That fic of yours is always dear to me since it was the first of yours I ever read and what brought me to the Hayffie ship! It takes me back yearsssss ago!!

No but I know places was TOTALLY that fic’s soundtrack when I wrote it I think 😂 I have a soft spot for this one... I think it’s the 3rd chaptered one I published but it was actually the second I wrote... Lyssandra was named Domitia then...

Anyway I Know Places absolutely fits the vibe... The whole fox thing and biting their tails... Out Of The Woods also... I remember linking both songs to that fic back then...

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

The better to taste you with, sweetheart

(Hayffie trick-or-treat 🧡 🔥 NSFW. Sexual content. Thanks @chocolateshipcookieblog for the prompt. This fic is a bit all over the place, but so is Halloween, so I just went with what came up. District 12 started feeling a little like Stars Hollow, so I kind of embraced that too. Now I can’t look at a lollipop without picturing it in Effie’s mouth, and I’m not complaining 🍭. Writing this was fun and touching.)

***

A fire burned in a wood stove in the corner of the Hob where people gathered for the town hall meeting. The large brick building held the chill of early autumn. Effie shivered, regretting her decision to wear only a sweater rather than a coat. She huddled close to Peeta. Sae’s granddaughter held Effie’s hand in a childlike way, swinging her arm periodically. Effie didn’t mind the connection with the unusual woman who was her neighbor now. That evening she appreciated the warmth of her hand.

“I told ‘em they were buildin’ this place too big,” Greasy Sae said matter-of-factly, not caring if the mayor or anyone in particular heard her or not. “A body gets cold in here no matter the size of the crowd.”

“Sure beats the heat in summer,” a man behind them said.

Effie peered over her shoulder and recognized him as one of the spice traders. “Spice” was a term used loosely in 12 to refer to dried roots, stems, bulbs, barks, and herbs, including tabacco and cannabis.

“Summer gets real hot.” He glanced at Effie from her forehead to her shoulders, then his eyes shot back up without gazing further. It was a look she knew well now. In 12, no one in his right mind stared wantonly at Haymitch’s girl, at least not openly, even when they were drunk or stoned.

The town hall had drawn a decent size crowd. More folks started showing up at those meetings once the council stopped hosting them every month and switched to quarterly. The people of each district had representatives and a governor, but those positions dealt with broad political issues, leaving local issues to be facilitated by a mayor and a town council.

It was Effie’s first autumn since letting go of her apartment in the Capitol, and Peeta was a dear to be joining her that night since she hadn’t wanted to go alone. She figured the only way she’d stop feeling like an outsider in 12 was to walk the line awhile between being present and being nonintrusive. She had a lifetime of experience walking lines much finer and more perilous than that one, so the task suited her.

The Hob filled with the fragrance of coffee brewing. People in attendance sipped mugs of it and devoured the muffins Peeta brought, baked with fruit from pawpaw trees. Katniss had encountered a grove of them in the woods. The fruit dropped in late summer and early fall, and Katniss gathered up what she found after hunts.

The mayor called the meeting to order and proceeded with the usual agenda: reconstruction updates, old business, new business, and so on. Effie was fairly bored until some new business sparked her interest.

“Since last year’s revival of All Hallows’ Eve was well received,” the mayor said, “The council invites all to attend this year’s festivities which will be held on the last night of October. We’ll have a bonfire again at the meadow’s edge to honor the departed. In the first two hours after sunset, everyone is encouraged to participate in the ancient tradition of guising.”

“Guising?” Effie murmured the question to Peeta.

He whispered back, “Dressing up in costume — mostly creatures from old stories. And going door to door after dark for treats — sweet foods, coins for children, liquor for adults.”

Costumes, sweets, money, alcohol... that sounded to Effie like regular living in the old days of the Capitol. But this tradition, one night each year under the cover of darkness, was something unique. In the Capitol they’d only celebrated national holidays.

The mayor continued, “Spread the word... anyone planning to offer treats, please remember to light a lantern or a candle on your doorstep in order to avoid the — confusion — we had last year.”

“Confusion?” Effie quietly asked Peeta again.

“Pranks on people who were home but not answering their doors: knocking late into the night, tossing a few eggs at windows, minor mischief.”

Effie could guess who probably refused to answer his door. This year that was going to change if she had anything to say about it, which of course she did.

***

On the last evening in October, Haymitch slouched on the sofa in front of a fire with his feet propped up on the coffee table. The flames burned low, but he felt too lazy to add another log. He reached instead for his glass of whiskey.

He could already hear people gathering near the meadow. Bonfire, music, dancing... traditions to honor the dead. Folks were saying that a long time ago All Hallows’ Eve was celebrated as some “sacred” night when the “veil between worlds” is thin and the dead are close. Katniss had a few memories of her father telling *ghost* stories that his mother used to sing about. The old lady had been a strange one for sure. To Haymitch it all seemed like load of horse shit since “dead” meant decayed to bones, then nothing and gone forever.

“Traditions” for Haymitch had always meant the ones that happened under Snow’s control. Reaping Day had been the big “holiday.” Work paused and citizens dressed up. Those were government orders. Eventually people shamed their neighbors who didn’t stop working and didn’t wear nice clothes. They no longer needed government to do the punishing about not following traditions because people did it to each other. Families whose children didn’t get reaped celebrated quietly, behind closed doors, reserving special food for the occasion if they could afford to do so. *Holiday traditions* didn’t sit well with Haymitch.

“Manners!” Effie scolded as she approached from the kitchen and saw his bare feet on the coffee table.

“Loosen your corset. There’s a coaster right here.” He said it without looking at her.

Not wanting to start an argument just then, she bit her tongue as she moved toward the fireplace. “I’m not wearing a corset tonight.”

His peripheral vision caught a flash of red, and he turned to watch her. She wore a velvet cloak buttoned down the front. She pulled off a long satin glove before grabbing a log to throw on the fire.

His eyes passed over her from head to toe then back up again. “What’s this?” he asked, with a smile on his face.

She slipped her glove back on and confronted him with her hands on her hips. The hood of her cloak was pulled up, and her hair peeked from beneath, framing her face in blonde curls. Her makeup was light, apart from her lipstick which was as crimson as blood.

“My costume, for guising.”

His expression was a mix of intrigue, amusement, and irritation.

“I told you weeks ago that we’re going, and I mean it! Posy’s already on her way over here. I’m paying that girl a small fortune to hand out cookies and quarters and whiskey, so Hazelle doesn’t have to wash dried egg off YOUR window panes tomorrow like Peeta said she had to do last year.”

“Whiskey?! I didn’t agree to give out liquor to freeloaders.”

“Everyone is doing it. You’ll be receiving as much as you’re giving away.” Effie sat beside him on the couch, crossing her legs so the cloak parted near the fur-lined hem where she’d left a couple of buttons unfastened. Above knee-high boots, her thighs were covered in lace stockings.

“You’ll be wearing that?” His mouth watered for treats other than food and drink.

“All evening.”

He reached out to her thigh, but she smacked his hand before he could touch her.

“What the hell!” He sat up straight, aroused by the sting of the slap as much as by her appearance.

“You get to touch me when we’re out of the house, not before!”

“That’s extortion.”

“That’s PATIENCE... and holiday spirit!” She softened the blow by adding, “...I’ll be touching you too — if you want.”

Yeah, I want. “No corset? Hmmm. So what are you wearing under that cloak?”

“You’ll see tonight — after we visit everyone, and we’re home.”

“That’s more extortion!”

“That’s more patience.”

“And what am I supposed to wear?”

“It doesn’t matter, honey. With me dressed like this, they’re not going to be looking at you.”

***

Twilight was fading, and the last trace of blue drained from the sky. Effie had never seen more stars than she did when looking up from the clearings of 12. She slipped a flat round disk of hard candy from a wax paper sleeve and held it up by its wooden stick.

“Shine the lantern on it,” she directed, “I want to see the color.”

The lantern swung casually at Haymitch’s side. He didn’t lift it up. “Why’d you insist on us bringing this thing when we could each be using a flashlight? Or better yet, sitting at home where there’s electricity. Or lying in bed pretending we’re not home.”

“If we’re in bed, then people coming to the door are going to know we’re home. I wouldn’t be quiet, and you’d wind up smothering me with a pillow.”

“That sounds accurate.”

“Besides, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Too dark to find it.”

“What’s too dark — the night or you?”

“Both.”

She stopped walking, and he followed suit. With him it was always easier to catch flies with honey. She slid the basket of gathered treats over her wrist. It was growing heavy with pastries, fresh and dried fruits, nuts, and confections like taffy from the sweet shop in the Hob.

She reached above the zipper of his coat and stroked the hollow between his collarbones. “I like the darkness in you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere when I’m freezing my ass off.” Her fingertips were warm, red satin against his throat. The gloves stretched from her hands to her elbows. When she’d pulled them on earlier that evening, he wanted her to touch him right then.

“Let’s see...” She moved her hand away. When he was about to protest, she nestled her body against his and slipped her gloved fingers beneath his coat, into the back waistband of his pants. “Your ass is still here, and it’s not frozen.”

She teased his flesh without grasping, drawing him out with her, not home for sex. He felt the difference. If he wanted something now other than this “guising” nonsense, then he’d need to do some coaxing of his own.

He encircled her waist with one arm and murmured against her temple. “Why do you need a lantern when you can just taste the thing?”

With her hand in his pants, her mind started spinning things she wanted to taste. The heels of her boots brought her mouth up close to his. He smelled like the wool hat and sweater he’d dug out from the cedar chest, the ale they’d been given at the previous house, and bites of chocolate.

“What ‘thing’ would I be tasting?”

“That lollipop ...unless you have something else in mind.”

Even as she clenched the thin wooden dowel, she’d forgotten it. “A lick would be good...” She touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of his mouth. “...But maybe I’ll need to suck on it awhile.”

Reluctantly she slipped out from the warmth of him and pulled away, transferring the basket of treats back to her hand.

He lifted the lantern, otherwise it would have been too dark to watch her suck on that stick of candy, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to miss that.

She opened her mouth slowly and met the lollipop with her tongue, then lingered a moment before drawing the candy inside. She pursed her lips around the stick, and her cheeks sucked in. Her tongue moved side to side awhile, savoring the flavor. When she pulled the stick out, her lips were still puckered. The candy followed, glistening in the lantern light.

Her mouth turned up at the corners. “It’s okay to blink now,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “So how does it taste?”

“Find out for yourself.”

She held out the lollipop, but he didn’t take it. Instead he wrapped his hand, gloved in leather, around her satin-clad one. He tugged her toward him, and tasted her. She was sticky sweet, like white sugar sprinkled over warm berries.

The kiss sent the sweetness coursing through her. Her breath came out in a rush over his tongue. He felt it everywhere.

“Damn, Effie. Let’s go home. I wanna take off your cloak. I can hardly feel anything with these gloves on.”

He was tempting, but she steeled herself against temptation. “Not yet. We haven’t been to the mayor’s house or the bonfire.”

“The bonfire? Shit. You didn’t say anything about that.”

“It was implied.”

In the lantern light, she watched him scowl.

“Implied...” she leaned in again and murmured against his neck, “...Like the sex we’ll be having later. I didn’t say anything about doing that either, but you know we will.”

“Fine. ...While I’m waiting, feel free to keep sucking on that candy.”

Effie slid the basket over her wrist again, laced her fingers with his, and enticed him with the lollipop between her lips as they strolled on.

***

“Ah, what do you know! It’s Haymitch Abernathy, out on All Hallows’ Eve. Effie, you’ve accomplished a miracle.” The mayor poured them each a cupful of brandy.

“This is WONDERFUL, Taylor. It’s the council that’s accomplished a miracle.” Effie sipped the drink. The ability to make small talk with anyone was a long rehearsed part of her skill set.

“You are dazzling in red. Why don’t you wear that color more often?”

“I save it for special occasions.”

“Haymitch, who are you supposed to be? ...The woodcutter?”

“I’m pretending to be a nice guy.” He downed the brandy in a single gulp.

“Ah, a wolf in sheep’s clothing! Well, ‘nice guy’ looks much better on you than the *grumpy old man* costume you wore last year.”

“Very funny...”

Effie half-expected the words to be followed by a snide “sweetheart.”

The mayor dropped a brown paper package tied with blue ribbon into Effie’s basket of treats. “Fudge. From the sweet shop. After last year’s pumpkin explosion, I’ve sworn off baking.”

“When I visit Peeta or Sae’s kitchens, they make me sit on a stool and drink coffee.”

“That’s not a bad deal.”

“I agree.”

The mayor glanced around, then whispered, “Truth be told, I overcooked the pumpkin intentionally, figuring I’d be spared future requests for baked goods. But the explosion was a surprise.”

“My lips are sealed.” Effie finished her drink, and they handed the glasses back to the mayor.

“I’m heading to the bonfire. How about you two?”

“We were just about to—“ Effie started, but Haymitch interrupted with his hand on her back.

“—make another stop. Maybe we’ll see you later.”

***

“What other stop?” she asked when they were walking on the road again.

He slid his hand up her back and grasped the nape of her neck, caressing her through the velvet. “I didn’t get all *dressed up* tonight to spend time with the mayor. I wanna be with you.”

She wrapped her arm around him and hooked her thumb on his waistband. “I want to be with you too. It’s almost too bad there are people crawling all over town tonight.“

“Come here.” He lead her around the side of the Hob.

“I am NOT making out with you behind the dumpster!”

“Keep going. I know what you like and what you don’t.”

The back of the building was steeped in shadow. There were a couple of pallets stacked high with wood for the stoves. He lead her along the narrow passage between them to a spot sheltered under the eaves.

He took the basket from her hands and set it on the ground along with the flickering lantern. She smiled as she backed up against the brick wall. “Do you bring all the girls here?”

“Just you... Red.” He pulled off his gloves and dropped them beside the basket. “I’m done waiting to touch you.”

He held her hips and pulled her lightly against him. One hand shifted to the small of her back. The other brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. The crimson color lingered elsewhere now, on the rims of unwashed liquor glasses and a discarded lollipop stick. Her lips parted, naked and soft.

“I want this mouth on me.”

“Where, honey?” She was already inching down the zipper of his coat.

“You choose.”

She snuggled against his sweater. His body was warm and hard, and she immediately wanted more than what she felt was accessible in the shadow of the Hob.

Her hands touched him first before her mouth. Satin fingertips traced around his coat collar, pushing it low. She sucked the tendons on the side of his neck, up to his jaw and back. Then she bit down.

He flinched, groaning in a mix of pain and pleasure. He gripped her wrists, holding her against him rather than pushing her away. “Is that how you want to play this?”

“Uh huh,” she mumbled against his neck, kissing gently now. “I’m making some marks. Everybody in this town is treating me like I’m *yours*. If that’s how it’s going to be, they should know you’re mine too.”

“I haven’t been telling ‘em anything.”

“They know it just the same.” She plucked kisses like a rope around his throat, then bit him on the other side.

He let it all happen, anticipating the sensations, and flinching again. He nudged her against the wall, letting her feel what she was doing to his body. “You know, I can get you off right here,” he said.

The same force that spent a decade pulling her to 12 was tugging at her now. Everything inside her melted like that lollipop in a mouthful of hot brandy. The temptation was too much. “We have to be quick. Anyone might find us.”

“So what? If they see you fucking me, that’ll offer ‘em more clarity about us than you biting up my neck.”

“Haymitch, there are children!”

“So we’ll keep our clothes on and stay quiet... mostly. No kids are gonna be scarred — not even you, sweetheart.” He toyed with the top button of her cloak.

“How do YOU want to play this?” she asked.

“I wanna see you.” He unhooked the buttons, keeping his eyes fixed on hers, waiting to take in the sight of her all at once, whatever it might be.

After the last button was unfastened, she didn’t wait for him to open her cloak. She did it herself.

Damn... She’d been walking all over town wearing nothing under that thing except a white neglige and a thong. Both were made of some sheer fabric that hid little to nothing of her. The thin silk straps around her hips matched the ones over her shoulders.

“Effie...” He wanted her. Every bit of her. And he knew the thing that people had been thinking was true. She had him. Nothing was changing that, unless he drank himself to death, or she left him — whichever came first. Later, when more blood was flowing to his brain, he might be afraid of that awareness. But for now he was hers.

“Surprise.” She beamed. “You better come closer, or I’m going to be the one freezing my ass off.”

His arms went around her within the cloak, and he crushed her against him, taking in the sensations of her with his hands and mouth.

Her palms skimmed up his back under his shirt. “Closer...” she urged.

“You first.”

She’d spent a long portion of her life in gloves. Her fingers were nearly as dexterous within fabric as they were bare. She opened his pants and pulled his dick into her hands, working him between her palm and fingers. He thought about letting her make him come like that. But he wanted to be inside her.

His hands were warm when they slipped into her thong, bracketing her with fingers in her folds and spiraling just above. When he touched her, everything quickened. She stroked him with insistence and moved against his hands with rapid cadence.

Far too much noise was coming from her throat. “Where’s that pillow so I can smother you?” he teased.

“Just fuck me,” she pleaded, “Now before we’re arrested.”

He untangled his hands from her thong. She lifted one of her legs, and he hiked it up in the crook of his elbow, flattening his palm against the wall. The heels of her boots brought her up to a perfect height to fuck like this. She slid her thong to the side, and he dipped within her — plunging, stirring. She met his thrusts with her own.

He clutched her waist and pressed her against the bricks, commanding stillness. “Don’t move your hips.”

“What!” she huffed, “Fuck you, Haymitch! I’m so close.”

“PATIENCE,” he teased with her inflection in his voice, “Wait for it, and it’ll be better. You know I’m right.”

She knew.

He was close too. She was all satin and velvet inside and out. Her breasts brushed against his sweater. It was so much.

She was crying out, and “Shhh” was accomplishing nothing. He covered her mouth with his palm. His pinky pressed against her nostrils. She could breathe, but barely. They’d played this game before. Adrenaline surged through her body as she came undone. She clung to his neck as her thighs shook. Her whimpers passed through the closed slits between his fingers. Her eyes were wild in shadow, never leaving his.

“I know, honey. I’m right here... Oh, fuck. I know... Goddamn it... Effie...” He heard her name several times as he climaxed. He must have been the one saying it, since his hand was still covering her mouth.

When he let go of her, she sucked in the night air, still clutching his neck. She was high. So high like this.

“Are you okay?” He panted.

She caught her breath. “The mayor, Greasy Sae, the damn spice trader, they’re all right... I’m yours. I just am. It’s like breathing. Even when it’s hard to do, I’m still yours.” — It was the closest she would come to a declaration of love.

Her words moved through him like the music he heard in the distance. He was chuckling, not knowing exactly why. Release mostly. The lantern flickered near their feet. The hood of her cloak had slipped back, and her curls were stretching into wisps, fatigued like his body. She was so beautiful.

“I’m pretty sure my neck is bleeding now, so apparently that makes me yours too.”

“Oh...” Oxytocin was working its magic, and she filled with empathy. She pushed the coat off his shoulders so she could see. Her teeth marks were there, but no blood was dripping. She slapped his chest. “You’ll live.”

They pulled apart far enough to put themselves back into a semblance of order: readjusting, covering, zipping, and buttoning up. Then he held her until she was warm enough to move out again into the night.

***

They returned to the road, rather than cutting through the meadow. Yeah, “dead” meant decayed to bones, then nothing and gone forever, but Haymitch still didn’t want to be walking across a mass grave, no matter how thick the grasses were growing, no matter that flowers would pop up in spring.

Effie felt the energy of the evening diffusing. Sparks from the bonfire floated away on the breeze with red maple leaves. Haymitch carried her basket in the crook of his elbow where her leg had been settled a short while before. In that same hand he held the lantern. Both of her arms wrapped around his free one, the way he held her sometimes in sleep.

That night, children who had never known the Games wore their blankets around their shoulders to be heroes or over their heads to be ghosts. They cuddled their blankets in their arms as they grew tired and snuggled against their parents, or whoever they had left to love them. Effie’s Nana had held her like that, once upon a time. Many years passed before she experienced again that quality of feeling.

She squeezed Haymitch’s arm tighter, and her eyes filled with tears. If someone had asked her all the reasons why, she couldn’t have told them. Some emotions are too layered to translate into words on cards. They’re unexplainable to an audience of even one.

She paused. “Let’s go home.”

“No bonfire?”

“Not tonight.”

“Okay. Ain’t nothing there that you and I don’t already have right here.” — It was the closest he would come to a declaration of love.

Whether they were taking the path of pins or the path of needles was irrelevant. The thing they had — the one that drew him out and filled her up —was always leading them the same place.

“Let’s stop first at the kids’ porch.” Effie added, “Peeta told me he was dressing up in Katniss’s hunting jacket, and he was going to try to wrangle her into wearing one of his aprons.”

“That I’d like to see... But don’t go getting any ideas.”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that hat of yours, and there’s no way I’m letting you borrow this cloak.”

“The mayor did say I look dazzling in red,” he joked.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint the mayor. ...I’ll let you wear my lipstick.”

“Only if you kiss it onto me then kiss it right off again.”

Some *traditions* might not be so bad after all.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

🎶 ...Too many miles... 🎶

For several years after the revolution, Haymitch and Effie’s relationship is characterized by effects of trauma: emotional unavailablity, physical unavailablity, intermittent reinforcement, longing, insecure attachment, fear and addiction.

During those years, they are apart much more often than they are together. They spend more time on trains, coming and going, than they do in each other’s presence. The push and pull are relentless forces — exhilarating and painful in turn. The truth, of course, is that Haymitch and Effie are not fine. For a long time, they’re not fine at all.

But they will be, in time. They care for each other too deeply to stop trying.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Hayffie’s Girl

(Anyone who thinks Haymitch, alcoholic or not, wouldn’t be an incredible dad can fight me on that. I’d win so damn hard. This song is perfect 😍😭. The moment I heard it, I decided it had to have a story. SYML has so many Hayffie vibes. And, yes, Haymitch and Effie’s kid would definitely have ever-changing hair colors, no matter how tough she may be...

“Hair color and toughness? One ain’t got nothing to do with the other!” their girl says.

“Ain’t got??” Effie glares at Haymitch. “This language is YOUR doing.”

“One *doesn’t have anything* to do with the other,” Haymitch winks at them, “Your mama ain’t got much patience today so don’t test the bit she’s got left.”)

***

(Source: SYML - Girl (Acoustic) - Lyrics at the Moment, YouTube)

***

Effie sang the lyrics as a lullaby.

Haymitch was too choked up to say anything, but he held their little one on his chest at night. He didn’t wait for her to have a bad dream. He held her before that, so she’d wake up knowing she wasn’t alone. He never drank past mid-afternoon, so he wouldn’t risk hurting her.

“You’ll spoil her.” Effie smiled when she said it. “How will she ever learn to sleep alone?”

“She’ll sleep alone when she decides she wants to sleep alone and not a second before then.”

***

Growing up sprinkled freckles on her face. Haymitch plucked three kisses on her each morning — one on the bridge of her nose and one on each of her cheekbones.

“Our girl’s been kissed by sunshine,” he said, hoping she’d never feel compelled to cover them up.

“By angels.” Effie brushed her hand along the back of his neck as she passed by.

***

He carried their girl on his back through the woods, and he walked beside her in turn. Through scraped knees and heartache.

“Don’t close your eyes to it,” he told her, “You gotta know what you’re facing. Seeing it might hurt, but knowing it will help you stay free.” He said ‘free’ with her instead of ‘alive.’

***

Her body grew strong, and she ran. He ran with her through the meadow where he hadn’t stepped foot in the years that came before her.

“This is a grave,” he told her, “Every blade of grass, every plant and tree is growing up from what’s left of the people who died here. Our people.”

She paused. Then with a thoughtful expression she bent to pick a flower. “They must’ve been awfully pretty people to make THESE grow. Let’s braid a crown for Mama!”

“She’d like that.”

“You can help me pick ‘em, Daddy, but you better leave the braiding to me.” She knew him well.

***

He lit candles and told her stories of the darkness. “Candles were the only light I used to have at night. These walls were more of a prison for me than a sanctuary. Then your mama came and made this a home. Then you surprised us...”

“...And made us a family. You were my BEST surprise,” Effie always teared up saying it, because for her there was nothing more true.

“No matter what you come up against, it doesn’t have to be a prison.” He laced his fingers with Effie’s. “There’s always something else it can become.”

***

Their girl was an artist from the start. In the summer she painted designs on Haymitch’s chest and stomach, connecting the dots of his scars.

He’d lie on the grass with his ankles crossed and his arms folded behind his head. He was a much better canvas than the geese who wandered around them and nipped at fingers that got too close.”

“Daddy, I love your scars.”

“I love your scars too, baby.” He poked her chin which she’d split open the year before on the porch steps. “And your mama’s.”

“Stripes on her belly because having me made her a tiger.”

“That’s right. Though she was already a tiger. Having you just made her a stronger one.”

A breeze blew light and warm, and Haymitch’s eyelids were heavy. A leaf fell from the maple tree and landed beside them.

“These leaves got five fingers, just like us. Look! I want you to see!”

“I see that, little one. My eyes are open. I’m not going anywhere.”

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Imagine Dragons

...always creates the songs I need, and those songs are revealed to me exactly when I need them. As much as or more than any other band, their music has been the soundtrack for my 40s.

This one is my Hayffie. In it for the long haul. Traumatized people who just keep trying.

“After everything, how can she still want me? ...But she does.”

“After everything, how can he still want me? ...But he does.”

“I don’t feel worthy of this, but it’s happening. Terrifying and thrilling. Difficult and delicious. After all this time... it’s still happening.”

(Source: Imagine Dragons, via SyrebralVibes, YouTube)

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Coffee and secrets

(This prompt brought a couple of stories to mind, so I combined them. This fic feels precious, probably too fluffy for Hayffie, even in the idealization phase of their relationship. But I adore them, and they deserve some fluff. 💕)

***

***

🎶”She's like cold coffee in the morning

I'm drunk off last nights whisky and coke

She'll make me shiver without warning

And make me laugh as if I'm in on the joke

And you can stay with me forever

Or you could stay with me for now...”🎶

***

A game within a game... In the Capitol betting lounge, Haymitch slid onto a chair facing away from the odds board. Everybody here is being played by a tyrant; only they’re as blind to it as if somebody sliced out their eyes.

He flashed back to piercing blue. The girl from 1 had stared him down with pupils dilated as he cut her. She’d sacrificed her *queen* in order to get close enough to eviscerate him with her axe. ‘Checkmate’ she may have thought in the moment before her skull was split in two. Or maybe in the pause she thought of home, the way he did as he passed out with blood spilling from his gut.

A “victor,” they called him then. What did any of them know about that word? By the time he eventually made it home, his loved ones were all dead, like the 47 tributes he’d outlived to be given that title. He may have survived, but he sure as hell hadn’t won.

A year later, these kids from 12, near last in the standings, weren’t going to win either. Haymitch didn’t expect to have to work at getting them sponsors because he doubted they’d survive the first ten minutes in the arena.

He’d known them from school. They were just a bit younger than he was. Miners’ kids, skin and bones. They ran slow and jumped at their own shadows. He didn’t know how to help them. “Mentor” was just another title without meaning.

So he sat in the lounge and drank a large cup of coffee as fools around him judged all those kids like goods at the Hob. What are they worth? A basket of eggs? A ball of twine? Since he’d fallen asleep drunk the night before, sipping coffee to wake up now was the most he could offer the two that he was supposed to be *mentoring*, for whatever that was worth....

Nothing. I’m worth nothing.

He slipped a flask from his coat pocket and splashed liquor into the coffee.

“Is that cream?” a young girl asked. He hadn’t noticed her sit down beside him. Hungover as he was, she might have been there all along.

“Cream?” Haymitch chuckled. It was good to feel for a minute something other than dread.

“Cream and sugar are ever so lovely, but Mother says they’ll make me fat,” she sighed, staring at Haymitch’s cup with longing. “So I always take my coffee black.”

He peered inside her cup. It held the dregs of black coffee. She drank the last sip with her pinky curled.

She was a posh little thing with pink ribbons woven in a mass of blonde hair. The color of her dress matched the ribbons. She reminded him of a wisp of clouds at the beginning of a summer sunset, caught in that fleeting moment of pink in between white and orange.

“It ain’t cream, sweetheart.”

She looked pleased regardless, straightening as tall as possible in her chair. Her cheeks were blushing as pink as her getup.

“‘Ain’t’ is slang, you know. The boys at school sing, ‘Ain’t ain’t a word, and I ain’t gonna say it, ‘cause it ain’t in the dictionary.’” She leaned toward Haymitch. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He glanced around for her parents, but saw no one paying attention. “Sure, kid.”

She dropped her voice to almost a whisper. “I looked it up in the dictionary, and it’s there as a contraction of ‘am not.’ The dictionary says it’s a ‘vulgar’ contraction, so maybe that’s why Mother tells me that saying it is bad manners.”

Who the hell is this girl? She looked up at him with piercing blue eyes, like the one he cut out of the girl in the Games. He shivered in a moment of haunting.

“Can I tell you another secret?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I like the way you say it, and I won’t tell.”

“Won’t tell who?” Haymitch stifled a grin, intrigued by her boldness.

“I won’t tell anyone. It will just be my secret, drinking coffee with you and saying ‘ain’t’ with you. ...It can be OUR secret — if you promise.”

“Okay.” He smirked. “But I AIN’T good at promises.”

“I doubt that’s true. ...You’re good at everything.”

He was taken aback. This girl thought she knew who he was.

“Effie...” A man called from the doorway and pointed at his watch, “It’s time.”

“I need to go, so I must tell you quickly... I’m terribly sorry about what happened to your friend Maysilee — and to you. It’s quite a relief to watch you drinking coffee now without it pouring out your stomach.” She brushed the tips of her fingers against his wrist, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

The girl DID know who he was. She couldn’t be older than 10, if that. What kind of parents here let their children watch this horror show? ...Or maybe they were forced to, like in the districts. He felt sorry for this kid, for all the kids.

Her touch lingered with mix of innocence, comfort, and curiosity. When she withdrew her hand, Haymitch was relieved and strangely sad.

“Effie!” Her father glared this time.

She hopped off the chair like the child she was, before remembering to adopt a prim posture. “I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance. ...I’ll see you again.” She spoke with assurance, rather than as a question.

“Me too, kid.” He had no idea if he’d see that girl again, but something inside him hoped he would.

***

27 years later...

🎶”...Tell me if I'm wrong

Tell me if I'm right

Tell me if you need a loving hand

To help you fall asleep tonight

Tell me if I know

Tell me if I do

Tell me how to fall in love the way you want me to...”🎶

***

“Life is too short for bad coffee!”

“Just because you don’t want to go to the Hob with me doesn’t make the coffee there bad.”

He was right about that. Coffee beans grown in greenhouses along the southern border of 12 might not be as tasty as those imported from the tropics, but they were decent enough for Effie to consider investing in the operation.

“So you expect me to waltz in there as if I wasn’t the one who reaped their children?”

“Walking in as yourself will be fine, sweetheart. No waltzing required.”

“I escorted those babies to their deaths, Haymitch!”

“Five, six years ago,” he quibbled.

“Nobody will ever forget that — and they shouldn’t! How could anyone here ever see me any other way?”

“Shit, I don’t know. I see you all kinds of ways.” He gazed from her face down her body.

“Ha! You’re the only one here fucking me.”

“We spent most of our lives not fucking each other. Do you see me differently now that we do?”

Sex had come into their connection during the revolution when the intensity between them became impossible to ignore. The feelings came long before sex, especially for her. He was right about that too.

“If this was about you, it would be simple. This is your town, and people here love you...”

The decades-old voice within him intruded... Nothing. I’m worth nothing. “People don’t *love* me.” His tone was full of annoyance.

She touched his forehead and tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear. She leaned in and whispered, “Can’t you feel how much they do?” It was the closest she’d come to saying what she never quite said.

He felt everything with her, yet he ignored her question. “Don’t make this about me. I’m not the one who’s afraid to go to the Hob.”

“But what will they THINK of me?” Her eyes pleaded for an answer.

People’s perceptions of him didn’t matter to Haymitch, but how others regarded Effie was critical to her. He caressed her arm to her fingertips, lingering so she could take his hand when she was ready. “There’s only one way to find out, honey.”

She was wearing a white blouse with elbow-length sleeves. It buttoned at the neck, then opened in a long teardrop before fastening again just above her breasts. Haymitch stroked her skin within the opening. “Today is almost as beautiful as you. Your train doesn’t leave for hours. Let’s go have coffee in the sun.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“It IS that simple.”

She slipped her fingers between his. “Just don’t let go, okay?”

It was an easy promise. As long as she wanted him, he had no intention of letting go.

Effie opted to forgo her usual curve-hugging fashion, and she walked through town in a “peasant skirt” riding low on her hips and flowing to mid-calf, near the top of her boots. These less ornate styles were becoming increasingly popular in the Capitol. Oh, the challenge of finding such a skirt resembling neither an ancient prairie dress nor her grandmother’s curtains! But she had done it. Hers was sewn from 3 bands of fabric, indigo sandwiched between turquoise. Each tier was embroidered with black and white birds.

She held Haymitch’s hand as a lifeline.

The reconstructed Hob was a barely recognizable form of its original self. The new brick and mortar building was vast and full of windows. The space was light and open for vendors to sell their goods, with room for businesses to move in and grow. Near the entrance, there were steel tables and chairs, which were moved indoors or out, depending on the weather.

Effie had never been in the preceding shack-like iteration, so she had no basis for comparison and no idea what went on inside a trading post. This was a new experience for her in more ways than one. Late on a Sunday morning, the Hob was bustling with people buying and selling a greater variety of items than she’d imagined could exist in one place.

“You didn’t tell me the entire district would be here!”

“You’re exaggerating.”

For several hundred people who survived the revolution, District 12 was home. They took up the work of rebuilding upon a foundation laid by the dead.

Actually, there were dozens of people at the Hob that day, not hundreds. Nonetheless, Effie felt the eyes of the world, including many familiar faces from the months in 13.

Today with her hair parted on the left, swooping across her forehead, and falling to her shoulders in soft curls, Effie resembled neither her wigged escort persona nor her turbaned refugee persona.

‘Walking in as yourself will be fine...” Haymitch had said. She’d spent the past two years trying to figure out that person. Herself. She still felt far from knowing.

They passed Greasy Sae with her pot of soup simmering over a fire and her trinkets on the table. Effie ran her fingers over a pendant carved from turquoise.

“It’s almost as pretty as you, girl,” the old woman told her.

“Sae, you’re a darling. It’s wonderful to see you again.” Her statement was genuine, rather than dramaticized as it might have been in the past.

“I’ve been waitin’ for that boy to bring you around. Sure took him long enough.”

“I admit I’ve been dragging my feet,” Effie acknowledged.

“She thought she’d have to WALTZ in here; she’s been practicing,” Haymitch teased, squeezing Effie’s hand. “Are you okay here while I go get us coffee?”

She nodded.

“Meet me at a table outside when you’re done looking.” He kissed her before letting go and moving further into the building.

“For a quarter century I never saw that boy happy. He’s been through too much. Such deep scars. It ain’t fair.”

“You speak tenderly about him.” Effie valued her for doing so.

“I’ve known that one since he was a wee thing. Used to bring me baskets of his ma’s goose eggs and plucked carcasses for my soup. Traded for household goods mostly. They were on their own a long time without his Pa. ...Then he was really on his own.”

Effie’s smile faded. Hearing about Haymitch’s past always hurt.

“Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you sad. You bring more life into that boy than I’ve seen since his name was pulled from that Reaping Ball all those years ago.”

Sae’s words stung. Accidentally, like when you lean against a tree onto a bumblebee. Tears filled Effie’s eyes, thinking not just of Haymitch, but of the years when it was her hand pulling those children’s names.

“I’m sorry,” Effie confessed to nothing in particular — to everything. Sae was a beautiful crone in a kerchief who resembled her great-grandmother in the way all women do who have truly lived.

“Ain’t nothin’ to apologize for, girl. You’re forgiven. The good you’re doin’ now, I hear about it. I see it on his face.”

Effie glanced around them. The crowd had thinned. She lowered her voice. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“My ears are still sharp as tacks, and I’ll keep your secret.”

“I love him.” Effie whispered without hesitation. The words lifted from her chest like a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying.

“Of course you do.”

“28 years, and I’ve never told a soul.”

“That’s a long time to hold such a big thing inside. How much longer are you gonna keep that up?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s ready to hear it. There are no promises between us.”

“Well, you know him best, but secrets take a toll. Take care not to sacrifice your own desires in uncertainty about somebody else’s.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Figure that out, girl, and the rest will fall into place. Now go find that boy of yours. And remember, I live just down the road. You come to my place sometime. I’ll make you a pot of REAL coffee, and we’ll talk where the walls don’t have ears.”

‘Thank you’ didn’t seem like enough, but Effie said it anyway.

She found Haymitch in the sun. Passing behind him, she slid her hands up the back of his neck into his hair. The top of his head was warm against her lips as she kissed him. He turned and tilted. She caught his mouth and tasted him for as long as he let her.

“I’ll buy you coffee every day for that kind of reward,” he said as she sat beside him, “What’s going on?”

“Thanks for bringing me here. ...That’s all.” Some secrets she wasn’t ready to tell.

Haymitch chuckled as he pulled a flask from his pocket. The joy was as palpable as if her hand was on his chest.

“Cream?” he asked.

She blushed in the memory. “Only with you.”

Haymitch poured a shot of whisky in her coffee. Then he kissed her again, just to be sure. ...To be sure that by tonight everyone in 12 would know he was seeing Effie Trinket — and for the moment he was happy. Even if the moment was fleeting, like a wisp of pink clouds in a summer sky.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

The experience of *recognition* is not what it seems

***

I don’t even try to warn my young Effie.

Because once the moment of recognition happens, you can’t go back and undo it. And the first time you don’t want to go back. Undoing it is the opposite of what you want. The colors are overwhelming, candy pink in a blue sky. Even grey becomes your heart’s desire. Especially grey. You sink in, and it’s wild. Then the next thing you know, you’re thrashed.

The next time you think the outcome will be different. You think you’ve learned, you’ve grown, you’ve changed. And maybe you have in some ways, but not in ways that can change the outcome.

The time after that you think, I understand this now; I can control it. I’ll proceed with caution. I’ll go slow. But slow is seductive. The slower you go, the more you want and the faster you want it. You think, if it becomes too much, I’ll walk away. But there’s no walking away in that kind of storm.

When facing it, there are only two options: you go in and weather it, working for integration, or you recognize the feeling of being frozen holding your breath as your cue to run.

In the feeling of recognition, home is an illusion. Promises made will be broken. “I’m terrified. I’m so terrified,” becomes your mantra. And as you say it, you’re thrilled. Your heart beats fast, and you’re flying. ...Until you’re not. Then you’re on the floor kicking yourself, again, asking why does love hurt like this?

Oh, honey, I say. That’s not love. The hurting part is old intensitiy that may feel like love. But love is soft. It doesn’t come first. It seeps in, and you meet it later.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Wedding Colors

“The Fall” is the soundtrack to this multi-part Effie-centric Hayffie fic I’m writing now. Staying focused primarily on Effie’s POV is so difficult for me to do.

When I bring Haymitch into a scene, his voice tends to take over. What he thinks and feels and wants is so clear. I’m trying to persevere and not abandon my vision of Effie’s personal evolution in 13 just because her POV is harder for me to write, just because her thoughts, feelings, and desires are more complex and less clear to me.

It’s hard for a person to come to terms with reality when she’s been living her life largely in an illusion. It’s hard to write that kind of unfolding. But if I don’t write it for Effie, then I’ll never really know the fullness of her character.

Effie thinks she’s not ready for everything that’s happening to her. But I believe if she wasn’t ready, then it wouldn’t be happening. I’ve lost faith in almost everything, but I still believe in that aspect of the universe.

It seems almost criminal to choose only a brief excerpt of this song which has been deep inside me for nearly as long as this blog has been a vehicle for my self-expression.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

(Source: Pilgrim by Enya (via Sally))

***

“Pilgrim, how you journey

On the road you chose

To find out why the winds die

And where the stories go.

All days come from one day

That much you must know,

You cannot change what's over

But only where you go.

One way leads to diamonds,

One way leads to gold,

Another leads you only

To everything you're told.

In your heart you wonder

Which of these is true;

The road that leads to nowhere,

The road that leads to you.

Will you find the answer

In all you say and do?

Will you find the answer

In you?

Each heart is a pilgrim,

Each one wants to know

The reason why the winds die

And where the stories go.

Pilgrim, in your journey

You may travel far,

For pilgrim it's a long way

To find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way

To find out who you are...

Pilgrim, it's a long way

To find out who you are.”

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Hayffie 🎶

There is nothing more enlivening and crushing for me right now than the way I feel Haymitch feeling about Effie — once he finally accepts it. This cover fits. She’d feel these lyrics too. My adoration for this ship emerged suddenly, within the most profound void and most protracted suffering of my life. The way I feel about these characters right now is entirely unexpected yet completely understandable. Angels.

“Remember those walls I built?

Well, baby they're tumblin’ down

They don’t even put up a fight

They don’t even make a sound

Found a way to let you in

Never really had a doubt

Standin’ in the light of your halo

Got my angel now

It's like I've been awakened

Every rule I had you breakin'

It's the risk that I'm takin’

I ain't never gonna shut you out

Everywhere I'm lookin’ now

I'm surrounded by your embrace

Baby, I can see your halo

And you know you're my savin’ grace

I can feel your halo

I can see your halo

I can feel your halo

Halo

Hit me like a ray of sun

Burnin’ through my darkest night

You're the only one that I want

Think I'm addicted to your light

I swore I'd never fall again

But this don't even feel like fallin’

Gravity can forget to pull me back to the ground again

It’s like I've been awakened

Every rule I had you breakin'

It's the risk that I'm takin’

I ain’t never gonna shut you out

I can feel your halo

I can see your halo

I can feel your halo

Halo

Everywhere I'm lookin’ now

I'm surrounded by your embrace

Baby, I can see your halo

Know you're my savin’ grace

You're everything I need and more

It's written all over your face

Baby, I can feel your halo

Pray you won't fade away

I can feel your halo

I can see your halo

I can feel your halo

Halo

I can feel your halo

I can see your halo

I can feel your halo

Halo

I can feel your halo

I can feel your halo

I can see your halo

Halo”

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Impossible things

(Hayffie 💙. For months I’ve been wanting to write about a Hayffie breakup, but I didn’t have language that felt authentic to me. Sensuality, angst, and playfulness are just pieces of the complex dynamic that makes them interesting to me. I see them stuck for years in dysfunctional relating, full of emotional highs and lows, struggling together and suffering even more when apart.)

***

Effie knew it wouldn’t take long for her return to the Capitol to become a curiosity of the press. Even with the passage of time and without her old facades, she was still quite recognizable. Her moving to 12 had been regarded as everything from sensational and romantic to scandalous and foolish.

She was prepared for the question when it came. Her cards were committed to memory.

“Can you tell us about your split from Haymitch Abernathy?”

She responded as she’d rehearsed, “I gave the relationship my best. But when it was hurting more to be in than out, I had to do something. I was losing myself. I had to stop and find myself again."

***

Haymitch sat in the dark with the screen flickering, tuned to the channel she’d watched sometimes. Her showing up on screen, right there in front of his face, wasn’t a surprise. If he was being honest with himself, he’d acknowledge that’s why he had the damn thing on most evenings since she’d left — wondering if he’d catch a glimpse of her.

Between his fingers, he twirled her hairpin — the one he’d kept for years. The twirling was a trick he’d learned with coins. While most people around him had been starving, he’d had enough coins to fuck around with and let them fall between the floorboards. That was a long time ago.

He clenched the clip in his hand, hard enough for the decorative metal to cut into his palm. He crossed the room in three angry steps and hurled the thing out the window.

“No comment!” He yelled at the screen. “You were supposed to tell those bastards ‘No comment!’”

When reporters had come knocking earlier, Haymitch hadn’t given them the satisfaction of hearing even those words. He just slammed the door in their faces.

Effie’s eyes were concealed under dark glasses, and he was as pissed about not being able to see them as much as he was pissed about her words to the reporter. Her hair was blowing in the wind. She caught a lock of it and tucked it behind her ear. Her lips were shiny pink like the flesh of white peaches.

Losing herself? He didn’t understand why that was a bad thing. She’d said it weeks before she’d left, and he brushed it off then. She was always complaining about something.

Losing himself was his OBJECTIVE not his complaint. He’d been doing that most of his life in alcohol. And for years, he’d been losing himself in her — her lips, her hair, her eyes, her body. Life had been less intolerable that way — being lost. Ah, hell. With her, life was better than tolerable. It was even good sometimes. She’d made it good.

But she’d been hurting?? For how long? She’d never said it in those words, and now she was telling the whole country.

***

The call that came through after the interview aired could have been anyone. “No doubt Mother has prepared a diatribe of the ways I’ve disgraced the family.”

When Effie answered, the extended silence told her the person there wasn’t her mother. The deep breath he took filled more than her ears. Her hands started shaking, and she tried to keep her voice steady. “...What do you want, Haymitch?”

Frustration throbbed in his head. The silence between them was more deafening than anything they might otherwise be screaming at each other.

“...We agreed to leave one another alone.” Her voice was everything but steady.

“We agreed to tell the press, ‘No comment,” he seethed.

“We agreed to spend our lives together. Obviously we don’t have a great track record with keeping our agreements.”

“You’re the one who left.”

“You’re the one who made me feel invisible — and insane.”

“Invisible? You make yourself impossible not to see! And insane?? Your feelings aren’t my responsibility.”

“Impossible?? You have at least a dozen ways of not looking, not listening, and not caring about what matters to me.”

“Just because I’m not paying attention to *The High Priestess* every second doesn’t mean I’m not caring.”

“That’s not what I mean. That’s not my expectation.”

“Then what DO you mean? Because it’s been a month, and I still don’t get it!”

“I gave up EVERYTHING for you!”

“Don’t put that on me! Your choices aren’t my responsibility either. If me and the kids weren’t part of ‘everything,’ then why’d you even come here and stay?”

Her voice softened. “That’s not what I meant. And you know why I stayed.”

“Tell me.”

“Damn it, Haymitch, you KNOW why.”

“Say it anyway. ...You say every other fucking thing a hundred times.”

“Fine! It was the curtains.”

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

“...The little flowers on the curtains I hung in our— in your bedroom. I imagined those flowers opening when the sun came up, and I wanted to be there every day to see them. I wanted all the words you said to me when you talked in your sleep.”

“What words? What’d I say?”

“You weren’t awake, so why does it matter?”

“Since we’re through, what’s the point in not telling me?”

“We’re going round in circles, like always. You exhaust me!”

“If you’re exhausted and you were hurting here, then it’s better that you’re gone.”

She hesitated. “IS it better?”

It’s hell, he didn’t say. “It’s pointless to be living a life that hurts. If you’re not hurting now, then you ought to be where you are.”

“Who says I’m not hurting?”

“ARE you?”

“Are YOU?”

“This is ridiculous. Forget I called—“

“You told me not to leave! When you were sleeping. You gripped my arm and murmured the reasons I should stay. So many mornings you did that while I imagined those flowers opening. THAT’S why I stayed so long.”

“Effie...”

“But I can’t keep living off of unconscious words. I’ve been lost in something that isn’t even real.”

“Not real?! Just because I don’t say it all when I’m conscious doesn’t mean it ain’t real.”

“Well you seem conscious now, so tell me what’s real.”

He got quiet. She always wanted him to talk about the feelings he drank to avoid. He waited for her to push him, but she just let the silence get bigger until it was pushing out from inside his chest.

“My hand is bleeding.”

“What?... Why?”

“I was holding your hairpin so tight the damn thing cut me. ...I hurt so bad that there aren’t words for it.”

“Haymitch...”

“I don’t know how to give you what you want.”

“I’ll be damned if it’s your hand that’s hurting beyond words. Why do you do that!? Why don’t you just tell me what you’re really feeling?”

“I just did! You knew who you were making a life with. Why expect me to be different now?”

She didn’t answer. The silence between them grew so pregnant that something needed to either be born right then or die.

“I love you.” She said the words he’d expected earlier.

“Me loving you in the way I do isn’t enough for you. ...And that’s bullshit.”

She was crying now. “This separation is killing me.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because my needs aren’t bullshit. ...More hours than not, I was in that bed alone while you were passed out somewhere else. Those flowers opening was a fantasy.”

“I wanna be in that bed with you now. It’s OURS. ...Damn it. I hate this.”

“I hate this too. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to pass that train every day and not get on it? But if I come home, our clothes will be off before we’ve even said a word. Our bodies will be saying a thousand things and fixing nothing at all. I’ll go from flying... to feeling certain we can make a life together... to feeling uncertain... to feeling that it’s impossible... to being completely deflated. Until the tension gets to be too much, and we’ll try to fix it again with sex. And it’ll be so good, so impossibly good that I’ll be flying and the cycle will start all over. That’s a roller coaster, Haymitch, not a life. I need to find my life again.”

Tears were welling up in his head, and if he didn’t end the call right then, she was gonna hear them in his voice. And if she did, she’d get on the train, and she’d be in his arms. He knew all that was true. — And she’d just gone into painful detail about why that wasn’t the right choice for her.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go. There’s something I need to do. I’m sorry for not leaving you alone like you wanted.”

“Haymitch—“ A click and a long tone told her he’d ended the call. She knew too well the sound of him shoving down his feelings. He was trying not to cry, and he was failing. The picture of him in her mind was so clear, and she could hardly stand not being with him. She wanted him like that. It was exactly how she wanted him, sliced open with his feelings showing. She felt desperate to call him back, but she knew he wouldn’t answer.

***

If forgetting her was something he could have done, then he would have headed to the liquor cabinet and drunk himself into the unconscious state that he apparently used to pour out the contents of his heart.

But since forgetting about her was not something he could do, he headed outside with a flashlight. And he combed the yard in full consciousness until he found the goddamn hairpin.

He went to bed that night holding it in his hand. The curtains blocked out the light from the night sky, and he couldn’t see the flowers. They were so small he’d rarely noticed them, but he wanted them now. He turned the lamp on low and rolled toward the window. They were tiny buds, golden like her hair.

He turned off the light. Tomorrow he’d take the curtains down. It hurt too much to look at them.

***

There was no angel on Effie’s shoulder advocating the wisdom in holding the line and finding herself again. There was no devil on her other shoulder advocating the indulgence in desire. All at once, both shoulders were filled with wild horses pulling her in a single direction — home. She didn’t need to inquire about the train schedule. She’d committed it to memory.

The roller coaster was pulling out of the station again, and she was already on it.

[ellanainthetardis]

I've got a prompt for vampire au: Please give me vampire!Chaff so annoyed by hayffie's antics that he's ready to bite it (if only he could). Because spending eternity next to hayffie surely sucks (pun intended) ;)

I reblogged part 1 and part 2 earlier (though you can follow the links). I love this au so much I’m always glad to be able to play in it. I might trasform it into something more constructed one day, I don’t know. {ff] or [ao3]

The Village’s King

Being a vampire came with enhanced hearing and,for the first time in more than a century, it was something Chaff could havereally, really done without.

“They’re at it again?” he sighed, leaningagainst the frame of his front door, stealing a cigarette from the packetJohanna was holding.

Why Johanna felt the need to come litter his front yard with her cigarettes wasanyone’s guess. He had stopped expecting serious answers to his questions threedecades ago. The girl was caustic on her best days and aggressive on her worstones. She was one of those he and Haymitch kept a close eye on because it wastoo easy for them to slip and stop hunting animals to go after humans. It was anice place they had found in that gated community, he and Haymitch would haveboth liked to keep it as long as possible.

“Do they ever stop?” she scowled, tossing thebutt of her cigarette and crushing it under her boot, flashing her fangs.“You’ve got to talk to Haymitch, Chaff.”

“Me?” he scoffed. “Why me?”

“’Cause you’re the oldest.” she said veryseriously and he became aware that they were being watched. The night was youngstill but already alive. He throbbedwith the thrill of it, the urge to seize it, hunt something nice, a deer or awild cat, sink his fangs into warm flesh…

“Mags’ the oldest.” he argued. Mags was almostas old as Snow himself but she was weak, thanks to their rival vampire’s ploys,and completely dependent on Finnick. She was no vampire queen and while he andhis one hundred and twenty-five years came after her in age… He was no vampireking either. He wasn’t the one managing this hive. He wasn’t the one keepingthe youngsters under control through sheer charisma.

“It can’t go on.” Jo hissed. “We all agree.”

“Oh, you allagree, do you?” he scowled. “Then why don’t you all get your asses over there and tell him yourself?”

Johanna rolled her eyes. “We can’t challengehim.”

“But Ican?” he snorted.

“You’re the oldest.” she repeated as if itmeant shit.

They might not have been running this gatecommunity like an official hive – they were certainly not running it like Snowruled his little kingdom of slaves – but there were still protocols to follow.It was ingrained in their nature. Vampires lived in hives and hives ralliedaround a leader. Mags might have beenthat in the beginning, after they had all fled Snow’s tyranny, but that hadbeen before they had starting taking in rogues and loners abandoned by theirsires, it had been before Mags had spent years locked away in a crypt becauseSnow had hoped losing their leader would weaken them… Losing Mags hadn’t weakenthem. Because they still had had aleader.  

And it certainly wasn’t him even if he was theoldest there.

“Give me a fuckingbreak.” he snapped. “Didn’t even drink any blood yet.”

And he would need coffee in it. A lot, lot of coffee.

“I’ll get you blood.” she growled. “I’ll getyou a fucking bag of O neg and somewhiskey to top it but, for fuck’ssake, go and talk some sense into him.”

He rubbed his face.

Youngsters didn’t challenge a master vampire,not if they valued their hide.

He was no youngster and, by right, he mighthave been considered a master too. He was a century old after all. But he had always been aware Haymitch was morepowerful than he was. Instinct was hard to suppress for them and his instincthad a very strong submit or flightresponse to Haymitch. Fight wasn’t an option because he knew he would lose.Haymitch was aware of that, it would have been hard for him not to be. He had been sired by Snowhimself and Snow was as old and powerful as they came. His own sire had been aminor vampire, not enough power to pass along.

They had long ago agreed not to let thatinfluence their friendship. Haymitch liked to pretend everyone was equal intheir little community. He liked to pretend he wasn’t their king.

Everyone humored him but everyone also knewbetter.

Even Katniss and Johanna.

“What do you want me to do here?” he scowled,flicking ashes off his cigarette with annoyance. “It’s only been a couple ofweeks…”

“It’s been threeweeks.” Jo cut him off. “She can live on her own now. If he can’t control her,then she needs to go. They’re bothering everyone. When they’re not screaming ateach other, they’re fucking loud enough to wake half the Village. Day andnight. We’re not animals. The way he’s behaving… He’s never been like this. Youcan’t tell me you don’t see it? She’s done somethingto him.”

He actually chuckled at that but there was noamusement behind it. “She’s done some things to him alright… You’re sure that’snot what’s bothering you?”

Johanna sneered. “Please.”

But her shifting eyes said it all. She had beensporting a crush for Haymitch ever since they had found her in New Orleans thatsummer thirty years earlier but he had never wanted to do anything with her.Aside from the occasional lay, Haymitch had never wanted to do anything withany woman that Chaff could tell.

It was the first time Chaff had seen him takingany interest in a woman like that.

And despite the incessant arguing, his friendwas happy. Sure, the shouting and the never-ending sex noises soundtrack werebecoming old… But Haymitch was happy.

“You’re so eager to kick her out, why don’t youtry challenging her?” he mocked.

“Like I couldn’t flatten her in five seconds.”Jo muttered, burying her hands in her pockets.

Maybe, maybe not, he mused but didn’t say that outloud, mindful of Johanna’s ego. The girl prided herself on being the toughestof their lot and it would have been difficult to say who, of her or Katniss,was the most powerful one.

But Effienow…

The moment he and Haymitch had walked into thatclub he had felt her and that had been beforeHaymitch had finished turning her. Given who her sire was… It wasn’t thatsurprising she was that powerful. Shemight not have been a skilled fighter but she had charisma enough that he wascertain it wouldn’t be long before she managed to develop a thrall.

“I’m not sure she’s the one you should be worryingabout.” he snorted. “Can’t see Haymitch taking it very well.”

“You’re going to go talk to him or what?” shespat, bringing them back on topic.

He sighed. “And say what? Look, you don’t like her, I get it, but I ain’t gonna marchover there and get my ass landed to me just ‘cause it all bothers you thatHaymitch is getting some.”

“It’s not about him getting some.” she snarled.“You’ve seen his neck? She uses him as a chew toy.”

“Whatever floats his boat.” he dismissed. Hehad his suspicions that Haymitch used her as a chew toy too, except the bitemarks must have been in more… discrete places.

“What if she claims him?” she insisted. “She’sthree weeks old and she thinks she can waltz in and…”

“Johanna.” he growled, putting just the rightamount of authority in his voice that the girl shut up. She glared at him andplainly resented the show of power but she blissfullyshut up. “Listen to me, girl. He’s a hundred and he’s her sire. She won’tforce him into anything he doesn’twant. And if he wants to claim her or let her claim him…” He waved his stump inthe air. “It’s about time he finds some good in this world. He spent half hisundead life taking care of all of your ungrateful asses who want to send me explain to him what he can or can’tdo. Newsflash. He can do whatever hewants. You know why? ‘Cause he could tear us all limb to limb and not break a sweat.”

Jo’s pout was an ugly thing. “So you won’thelp, that’s what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying it’s been three weeks, they’restill all over each other.” he grumbled. “It will fade soon enough. Now runalong and let me enjoy my evening in peace for fuck’s sake.”

He tossed the cigarette and stormed back in hishouse, slamming the door behind him for good measure. He had just finishedfixing himself some blood with his coffee when his too sensitive ears picked upthe echo of yet another argument.

He closed his eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.

He couldn’t quite make out what they werefighting about but he had figured out quickly enough that fighting was a lotlike foreplay to them. And, surely enough, the shouting match soon left placeto more straightforward noises. And even if he had been deaf, it would havebeen difficult to ignore the buzzing.Haymitch’s power was a familiar and comforting background hum that they had all gotten used to – it was comforting, it wassafety, it was home. Effie now…Effie’s power was new and nobody was still quite used to it yet, which lefteveryone on edge. It would settle eventually but when they were together like that… Well… Haymitch’s power seemed to throb and it was impossible to ignoreit.

He ate his breakfast and waited.

He might not agree with Jo’s methods or withthe cowardice of the rest of their friends who would rather push him under the bus but he could still see some stuff would have to be spelled out.

It wasn’t Haymitch’s fault. There weren’t a lotof couples in the Village and none of them were as powerful as Haymitch andEffie were. His friend probably didn’t even realize.

So when the buzzingreceded, Chaff took himself by the hand, gathered his courage and crossed thestreet. He hammered on the door until Haymitch wretched it open, sporting anirritated look and only wearing a pair of checkered sweatpants that seemed tohang low on his hips.

“What?” Haymitch barked, gruff. His grey eyesdarted behind Chaff to several specific points down the street where, no doubt,people were spying on them.

“We need to have a talk.” Chaff declared,crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Do we?” he growled, flashing fangs, clearlynot liking the authoritative attitude.

Chaff held on as long as he could but in theend, he licked his lips and forced his shoulders to relax, forced himself notto appear too confrontational. “Yeah, we do.Maybe Effie could quit eavesdropping and go visit Peeta or whatever.”

As if on cue, Effie emerged from theliving-room in a ridiculous pink dress and disheveled hair. He wasn’t angrywith her, unlike Jo he had nothing against her per se, but he was still annoyed to have to do this and he supposed it showed.She hissed because she felt threatened and then winced, shaking her head.

“My apologies.” she sighed. “I still havetroubles controlling… Well.. This…”

“It’s fine, love.” he dismissed.

“Not sure it is.” Haymitch growled, his eyes still staring at something behindhis shoulder. “The fuck is Jo lurkingaround for? ‘Cause if she’s got it in her head to attack my girl…”

“Nobody’s gonna attack Effie.” Chaff stated,loud enough to be heard three streets away by sensitive ears. It was an orderthat everyone would respect or regret defying.

“Better not.” he retorted. “Cause if they do,they won’t walk away from it.”

“Enough nonsense, Haymitch.” she chided,slipping past him, letting out a small purring sound as she did so. “I will beat Peeta’s.”

Haymitch watched her go and then stepped asideto let Chaff in, slamming the door shut almost pointedly. “What’s this allabout, then? ‘Cause if you all think you’re subtle…”

“Get an old friend a drink, yeah?” he snorted,clapping his shoulder. “Whiskey will do.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but led the way to theliving-room, seemed to think better of it and then steered him toward thekitchen. Probably because the proofs of what had just happened with Effie were all over the living-room.

“I ain’t letting her go.” Haymitch snapped.

“Not asking you to.” Chaff shrugged.

“Theyare.” he spat, glaring at whatever – or whoever – he could sense beyond thewindow. “I get it. She’s a pain in the ass and I hate her most days. But if shegoes, I go. She’s never been to Paris, I might take her there.”

“You hate Paris.” he pointed out, taking a sip ofthe whiskey Haymitch had just poured him.

“Didn’t say I would stay there.” his friend scoffed. “She’s all fancy and shit. Might like a tour of Europe. It’sbeen a while since I did that.”

“You would never leave us for good. Not for Europe anyway.” he chuckled. “Stopplaying at being an old grumpy vampire.”

Haymitch smirked, amused, but it was short-lived.He soon grew serious. “I ain’t kidding. She goes, I go.”

“Nobody’s asking her to go.” Chaff temporized.“But it’d be good if you could keep it…. Low.Buddy, I’m all for you pleasing the lady but I really don’t need to hear asmuch as I do. Or feel, for thatmatter. Maybe you don’t need to… show offabout being an old powerful vampire that much or that often, yeah? I’m sure she’sgot the drift by now.”

Haymitch had the good grace to look embarrassed.He finally sat down and poured himself a glass, rubbing the back of his neck ashe did so. “She’s young, she’s still getting used to the vampire thing… And…”

“And?” he prompted.

His friend made the whiskey twirl twice in hisglass before downing it. “She challenges my authority. All the fucking time. I’m her bloody sire – pun intended – doesn’tthat go with instinctive respect or whatever? I can’t help myself. She defiesme and I just… You know. Show off, likeyou say. She’s such a pain in theass, I swear…”

Chaff sighed, snatched the bottle and refilledtheir glasses. “She’s powerful.”

“That too.” Haymitch admitted with a snort. Hedidn’t look sad or disappointed about it though. If anything, he looked happyto have find someone feisty. A good match.

“Teach her to keep herself under control, yeah?Work on that…” he advised. “She’s still feeding of you?”

“No.” Haymitch shook his head. “Well, yeah,sometimes. But I’m feeding of her too, so… It’s less about feeding than…” He waved that away. “She’s on blood bags now. She’snot big on it but she’s doing fine. I was thinking about taking her into townin a week or so, test how she does around humans.”

“We could take Peeta too.” he agreed. “He’s hada hard time with keeping off live human blood. We can’t keep him secluded hereforever.”

“Works for me.” Haymitch approved. “We can takeKatniss, Finnick and Beetee with us. Between the five of us we should be ableto control them if they lose it.”

“Alright. Good. That’s settled.” he nodded. “Now, back to the matter at hands…You’re my best friend and I love you but I swear I’m gonna walk outside indaylight if you don’t get your house soundproofed.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on…”

“No.” he cut him off. “We can’t do much aboutthe power thing until she learns to control herself but I won’t listen to youscreaming at each other or fucking each other senseless if I don’t have to. Forone thing, it’s giving me a hard on every time and I don’t have any pretty chick to take care of it. You’re gettingthis house soundproofed.”

His friend pursed his lips in displeasure buteventually gave him a brief nod, cheeks and tips of his ears a nice shade ofcrimson. “Fine. Alright. I’ll talk to Beetee about it, see what he can come upwith.”

Chaff almost rubbed it in but then he decidedhis friend had been embarrassed enough for the day. He nodded to the collectionsof vampire hickeys on his throat. “Jo thinks she uses you as a chew toy.”

“I’m hers and she’s mine.” Haymitch growled,almost defensively.

Chaff drummed his fingers on the rim of hisglass, choosing his next words cautiously. “You wanna be careful with all that yours and mine business when you’re biting each other… Wouldn’t do toaccidentally claim her. Eternity’s an awfully long time.”

Not that you could claim someone accidentally. It was very much like amarriage and only worked with the full consent of each party involved. It wasall in the blood after all.

A shadow passed on Haymitch’s face.

“Wouldn’t be that bad.” his friend muttered.

Chaff was surprised and didn’t bother hidingit. Yes, it was the first time he had seen Haymitch willingly enter a seriousrelationship and, yes, he had talked about that possibility with Johanna but…He hadn’t thought he was thinking about it yet.

“You’ve known her a month.” he pointed out.

Haymitch awkwardly shifted on his chair anddowned his glass. “The moment I saw her in that club I…” His friend stopped andshrugged. “Look, I know it’s stupid, won’t blame you for laughing at me, but… Ifeel like I’ve known her forever. Like… Like I was waiting for her or some shit.I don’t know if it’s because I sired her. I don’t know if it’s because she’s sodamn powerful it’s intoxicating. Ijust know I can’t lose her, alright?”

There was a hint of a growl in there, achallenge or a dare Chaff wasn’t sure.

“Still fuckingearly to think about forever.” he pressed all the same.  “Give it a decade or two.”

It wasn’t like Haymitch to rush into that kindof things.

“Ain’t saying I’m gonna ask her tomorrow.” hisfriend grumbled. “Just saying… I’m serious about keeping her here. And if theothers have got a problem with it…”

“The others have a problem with hearing youhaving sex and shouting at each other all the time.” Chaff insisted. “Get thatout of the way, it will go a long way into smoothing things over. They’ll fallin line.”

“Even Jo?” Haymitch mocked.

“Jo needs her ass kicked once in a while.” hechuckled good naturedly. “You know she doesn’t deal well with new women. Shefeels threatened easily. And she likes it even less when the newbies get allyour attention. It was the same when you brought Katniss in.”

She was jealous, in short, but he wasn’t goingto say that aloud. It wasn’t that her crush was much more than that but Johannawas insecure. She kept people at arm length but she was desperate to belong andwas terrified of finding herself on her own again. She was afraid of beingreplaced.

Haymitch had a gift to find strays who neededhelp. He also had a gift for finding kids who had a temper. Katniss hadn’t immediatelyfit in and she and Jo had butted heads more than once before they had becomefriends.

“She better get used to it.” his frienddeclared. “Effie’s mine and she’s here to stay.”

Which made her Haymitch’s official consort.

Which put her above Johanna in the food chain.

Which wouldn’t go down well.

With the Careers using their back yard as theirhunting ground, it wasn’t the right time for that sort of power struggle.

“Just get that house soundproofed.” Chaffbegged and then he couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “What the fuck did you break that last time?”

There hadbeen the sound of collapsing furniture.

“Coffee table.” His friend admitted.

“She likes it wild.” he taunted.

“She doesn’t like her sex life discussed andshe’s coming back.” Haymitch warned, about thirty seconds before they heard thefront door opening and closing. Surely enough, Effie walked in the kitchen,looking very much subdued. Haymitch frowned. “What’s wrong with you? Someonebothered you?”

Haymitch was very good at controlling himselfbut Chaff saw a flash of his fangs.

Effie was flushed and didn’t seem to be able tomeet their eyes.

“Peeta mentioned a few… problems.” sheexplained before pursing her lip petulantly. “Haymitch, why didn’t you mentionthe enhanced hearing? Are you aware everyonecan hear us when we… And… And what is this about feeling us?” Haymitch winced and Chaff burst out laughing to herclear irritation. “I fail to see whatis amusing! Truly, if I had known…Oh… I am never having sex again.”

“What?” Haymitch’s head snapped up so fastsomething must have snapped in his neck.

Chaff wiped tears of hilarity from his eyes buttook pity on her. She looked mortified.

“You know the buzzing you feel when you’re nearanother vampire?” he asked.

“Yes.” she nodded, half glaring at Haymitch andhalf squirming in embarrassment.

“It’s stronger or weaker depending on who it is,right?” he continued.

She nodded. “You are strong but less thanHaymitch.”

“Yeah, well… You’re not exactly weak yourself.”he snorted. “So when you and Haymitch get into a fight and you try to get theupper hand, you power throbs and the buzzing increase. You need me to explainwhat happens when you’re into that othersort of fighting or…”

“No, I understand.” she said quickly, flushingever redder. She cleared her throat. “We are very sorry for any inconvenience we have caused. Please, assure everyone it won’t happen again. Now, if you willexcuse me, I will go hide upstairs and not come out until a year or so.”

Chaff burst out laughing, shaking his head ather back.

Haymitch made a face and propped himself on thetable to stand up. “I need to go see Beetee. Now.”

He walked to Beetee’s house with him, planningon going to the woods to hunt himself something afterwards.

“For what it’s worth… I like her.” he told hisfriend.

Haymitch didn’t acknowledge that but hisshoulder bumped against his.

They didn’t need to talk to understand eachother.

[ellanainthetardis]

It Doesn't Hurt: Forgot to say yesterday that I imagined that one-shot with 'Skin' by Rag'n'Bone Man as the perfect soundtrack. [More Hayffie music shares].H-A

Oh I love Skin!!!!! Yeah it would work really well!