#effie just wants game night to stop ending like this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gudvina · 2 months

Note

hayffie comforting each other after a nightmare (haymitch’s during the games and effie’s after the war)

What will we do with the pieces of us?

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Genre: only hope in here darlings (a little bit of angst too)

Can be read on AO3. <3

Haymitch woke up with a start, barely able to make out his surroundings. His vision was blurred. He wasn’t sure what he’d dreamed of, but it mustn’t have been pretty. He blinked a few times to regain his vision and, when he did, he realized he was standing. His hand fended a knife, and it took him a moment to realize the blade was stained with blood. He put it down quickly, disoriented.

Had he killed somebody in his sleep?

His ears were ringing and he sat on the bed, trying to figure out what had happened. The last thing he remembered was Effie. They’d spent the night together.

This time, their tributes had survived the bloodbath by sheer chance. A sickly boy from the Seam, and a well-fed girl from the Merchant Area. She’d followed his advice to hide, finding shelter behind a huge concave rock, while the boy was found and speared by one of the Careers later in the evening. His coughing fits gave him away.

They had just returned from the Sponsors’ Lounge. He hadn’t been paying attention to what was happening on the screens, but Effie’s horrified gasp caused him to turn just in time to see the boy’s blood splatter on camera.

Not hoping hadn’t eased the blow. Maybe because he’d barely paid him attention, or maybe because he never had a chance. It was a miracle he’d even managed to survive that much.

He remembered seeing her burst into tears, and being so sickened by the sight that all he could do was kiss her. He needed it to stop. Her sobs, the pain. All of it. Their lips crushed together, wearing out in their wake every sense that wasn’t touch. Somehow, they ended in his bedroom. He’d taken her, or maybe they’d taken each other, right against a wall, gripping at their skins without restraints.

It was a dance that started three years prior, after just one year of working together. Despite what he told himself, he couldn’t stop. It irritated him. Every year he returned to District Twelve and made up his mind; the next year he won’t do it again. It was twisted. She was the Capitol’s darling, the personification of everything he despised. Unfortunately, it was easier to think that way when she wasn’t near. In Twelve, he didn’t have her high-pitched sobs nagging his nerves. Her hand didn’t touch his arm. Her hips didn’t sway in front of him.

And maybe the sickest part of him always knew it wouldn’t be a hit it and quit it situation. He had told her of his nightmares, that it was wiser if she wasn’t around when he was asleep, because he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

He’d warned her. Nothing good could ever come out of sleeping with him.

She wasn’t in the room, though. Maybe she’d left. Maybe he’d killed her and, in a mindless frenzy, hid the body. More likely, he’d terrified her with his nightmares.

His vision blurred again. His eyes burnt with the weight of heavy tears, and he raked a hand through his hair. He couldn’t shake from his head the image of Effie and her soft features tainted by fear. It was only a product of his imagination, but it managed to rip the band-aid she’d patched him with a couple hours before.

Of course, he should have known it was going to happen. It was the reason he’d never wanted a woman around for more than one night. He’d always made it a point to kick Effie out, because, no matter what he told himself, he’d never wanted to hurt her.

Where was she? He wondered if she had fled to her room to hide from whatever had gotten into him. He could have made a run for it, tried to find her, and… and then what? Explain? Apologize? He felt stupid. He’d hurt her, and whatever he had to say wouldn’t matter in the end.

It took him a moment to realize that the door of his bathroom was opening.

“For Panem’s sake, how can you live with these rags as towels is beyond me. I must remember to get you new ones!”. He turned and was surprised to see her holding a handkerchief against her arm. She addressed him, but was actually mumbling to herself.

Their eyes met and, at first, he thought she was afraid. It would have been natural, but he had come to know her too well to deceive himself. There was no sign of fear, not in her body nor her face. On the contrary, she walked a little closer to the bed, and in her eyes he could read her worry. He’d hurt her and she was worried for him. Pure irony.

“Oh, are you feeling better?”

“I am myself”, he frowned, “What did I do to you?”

“A little scratch. Fortunately, nothing permanent. I can make it disappear in a few weeks!”. He snorted. The handkerchief was bloodied, but her problem was the “scratch” leaving a mark.

“That’s not what I asked”.

“You started thrashing around and then got up, so I tried to get closer. I didn’t see the knife. You weren’t quite yourself, so it wouldn’t be fair for me to hold this against you”.

“What the fuck possessed you to come closer? Do you have a death wish or somethin’?”, he barked, feeling his irritation grow and settle in his stomach. He couldn’t stop looking at the white piece of fabric stained with red. It upset him too much.

“Language, please. I am quite put out by your rudeness”, she reprimanded him, her brows furrowing “It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen you have a nightmare; it was just the first time I saw how bad it can get. Next time I’ll just get out of reach, and everyone will be happy!”.

He looked at her as if she’d grown three heads. Another escort would have probably screamed bloody murder at him, or reported him to the Gamemakers.

“Next time? You do have a death wish, then”.

“You seriously thought a little scratch would drive me away? Ha, Haymitch, you are a funny one. Anyway, I shall place a request tomorrow for new towels. This handkerchief was the only one I could find that looked half decent”, she said indignantly, and he watched her, fascinated by the way she’d just dismissed what he’d done with a few words. His towels seemed to upset her more.

“I don’t give a shit about the towels”, he deadpanned and tapped the bed a few times, a silent invite to sit by his side. She did readily.

“I told you to not sleep with me”, he started, losing himself for a moment in the blue of her eyes.

“I know, but now that I’ve seen the worst of it I don’t think it has to come to that. I am not a heavy sleeper, and you are not exactly silent, so I just have to get away”, she shrugged.

He didn’t like the idea of her crouching in a corner, seeing him at his worst. It could have backfired anytime. And yet, she made it sound like a matter of fact. All she needed to do was step out of his reach. His episodes didn’t last long, so it would only be for a few minutes.

It seemed so simple. Nothing ever was with him, but she made it sound like it could be.

“I am not sure, sweetheart. Your shoulder…”, he faltered when he saw her throw the bloodied handkerchief on the floor.

“Stopped bleeding, Haymitch. It’s no big deal, I barely felt it. I can’t believe you’d be so rude to turn away a lady in the middle of the night, especially when she’s half-naked!”, she huffed, but behind the curtain of propriety, he could see her insecurity. It was absurd. She should have worried for her safety, but what she was truly afraid of was his rejection.

“I’ve never been a gentleman, sweetheart, but I’m not that bad”, he smirked and felt his tension disappear when she flashed him a grin.

“Good! It wouldn’t be proper”, she whispered while moving to straddle his lap. His hands instinctively found her waist. He tried to peek at her wound, but she distracted him with tiny pecks all over his face. Her hands stroked his hair, and he found himself lying on the mattress, bringing her with him.

He knew it was exactly what he’d told himself he’d never do, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the simplicity of holding Effie in his arms and having her hold him back. There, with her lips against his jaw and her hands in his hair, she wasn’t an escort. He wasn’t a Victor, wasn’t broken beyond damage. He could illude himself that, together, they could find absolution.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered, leaning back to look at him.

“Nah, I don’t even remember half of it”.

“Oh… I usually remember my dreams, you don’t?”

“No. And it’s better like that, sweetheart. I don’t want to remember”. It wasn’t a lie. The rare times he remembered his dreams, he was haunted by the people he’d lost, or by his arena. Maysilee Donner had been a sorry protagonist of many of them. He didn’t want to remember her rotting face screaming at him that it was all his fault.

“But tell me what you dream of”, he whispered.

“What do you mean?”, she looked at him with a confused expression, as if he’d asked it in a different language.

“What do you dream of? Thousand new wigs? A castle for the princess?”, he smirked.

“No, though a castle would be nice”, she said, “I usually have this weird dream where I walk- or run- across a garden”.

“And that’s weird because?”, he raised his brow, amused by what she found weird.

“Because first, proper ladies do not run”, she started, “Secondly, in the dream I’m barefoot. I don’t know why, and, until I wake up, questioning why doesn’t seem to cross my mind. I laugh and touch all the flowers, and I never once worry about my shoes or my dress. Isn’t it odd?”

“Not that odd, princess, it could be worse. Imagine, you could be barefoot on concrete”.

“I wouldn’t be barefoot in the first place, Haymitch! I already told you, it’s unladylike”.

He smirked and stole a kiss from her lips. It was much gentler than he’d intended it to be, but he couldn’t begrudge himself too much. Somehow, she’d taken away that heavy feeling. It was probably still there, waiting for the right moment to crush his lungs and his chest, but, for now, it was tamed, scared by the force of nature that was Effie Trinket.

“And how unladylike is it for you to be in my bed, sweetheart?”.

“Highly so, given that you don’t seem inclined to make a move”, she smiled innocently, but her eyes bore a mischievous glint. Behind it all, he knew she wasn’t over the boy’s death, but he allowed her pretences, if only for his own sake. If he had any say in it, she would cry later about it. He’d always been selfish, after all. Effie Trinket brought it out tenfold.

“Need to rectify that real quick, then. Can’t have that!”, he rolled them over and kissed her senselessly, eliciting soft sounds from her throat. It was her way of calling for him, and he caught it right away.

It wouldn’t be the last nightmare, nor the worst of them. The pain, the terror, they would all come back. Haunt his nights, just to steal every ounce of sleep he still had in his body. It was part of the Games. Once in, always in.

But if coming back to reality meant Effie would be there to hold him, maybe it was going to be fine. It wouldn’t change the horrors of the games, or his alcoholism. It wouldn’t change much at all, really. But he could stomach reality with her.

***

For the first time since the day she’d arrived in Twelve, she’d managed to go outside to look at Haymitch’s geese. She’d seen them plenty of time from the window, waddling around with their white feathers and their loud beaks, and despite her initial displeasure with keeping nasty avians as pets, Effie couldn’t help but feel curious.

It was early morning. The sun was still on its way to take the lead from the moon, which meant the sky was painted a pretty purple colour that she’d never seen in the Capitol. Too much pollution, Haymitch told her when she’d asked about it.

The morning breeze was colder than she’d expected, but she didn’t mind. She’d spent her every waking hour crying, and the cold blows of air gave her face a little bit of relief.

Like many mornings since the war had ended, she’d been awakened by a horrible nightmare. She had them often. Sometimes, it was the reenactment of her arrest; the Peacekeepers would come in and drag her away. She could feel their hands manhandling her, hear the cold hatred in their voice as they tugged at her arms.

It felt real. It was as if her mind couldn’t tell that it wasn’t happening, that it was only a memory, and her body reacted accordingly. Waking up didn’t help much. Alongside the physical reactions she had at the sole reminder of that day, and the days after, she had to deal with the realization she’d come to while they were taking her to the cell.

He’d left her behind.

When the Peacekeepers barged into the penthouse, she was trying to find him, prompted by the feeling that he’d left somewhere without telling her. Katniss had just blown the arena, and she’d realized a little too late that something big was going to happen, but he was nowhere to be found.

Because he’d left her behind.

She had disconnected memories of the times after her rescue, where all she could hear was his strained voice asking for forgiveness. He thought she’d be safe. She’d be alright. That nothing would happen to her. He’d held her through her recovery, forced-fed her when she refused to eat, and still, for a long time, she’d felt numb to him.

It wasn’t fair, but the sense of betrayal was the only thing she could feel for a long time. The doctors said she’d retreated to protect herself from the trauma of the tortures, but she sensed he knew that it wasn’t just that. She’d closed off to him.

From the day of her release to Coin’s death, she’d put on her usual façade, trying to not let the mask slip once. It helped her retreat further in her mind. She didn’t want to feel. She didn’t even want to care about the hurt on his face. At the time, she’d thought the only way to survive was shunning him away.

Everything hurt too much.

Afterward, she’d retreated shamefully. She had followed Katniss’ trial on television, and when they had left for Twelve she didn’t even find the courage to show up and have a proper goodbye. She loved them too much for that not to hurt, and avoiding pain was her main priority. She’d visited Peeta at the clinic, but then he’d also left, and she’d settled into her new life.

They’d left her behind again, but this time it was her decision. She felt some power in that, even though now she realized it was inexistent, irrational.

The days in New Capitol City passed, and one day she woke up to find that the war had ended three years before and she had made no progress. Every day she thought of them, wondering how they were doing. She wanted to call, but how would they receive her? She would drive herself crazy with those questions, and she remembered distinctly the pain of not knowing. It killed her.

She had no idea where it came from, but another day she woke up with a sudden spurt of motivation, and, using a part of her savings, she bought a pair of tickets to Twelve. It was horribly rude to show up without notice, but she couldn’t find it in herself to call them. It would have snuffed out her courage.

When she arrived at Haymitch’s door, she was surprised to find that he looked completely prepared for her arrival. It took her a moment, but she realized he’d waited for her. The children’s welcoming had warmed her heart as well, making her feel even more ashamed of her retreat, but they if they blamed her for it, they never showed.

They’d established a routine in the first days in the District. She was afraid she wouldn’t fit in their lives anymore, but after the initial awkwardness- after all, she’s showed up after three years-, she abandoned that fear. At the end of the second month, they all took the mutual decision to throw away her return ticket. She stayed.

It didn’t magically make her better. She felt exactly where she was supposed to be, by the side of the only people she truly cared about, and yet the nightmares were still there. They never faded, and she felt like a burden to Haymitch. She wouldn’t allow the children to see her in that state, but he had to care for her and she hated it. It should have been the other way around.

The honking of the geese brought her back to reality, and she watched a pair softly plucking the feathers by each other’s side. It was weird, and she crouched to see better.

“They’re grooming, sweetheart”.

She could feel him walk closer until he crouched by her side.

“They do that a lot when they care”, his hand stroked her hair, letting his hand smooth through her tresses. She let out a soft breath, relaxing under his touch.

“When do the babies come?”

“The eggs will hatch in a bit, we just gotta have a little patience”.

She smiled, and her eyes were still fixed on the geese when she felt his hand hold hers. He got up.

“The sun is about to rise, I want to show you something”.

Years ago, she would have probably refused. It was inappropriate to scamper about in the wee hours of the morning, and had they been in the Capitol it would have been frowned upon. Twelve didn’t have such reserves, so she followed him.

He led her outside of the Victors’ Village, still holding her hand gently, and despite her usual reticence to leave its safe harbour she found herself trusting his lead.

After a little bit of walking, he stopped at the edge of a small field. It was surrounded by an expanse of trees, but at the horizon she could see the sun rise higher, surrounded by purple and pink clouds. The grass was dotted with daisies, and the early morning lights caught on the white of their petals. She’d never been there, and she felt breathless.

“This is not the meadow” she whispered, a little doubtful.

“No, it’s not. It hasn’t grown yet. This is a small patch of earth that was spared from the bombings. It was too close to the Village not to damage it, I think. I discovered it years ago, but I wasn’t exactly sober. Didn’t come to check it until I returned”.

“It’s so pretty”, she whispered.

“Yeah, it is. It made me think of you”, he was looking at her, but she kept her gaze on the grass that was being swindled by the breeze, “When you weren’t here, I kept looking at it. I imagined you walking around, or sitting over there”, he pointed toward the centre, where the daisies grew closer together.

“You were barefoot”, he tried again, and for some reason that drew out her attention.

“Was I?”

“All the time. It was stupid, but I kept remembering that dream you told me once, and I wanted to see that. Realistically I knew you’d never go around barefoot. It’s not proper or whatever, but it was nice.”.

She understood what he was trying to tell her. He’d missed her, and even though they shared a bed they’d never talked about them, and what they were meant to be. A part of it was because they’d been too busy with her settling in, but she guessed it was also her fault. She had preferred to leave certain things unsaid. That’s how things always worked with them, before.

But this wasn’t before. This was now. Everything had changed, them included, and there was no place for doubts.

It wasn’t that easy, though. She wasn’t ready to talk and open up to him, couldn’t have that conversation yet. But she really wanted him to know. He needed to know. A war and three years of radio silence between them, but they were still luckier than most people.

They could begin anew, together.

She bent down and took off her slippers, throwing them somewhere behind them. The grass was dampened with morning dew, and it felt ticklish on the skin. She wriggled her toes for a moment and marvelled at the new feeling, but then returned her attention to him. She took a step forward.

She extended her hand so he could hold it, and smiled softly.

“Will you come with me?” she whispered. The war had taken a toll on him. He didn’t look like the man she’d taken Katniss and Peeta home with, but he was beautiful to her, always was, and always would be.

The grey of his eyes lit up. He shuffled his feet a little and struggled to discard his shoes, but when he was freed he took her hand in his.

“Let’s go, sweetheart”.

#hayffie #haymitch x effie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #the hunger games #thg fanfiction #thg series #<3

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aalyssah · 9 months

Text

Finally Free

Pairing: Solo Sikoa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing and Mentions of Abuse!

Word Count: 2,348

Request/Summary:⇩

A/N: This was requested by @micheleamidalajedi I actually feel effy about this because it's so long and I'm not that good at writing about abusive relationships. Anyways, Hope You Enjoy!

You felt like you were trapped. Trapped in a place you didn't want to be in.

You were at your boyfriend's house, supposed to be having fun, but it was another night of him and his friends playing video games, while you sat on the floor watching.

They were yelling, eating like pigs, and you were constantly getting up to get more food. "Oh, popcorn's all out. Y/n go get us more food!" You grumbled at your boyfriend's voice, getting up and going to the kitchen.

You looked in the cabinets, but unfortunately there was no more. You walked back to the living room to break the news. "There's no more popcorn." Your boyfriend rolled his eyes. "Then go to the store and get us some!"

You looked outside seeing it was pitch black. "Uh no, it's dark out." Your boyfriend froze, pausing the game before turning to look at you. "What did you just say to me?" You opened your mouth to repeat yourself. "I said no! It's dark outside and I'm-" Your sentence was cut off by the feeling of your hair getting pulled.

You winced in pain, gripping at his wrist to let loose. "Brian stop you're hurting me!" He ignored you, dragging you to the bedroom. He pushed you on the floor, your head almost hitting the bed frame. "What the fuck is wrong-"

You cried out in pain when is fist connected to your face. You held your eyes in pain, looking up at him through teary eyes. He's never done this before. "You wanna say no? Disrespect me!? Huh?" Your eyes were full of fear as he slowly stalked you.

"You're gonna go to the kitchen and make us something, and if it isn't good, I'm gonna beat you until you can't walk." He pushed your face away, your head hitting the end of the bed. You held your head and your eyes, feeling tears drop.

He walked back out to his friends, continuing to play the game like nothing happened. You slowly got up and went back to the kitchen, hoping you could make something good.

Brian's friends finally left and you felt relieved. You laid in bed under the blanket, trying to get some sleep. You felt the bed dip, and Brian's hand came around your waist and pulled you back.

He grinded himself against your crotch area, his boner obviously poking out. You groaned, pushing his hand off your waist. "Not tonight Brian, I'm tired." You closed your eyes, trying to get some sleep, but he wasn't having it, his hand continuously coming to your body.

"Brian stop!" Brian took his hand off you with a huff. "Stop being such a bitch. Y'know what, I don't need you right now." You were violently pushed off the bed, landing face first on the wooden flooring. "Go sleep on the couch, I'm done with you."

You gladly listened to his words, getting up and going to the couch. You laid there, feeling happy that you were alone and could get some rest. Just as you closed your eyes there was a knock on the door. Brian came out in his underwear opening the door to reveal a woman.

She was beautiful, her blonde hair flowing down her shoulders, her makeup on point, and the small red dress she wore, hugging all her curves.

You watched with brows furrowed as she took her to the room and closed the door. It was then a couple of minutes later that you realized what was happening.

They were having sex.

The loud noises of her moaning and Brian's groaning, followed up by the headboard banging against the wall was loud. You could feel tears come to your eyes at him cheating on you. You were done, so done with him.

You got up getting ready to walk out the door, but the bedroom door opened, Brian walking out. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" You looked back at him, anger filling your body.

"Somewhere else! You bring another woman into our home and fuck her while I'm here. You're such a disrespectful man!" You went to open the door, but your whole body was yanked back, with you flying near the glass coffee table. "You're not leaving me!" He dragged you by your hair once more, bringing you to the basement.

He threw you down the stairs, groaning as you rolled down. You looked up just in time to see him closing and locking the door. You ran up the steps, banging on the door pleading. "Brian open the door! Please! I'm sorry, I promise I'll be good!" You gave up, sliding down the door crying.

You don't know how long it's been, but you know it's been more than 3 days. You tried to keep track of how many times it was dark and light, but lost count. You felt like a dog, a dirty dog. You haven't showered in 4 days, and Brian brings your meals to you.

You can't do this anymore and it's time for a change. The night Brian brought you dinner you knew he wasn't gonna come back down, so you searched for a way out. There was a small window, but it had a rusty lock on it.

You've tried numerous times to get it off, but you're not that strong. You then noticed a small metal pipe in the corner. You smiled, thinking this could be your way out, but it would take some time.

You started off hitting the lock with the pipe, the loud hitting nose echoing around the basement. You hit hard, but slow, not wanting to attract any attention. You did this for almost an hour and a half before taking a break to sleep. You'll continue tomorrow.

You felt somewhat excited the next day to continue your work. When Brian came down you would hide the pipe and act good. "Hm, if you keep being good, I might let you upstairs again." He left, going back to whatever girl he had this time.

You quickly sprung into action, grabbing the pipe and swinging at the lock as hard as you can. You gave one last hit with everything in you and the lock popped off, the window finally opened.

You rushed to the door, putting the pipe on the knob so it would be hard to open. You could hear loud footsteps coming to the door. Brian tried opening the door, but nothing worked. "Y/n, what are you doing in there? Y/n!" You frantically tried jumping up at the window, but it was too high.

You cried, thinking about what he would do if he came through. The door busted open, and just to your luck, you shimmied through. You could feel the cool breeze hitting your face, and the smell of outside again.

You ran, you ran as fast as you could, going anywhere. You ran a good far distance until you felt safe. You don't know what you're gonna do, but you do know where your gonna go.

You walked for so long to the one person's house you knew. You knocked on the door, praying he was there. The door opened, a shocked Solo standing there. "Y/n?" You could feel yourself falling in relief, Solo quickly grabbing you.

He held you as you shook in his arms, burying your face in his chest. Solo helped you in, bringing you to the couch. He looked at you concerned, going to fish a warm towel from the dryer. He wrapped it around you, relaxing into the soft cushions on the couch. “What happened? Where do you get those bruises?”

You winced in pain when his hand came to your face, touching over your purple eye. “N-nothing don’t worry about it.” Solo gave you a stern look. “What do you mean ‘don’t worry about it?’ You come to my house looking like you just got run over, and now you got bruises. I have every right to worry!”

You stayed silent, knowing he’s right. “It was Brian. He-he hit me, beat me, and kept me in the basement for so long, probably 5 days, I don’t know.” Solo felt all types of emotions run through his body in such short time. “He hit you? He put his hands on you?!” Solo stood up, ready to go to Brian’s house and beat his ass, but you stopped him. “Solo please, I don’t wanna deal with him right now.” Solo looked down at your body state, realizing how beat up you looked. “I don’t wanna say it, but I told you not to move in with him.” You grumbled at his words.

It’s true though. Many months ago when you broke the news that you were moving in with your boyfriend to The Bloodline, there were many disagreements. Nobody liked him, but you gave him a chance. “I should’ve broken up with him after he cheated on me.” Solo’s tongue poked at his gums, a chuckle of disbelief slipping past his lips at your confession.

“You can stay the night here, or however long you need. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go back there.” He guided you to the bathroom, setting a towel and clothes out. You finally got to take a shower after almost a week. It felt good to be in a clean home, to get washed, and changed into fresh clothes.

You came out and Solo had some pizza out. You happily ate it, making conversation. “Tomorrow we’re gonna go and get your stuff, and it’s done.” You nodded your head. Once you get your stuff and make it known that you’re over with him, you’ll be happy, but you couldn’t help, but feel bad for his next ‘victim’.

“I’m gonna say something, but don’t get mad. I wanna get Brian locked up and to do that, I gotta be the bait.” Solo stop eating, taking a moment to look at you. “Are you sure?” You nodded. “Yeah, I wanna put an end to his ways.” Solo stayed silent, but supported you. You know he was gonna stay with you no matter what.

It was the next day and you and Solo were getting ready to go to Brian’s place. You and Solo got 2 cops to watch while you were going to be bait, and catch Brian in the act. The moment when he’s gonna hit you, the cops will arrest him.

You pulled up to the house, Solo and the cops parking away a couple of houses from the house while they stalked outside. You gave a thumbs up to them before walking in.

You left the door unlocked, grabbing a random bag and packing random stuff. Brian came stumbling out with a glass beer bottle in hand. “Y/n!” You jumped at his loud booming voice. This is the loudest you’ve ever heard him be. “You thought you could escape? You thought you were smart breaking that rusty lock?”

He chuckled, circling around you like you’re his prey. “You’re nothing, but a dumb whore and it’s about time I teach you how to act.” The glass bottle was held in the air, ready to be thrown, but the door busted down. “Freeze! Hands up!” Brian dropped the bottle, his hands raised.

The cops quickly arrested him, taking him to the cop car. “I fucking hate you Y/n! You’re a dumb bit-” His words were drowned out when the cops shut the door.

You watched as they took him away, your body falling limp into Solo’s. “It’s over, it’s finally over.” You smiled. “You wanna go get your stuff?” You shook your head no. “Nah, I don’t want any of that stuff that will be a reminder of the past.”

You both got in the car and drove away to Solo’s home where it would soon become yours as well.

3 Months Later

It’s been almost 3 months since you’ve been free from Brian. He ended up getting 2 years in prison from his past girlfriends speaking up. He even threatens to kill one with a gun. You couldn’t be more relieved that everyone was okay.

Solo even cleaned a room for you. You two are now roommates, but you were feeling something more for him. He’s handsome, he really is, but you want an actual relationship with him.

He’s been treating you better than anyone in your life has. He’s so sweet, caring, and understanding.

As an example, right now you both were walking in a flower field, picking flowers. Solo was acting like he hated it, but deep down you know he likes it.

“Y/n, I swear if I see pictures on any social media platform, I’m not washing the dishes for a month.” You laughed, brushing him off. You both sat down in some grass, looking out at the sunset. The sky was orange with a mix of pink coming into view.

Solo plucked a flower from the ground. “Look, this one makes your face look beautiful.” You turned your head, blushing as Solo tucked a flower in your hair. You copied his actions, grabbing a red flower and putting it in his blonde hair.

“And this one makes your eyes shine.” You both sat there, looking into each other's eyes. You slowly inched close to him, your lips connecting. The kiss was slow, but Solo snapped out of whatever trance he was in and pulled back.

“S-sorry, I don’t wanna rush into things with you recovering from Brian and all that.” He nervously played with his hands, avoiding your eyes.

“Hey it’s alright. I’m over him, it's just, I still feel him on me. I feel his hands, his lips, his eyes, everything. I- Can you make me yours?”

Solo gave you a worried look. “Are you sure?” You nodded your head. This time Solo kissed you, you both getting wrapped up in each other's arms.

That night Solo made you his. You’re finally free from Brian and in a better, healthier relationship.

#solo sikoa #solo sikoa fluff #solo sikoa imagine #solo sikoa x reader #solo sikoa fic #solo sikoa smut #wwe solo sikoa #wwe angst #wwe fluff #wrestling fluff

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hayffiebird · 5 months

Text

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 39

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie returns in to Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is renewed. Will it lead to something more? Meanwhile Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something that will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming.

Chapter 39

Kicking the can down the alley

”And here’s a little duck. Little duck goes ’quack!’ Can you say ’quack,’ sweet angel?”

“Ga!” Ian plucked the rubber bird from his mother’s hand. Drool trickled as he gnawed on it. Like a dog on a bone. Effie smiled. He’d done that a lot lately. Everything and everyone was a chew toy.

Another tooth on the way, probably.

His sister gingerly touched a green turtle floating in the water. With the bird’s head still in his mouth, Ian babbled a string of nonsense words her way. The secret language only they understood. Amy answered with a curt “un-nuh” and splashed her hands about. Belly-laughed when the toys bobbed.

The sight of those two broke through the melancholy in her heart. Effie chuckled.

“My darlings. What would I do without you?”

She found the blue watering can at the bottom of the tub and showered the girl’s sprawled out fingers.

“Water feels nice doesn’t it, sweetling?” Amy held her hands out for the toy and Effie gave it to her. “Remember your first time? So angry. Downright furious when I put you in the bath seat. And dada, tugging at my sleeve the whole time. ‘The water’s too hot. The water’s too cold.’”

Amy flashed a smile at the silly mom voice. She was ahead of her brother in the tooth department. Two little rice grains had sprouted up in the middle of her lower jaw. They never failed to make Haymitch laugh when she laughed.

“Yes, your poor, sweet, handsome father”, Effie said. “If he’d gotten his way we would’ve waited until you were covered in grime.”

“What’s the damn hurry?” he’d whined into her neck that day. Eyes on his crying baby, it was all he could do not to snatch the girl up and make a run for it. “They’re like a minute old! Why d’ya have to torment her like this?”

“There we go,” Effie cooed and adjusted Amy against the daisy-shaped bath pillow. “Don’t worry, precious. I’ll be quick about it. Just a few more moments and then a soft, cozy bathrobe’s waiting for you. Haymitch, stop poking my shoulder. Everything’s under control. If this is too overwhelming for you, go do something useful instead. Wash the dishes. Take a nap. We both know you need it.”

“Why don’t you make me, sweetheart?” Haymitch snarled. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“She’s not in pain. She’s not in any danger. A bit surly perhaps. You’d know. You have virtually the same reaction every time I tell you to bathe.”

Haymitch didn’t even dignify that with a response. Anguish radiated off of him like heat.

Who could blame him? A newborn’s cry, before they really got the lungs for it, was the most pitiful, heartbreaking sound around. And Haymitch had never been able to handle children crying. Any cry.

Like the Victory Tour for instance. Those endless nights at the train. You could set your watch by him. The moment Katniss’s bloodcurdling screams pierced the stillness he’d stagger down the narrow, rocking corridor to her room.

Effie’s room that was. Even in his state, Haymitch knew better than most that the last thing the girl wanted when coming out of a nightmare was her cross-eyed, whiskey-reeking mentor at the door. He could be as concerned and well-meaning as he liked.

But the escort? Good ol’ Effs Trinket. She was fair game. Free to bother. Probably going over tomorrow’s schedule anyway.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered as the door slid shut behind him. “She gon' scream herself from district to district?” And without even a side-glance he crossed Effie’s chamber and hurled himself onto the bed.

“Well, hello to you too,” said Effie from the depths of an armchair. Clipboard in hand. Hair covered up. “Don’t be shy. Make yourself comfortable.”

Another hair-raising cry, three doors down. Haymitch flinched like someone put a bullet in him. He grabbed the nearest pillow and pressed it over his head.

“Oh, that poor thing,” Effie sighed. “I wish we could do something. I gave her pills to sleep. But she won’t take them anymore.”

“Course not,” Haymitch muttered, curled up on the mattress. “I’d pick a nightmare over your so-called sleeping pills any day.”

“You never tried them.”

“Nor will I.” He sniffed. “Could use a bottle though. Or three. Got any? I ain’t picky.”

“You know I don’t. And don’t tell me you’ve already finished the ones in your room?”

“My room. Peeta’s.”

“Haymitch!”

“What? He won’t miss ‘em. You should thank me. No underage drinking on my watch.”

“How incredibly considerate.” She returned to the clipboard. Scribbled a few words in the margins. Wasn’t until five minutes passed that she raised her head again, ears pricked up.

“Listen,” she said. “So quiet.” And in a low, conspiratory voice: “Do you know what I think? I think it’s Peeta. He’s gone to her room again.”

“That a fact?”

“I’ve seen it. With my own eyes. So did Octavia. He’s probably in her bed right now, as we speak.”

“Octavia’s?”

“Katniss’s of course!”

“Wow. Breaking news, sweetheart. As usual you’re the last to know. And so what? If they need a lil’ comfort, I say go for it. If there’s one person in this rotten world who can give that girl some peace of mind it’s Peeta.”

“So no red flags?” Effie’s voice brimmed over with frustration. “Two teenagers, teeming with hormones. Together. In bed. Night after night. It doesn’t make you the least bit concerned?”

“They’re just kids, Eff.”

“To you maybe.” She dropped the clipboard on the side table. “I sat her down earlier. Just the two of us. A much needed talk, I’d say. On this train I am the closest thing she has to a mother, you know,” she said, head high like: “Don’t you dare take this away from me.”

“Talk about what, sweetheart? The birds and the bees?”

“Someone had to.”

“Jesus …”

”And I tried, Haymitch! I tried to bring up the importance of being prepared. Several times. But that girl! It was all ‘I have a headache, Effie’ and ‘We promise to make an effort to be more discreet, Effie’ – which they don’t, I might add. So.” She reached under the table, where her purse resided. “I need you to bring Peeta these.”

Ignoring a direct order from Effie Trinket was a lost cause. Finally, Haymitch heaved a great sigh and pulled himself to sitting. Leaky-eyed. Hair on end. A look on his face like Buttercup when bothered.

“What is this?” He squinted at the package on his lap. The letters.

And in the span of two seconds he’d all but sobered up.

“You havin’ sex, Eff? Cause I don’t think I’m that cool ‘bout you getting your rocks off while everything falls apart ‘round us.”

Effie sighed. Rubbed the space between her eyebrows, like getting a headache.

“You know what? Sometimes I wonder if you were dropped as a child. Do I look frisky to you? How would I even get the time? With our schedule? Every sensible adult in the Capitol carries a couple of these. And even if I wanted a few minutes of stress relief, I don’t need your permission, do I?”

“Minutes?” Haymitch scoffed. “What loser guys are you hanging with?”

Ignoring that last remark, Effie nodded to the packet. “They haven’t expired yet so you will give them to Peeta as soon as possible and, if need be, explain how to put them on.”

“I don’t want …”

“I don’t care what you want. I will not have a teen pregnancy on my conscience. It would be our fault, you know. We’re the adults here. So yes. You will do what I say. Or I swear to God, Haymitch: You won’t see another bottle from here on out to the Capitol and back again! I mean it. No wine. No whiskey. Nothing. So the choice is yours, mister. Take it or leave it.”

Oh, if looks could kill.

“No wonder you’re not gettin’ laid.” He turned the bag over. Eyed it from every direction. “Well, at least it’s not some weird-ass shit with flavour.”

“Nothing but the best for my victors.” Effie adjusted the bandana wrapped around her hair. “Honestly, Haymitch. What would you do without me? This team would fall to bits if it weren’t for my glue.”

But Haymitch didn’t listen as usual.

“’Shaped to fit you perfectly,’” he read. “’Super thin for a closer feeling’. Hm.” He glanced Effie’s way. Her slender leg crossed over the other. ”We could uh … try one out first? See if they’re up to par.”

Effie threw him a dirty look.

”And if they’re not? If one of them breaks while you’re inside me we’ll just … what? Recommend they try a different brand?”

“Please.” Haymitch lounged back against her pillow, arm behind his neck. “I’m damaged goods, princess. Don’t deliver no more. 20 odd years in a marinade of hard liquor? They’re swimming in circles by now.”

Effie grimaced at the painted picture. Spurred by his success Haymitch added: “I bet I could come in you ten times and not put you in a family way. Even if I had a swimmer or two still worth their salt I’d say it’s risk free.” A smile creased his lips. “You’re well past your childbearing years at this point, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“I am not!” Two red spots spread rapidly across Effie’s cheeks. “I’m most certainly still fertile, you big old brute! Make no mistake! If I straddled you right now to have a baby I would get a baby! So watch that mouth or maybe I’ll do it!”

And with a dramatic huff through her nose, like only Effie could, she retrieved the clipboard.

“You really know how to make a girl drier than dead leaves, don’t you? And here I thought you didn’t approve of me having sex.”

“Yeah, but,” Haymitch shrugged. “If I’m included, it would have its perks.”

“Meaning: you get to have sex.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re exhausting. Do you charm all ladies this way or am I just lucky? What’s next? You won’t give Peeta the package unless I put out?”

Haymitch rolled his eyes.

“Course I’ll give them the bloody condoms. If you wanna waste”, he studied the bag, “ten to fifteen good times on a couple o’ kids who are barely past holding hands.”

He dropped the goodies on the night table, with a disappointed grunt.

“You’re missing out,” he said and fluffed her pillow up, making himself comfortable. “Could’ve had some of the best orgasms of your life, Trinket. Just sayin’.”

“Yes, being smothered by you and your whiskey breath while you struggle to put it in is a real turn-on.”

Haymitch yawned in response. Laced his fingers together over the bulging belly.

“Don’t yawn,” Effie snapped. “You’re not staying. Don’t close those eyes! Argh! Where am I supposed to sleep?”

But it was pointless to continue. The soft snores of Twelve’s mentor already filled the room. Conquered – this round, anyway – Effie ditched the clipboard for the second time that night. Slippers on, she pulled a blanket over her shoulders and padded down the corridor.

Katniss and Peeta both looked younger asleep. With bated breath, Effie peered through the round window of the girl’s compartment.

Their shapes were barely visible in the dim light. Katniss’s hair so dark against the pillow. The boy with his arm around her, guarding her against the terrors of night.

Inseverable.

My sweet children. The glass felt cool against Effie’s fingertips. I hope you get a dreamless sleep.

“Ud,” said Ian, bringing her back to reality. He let go of the duck’s head with a loud plop and Effie managed a smile.

“Sorry, dear ones. I was miles away.”

“Mmmm-uh.” Ian pointed out in space.

Effie kissed the tip of his finger and said, “You, you loved water from the get go. Pure bliss. I don’t think anyone’s ever enjoyed a bath as much as you did. So, naturally, dada was right back at the door because now it was too quiet.”

She chuckled at the memory.

“Just look at that face, Haymitch,” she’d told him. “He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.”

Haymitch winced.

“Don’t say that.”

“Sorry. He believes he slept on the train over and woke up at a Capitol spa. Snug as a bug in a rug.”

C-r-e-e-a-k …

The sound turned her eyes on the ceiling. Her daydream shattered in an instant. A door, overhead. It closed the way in opened. Gently. As if the one doing it didn’t want to disturb anybody.

Or make the headache worse.

Her heart sank, lips pressed together. But she composed herself for the children’s sake. Smoothed a lock of strawberry hair from Amy’s forehead.

“Dada’s awake.”

The stairs complained under his weight. He lingered on every step as he made his way down. Painfully slow. You could tell just by his footfalls how hungover he really was. At least, if you’d known him as long as Effie had.

When the clock struck four she wanted him here. Of course she did. She would make sure. But she’d lie if she said his absence wasn’t a relief. Things were far from ready. So Haymitch tucked away for a couple more hours? Nothing but good news. Given his current state he was hardly an assent anyway.

A groan came over his lips once he reached the hallway. A groan. A sigh. The scratch of his beard when he rubbed through it.

Just go. Get some fresh air. Go!

Pointless. Amy grasped for Ian’s rubber duck and her brother squeaked a protest.

One second. Two. Strained, shallow breaths right outside the door.

“Eff?”

Her eyes closed shut.

A soft knock. Just a tap of knuckles. “Eff, you in there? Talk to me, sweetheart. Please?”

She heaved a soundless breath, eyes on the twins.

“It’s open, Haymitch.”

The door creaked ajar. Just an inch or two. A pair of blood-shot eyes peered at her through the crack.

“Hey.” The voice was thick and he cleared his throat. “Can I … mind if I come in?”

When she didn’t fire a resounding no he crossed the threshold. Left the door open though, in case he needed a quick escape. He scratched his nose, eyes going from Effie to the kids and back again.

“So, I …”

“We’re almost done in here,” Effie cut him off. “You need to change. Take a shower. I laid out some clothes for you. Ordered them weeks ago, I hope you don’t mind. We can’t have you show up in sweatpants and tattered socks.”

Haymitch nodded.

“Fair enough.”

“And do something about that breath. There’s both chewing gum and mouthwash in the bathroom cabinet. And toothpaste, of course. I’d say shave but if you won’t, then at least trim it. We’re on a schedule.”

“Well, I don’t see them filing a complaint if things don’t go according to plan,” he said. “Alright, alright,” he added, palms up. “We’re on a schedule.”

“I don’t have time for your jibes and zingers today. I only have time for them. You need to get ready.”

“Course, Eff. I’ll do all of the above, just …” He inhaled. Brushed a tangle of dirty blonde hair from his eyes in one pointless motion. “Can we …”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I know how it looked,” he said, eyes full of sorrow. Sorrow and regret. “Like I lied you full of some fairy story to get what I wanted but it wasn’t like that. I swear it. I really went to see Pearl. Christ, I didn’t even wanna drink!”

“Honest to God, Haymitch.”

“It’s true. All I really wanted was to get the hell outta there. Just hit the road and … be with you. You and the …”

“Did someone force the alcohol down your throat?”

Haymitch’s eyes found the floor. Shoulders drooping he mumbled,

“She wasn’t home. I waited. Some neighbor showed up. Old friend of Chaff’s. He asked if I wanted a coffee. I said I couldn’t stay long but we got talking and …” His gaze glued to her face, gray eyes begging for sympathy. “He proposed a toast, Eff. For Chaff. How could I refuse?”

“It’s not Chaff’s drink I’m upset about,” Effie snapped. And, in a more measured voice: “It’s all the rest that followed.”

At least he didn’t say he’s sorry. If he tells me sorry one more time …

“None of it matters anyway.”

“Sweetheart.”

“… and I don’t care for your excuses, OK! You want my forgiveness? Fine, you’re forgiven. Because we are not having this discussion now. One single day of the year the universe won’t revolve around you and your drinking. The 10th of August is about the twins. It’s Amy and Ian’s big big big day. All I ask is that you wash up, put on a clean shirt and keep it together for the next three or four hours. Then maybe, just maybe, we can give them a normal first birthday.”

Author’s note: This chapter had a mind of its own and grew way out of control! Finally I had to cut it into three chapters or you’d still be waiting. As always, thank you for your amazing support! You’re the best readers ever!

Also, if you’ve re-read some of the chapters lately you might have picked up on the fact that I changed the names of three minor characters. Chaff’s godmother became “Pearl”, one of Effie’s young students, friend of Gracie’s, became “Kayla” and Gloria Highgrass’s cousin was re-named Paris – which was actually his original name in the first draft.

Lastly, after years of angsting over it, I finally re-wrote the introduction of Gloria, just her looks, when first introduced way back in chapter 2. That’s because I face-claim Florence Pugh for her these days. She looks like a fierce Capitol lassie out for blood, doesn’t she?

#hayffie #haymitch x effie #everlark #katniss x peeta #the hunger games #post-mockingjay

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moony-to-ur-pads · 2 years

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AUTUMN-SICK

in which Sirius Black desperately misses autumn (or something else?) + wolfstar fluff ofc

@wolfstarmicrofic prompt: “autumn”

For Sirius, autumn has always meant a lot more than a steady chill and a faster sunset. Autumn is a packed trunk. A cherry-red train. Friends, love, a break from the nightmare.

Even when he is older, safer, free from them—the joy is still automatic, and it is inescapable.

He knows the summer holidays are drawing to a close—which is bad, now, because Effie and Monty are amazing and Sirius loves them so very much—but still, he watches with an uncontrollable glee as the first flower buds peek out between the ivy that climbs over James’ window. Clumps of blackberries start to form all over the boughs of Effie’s bushes, and he can’t stop beaming every time the rain cuts their Quidditch matches short.

At breakfast, Sirius excitedly tells James about all the times that week that he’s woken up freezing and had to pull the sheets back over himself. It is invigorating, to him. He leaves the covers off when he goes to sleep now, just so he can wake up to that freezing dawn cold. It is like a drug—he wants more, and more. The cold means Hogwarts, and Hogwarts is good.

After Hogwarts, autumn seems to come much more slowly. The London flat he lives in has no blackberry bushes or ivy. There’s a radiator, so he never wakes up freezing with his blankets bunched around his ankles. There are no Quidditch games to be played, and the rain is just a dreary mess here—nothing special to him, as he watches it hit windows and flood gutters with a monotonous, dreary thunder.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

August drips by, then early September, and Sirius starts to feel anxious. He picks his lips and bites his nails and tries to hide both from Moony—who notices, of course, and presses him to tell him what the bother is. Only… Sirius doesn’t know, exactly.

He has no word for this sick, sorry feeling. He does not understand the way his stomach clenches as he walks past King’s Cross, cannot put into words that twisty trembly feeling that racks him every time he crosses another mid-September date off on the calendar in their kitchen. He lies awake at night and does not know why—he only knows that their plain white ceiling is so different from the swirly creamy plaster of Hogwarts’. And that terrifies him, for some unknown, inexplicable reason.

And then one evening he finds a pack of old Polaroids in Moony’s bedside and he cannot bear it.

There is one—with a messy ‘1973’ written in the corner—of a group of little boys and girls on a train. The messy-haired one has the dark-haired one in headlock, the two other boys are trying to pull them apart, and the two girls standing at the edge of the frame are yelling at the camera.

Sirius knows what they are saying, can hear them—even though it is a muggle-style shot. Because he remembers this day like it were yesterday; or the day before—“God, don’t just stand there watching, Lily, he’ll kill Sirius!”

But then… he doesn’t remember it like it was yesterday, either. He does not remember why James and him were fighting. He does not even remember if they were angry, or bored, or just having some fun. He cannot remember how the fight ended. A bloody nose? Ruined hair? It is grey, black, a blur.

Sirius cannot bear it.

He tucks the Polaroid in his pocket and heads out onto the balcony.

He does not know why, at first. Maybe it is the sky—alight with pinks and reds and golds. The only hues of autumn to be found for miles around. He stands at the railing, eyes fixed on that sky, and enjoys the gathering brisk cold. He watches a dusky greyness steal over that burst of colour and he still watches as it fades—like old Polaroids and old memories and old times that feel like an age and a moment ago at once—into the cold, grey darkness of night.

Moony finds him there.

“Pads, what are you doing?” he murmurs softly, quiet footfalls coming to a stop an inch behind Sirius. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” he searches for the words, but he cannot find them. He feels tired, sad, anxious, terrified—everything that you were meant to feel amidst a war, of course, but he knew this was a different kind of sadness.

“I miss autumn,” he says, simply. It’s the only thing he knows for sure.

“Padfoot.”

A hand on his shoulder. Warm, gentle. Sirius turns to his boyfriend and slips a hand into his pocket, drawing out that old little Polaroid like a precious heirloom, some kind of gem.

“I found this,” he says, sadly.

Moony takes it, and his brows crease, eyes fixed on frozen smiles amidst frozen chaos. Just as Sirius’ are.

They are silent, a minute.

Then Moony tears his eyes from the image and meets Sirius’, a soft subtle realisation stirring in their honey depths. He smiles, just a little. Like it hurts to try more.

“I’m homesick, too,” he says, gently. “For back then.”

Sirius has never felt ‘homesick’ before. The House of Black was not a home you missed too easily. Even as an eleven year old—at Hogwarts for the very first time—he may have felt a little strange, in the sea of newness. But sick like this?

Never, no.

This hurt your heart. This was monstrous, biting. Love’s terrible antithesis.

No, that wasn’t right—this was love torn to pieces, shredded apart.

“Its terrible,” Sirius mumbles. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

Moony just nods. His eyes are back on the picture.

“It’s worse, like this.” Sirius says. “When it’s not a place. When you’re homesick for… an era, a time. Isn’t it, Remus?”

Moony just sighs. He slips the Polaroid in his pocket and tries a smile.

“Well, the good thing about autumn…” he says, slowly, “Is that it comes back ‘round again, someday. A little different every year—but you know it’ll always come back.”

Sirius shivers, a little. He is frozen half-way to death. Moony takes his hand in his, and it’s warm, so bloody warm.

“It’ll come back,” Sirius whispers, pulling him in for a kiss that is just as warm and perfect—and, Sirius thinks—bursting with all of autumn’s fiery hues at once.

#SORRY ITS SO LONG ITS NOT REALLY A MICROFIC IM SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY I REALLY DID #also yay! exams are over! I can write!#sirius black #marauders era #remus lupin #marauders #wolfstar #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #james & peter & remus & sirius #wolfstar fic #wolfstar microfic #marauders fic #(also slipped in a little ‘r u okay’ in there #to celebrate r u okay day)#idk if that’s a worldwide thing or just here lmao

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 2 years

Text

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.

#hayffie #HayffieFics #snow on the beach #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #district 12 #effie in red #geese #canada geese #thg fanfiction #trauma bonding #haymitch x effie #effie x haymitch #greasy sae #thg

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uncertain3teeth · 2 years

Text

LMAO MAKING A KIN LIST IS LIKE THERAPY OR A MENTAL CHECK BC OMFG I AM MENTALLY ILL LIK I KNOW I AM BUT OMG SEEING THE FUCKING LIK LIST ALREADY LIKE PFTTT LIK I STARTED MAKING A LIST A WHILE AGO BUT LIK I STOPPED BC MOTIVATION [ though my main kins i can think about at the top of my head in my bio ] though i would just have a kin list in my head but rn im jotting it down and like idk if i want to start just RIGHT in there and just say "oh yeah i kin lolita" or i just want to start light and then my kins progressively get worse to "just omg what happened to you ?" bc i find it kinda funny but ffs man lik so far i have:

- dolores haze from lolita

- angel dust from hazbin hotel

- verosika mayday and blitzo from helluva boss

- nagito from the game and anime danganronpa v2

- cassie, jules, maddy, and rue from euphoria

- justin foley from 13 reasons why [ i kin him a lot ]

- bakugou from mha

- benson from regular show

- squidward

- shigaraki [ i kin him a lot as well ]

- mae borowski from the game the night in the woods

- misfortune from the game little misfortune

- nathan prescott from the game life is strange

[ i kin him a LOT ]

- chloe and rachel amber from the game life is strange [ geez this list is gonna be vfhdhdne ]

- c!ranboo [ that alone is -sigh- ]

- cassie and effy from the show skins

- marceline from adventure time

[ daddy issues by the neighborhood and her personality and issues n shoite ]

- omori and sunny from the game omori

[ MF THIS IS ONLY THE SIXTEENTH ONE LIKE ITS SO BAD OMFG LIKE AM I OK ? NO OF COURSE NOT APPARENTLY WELL I KNOW IM NOT OK ]

- some of lisa rowe and a lot of susanna kaysen and daisy from the movie girl interrupted

- mostly yuri and natsuki but also sayori and those are from the game doki doki literature club

- lux lisbon from the virgin suicides

thats all i have for now but now im gonna go to uquiz and take kinnie quizzes bc i cant think of any from the top of my head and i will probably have so many tabs bc of either the trending quizzes that pop up at the top and id be like "ouu i gonna do that one next and its just too many tabs ORR id get side tracked and end up taking mental health quizzes even though i came to uquiz to take kinnie quizzes

anyways i will update this when i get another decent amount of characters to put on here :3

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endlessnightlock · 2 years

Note

#36 please? :)

"You're the first person I think about when I wake up."

Thank you @heathersaid <3

From the prompt list 101 Ways to Say I Love You

An alternate take on the time between the end of THG and the beginning of Catching Fire. Canon-Divergent. Rated T

The sculpted bronze water fountain in the center of Victor’s Village had been installed, according to Effie Trinket, as a gift for Twelve’s Victors for their contributions to Panem. The care the artists took crafting it, entirely with them in mind, was situated in the center of the rarely-traveled lane. The fountain was for their enjoyment- why they should be honored by the gesture!

Effie, of course, was full of shit.

Like their homes and everything in them, the water fountain was nothing more than a prop for the Capitol crews to shoot footage around. Twelve’s drab surroundings certainly weren’t picturesque enough for the viewers without classing it up a bit.

Couldn’t let anyone see the starving children or the emaciated elderly. It would be untoward to film the Star-Crossed Lovers in front of anything so crass as a row of run-down shacks— the “Capitol-provided housing” for most residents of the area.

Not that the water fountain held any meaning to Katniss. She gave very little thought to it and certainly wasn’t at that moment. It just so happened she finally cornered Peeta next to the fountain for a long-overdue conversation.

Catching up with him had proved no small task. Not because Peeta avoided her, which he did. This was the first time Katniss found the nerve to approach him.

Peeta and Katniss, The Star Crossed Lovers, were a big deal in the Capitol for their whirlwind romance, their oath to die together if they neither was allowed to live.

Forget about them being lovers; Katniss was concerned with salvaging some part of their wrecked friendship at this point. “I didn’t know it was real for you till later,” she admitted to Peeta nervously while he stood next to her in silence. He made her ill at ease, but she was the one who’d stopped him, waving the white flag so she’d better suck it up and get out what she needed to say.

She missed Peeta. She was mentally caught trying to explain that she didn’t want to pretend they were in love for the cameras, only to act like strangers at home. It frustrated her and left her feeling guilty that they’d spent all those years hovering around each other only to slide back into avoidance post-games.

Katniss didn’t care for people lightly. Whatever her feelings for Peeta meant, he’d lured her in with his kindness and now had a place in her heart. Their lives became irrevocably tied by both small things that meant a lot, like the friendship and coziness of time spent inside a cave in the middle of hell, and larger ones, like life-threatening sacrifices they made for each other. The horrors they’d survived and the misery of watching Peeta die behind an impenetrable wall of glass, twice, only for medics to resuscitate him.

Peeta was the only one who might understand the nightmares waking her at night so fearful she prayed not to fall asleep, the guilt, the constant state of dread she existed in, knowing one slip up could mean the destruction of everyone she loved. She couldn’t lose Peeta. She needed him.

“I thought you were playing your part for the Games. I thought you knew,” Katniss murmured. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I was only thinking about trying to keep us both alive. It’s what I’ve done my whole life,” she added as an afterthought. “I didn’t know until the interview that Haymitch hadn’t let you in on our plan. He didn’t give me a chance to explain things to you or talk to you alone.”

“I’m not a mind reader Katniss, although you and Haymitch have that skill in the bag,” Peeta said. He sighed. “I know you weren’t playing with my emotions. I’m mostly embarrassed. I should have known.”

“Don’t be. Peeta—” she wanted to tell him she cared about him, but that would just confuse both of them more because she didn’t know what those feelings meant.

“What I don’t understand is why you didn’t believe it when I told you I liked you in the first place?” He seemed puzzled. Hurt, but not angry. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Katniss laughed uncomfortably. “You were such a good actor, and everything in the Games is a show. You know that!. That’s why I didn’t know what to believe from you. We didn’t even know each other then. It didn’t make sense that you were interested in me. And you’re hard to read.”

“Me? I’m hard to read?” he said dryly, smiling at her for the first time in a long time. That parting of lips and flash of white teeth bolstered Katniss’s confidence.

“Look at how you got in with the Careers! You fooled them, and the Capitol audience loved you at first sight.”

“They only cared about me because of you,” Peeta said bemusedly.

“You were the one who gave them something to be interested in in the first place.” Sure they thought a lot of her now but during the pre-Games interviews? She hadn’t stood out from the crowd a bit. “They didn’t give a damn about me until the Games began,” Katniss felt like shaking some sense into Peeta. “We both know they liked “us” better than me. You’re a lot more charming than I am.”

“Oh yeah?” Peeta said drily.

“Yes, really,” Katniss had to cover a laugh behind her hand.

The smile dropped off her face when he shrugged. “Charming to everyone but you.”

“I think you know that’s not entirely true,” she said, breaking the silence that settled between them once again. “You never let me explain once we got off the train.”

“You don’t have to say that,” Peeta told her. “I was such an ass to you that day, and I’m sorry for acting so wounded. I don’t always know what to say when caught off guard. Sometimes I lash out.”

“I never know what to say either. Obviously,” Katniss murmured, thinking of the whys of how they found themselves in this situation.

He smiled at her admission. “I’ve come to realize that.”

“But you’re wrong about everything,” Katniss began, scuffing the toe of her Capitol boots on the cobblestone walkway for something to do. She wasn’t good at saying things, but to get Peeta to see; she was going to try. “You thought it was all an act, but It wasn’t. I was confused by you and my feelings. I liked our time together in the cave,” she admitted. “I liked kissing you.”

“You did?” Katniss could hear the smile in Peeta’s voice.

“Yeah. You were funny and kind, and you made me feel safe. You don’t know how much it meant having you there. After, on the way home, I hated it when you thought everything I did or said was an act.”

“You said not all of it,” Peeta took her hand, threading their fingers together.

Katniss exhaled raggedly. “Not all of it isn’t the same as none, you know. Not all of it means some. But it doesn’t matter what I feel or don’t feel. You’re wasting your time on me. I’m never getting married.”

“I didn’t ask you to marry me,” he said, sounding confused. “We’re sixteen, Katniss.”

She had to make Peeta see he was only kicking the can further down the road with that thinking. She couldn’t begin something she wouldn’t let herself finish. She didn’t have that luxury. “Sure, we’re sixteen, but we won’t be forever. And then what? I can’t let myself feel that way about you. I care about you a lot, but I can’t fall in love with you.”

Peeta didn’t answer. He had that unreadable expression on his face again. “Can you at least say something?” Katniss prodded nervously.

He sighed. “Do you want to try being friends? You’re the first person I think about every morning, and not talking to you or knowing how you are has been awful. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Katniss admitted. “I’d love to be friends again.”

Peeta smiled, and the tension she’d been carrying around rushed away in a torrent, leaving her steadier than she’d felt in months. Overjoyed, she stepped into Peeta’s space and threw her arms around him. The last time they’d spoken, she never wanted to let go of him, unsure if she would ever have the opportunity again. Now that he understood, Katniss wasn’t going to waste it.

#endlessnightlock writes #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #everlark #THG #canon-divergent in panem

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anauro · 2 years

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No cause I had the biggest smile while reading about the fluff part and it just disappears so quick as soon as I read the heartache part. I am just holding on the fact that it’s going to be a happy ending :)

Also it’s a bit sad that Regulus wouldn’t get to meet Effie and Monty cause I just imagine if they’re still alive Effie would tell Reggie all of James’ embarrassing story and share food recipes with him meanwhile Monty would probably talk about politics with Reg and they can all have a Sunday family lunch with little harry being the centre of love and cuddles. I can not 😭😭😭

Hahaha I’m sorry! I showed jt Yaz and they summarized it as “you caressed my soul then punched me in the tit”, which I think it’s very accurate 😌.

And stooop, they would totally love Regulus!!! Although let’s be honest, embarrassing stories are James’ love language and if it makes Regulus happy, he will continue to prove to him just as much of a himbo he is. Although he isn’t actually a himbo, he’s definitely very intelligent but just a tiny bit lost in life.

Effie would definitely take on board Regulus’ hot chocolate making advice and would teach him how to properly cook meatless meals…although maybe her son would do that instead? 👀

Don’t even get me started on Harry cause that’s just so sad 😭. And I know it’s totally my fault, but still. Little Harry getting cuddles every night by his two dads, getting spoilt rotten by James and playing all sorts of educational games with Regulus (I just feel like he’d be all for “if it has no educational value, then Harry is not touching it”) … instead he’s living with his aunt and uncle, with vague memories of his dad and wondering what he did that James didn’t want him anymore 😭😭. Pls someone stop me before there’s a Harry pov in the fic and we all will need therapy.

#roc answers #drugs and surgical scrubs #jegulus headcanon #baby harry #jegulus dads

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spine-buster · 3 years

Text

Patience is a Virtue ft. Matthew Tkachuk | 𝒫𝓇𝓊𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒

CONTENT WARNING: this story deals with cults, polygamous cults, escaping cults, strict adherence to religion, gender roles, abuse, miscarriage, and a character with a traumatic past. Please be warned.

Word Count: 15,839

A/N: So this is technically the penultimate chapter of Patience is a Virtue, as part six of the series (and there are seven virtues). I do hope you enjoy all of the GROWTH that happens in this chapter, not just for Effie. I also hope you enjoy how Effie finds her voice more by the end.

And listen. I know the scene with Doughty doesn’t happen in real life. I know. But ~fiction~, okay?

* * * * *

If Effie liked Matthew’s kisses at the beginning, and grew to love them the more she had, she didn’t know what the word was for how she felt about them now. Because as often as they happened before – on his couch, on her couch, in his bed, in her bed, in her kitchen, in his kitchen, in Starbucks, in Ikea, in the grocery store, in the parking garage at the Saddledome – they happened even more often now. However, now, there was more happening afterwards.

After New Year’s in Banff, the gang cleaned the house so it was spotless before driving back to Calgary. Matthew held Effie’s hand the entire way home. They went to her place first, where they started kissing, and touching, and where Effie guided him into her bedroom and they had sex again on her bed.

The following night, Effie went to the Flames game, and they won. When Matthew saw her waiting for him in the waiting room, he took her hand and drove her back to his place, where they started kissing, and touching, and where Effie guided him into his own bedroom and they had sex again on his bed.

And it happened again.

And again.

When Effie thought about it, though, it wasn’t sex. There was…a difference. There was what Abraham did, and there was sex, and there was what she and Matthew were doing – and to her, it was making love. She didn’t want to call it just plain sex; she felt that was too impersonal for what they were doing and what she was going through. Matthew took his time. Matthew let her lead. Matthew always checked that she was okay with everything (she was), and he checked if it was okay to take off clothes (it was), and he checked if it hurt (it didn’t), and he checked if she wanted him to stop (she didn’t). And while they made love, Effie was in a state of euphoria. She was able to wrap her legs around his torso and look up at Matthew and touch his face, his lips, his chest, everything, and it was perfect. And then he’d make her come (the context of that word was definitely new), and she felt even more euphoric, and they’d lie beside each other or cuddle in bed and she’d think about how good it felt. How good everything felt. She’d think about how it didn’t have to hurt anymore. It never had to hurt again. She wouldn’t have to be scared of sex. She wouldn’t have to think it was repulsive. She wouldn’t have to have it happen to her as opposed to being an active participant in it. She would actually want it to happen.

It was a beautiful feeling, to want it to happen to you, have it happen to you, and have it be a pleasurable experience.

With Matthew and Levi gone on a five-day road trip to Winnipeg and Toronto, Effie wasn’t having sex. And for the first time in her life, she could say she missed it. Well – she missed it with Matthew. It wasn’t like she was going to have it with anyone else. The sudden lack of it for five days made her…curious.

So she found herself in Indigo, trying to be inconspicuous.

“Can I help you find anything?” an overly-chirpy girl asked, startling Effie slightly.

“Uh, no thank you, I’m just browsing,” she said, clutching onto her Chanel purse Geneviève gave her.

“My name’s Valentina, let me know if there’s something I can help you find!” she said with a giant smile before walking past her and leaving Effie to be.

Effie let out the breath she was holding. She looked over at the section she needed to go to and slowly, slowly made her way over, pretending she was browsing the shelves and looking for something before she finally saw the genre descriptor sticker and gulped.

SEX & SEXUALITY

Did they have to put it in capitals? She was lucky the aisle was empty, at least. When she focused in on the books and their titles, they overwhelmed her.

The Little Black Book of Sex Positions

Cosmo’s Sexy Sutra

Kama Sutra: The Book of Sex Positions

Sex Position Colouring Book!

Sex Positions for Every Body

Classic Sex Positions Reinvented

101 Sex Positions

365 Sex Positions

There were that many positions?! Holy moly. Effie could feel her cheeks getting red. She didn’t know which one to pick. The selection was overwhelming. She grabbed The Little Black Book of Sex Positions only because it was the first one she saw. She held it against her chest so no-one would be able to see its title and was about to leave the aisle, but then another book title caught her eye.

Living an Orgasmic Life: Heal Yourself and Awaken Your Pleasure

The Joy of Sex

Getting It: A Guide to Hot, Healthy, and Shame-Free Sex

On Blossoming: Frank and Practical Advice on Our Bodies, Sexual Health, Sensuality, Pleasure, Orgasm, and More

Effie looked around. Hesitated. Then, she grabbed each of the books off the shelf and held them against her chest too. They were getting heavy.

“Would you like a basket, ma’am?” another voice startled her from behind. Effie turned around to see a boy, barely sixteen years old, already with a basket ready for her.

“Um, thank you,” she mumbled, bending down to drop the books inside. The boy looked inside the basket, and of course, the first book he saw, cover-up, was The Little Black Book of Sex Positions. Effie was mortified.

“I’m gonna—g—I’m gonna go over there,” he stuttered out, his face even more red than hers.

Effie couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of it all.

***

Effie practically burst through Matthew’s door once he opened it, almost immediately throwing her arms around his shoulders and planting her lips on his. The team had gotten back from a road trip in the middle of the night, and after Effie couldn’t sleep knowing they’d be back and a series of quick text messages when he landed, she’d shown up at his apartment.

Matthew was intoxicating.

“Good game,” she mumbled against his lips as he tried to shut his front door behind them, referring to the two assists he’d racked up that night.

She could feel Matthew smile against her lips. “Thought you had homework,” he mumbled.

“I finished early so I could watch.”

Matthew pulled away, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “Effie Schaffer. Look at you,” he mused.

She gave him a quick peck before smiling herself. “Take me to bed, Matty.”

That’s it. He was going to change his legal name to ‘Matty’. In one swift movement he put his hands beneath her ass and lifted her up in his arms, causing her to squeal slightly and wrap her arms around his shoulders as he carried her throughout his apartment and to his bedroom. When he laid her down at the foot of the bed, she scurried further onto it so her head was on a pillow. He crawled on the bed and over her body and began kissing her again. Soon enough, their tops were off, then their pants were off, then Effie’s bra was off, then her underwear was off, and Matthew’s boxers were off, and Effie asked for a condom and Matthew reached into his bedside table to grab one, having stocked up on them after New Year’s now that this was going to become a thing. After it was on, he hooked her leg over his torso.

“I get so excited now,” Effie said suddenly.

Matthew knew his brain was in his dick at the moment, so he didn’t quite comprehend. “What do you mean?”

“Because it feels good now. I get excited because I know you’re going to make me come,” she couldn’t help but let out a giggle at the last word.

Matthew giggled too. “Keep up that attitude twenty years from now, okay?”

Effie couldn’t answer because she felt him push into her and she revelled in that blissful feeling, instead of focusing on the blissful thought of still knowing Matthew twenty years from now. It immediately felt good; there was no pain. Effie loved the feeling of him inside of her. It was so different than what she’d felt before, and she wanted it to be cemented into her mind forever. Even as he began moving, she couldn’t get enough. “It feels good, Matty,” she let out.

“Yeah?”

“Every time. It feels good every time with you.”

With you. She always, always specified with you. “Keep talking, baby,” he encouraged. “Keep telling me.”

Effie furrowed her brows slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You can talk during sex, baby. You can tell me what you like, if it feels good, tell me how good it feels…” he kept thrusting into her.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, dipping down to kiss her quickly. She was relatively quiet – not like he blamed her, because he was sure if she made a peep in her past God knows what would have happened – and even her moans were comparatively quiet. He didn’t want to make it seem like he was demanding something from her; he just wanted her to know that she could do it, that she was allowed to do it, especially if she wanted to do it. “And you can be as loud as you want. Don’t hold back.”

She cupped his face with her hands. “I don’t hold back with you,” she said in a serious tone. “I never hold back. You make me feel the best I’ve ever felt.”

“I know baby, I know. I’m just letting you know you can,” he said before he dipped down to kiss her again, this time his lips not leaving hers unless it was for her moans or his groans or to hear her little mewls.

Effie was slightly louder – slightly – but because Matthew was hyperaware of everything to do with her, he noticed. After they came together, and after he disposed of his condom, they cuddled into bed together. Effie began running her hand through his hair, and he felt so tranquil, so at ease, that he didn’t know if there was anything else better in the world. He could stay like this forever…in a post-sex, blissed out world, with Effie in his arms running her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t louder,” she whispered suddenly, but it was said in such peaceful silence that it was like she had screamed it into a megaphone.

Matthew shook his head. “Effie, you don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“One day. Someday. Maybe soon,” she said, trying to get even closer to him.

“Whenever you want. Whenever you feel it,” Matthew gave her a final kiss.

***

COWGIRL

The cowgirl position requires a partner. It’s generally described by experts as a position for two people. The position requires the man to lie down with their legs straight, while the woman kneels on top of them, using their hands to gently push off the man’s chest and slide up and down their thighs. You can always lean back and support yourself on the man’s thighs too, to give them a serious view.

There are a lot of plus points to trying this move out. Firstly, by being in the dominant position, you’ll intensify your own orgasm. You can dictate the pace and rhythm, as well as the penetration. It’s also a great position for clitoral stimulation, so you’re far more likely to come.

Factoring in eye contact from the woman looking down, and this position can become extra erotic as well as intimate. It is important to communicate with your partner about trying new positions.

DOGGY-STYLE

Doggy style is a sex position in which a person bends over, usually on their hands and knees), for sexual intercourse. Doggy-style is a form of rear-entry position. For some women, doggy style sex helps to stimulate an area that may be termed “the G-spot”.

Some women may feel vulnerable in this position, as it requires and implies a level of trust and a surrender of control by the receiving to the active partner. However, some women find this transfer of control to the partner arousing. Many established couples find doggy style relationship-affirming.

Effie almost dropped the book.

SPOONING

In the spooning position, the receiving partner would be in the inner spoon position and the penetrator is in the outer spoon in preparation for rear-entry penetration. For penetration, the partners may separate their upper bodies, with just the pelvises connecting, and their legs can also rest on top of each other. This allows for a great deal of intimacy, as there is full-body contact which allows for cuddling. Both partners have control of the angle and depth of penetration, and slow, low-intensity sex can last for a long time because it usually takes longer for the man to reach orgasm.

The penetrating partner can caress the woman’s stomach and stimulate her breasts, the back of the neck and ears, and her clitoris. The woman can stimulate her own clitoris as well. In addition, the penis stimulates the front of the vagina, and may stimulate an area that is commonly termed the G-spot. Variations on this position can include the partners lying on their sides face-to-face.

CATAPULT

The woman lies on her back, presses the hips to her body and takes hands behind her head. The man hangs over her, supporting his body by his outstretched arms, placed on the bed. The female partner throws her legs on man’s strong shoulders and wraps them around his neck. Like precise shots, the man’s thrusts aim their target and bring his lover to back-arching and screaming orgasm.

Effie dropped the book with a loud thud.

LAP DANCE

Every centimeter of her body is in his power, he uses it, but instead he gives more than he receives. The man sits down on his legs, putting them together under his buttocks. The woman is on top of her male partner with her back and throws back her head on his shoulder and spreads her legs on both sides of his knees. This is an excellent and very sensual position; it is perfect for the woman who loves foreplay. The partner’s hands are not only free, they get both the woman’s breast, as well as her most piquant places allowing him to play with her body and to inflame her passion even more. It is from this position that you can pass from foreplay to sex.

OASIS

Oasis position is perfect to unlock the inner sex goddess and seductress of every woman. The male partner sits on the floor, slightly leaning forward. His legs are slightly bent at knees and driven wide apart. The woman spreads her legs on both sides of his buttocks. With her arms she hugs his neck and upper part of the back. Her body leans backwards, but the man holds the female partner with his hands behind her back and makes the movements with her body, sticking her on his penis.

Effie’s pupils dilated as she turned the book sideways in her hands, trying to figure it all out. She put a sticky note on the page.

***

Alone in his hotel room, Matthew had finished taking his shower and was ready to get into bed. He had a short phone call with Brady because Brady had scored, and they congratulated each other on their goals tonight. With his towel around his waist, he walked over to the bed side table where his phone had been charging during his shower and noticed six different missed texts from Effie. He opened them.

There were five different pictures of sex positions taken from a book she was keeping open with her hand and marked with a sticky note, followed by a text message: What do you think? Matthew chuckled to himself slightly, exiting out of the messages so he could call her. The phone only rang two times before she picked up. “Isn’t it late there?” she asked, not even bothering with a hello.

“Uh, it could be three o’clock in the morning and I’d respond to the text you sent,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was. “It looks like someone got some new books.”

“You know that saying…curiosity killed the cat,” she tried to sound aloof. “But what do you think, Matty?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I think that if you want to try them, then we’re gonna try them,” he said. Simple as that.

“Well I—well—it’s not like I want to try them tomorrow…” she said. “I just thought—well, they look…you know…interesting…I—I even Googled them—”

“—You Googled them?—”

“—In pornography—”

“—In porn?!” Matthew groaned. He brought his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Effie, what the hell are you doing watching porn?”

“I just—I needed to see, like, the physics of the positions,” she said innocently.

One of the positions was cowgirl. Just simply cowgirl. And she’d gone and searched it up on a porn site to see if it was even possible. Matthew tried to keep everything in him. He knew all of this was new to her. Hell, she didn’t even know that a girl could sit on a guy’s lap while making out. How was she going to know cowgirl was a run-of-the-mill sex position? “Please don’t watch porn ever again,” he cautioned. “You don’t—Effie—”

“I just don’t know what I’m doing, Matty,” she said, her voice sounding so innocent. “This is much different than lying on the edge of the bed with my dress still on and waiting for a fake prophet to impregnate with the fake son of God.”

Matthew stayed silent, clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth. There was a sharp intake of break on his part before he let out the steam. “You just have to listen to your body, Effie. Follow your body. I know that’s easier said than done, but you finally have an opportunity to listen to your body.”

“I was always able to listen to my body,” she deadpanned. “My body always told me it was disgusting and that I didn’t want it. But it’s different now.”

Matthew bit his tongue. “Then listen to your body when it tells you it does want it, and don’t hold back. You don’t have to be ashamed about wanting to try…you know, new sex positions.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. He could tell the gears were shifting in Effie’s head. He waited for her, as he did often, and gave her as much time as she needed. “But you’ll help me try them, right?” she asked, her voice so small.

“Of course, Effie,” he said automatically, his voice soft but resolute. “Of course.”

***

“You can have multiple?!” Effie blurted out at Dr. Stevenson.

Dr. Stevenson couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. “Yes, Effie. Women are able to have multiple orgasms. That includes you.”

It was as if Effie just saw a flying monkey. Her jaw was on the floor and her eyes were wide. “And men?”

“Men cannot. They usually take about half an hour to be able to ejaculate again, but there are many factors that is dependent on,” she explained.

Sucks to be them, Effie thought automatically. She caught herself. Two years ago, she wouldn’t have thought that at all, and she giggled slightly at her new train of thought and thought process in general. God, it had changed so much…and for the better. “So you’re telling me Matthew can give me multiple orgasms.”

“Yes,” Dr. Stevenson nodded her head. “And from what you’ve told me, I’m sure he’s more than capable.”

“But…but…” Effie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But then why hasn’t he?!” she demanded.

Dr. Stevenson let out a laugh this time – a full laugh. “Effie, let’s take it one thing at a time, okay? Remember…baby steps. You need to communicate your wants and needs with Matthew first and be comfortable with him – remember, that’s the most important part. You need to feel safe and comfortable with him to even be able to start discussing it and discussing how longer, more passionate sex sessions can lead you to have multiple orgasms.”

Effie nodded her head. She was safe. She was comfortable. This was one of her sexual needs now; a sexual need she knew Matthew could fulfill for her.

She was on the case.

***

“You and Effie should come out with Meredith and I one night,” Johnny encouraged in the locker room after practice, most of the team gone already. Only Gio, Johnny, Sean, and Matthew remained, after staying on the ice longer than usual to practice their shooting and their forecheck at their own behest. Matthew could see Sean and Gio perk up at the mention of Effie and Matthew double-dating with Johnny and Meredith.

“I’ll mention it to her,” Matthew mused.

“Don’t you guys need to be dating for it to be a double date?” Sean pressed, standing near Matthew and Johnny, taking sips out of his water bottle. “Have you and Effie even put a label on it?” he asked.

“No,” Matthew shook his head.

“You haven’t? Seriously?” Gio spoke up.

“We’re just friends,” Matthew said.

“Yeah, sure, and I’m the King of England,” Johnny took a sip of his own water. “You and Effie being just friends is bullshit. You haven’t even looked at another chick since you met her at Noah’s.”

“I’m waiting for her to put a label on it,” Matthew confessed to the guys. Realistically, he knew only Gio would really appreciate it. Johnny might understand, but the importance of having her decide would go over Sean’s head. “She’s gotta want it. And if she doesn’t want to label it yet, then we’re not gonna label it.”

“Whatever, dude. Just make her your girlfriend already,” Sean rolled his eyes.

Matthew rolled his eyes back at Sean as he felt his phone buzzing, and when he looked at the screen, he saw Effie’s name and face. He answered it immediately. “Hello---”

“Did you know men can give women multiple orgasms?!” Effie boomed into the phone so loud that the guys heard.

Johnny projectile spit out his water all over the carpet. Sean had snorted so hard the water went up his nose and he was currently coughing so loudly it was like he was a victim of the Black Plague. Gio’s eyebrows furrowed so deeply Matthew thought they’d crawl into his eye sockets. “E—Effie—"

“Why haven’t you giv—”

“EFFIE,” he said loudly, getting up to scurry out of the locker room as Johnny began manically laughing. His last look back as he crashed into the door was of Gio eyeing him like a hawk and Sean wiping his nose with his forearm like an animal. “Effie, what’s going on?” he asked once he slipped through the door, knowing the guys wouldn’t be able to hear anymore.

“Dr. Stevenson told me that women can have multiple orgasms,” she said. “Like, in a row. Why haven’t you given me multiple orgasms yet?”

Leave it to Effie Schaffer to be angry at being denied multiple orgasms when she didn’t know what an orgasm felt like six weeks ago. Matthew almost wanted to laugh into the phone, but he knew that she was being 100% serious. “Because I thought we’d take it slow, Effie. You know, like Dr. Stevenson said you should? One thing at a time. The other day you Googled different sex positions because you didn’t understand the physics of them. Let’s take it one step at a time and figure out what you like and what makes you feel good before rushing into things, okay?”

If Effie didn’t know better, she’d think that Matthew and Dr. Stevenson were conspiring with one another by the way Matthew sounded and what he said. Maybe she was overreacting a bit, but this was the most shocking piece of news to her since…she learned that women could wear pants? That God wouldn’t strike her down for cutting her hair? That tattoos were socially acceptable and not a mark of the devil? It was definitely in the top three. “Okay, fine,” she digressed, her voice much softer and less accusatory now. “But I want those multiple orgasms,” she couldn’t help but grumble out.

She could hear Matthew chuckle on the other end. “Don’t worry. I’ll give ‘em to you.”

***

Effie and Matthew kept having sex.

Again.

And again.

Effie had read all of her sex books, too. Front to back. Highlighted. Took notes. Put sticky notes. Took the advice. Talked about it with Dr. Stevenson. Thought about it. Fantasized about it.

Again.

And again.

Until one night, in Matthew’s bed, after her body felt like it was on fire for the better part of an hour because of Matthew’s foreplay (another new word) and his fingers teasing her wet lips (the underwear had been gotten rid of long ago), she uttered the words. “Matty?”

“What is it baby?”

“Matty, I want you inside me.”

It was the first time she’d said something, anything, so direct besides ‘Touch me’ or ‘Kiss me’, which were now things of the past. She’d been building up the courage recently, with louder moans and whatever other noises she made, which she had no control over – it was almost like her body just physically knew how to react to someone like Matthew making her feel good, because they just came out of her without warning or thought – and it now culminated in part of her research: dirty talk.

(So maybe other people didn’t research what to say and when and how to say it and at what point to say it and – whatever. She was in a unique position. Eventually, she hoped, it would come as naturally to her as moans.)

She could see Matthew’s pupils dilate after she said the words, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. “Yeah, baby?”

“Yeah,” she nodded quickly. “I want you inside me.”

Matthew moved to put on a condom. When he was finished and ready to get back on top of her, her hands came up to his shoulders. “Stop,” she said.

He immediately stopped everything. “You okay baby? Do you se—”

“No no, I just—” she hesitated. I—get on your back.”

“My back?”

“I want to ride you, Matty.”

Matthew almost, almost let out a guttural groan at the words. Fucking hell. He rolled over on to his back, but kept his eyes on Effie as she sat up. She looked over at him, at his thick body lying down for, waiting. She’d been psyching herself up for this – knowing that it would feel good, but still wondering if she’d be able to pull it off – before she got on her knees. Her heart skipped a beat. “C—Can you help me?” she asked.

“C’mere, baby,” Matthew urged, grabbing her leg and leading it over his torso so she was straddling him. She could feel his hard cock on her pussy, and she shuddered at the feeling. “Move your hips back and forth for me, baby,” he said, placing his hands on his hips to guide her. Effie leaned forward slightly and placed her hands just below his chest before doing what she was told – what she thought was right, at least. Almost immediately, she could see Matthew’s face light up. And, almost immediately, she could feel Matthew’s cock rubbing against her clit, and she let out a moan at how good it felt. “That’s it, baby. You’re a natural,” Matthew smiled.

Effie couldn’t help but laugh slightly. “Oh, stop it.”

“I’m serious. You’re perfect,” he continued, raising himself momentarily so he could give her a quick kiss. “And my cock’s not even in you yet,” he mumbled against her lips. “Think about how good it’s gonna feel when my cock is inside of you.”

She felt a shiver dart up her spine, and she loved it. She bit her bottom lip and it was driving Matthew crazy. She lifted herself slightly and they both went to reach for his cock at the same time. Effie let him guide it into her as she lowered herself slowly, letting out yet another moan at the new feeling and new angle. Matthew was big – bigger than previous experience, anyway – and so when he was in her, and he bottomed out, she felt completely full. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable full – no – it was so much better. “Jesus fuck, Matty,” she breathed out, taking a few moment to adjust.

“Feel good, baby?” he asked. Effie could only nod her head. “Start moving when you’re ready. It’s gonna feel so good for you.”

Effie began moving, slowly at first, but almost right away she knew this would be different, this position would be different; that it was like the books said: you can dictate the pace and rhythm, as well as the penetration. She was definitely doing that. Matthew had his hands on her hips and was guiding her, but she set the pace, and he matched it. It’s also a great position for clitoral stimulation, so you’re far more likely to come. That was definitely happening too, and considering how full his cock felt inside her, the way she was moving allowed for said stimulation – she could feel it the longer she was on top of him.

Factoring in eye contact from the woman looking down, and this position can become extra erotic as well as intimate.

Eventually, Effie opened her eyes, having closed them after being lost in the feeling momentarily, and looked down at Matthew. As her movements continued – she’d lost track of time over how good it felt, so God knows how long she’d been on top of him, though she assumed she’d been there for a while now – she grabbed his hands from her hips and placed them on her breasts instead. She could see Matthew smile. “You like that, baby?” he asked as he pinched her nipples between his thumb and index fingers.

“I fucking love it,” she let out. Her moans had gotten louder by practically every minute she’d been on top of him. It was the hottest thing in the fucking world to Matthew. He knew it would haunt him while he was on the road and wasn’t able to do this. “You feel so fucking good, Matty.”

Matthew could feel his body getting hot. “Keep talking baby. I know you want to.”

Holy fuck, she did. Now not only was Matthew Tkachuk some sort of sex god, but he was also a mind reader. “I love it when your cock is inside me,” she said between moans.

“Mmmm,” he groaned happily. “Keeping going.”

She increased her pace on top of him. “I lo—I love it when you fill me up.”

“That’s it, baby, that’s it.”

“I wanna come, Matty,” she said, going even harder and faster now. “I wa—I wan—”

“Make yourself come on my cock, baby. Make yourself come on my cock.”

Effie increased her pace even more so, with Matthew lifting his hips up ever so slightly and rocking them along with hers, and after a few moments, Effie was falling apart on top of him: body shaking, crying out loudly (so loudly), repeating his name mixed with expletives over and over and over again until she couldn’t move anymore and her body collapsed on top of his. Her body was still trembling as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “That felt good, didn’t it baby?” he asked.

“That. Felt. Incredible,” she let out, barely able to hold herself up on his chest so she could look at him. “Holy fuck.”

He chuckled slightly. Her body was slick and hot, a warm blush taking over, but he knew they weren’t done yet. He pushed himself up again so he could kiss her, making sure she didn’t move from on top of his cock. “You wanna keep riding me, baby?” he whispered in her ear. “Make yourself come on my cock again?”

He could sense Effie’s confusion, so he pulled back and looked her in the eye. “You mean…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“That’s right,” he smirked. “This time you can go up and down instead of rocking back and forth. Or you can let me do all the work—”

Effie grabbed his face, smashing her lips against her hungrily. “I want you to make me come again, Matty,” she whispered frantically. “Make me come.”

***

“Five times, huh?” Geneviève made sure to look past Effie towards Matthew at the bar getting her a drink.

“I thought I was gonna like, overdose,” Effie admitted as she watched Geneviève sip on her water. To be out at a bar pregnant was one thing, but to now be listening to Effie tell her about what happened with Matthew was another. Effie was eternally grateful. “Is it possible to, like, overdose on orgasms? I know overdose isn’t the right word but I don’t know another one.”

They were both screaming over the loud music playing, so God knows how many people just heard Effie ask whether it was possible to overdose from having too many good orgasms. “It is not possible to overdose on orgasms, no,” Geneviève shook her head. “But regardless, I’m happy for you. You deserve to feel good.”

“It’s crazy to think it can happen even more times,” Effie went on. “Ten times. Fifteen times. A hundred times! Is that even possible? I mean how many times has Jacob made you come in a night?”

Geneviève snorted before taking another sip of her water to calm herself down. The innocence in the question threw her for a loop; Effie was genuinely curious how often it could happen. Geneviève was grateful that, before anything left her mouth, she noticed Matthew scurrying back to them, making sure not to spill the drinks. “Your loverboy is coming back, and he’s got a drink with your name on it,” Geneviève nodded her head at Matthew behind them.

Effie spun around to see Matthew, and he smiled at her before handing her the drink. “You wanna go dance?” he asked over the loud music. Effie nodded, taking a quick sip of her drink before Matthew took her hand and pulled her towards the dance floor with him. Geneviève watched as a smile immediately appeared on Effie’s face as she danced with Matthew to the music, making sure she didn’t spill her drink.

After a few minutes, Geneviève saw Jacob approaching her, having gone to get his own drink at the bar. “Can’t believe we’re still here,” Jacob joked.

“Can’t believe the bouncer let me in with this thing,” she motioned down to her protruding bump. She thought back to the conversation she’d just had with Effie and smiled wryly. “She asked me what the record was.”

Jacob whipped his head down to look at her, and when he did, she wiggled her eyebrows at him. He immediately knew what she meant. “Did you tell her about our honeymoon?”

“No.”

“What about the first weekend you spent at my house by the lake in Gävle?”

“No.”

“Or the first night in our new house in Calgary?”

“No.”

“What about the time in Vancouver when—”

“I didn’t tell her,” Geneviève giggled. “There’s honestly been so many, I wouldn’t know which one to choose. Besides, Matthew came too soon and whisked her away,” she nodded her head towards the dance floor.

He followed Geneviève’s eyes and looked out onto Matthew and Effie dancing together on the dance floor, the biggest smile on Effie’s face as she moved back and forth with the music. “I can’t believe Matthew has it in him,” he said to his wife.

“For Effie?”

Jacob nodded. “Did you think?”

Geneviève shrugged. “I think he has it in him only for Effie,” she said. “Nobody else. Just her.”

Jacob acquiesced. “Yeah, you’re right. You’ve always been a better judge of character than me anyway.”

Geneviève furrowed her brows. “No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are. You chose me, didn’t you?”

Geneviève could have melted right then and there. Instead, she settled on curling into Jacob’s side, savouring the feeling of his big body enveloping hers as she watched Matthew and Effie dancing without a care in the world.

***

Matthew’s breath caught in his throat as he sat on his bed, his back against the pillows he propped up against his headboard. He watched as Effie stood beside him, completely naked, watching him get comfortable. He spread his legs open, bending his knees slightly. When she was happy with what she saw, she looked him in the eye. “You wanna c’mere?” Matthew asked softly, running his hands along his thighs briefly.

Effie climbed onto the bed, making her way in between Matthew’s spread-out legs. She knew what the position was supposed to look like. She’d seen it in the book and then she talked to Matthew about it and he explained it to her and how it would go and what else he could do and she was excited about it. Excited, but nervous. Nervous because it was new, something she’d never tried before, something that she didn’t know existed until she’d done her research. Nervous because this would be the first time she wouldn’t be looking at Matthew. But this was Matthew. Matthew. There was nothing to be nervous about. There was nothing to be scared of. She knew that it would be perfect, however it ended up being.

When she was close enough to him in between his legs, she turned around.

He wrapped his arms around her and she shifted back enough until she could feel his bare chest on her bare back. She let out a breath as she shifted around and got comfortable, leaning slightly so that when she lay her head back, it would be right below Matthew’s shoulder and near his chest. They could make eye contact that way, even if they wouldn’t always.

“Comfortable?” Matthew asked.

Effie nodded her head. She felt one of his arms move up, cupping her breast. At the same time, she placed her hands on his thighs, letting her finger nails dig in slightly. She closed her eyes and could feel their breaths sync, their chests rising and falling at the same time, as Matthew’s lips dropped to her shoulder and placed light kisses along her skin. “You still want to do this?” he asked.

Effie nodded again. “More than anything.”

“You need to tell me if or when it’s too much, and if you need to stop,” he said, placing another quick kiss on where her neck met her shoulder. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“You’re not scared, are you? Because you can’t see me?”

She shook her head. “I’m not scared at all. Not one bit. Because I can feel you,” she said.

“What do I feel like?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Effie didn’t hesitate. “Empyreal. Like heaven.”

Matthew could have died right then and there. He knew that, coming from Effie, that was huge. It was all he ever wanted with her. And now that he knew she felt safe, and comfortable, and ready, he knew what he had to do. He dragged his lips up to her ear at the same time he snaked his other hand around her body, down her stomach and towards her pussy, not quite touching it yet. “You like when I whisper in your ear?”

“Yes, Matty,” she nodded, the bottom half of her body squirming slightly at his touch, knowing where it was going and what it was going to do.

“Look at me.”

Effie craned her head slightly to do as she was told. She felt his hand leave her body, and he brought it up towards his mouth, licking his fingers slightly while never breaking eye contact with her. They didn’t break eye contact – miraculously – until Effie felt his hand on her pussy again. She let out a loud breath, already incredibly turned on, as she shut her eyes to bask in the feeling. Matthew began slowly, rubbing at her clit with his fingers expertly, Effie digging one set of nails into the skin of his thigh while the other was brought up to try to cradle his face, to no avail. Her breath was shotty and staggered as he continued his slow, gentle movements.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered softly, already turned on at how her body was responding to his touch. This wasn’t going to be fast and visceral; he was going to take his damn time because he damn well wanted to, because seeing Effie like this – in between his thighs, naked, writhing at his touch – was the hottest thing in the fucking world to him. He could be here forever. “Theeere you go…”

“Matty…”

“You’re such a pretty girl with your legs spread for me like that.”

He watched as the lower half of her body writhed again. “Matty…” she moaned his name again, letting out short, haughty breaths.

“D’you like it when I touch your pussy like this?” he continued, knowing it was turning her on.

He could tell she was struggling to get the words out. “Y—Yes,” she whispered. “I love it, Matty. I love it.”

He stopped for a bit, making sure to focus on his…well, hand movements, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she continued to wiggle and writhe within the confines of his spread-out legs. As was commonplace now in their sexual adventures, Effie’s moans and sighs became louder with the passage of time, and the deeper her fingernails clawed into his thighs, the closer he knew she was. “Your pussy’s so wet for me, baby,” he cooed in her ear, causing her to let out a high-pitched huff. “You gonna come for me, Effie?”

Unable to find the words, she could only nod her head. It wasn’t long until her entire body was writhing, her loud moans filling the room as Matthew made sure to keep rubbing, making her orgasm last as long as possible before he allowed her some time to catch her breath. Except it seemed she didn’t want to – instead, she reached up again and put her hand on the back of his neck, bringing him down to kiss her. “Again, Matty,” she mewled once they’d stopped kissing, her chest still heaving up and down slightly. “I want to come again.”

“Are you gonna get loud for me, baby?” he asked.

She nodded fervently. “Yes.”

“You gonna scream my name?” he continued, only to have her nod again. “I love the way your pussy feels, baby.”

“Please, Matty. Keep touching me,” she breathed out, putting one of her hands on top of his momentarily as if to urge him to continue what he was doing. “I want to keep coming.”

“Mmmm…” he dragged his lips along her neck, even going so far as to pinch her nipple with the hand that was still cupping her breast. “What a sweet girl you are, Effie. So sweet for me.”

“For you, Matty. For you.”

He began playing with her pussy again, and she began moaning, louder and louder; and he counted two, and three, and four, and five; and louder, and louder, and louder; his name being cried out, swear words being cried out; her body moving and contorting to feel the most pleasure; her hand on his hand, making sure it stayed on her pussy as she lost count, the orgasms starting to blend in to each other like one continuous wave of pleasure she couldn’t get enough of. If Matthew felt like heaven, then what she felt now was heaven too, and she knew she could only feel it with Matthew.

“Matty…” she breathed out, getting his attention. “Look at me, Matty.”

He stopped kissing at biting at her neck and shoulder – there’d be marks there tomorrow morning, if not in just five minutes, that he would definitely have to apologize for – and met her eyes. “What is it, baby?”

“I want you to stick your fingers inside me.”

Matthew stopped breathing. “Effie, are you su—”

“I’m sure, Matty. I know what I want,” she said. “I want you to stick your fingers inside me and make me come over and over again.”

He shivered at the words escaping her mouth. He planted a wet, sloppy kiss on her lips before resolving to give her what she wanted. She’d obviously thought about it – probably researched it, if he was being honest – and knew that it was something she wanted. He wasn’t going to deny her. And this was an experience of firsts, anyway, so why not add another one. “Baby, I’ll make you come all night long with my fingers,” he said.

Effie smiled slightly and bit her bottom lip. “Yes, Matty. Yes,” she said excitedly.

She was so wet that he was able to slip a finger into her without hesitation, and the sound that escaped her was nothing but sacred to him. He resolved right then and there to hear it over and over again – not just tonight, but forever, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to get enough of it. “Fuck Effie, you’re so wet for me,” he mumbled into her ear.

“Only for you,” she strained to get out, trying to grind her hips along with his hand.

“Don’t hold back, baby. I want to hear you scream my name.”

As he continued, Effie’s cries of his name got progressively louder. He could see and feel her come again, what with the shaking of her body and how loud she got before quieting down slightly again, and he continued with the kissing and the sucking and the love bites he was placing along her neck and shoulders, whispering sweet nothings and dirty things into her ear, knowing it would lead to her coming again.

Until he got an idea.

He slipped another finger inside of her, causing her to cry out in pleasure. He positioned his hand so that his thumb could still rub her clit. Then he curled his fingers up inside of her.

“Oh fuck,” Effie nails dug into his thighs harder than ever before, even going so far as to lift her body slightly at the sensation. “Matty—”

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Ma—Matty—I—just like that Matty,” she could barely get the words out. This was new…and that was an understatement. She’d never felt anything like this before in her entire life. “Don’t stop Matty. Oh God, don’t stop.”

“Louder, baby. I wanna hear how much you love my fingers inside of you.”

Effie didn’t hold back at all. There was no stopping it now, and as he kept curling his fingers inside of her, she felt yet another orgasm building. Except this one was different, and she could feel it right when he started curling his fingers. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she trusted him, and let herself go. It wasn’t long before she was right near the edge again. “Matty—Matty—"

“Tell me what you want baby,” he whispered in her ear.

“I want you to make me come, Matty. Please make me come.”

When the orgasm came to her, it was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It wasn’t like the other orgasms Matthew had given her, extremely pleasurable but mostly surface-level – this one was much more…intense. It was all-encompassing. It was surface-level too and felt like the others, but it had an added feeling like everything in her body was reacting to his fingers, and she knew, right then and there, as she cried out his name loudly over and over again, that this was one of the other types of orgasms she read about – the one that was hard to achieve. But Matthew being Matthew – he did it.

She didn’t even wait to catch her breath. She was drunk on the feeling, and needed it again. It was the most intense pleasure she’d ever had in her life. “More,” she mewled.

“More, pretty girl?”

“More more more,” she nodded, putting her hand on top of his so it wouldn’t even leave her pussy.

“Keep your legs open for me,” he said. “God, I love your pussy, Effie. I love when your body is like this for me.”

“More Matty, give me more,” was all she could get out, desperate.

He lost count again. They both did. Effie was so loud and Matthew was so adamant about giving her more every time she begged for more until her voice was strained and barely audible, a rose flush taking over her body after the countless orgasms and dirty talk between them. It was only when Effie put her hand over his one last time, the slightest and quietest “Stop” escaping her lips, that Matthew stopped, sliding his fingers out of her. Though her eyes were closed with fatigued, having experience intense orgasm after intense orgasm for hours, he still brought his hand up to his mouth and sucked on his fingers, savouring the taste. That would be their next adventure, he thought.

“You okay, baby?” he placed a tender kiss on her neck as he began moving so that instead of her back being against his chest, they could cuddle in his bed.

Her body was practically limp as he moved them around, but she did nod. “I’m perfect, Matty,” she said as she felt him cuddle up against her, wrapping an arm around her. “Whenever I’m with you, I’m perfect.”

***

Matthew got up before Effie the next morning, her body still flushed red from the activities just hours before. He had a day off, and so did Effie, so they technically didn’t have to wake up early, but he knew Effie would anyway, and he wanted to make sure there was a hot pot of coffee ready for when she did wake up. He slipped out of bed quietly, without bothering her, and threw on a pair of boxers before making his way to the kitchen.

Walking by his front door, he saw something slipped underneath the doorway. He was curious, if only because his building obviously had a mail room where he’d always go and get his mail. He bent down and picked it up, noticing that it was just a plain piece of printer paper folded over once. He opened it.

Hey neighbour!

Sounds like you have a new lady friend and that you’re doing an excellent job. While it’s nice that you’re getting it (what seems like all the fucking time), please try to keep it down in the middle of the night.

Sincerely,

Your neighbour in 2403

Matthew snorted.

No chance.

***

“I feel liberated,” Effie admitted out loud as Dr. Stevenson took notes. Effie was positive very few people in this world had to have notes taken on major sexual encounters, but those were the cards Effie was dealt. She was going to play her best hand because she knew it would help her in the long run.

“Liberated?” Dr. Stevenson repeated, writing down the word in her notes.

“Liberated,” Effie repeated, stronger this time. She was proud to say the next part. “When we’re having sex, I don’t think about him at all.”

Dr. Stevenson paused. “Abraham, you mean.”

Effie nodded her head. She didn’t want to say his name. “When I’m with Matthew, he…he doesn’t even exist to me anymore.”

She watched as a small smile crept its way onto Dr. Stevenson’s face. “That’s big, Effie.”

***

Effie was still blissed out a few days later during her shift at the bakery. Though she had spent the entire morning baking bread (that was already sold out), her thoughts were firmly on Matthew. Everything about Matthew. But really, really focused on Matthew’s fingers and the magic they produced. She shivered thinking about what the first orgasm felt like; her whole body practically went up in flames (pun intended) when she thought about him fingering her and rubbing her clit at the same time. If she thought about it for too long, she could almost transport herself back to that night, planted between his thighs, crying out his name over and over again.

On her lunch break at one of the tables along the wall of the café, she kept to herself with her laptop, going over the notes she’d made for tomorrow’s class and finalizing the assignment she needed to hand in on Friday. The café was generally always pretty busy – she would say about 75% of the tables were always taken, and there was always an array of people coming in and out to get coffee and something to eat to go – but today, it was even busier. Effie blamed it on the warmer weather outside, as everyone in Calgary came out of hibernation for the first sunny day of the year, regardless of the temperature.

As she continued to work on her assignment, she noticed a group of girls enter the café, their big puffer jackets shielding them from the cold. They went up to the counter one by one and ordered coffees, moving towards the back, near where Effie was at her table, to wait. She thought nothing of them – the café got groups of girls in there all the time – but as they waited, their voices lowered from full volume to whispers. After the whispers came stares in Effie’s direction. Effie tried not to make eye contact and focus on her laptop screen, but she could feel them – literally all four of them – eyeing her.

“That’s her!”

“I told you she worked here!”

“Should she be actually working, then?”

“Excuse me?” Effie suddenly heard beside her. One of the girls, with beautiful flowing brown hair, stepped a bit closer to her table. “Are you Effie?”

Effie took a good, hard look at the girl, who couldn’t have been any older than she was, just in case. Though Effie knew she was safe in the café and safe in Calgary in general, there was always one little iota in her brain that thought about the cult sending someone to find her and take her back. The cult never did things like that – when someone left, they were dead to the members, and to Abraham specifically, and he always preached about not needing to find their lost souls because God would strike them down and kill them for being sinners – but any person that left hadn’t been married to Abraham like she was. None of his wives had ever left. That’s why there was that iota in her brain. Maybe they never pursued anybody because Abraham didn’t think they were important enough – but surely he would think his wife was important? Effie was immediately on edge, thinking about how too much time had passed now – it had been almost two years, and the real world had spoiled her by now. There was no way Abraham would want her back. “Um…yes,” Effie nodded.

“You’re Matthew Tkachuk’s girlfriend, right?” she asked again.

Effie froze. While the question took her in a different direction than where her brain had taken her, this was still not the direction she thought she’d end up in. “N—No,” she stuttered out, not knowing how these girls knew who she was. “How do you know Matthew?”

“Everybody in Calgary knows who Matthew Tkachuk is,” the brunette said in a tone that Effie couldn’t quite pin point.

“What makes you think I’m dating Matthew?”

“Those pictures you posted on your Instagram say otherwise,” one of the other girls said from behind the brunette. “There’s no need to lie about it. We all know.”

The thing was, Effie wasn’t lying, and she knew she wasn’t lying. She’d been gaslit before into believing she had lied about something, but that hadn’t happened in two years. “Who’s we?” she furrowed her brows.

“The entire city of Calgary,” the first brunette answered her. She was speaking to Effie like she was a five year old. “Everybody sees the pictures you upload of you two together. They’re all over the internet because you post them all the time, gloating about how much you’re with him. I mean, the New Year’s trip to Banff? Him at your apartment eating? I can’t believe you would lie to our face about it.”

“I’m not lying,” Effie pressed.

“You want everybody to know! I mean your profile isn’t even on private!” yet another one of the girls spoke up. “Stop acting like you’re so innocent. You wouldn’t be uploading them all the time if you didn’t want people to know and be jealous of you. Why are you pretending like you don’t know what you’re doing? You’re just making yourself look like an idiot.”

Effie shut her laptop screen, holding it against her chest as she got up out of her chair. She didn’t need these girls to tell her she was an idiot – she knew she was. Two years ago she’d never read a book besides the Bible. Two years ago she’d never been out of Sheerness or Hanna or any other of the small towns near the cult. Two years ago she didn’t know how to do basic math or that the Earth was 4.6 billion years old or that dinosaurs didn’t live at the same time as Noah’s Flood. She knew she was dumb, and she had a lot to learn. She rushed into the back where one of the baristas, Colin, was taking his own break.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, noticing how upset she was.

“There are girls out there talking about Matthew and my Instagram,” she said. Colin followed her account – he knew what she posed and would comment a lot because half the stuff she posted about ended up at the café anyway. “I don’t—I—I know I’m an idiot but—”

“Aw shit,” he sighed, getting up from his chair. “Stay back here, Effie. I’ll deal with them.”

“Colin, what are you—”

“Just stay back here.”

***

Geneviève sat at her dining table with her head in her hands, Effie sound asleep in the guest room upstairs after a whirlwind of a late afternoon and evening. Effie had shown up to her house crying about Instagram. It took about ten minutes and a lot of deep breathing exercises Geneviève had learned from her own therapists before Effie could calm down enough to explain what had happened at the café.

The fangirls had found her, literally and figuratively. And Geneviève was convinced it was all her fault.

“It is not your fault,” Jacob stressed over the phone, in the solitary confines of his hotel room since the team was on a quick three-day road trip. “It’s nobody’s fault, G.”

“But I told her to get Instagram. I told her it would be an interesting way for people to see how she sees the world after leaving the cult. Like, it should be her chronicling her journey,” she explained to her husband. “I never mentioned not to tag people. I never even taught her about private mode. Fuck!” she hissed.

“G, come on. Any one of us should have stepped up and said something when she started tagging us in pictures. But who the hell would have said anything? Who would have found her? Three quarters of her feed is pictures of her baking. It’s not like she’s posting pictures of her and Matthew kissing.”

“No, but she’s posted the New Year’s photos. And pictures from Flames games…people put two and two together, Jacob.”

Jacob sighed into the phone. “She doesn’t mention the cult on there, does she?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. I have to double check,” Geneviève changed her answer every second. “You didn’t tell Matthew, did you?”

“No. He already had a bad game. If he hears about this, he’ll go crazy. Is her profile at least private now?”

“Yeah, I changed it. But God knows what’s been taken from it already.”

Jacob sighed again, knowing that his wife was down and a phone call like this wasn’t going to put her in a better headspace or better mood. He knew his wife. If there was any silver lining, it was that they would be reunited in 36 hours; but until then, he had to make do. “It’s not your fault, G. Can you repeat that for me please?”

“Jacob—”

“Geneviève.”

She sighed, closing her eyes and placing a hand on her bump. “It’s not my fault.”

***

When the boys got back from their road trip, Matthew noticed that Effie had changed slightly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just school stress,” she said.

She felt bad lying. Lying was a sin.

***

“What happened at the café?” Matthew was indignant as he spoke to Geneviève in one of the spare bedrooms in Annica and Elias’s house. He picked up on the smallest change in her right away, and he wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing about it. He was going to get to the root of the problem and figure out what was wrong.

“Be. Quiet,” Geneviève stressed.

“Gen, what the hell happened?” he demanded.

Geneviève told him what Effie told her – about how they walked in, about how they stared, what they’d asked and what they said to her, the idiot comment – and she could see the frustration growing not just on his face, but in his entire body as she continued to speak. When Geneviève stopped, Matthew was silent, pacing the room back and forth. She knew he was looking for something to throw but knew better than to do that. “I swear to fucking God, Gen,” was all he could mumble out in his anger. “How could this even happen?!” he continued. “She posts about baking for God’s sake!”

“It was the tags, Matthew. The tags on the pictures from Banff,” she said, garnering a few muttered expletives from him. “People dig, Matthew. They dig until they find something and then it blows up. You know that. Fuck, we all do.”

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

“I changed her profile to private that night. I know that’s not the biggest help but it’s at least something. They can’t see anything else in the future, especially now that you and her and…whatever you’re doing are becoming more serious,” Geneviève explained. “But you have to make sure she feels safe, Matthew. If Effie doesn’t feel safe, she doesn’t have anything.”

Matthew gritted his teeth, still raging about the situation, but he nodded his head. “Right. You’re right. I gotta have a talk with her when we leave.”

“You need to calm down before you go back downstairs and think about how you address it.”

“What do I need to calm down for? She has a right to know how angry I am that someone invaded her privacy and she should know that I want to protect her,” he countered.

“No,” Geneviève said sternly like a mother scolding a child. At least she was practicing. “You can be so fucking dense sometimes, Matthew.”

“How so now? Not everyone can have a PhD and be a complete genius like you, doctor,” he taunted.

“You really think, after everything that happened to her, that Effie has positive memories of dealing with a man who shows anger?” Geneviève deadpanned. There was a silence between she and Matthew as the words hung in the air, Matthew clenching his jaw. “You really think she’s gonna get the nuance that you’re not mad at her, that you’re mad at the situation instead? She’s got complex PTSD. It never goes away. I don’t care how good she is right now and how good it all seems between the two of you – this is something that she is going to have to deal with for the rest of her life, and if you’re not up for that and ready to change how you respond to things with your anger, then you need to take a big step back right this instant. I’m not going to let you go down there and speak to her with any ounce of anger in you, and if you thought you’d be able to, you’re stupider than I thought.”

Matthew swallowed his pride. His rage had gotten the best of him. Every single world that had come out of Geneviève’s mouth was true, and he knew it. He knew it. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “Sorry, Gen.”

“Apology accepted,” she said. It wasn’t the worst thing anybody had said to her – not by a long shot. And it wasn’t the first time someone taunted her – that was for sure. “Now calm down. I’m gonna go wait outside,” she said, leaving the bedroom.

***

The car ride back to Effie’s apartment was silent, but Matthew made sure to hold her hand across the centre console for the entire ride back into the city. He parked his car in one of the back alleyways before they made their way up the steps and into her apartment, a silent agreement between them that he was going to spend the night. When they entered, taking off their jackets and hanging them on the hooks, Matthew let Effie walk in first.

“You want a glass of water before bed?” she asked softly, looking back at him. He nodded his head, and she got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with tap water. She handed him the glass before jumping up and taking a seat on her counter top.

He didn’t want the water. He set his glass down beside her and stood in between her legs. He could tell she wasn’t shocked about his movements, but she wasn’t quite expecting them, either. “You know you’re always safe with me, right?” he asked softly.

Effie nodded her head. “I always feel safe with you,” she confirmed.

“Do you still feel safe even when I’m on the road?” he followed up.

Effie stayed silent, diverting her glance momentarily. “So Geneviève told you what happened at the café, huh?” she asked.

“Uh huh,” Matthew nodded his head, moving even closer to her. “Were you scared?” he asked.

Effie paused. “I wasn’t scared like I’ve been scared before,” she said, breaking Matthew’s heart like she always did. “It was more so a ‘how do they know who I am?’ scared. I guess I should have known better, and put my profile on private and all that.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” he said instantly, not wanting her to take any responsibility for anything in this situation. “They’re vultures. There’s nothing you could have done that would have kept it a secret.”

Effie paused again. She was always honest with Matthew, and she knew she needed to be honest now. “When I saw the first girl,” she began, “I remember thinking ‘I should get a good look at her face.’ She had such long hair that for a split second I thought she could be someone the cult sent to find me and take me back. But then when she started to mention you, I knew it was nothing like that. But what does me feeling safe have anything to do with Instagram?” she asked.

“Effie…” he shook his head. “Effie, it’s so much more than that. I just—I—please, you need to be honest with me. You need to be honest about you feeling safe with me, without me, in Calgary—I—everywhere,” he stressed.

“I do feel safe,” she affirmed. “I don’t get why you’re making this—”

“Because I love you, Effie. I love you and I want you to feel safe around me because that’s what love is – at least part of it – feeling safe,” he said. It was only when he stopped talking that he realized the magnitude of what he just told her.

Because I love you, Effie.

Effie stayed silent, her body not exactly frozen but not exactly giving off any signs of life, either. It took her a while to digest Matthew’s words, which seemed to be blurted out without thought, though she knew people did not say those words lightly. They weren’t even official yet – she wasn’t calling him her boyfriend and he wasn’t calling her his girlfriend – but if he said it, he had definitely been thinking of it, because people don’t say those words without having thought of them before. “You love me?” she finally asked.

Matthew bit his bottom lip nervously. Needless to say, this wasn’t the way he wanted it to be known. “I…yeah,” he nodded slightly. He could tell that her mind was running a mile a minute, even though she wasn’t saying a word. “I don’t expect you to say it back or anything. Don’t worry. I just kind blurted it out or whatever. But…but I do.”

Effie nodded. “Okay…” she said, finally making direct eye contact with Matthew. She could see how nervous and stiff he was, and she didn’t want him to be that way. Love was a beautiful thing, and she didn’t want him to feel the way he was feeling. She brought her hands up and cupped his face, kissing him lightly on the lips. She could feel him soften. “Thank you for always making me feel safe,” she said.

For Matthew, hearing that was almost better than hearing “I love you”. In some ways, it was Effie’s way of saying I love you, because Geneviève was right – “If Effie doesn’t feel safe, she doesn’t have anything” – and with him, Effie felt safe. That was all he could ask for. He kissed her again. “Want to go to bed?”

They made their way to her bedroom. Although he’d fingered her within an inch of her life recently, she still changed in the bathroom. It was a quirk she had, he guessed. Maybe one day she’d be comfortable enough to put her pajamas on in front of him. He crawled into bed with just his boxers on and she emerged from the washroom in her pajamas. She followed him into bed, snuggling up to him, draping their limbs over each other as if they were going to float away. Their faces were close. So close.

“I’m sorry I can’t say it back to you,” she whispered.

“I swear I don’t expect you to, Effie. I swear,” he stressed.

“One day. Some day. Maybe soon,” she said.

“Whenever you want. Whenever you feel it.”

***

The last person to say “I love you” was Abraham.

He said it to Effie on their wedding day, after their ceremony that his brother officiated, where she, at fourteen, became his “wife”.

He never said it to her again.

Everything she endured in the years following her wedding was “love” to her. Everything that he said to her was “love”. Every time he forced her to read the Bible was “love”. Every time he forced her to wear her long black dress was “love”. Every time he forced her to wear her hair a certain way was “love”. Every time he said something bad about her cooking was “love”. Every time he forced her to recook dinner was “love”. Every time he denied her being able to visit her mother or father was “love”. Every time he denied her being able to speak to her sisters or brothers was “love”. Every time he allowed his other wives to scream at her for being a bad wife was “love”. Every time he allowed his brother to scream at her for being a bad wife was “love”. Every time he accused her of being a temptress after catching another man looking at her was “love”. Every time he asked her to lie at the edge of the bed was “love”. Every time he impregnated her was “love”. Every time he emotionally abused her for miscarrying was “love”. Every time he made her believe it was her fault was “love”. Every time he said she had the devil inside her was “love”. Every time he yelled at her for not being able to carry the Son of God was “love”. Every time he caught her crying and yelled at her to stop was “love”. Every time he even so much as just looked at her and she feared for her life was “love”.

***

Effie hadn’t told anybody what Matthew said. It stayed between them. They were still on the best terms. They were still physical with each other without hesitation in each other’s beds, making each other feel good. He hadn’t said it again, but he didn’t need to for Effie to know that he loved her. She still hadn’t said it back, but it wasn’t like Matthew was waiting for her to say it. He knew she’d say it when she wanted to, when she truly felt it.

She found herself at the Flames game now, sitting next to Lauren Giordano and Annica as they watched the game together. The boys were facing the L.A Kings, and Elias had scored a powerplay goal. The girls had cheered enthusiastically, Annica being the most excited, since it meant that he put the Flames up 2-1.

As Matthew skated around, he watched the replay show up on the Jumbotron and Effie wearing his jersey. She was standing with Lauren Giordano and Annica, the three of them not blinking as they watched the boys passing back and forth on the power play before Elias had finally scored. The three of them had jumped up together, high-fiving and clapping as they watched the replays. Matthew could only imagine what colour commentary was saying. Lauren hated being shown on the Jumbotron and specifically told arena staff not to show her unless it was something official with Mark. He wasn’t even sure if Effie knew or could even conceptualized she was being featured on TV, let alone just in the arena.

“She’s preeeeetty, Chucky,” Drew taunted he skated around Matthew during the stoppage in play. Ever the menace, Matthew hated how Drew was able to get underneath his skin, but the feeling was mutual. He was sure Drew hated him more than Matthew hated Drew. Matthew saw it as a fun little game; Drew was much more serious about it. This latest comment caught Matthew’s attention right away. “You should bring her to L.A sometime. It’s Effie, right?”

“Fuck off,” Matthew spat at him, catching the attention of Giordano skating near him, who automatically whipped his head towards the scene and skated over.

“What was that? Fuck her? Gladly,” Drew had the audacity to smile. “I’ll make sure to touch her in all the same spots you do, Chucky.”

At the words ‘touch her’ Matthew completely blacked out. He was incandescent with rage. He didn’t know how it happened—couldn’t control his body as he skated towards Drew and dropped his gloves. He heard a distant “Matthew!” from someone that vaguely sounded like Gio but Matthew wasn’t paying attention and he couldn’t tell. The only thing he was focused on was beating the shit out of Drew Doughty.

Drew dropped his gloves too, and they went at it violently, violently, right off the bat. A few punches were thrown – one hitting Matthew’s shoulder, one hitting Drew’s neck, one hitting Matthew’s shoulder again, one hitting Drew’s neck again – before Drew punched him in the face. Matthew knew he’d have a black eye tomorrow, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t even feel the punch, he was so incandescent with rage. He tugged on Drew’s jersey and just absolutely clocked him – so hard that Drew stopped punching. One – in the cheek. Two – in the nose. Three – in the eye. Fourth –– in the nose again, blood gushing out now. Fifth – knocked him out.

Matthew watched and felt Drew’s body go limp at the last punch, and Drew fell to the ice in one fell swoop. The referees immediately attached themselves to Matthew, but he’d already stopped at that point. It was only then that he could hear the deafening roar of the sold-out crowd, knowing it was their reaction to Drew getting knocked out. He took one last look at that piece of shit before skating away. He didn’t throw his arms up to pump up the crowd, he didn’t even look at the guys on the bench, who were all shocked at what had just transpired – all he did was skate until he got to the gate, then make his way through the tunnel to the back.

Lauren and Annica watched Effie. She’d barely blinked the entire time. She’d never seen Matthew become that violent before – he’d gotten into scuffles in games, sure, and there was a little pushing and shoving, but he’d never been responsible for drawing blood or knocking someone out cold.

Annica eyed Effie worriedly. “And boom goes the dynamite.”

***

“Where is he?” Mark Giordano demanded to one of the equipment managers the second he was far enough down the tunnel he knew no TV camera could see them. He’d been pissed off the rest of the game, even though the Flames won. The fans went nuts after Matthew’s fight and gave the team energy to win 3-1, but he didn’t particularly care right now. Matthew hadn’t returned to the game – neither did Drew, but Mark didn’t give a fuck about Drew – and he needed to speak to Matthew immediately.

“He’s suited up in the locker room. He knew he had to wait for you,” the equipment manager said.

When Mark walked through the tunnel and into the locker room, he saw Matthew sitting in his stall. “Stretch room. Now,” he demanded, taking off his helmet and gloves and throwing them in the general direction of his stall, but nothing else. As the other guys walked in, he could hear them asking questions about where Matt was.

Mark didn’t even wait for the door to the trainer’s room to close before he started. “Are you fucking kidding me, Tkachuk? What the fuck happened out there?”

“You heard what he fucking said, Gio!” Matthew raised his voice. “You heard it! You were right there!”

“The league’s gonna suspend you for this—”

“—I don’t fucking care if the league suspends me, fine me, whatever. I don’t care. You heard what he said Gio. Nobody, and I mean nobody mutters Effie’s name. Do you understand me?! Nobody gets to—I’ll fucking kill him—that fuckin scumbag—"

“—Matthew—”

“—He wasn’t gonna get away with it this time. Not with me,” Matthew dismissed the conversation. Matthew didn’t even want to think of the words he said or else he’d get angry all over again. His stomach would be in knots. “I—I’m going home—”

“Nah nah nah, the fuck you are—”

“I don’t want Effie to see me like this—”

“Well maybe you should have thought of that before you went and knocked a guy out. Take responsibility for your actions!”

“I am taking responsibility of my actions! Don’t you see that?! You think I want Effie to see me angry and with a black eye? You think I wanted her to see that? It’s not like they’re gonna let me talk to media! And even if I did, who the fuck would believe me, Gio? Huh? If I went in there and said ‘Yeah, I clocked the guy because he said he wanted to fuck my girlfriend’ who the fuck is gonna believe me?”

“Listen, I’ll take care of the media,” Mark assured him. “Don’t worry about that. But Jesus Christ, kid, if it’s not one thing, it’s something else with you half the time, you know?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That’s me telling you to get your shit together or else you’re gonna push her away too,” he said sternly. “This isn’t about you as a hockey player anymore or you as the possible next captain of this franchise. This is about you as a man. You can’t blow up like this anymore when you have someone like her in your life. You just can’t, Matthew, and the sooner you realize that the sooner you can make the fucking change.”

***

“Hey Mark, just wondering if you were able to speak to Matthew Tkachuk after the game at all, if you two discussed the fight he had with Drew Doughty in the game there.”

Mark held his breath. He knew he’d be on every news channel in Canada for the next 48-hour news cycle because of what he was about to say. But he was a captain of an NHL franchise, the teammate of a great NHL player, and the friend of somebody who had no right having their name brought up on the ice. Morally – despite this not being common for NHL players to do – he knew he was doing the right thing.

“Uhhh yeah, I was able to speak to Matthew after the game about the incident that happened on the ice. It was obviously, uh, not what I was expecting to happen, and I assume that the Kings bench wasn’t expecting it to happen either, despite the history I’m sure many people know between Drew and Matthew. Uh, I do want to say, though, that after hearing what was said by Drew on the ice in the moment, to Matthew, that Matthew’s response was anticipated, uh, at least on my end. Uh, Drew had some choice words to say about a member of the Calgary Flames family. She is near and dear to a lot of boys in the room, and as someone who has been in the NHL almost fifteen years now, the comments were completely just…well, never mind unsportsmanlike…they were offensive, and disgusting, and quite frankly not something I thought I would ever hear said on the ice. But here we are. Matthew takes responsibility for what happened on the ice, and he takes responsibility for the punishment that will be coming from the department of player safety, but I also hope that, you know, at the other end, Drew also takes responsibility for what he said on the ice about a member of the Calgary Flames family. Whether or not Drew fesses up to what he said – I don’t know if he’ll do that – but Matthew knows what was said, and I know what was said, and that’s that.”

Mark knew exactly what he was doing when he said ‘she’.

***

Matthew would hate that she was walking through the streets of Calgary alone at night. He would hate that she lied to Geneviève and waited until she could see her car disappear and turn down the street before descending down the steps to leave her apartment. He would hate everything about what she was doing right now, but she didn’t care.

She’d wanted to see him after the game, but he didn’t wait for her; he’d left without warning. That meant she was alone when she watched Mark’s post-game interview. He was very diplomatic, like a captain would be, she assumed. But she was smart enough to pick up on one thing that he said.

She.

She knew that whatever happened on the ice was about her. So she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Effie was able to slip into his condo building without having the buzz him, much like she did at Christmas. She was thankful because if she buzzed, she didn’t even think he’d let her in. If he’d left the arena without seeing her, he most definitely didn’t want to talk to her, but she wanted to talk to him. The entire elevator ride up, she thought about what she could say but ended up with nothing. She didn’t know how to approach this. And by the time she found herself in front of his door, knocking, she knew she’d just have to wing it all.

Matthew opened the door. He stood with his dress shirt half untucked and his cuffs open, the first two buttons unbuttoned. When he saw her, his face didn’t look angry, or upset – it looked pained. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, his voice low, a sense of shame in it.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “Can I come in?”

Matthew moved to let her in, walking back into his apartment. She watched him, his body language showing he was completely defeated. “Did you come here to yell at me like Gio?”

She shook her head. “No. I—I just came here to talk and—oh my God, Matthew, your eye!” she hissed, finally seeing the amount of discolouration that was already forming. “You’re gonna get a black eye!”

“It won’t be the first one, Effie. Definitely won’t be the last, either.”

“Have you iced it?”

“At the arena.”

“You need to keep doing it,” she said frantically, making her way into his kitchen. It ignited a sort of fight or flight response in her. “Go sit on the couch.”

“Effie—”

“I said go sit,” she said sternly, opening his freezer to see if he had anything useful. He went to sit and she grabbed a bag of peas – she didn’t even know why he had them, he hated peas – and followed him over to the couch. She climbed into the spot beside him, sitting on her knees right up against him. “Tilt your head back for me, Matty,” she said softly.

He did as he was told. He winced at the freezing cold pea bag making contact with his skin, and made sure one of his hands was on her leg. He knew she didn’t need the comfort at all – that it was more for him. They sat in complete silence, Effie holding the bag on his face the entire time. At one point, she switched hands and let her one hand play with his hair lightly. That brought him more pain relief than the ice, if he was being honest.

“Stay right here,” Effie said softly after fifteen minutes. She brought the peas back to the freezer before getting a dishtowel and running it under hot water. Matthew watched the entire time, until she came and sat in the same position beside him. At that point, he pulled her body onto his, and she began straddling him, but she was still focused on applying the warm compress on his eye.

“Why the cold and then the hot?” he asked, looking at her with one eye.

“Supposed to reduce swelling,” she explained simply. “Maybe the bruising won’t be as gnarly after.” He smiled slightly, letting out a breath through his nose. “Did you see what Mark said?”

Matthew nodded his head. “Did you?”

She nodded. “What did that guy say about me?”

“He saw you on the Jumbotron with Annica and Lauren reacting to Elias’s goal,” Matthew explained. He wasn’t going to lie or shield the truth from her. She deserved to know why he acted the way he did; why he blew up completely. “He somehow knew your name, and so he was taunting me about you being pretty and about bringing you to L.A. And then he said ‘I’ll touch her in all the same spots you do’, and I lost it.”

Effie nodded, digesting the words. “And what’d Gio say to you?”

“He told me the same thing Gen told me. That I’ve gotta get my shit together, and that now that I have someone like you in my life, I can’t blow up like that anymore or else I’m gonna push you away.”

At that point, Effie had furrowed her brows. “What did Geneviève tell you?”

“That I have to change how I respond to things with my anger, and that if I’m not ready to do that, then I should take a step back, because – and she’s right – you don’t deserve someone who displays violent anger like that, especially after what you’ve been through.”

Effie eyebrows remained furrowed as she digested his words. Though both Mark and Geneviève were very obviously coming from a place of love, they were off the mark. Effie wished she had a way with words so that she could just start talking and explain that to Matthew, but she didn’t. “I don’t—”

“—I’m upset with myself more than anything,” they spoke at the same time, Matthew able to get more out.

“Why?”

“Because I know I scared you.”

Effie made sure to look him dead in the eye as she shook her head. “No.”

“No?”

“From the moment I met you at Noah’s, I’ve never felt uncomfortable or unsafe or scared around you,” she said, her tone as serious as anything. “So you can stop thinking that right now.”

“But—”

“—No buts, Matthew. I know what fear is.”

The words hit him like a million knives to his heart. He stayed silent, a lump forming in his throat. “I don’t want to be anything like him, Effie. And if I am I can’t live with myself,” he whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

“Stop it, Matthew,” she urged, bringing her hands up to cradle his face and wipe the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. “Listen to me. Listen to me. You are nothing like him. Anger is a valid human emotion, Matthew. We all feel it. Even I feel it. It’s what we do with the anger that differs from person to person. Abraham took it out on me. I don’t know what he was so angry about half the time, besides me not being able to carry the son of God, but he took it out on me. You don’t. You take it out on Drew Doughty.”

“But anger is anger—”

“No it’s not,” she stressed, wanting so desperately for him to see how wrong he was. “Your anger is not the same. It’s nowhere near the same, Matthew. Believe me.”

“But Effie—”

She brought her hand up to silence him, literally placing a finger on his lips so he’d stay quiet and stop beating himself up over it. She kept it there until she knew he would be quiet, and when she was sure, she turned her hand slightly so she could brush the pad of her thumb over his lips. “Stop beating yourself up about it,” she whispered. “You. Are. Nothing. Like. Him.”

The tears continued on Matthew’s end, and Matthew couldn’t help them falling. He leaned forward to nuzzle himself into Effie, wrapping his arms around her tightly as she did the same. They stayed like that for a while, until Matthew stopped crying, until he finally internalized the words that Effie said. When he finally stopped and composed himself, he raised his head to look her in the eye. “Effie…can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever thought about him when we have sex?”

She shook her head immediately. The weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders in that moment. “You need to realize that what you do and what Abraham did are two very different things,” she began. “I have sex with you by choice because there is trust and…and love. It’s more than just the physical act with you, Matthew. It’s about the love and pleasure and connection we have. What Abraham did to me was manipulative, forced, and violent. It was emotionally and spiritually painful and devastating. But you’re none of those things. What we do together is none of those things. I thank God every day it’s none of those things.”

Matthew leaned in and nuzzled himself against her again. They sat there, on his couch in that position, with Effie straddling him and Matthew with his head against her chest, for God knows how long, sitting in complete silence, the only noise filling the room being the sound of them breathing.

After a while, Matthew lifted his head one more time. “You still believe in God?” he asked.

Effie could understand why he was asking, and why he was asking now. This was probably the most intense heart-to-heart they’d ever had. “I think so. I go back and forth a lot, but most days I do. Why?”

Matthew couldn’t really believe what he was hearing. He didn’t want to offend her talking about this stuff, but it was something else he needed to know in the grand scheme of things. “I don’t know. I mean, I know it was such a big part of your life for so long, but it brought you so much pain and suffering. I just…after everything you’ve been through, I can’t imagine still being a believer, that’s all.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Effie said, finding the words to explain her feelings. “I don’t believe in, like, everything else that surrounds it. Like the rules and all that. They’re all fake. Or the so-called word of God. And I don’t believe in Creation, or The Flood, or, you know, things like that. I don’t believe women are temptresses or inherently sinners because we ate the forbidden fruit, and I don’t believe I was created from the rib of a man.”

He was trying to understand. He was really trying. But he just couldn’t get it. Maybe because, even though he went to church as a kid, religion was never a massive part of his life. Maybe because none of his friends were super religious. But then he figured it was because he wasn’t as strong as Effie. “But after everything, Effie…after the cult, after Abraham…how can you believe in God after all the pain He brought you?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Because God brought me you.”

Effie could tell Matthew’s face scrunched up slightly, and she could tell he was about to get emotional, but she was unable to see the look on his face because he pulled her into another hub, burying his face into the crook of her neck, and just squeezed her for dear life. It was then, and only then, that he let out his sob, and she could feel his tears on her skin as he cried at what she’d said. Running her fingers along his hair at the nape of his neck, she squeezed him back equally as hard, to show that she was there, that she meant what she said, and that she never wanted to let go.

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Elllow! Today’s bookcomb consists of Peeta being protective of Katniss. Could have been much more implied moments but here’s some explicit ones 🤗

But it’s too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.

I’m helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta’s face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side.

“What are you still doing here?” he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he’s been dipped in dew. “Are you mad?” He’s prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. “Get up! Get up!” I rise, but he’s still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. “Run!” he screams. “Run!”

I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death.

Sick and disoriented, I’m able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.

I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. “No,” he says. “You’re not risking your life for me.”

“Who said I was?” I say.

“So, you’re not going?” he asks.

“Of course, I’m not going. Give me some credit.”

Anger flushes my face. “All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!”

“I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure,” he says.

“You won’t get a hundred yards from here on that leg,” I say.

“Then I’ll drag myself,” says Peeta. “You go and I’m going, too.”

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building.

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence.

“What?” I say, trying to force my way back up.

“Go home, Katniss! I’ll be there in a minute, I swear!” he says.

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

“No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him.

“And avoiding a stroll by the Hob . . . that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. Together we wind through the streets of the Seam until we reach the burning building.

“Peeta’s argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again to protect you,” says Haymitch.

I knew it. In this way, Peeta’s not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel.

“You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know,” Haymitch says.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say brusquely. “No question, he’s the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Haymitch sighs. “Go back in with you maybe, if I can. If my name’s drawn at the reaping, it won’t matter. He’ll just volunteer to take my place.”

The reaping takes only a minute. Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

“And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it. . .”

“If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say.

“It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta.

I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect condition, because it makes me seem more in control. “I’ll take the lead,” I announce.

Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. “No, let her do it.”

No one’s thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far,” I promise Peeta.

“I’ll go, too,” he says.

“No, I’m going to do some hunting if I can,” I tell him. I don’t add, “And you can’t come because you’re too loud.” But it’s implied. He would both scare off prey and endanger me with his heavy tread. “I won’t be long.”

Nothing. I find nothing. Not so much as a dewdrop. Eventually, because I know Peeta will be worried about me, I head back to the camp, hotter and more frustrated than ever.

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently.

While Johanna collects water and my arrows, Beetee fiddles with his wire, and Finnick takes to the water. I need to clean up, too, but I stay in Peeta’s arms, still too shaken to move.

This is when Beetee reveals the rest of the plan. Since we move most swiftly through the trees, he wants Johanna and me to take the coil down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as we go. We are to lay it across the twelve o’clock beach and drop the metal spool, with whatever is left, deep into the water, making sure it sinks. Then run for the jungle. If we go now, right now, we should make it to safety.

“I want to go with them as a guard,” Peeta says immediately. After the moment with the pearl, I know he’s less willing than ever to let me out of his sight.

I’m so light-headed I’ll black out in a matter of minutes. I’ve got to get away from this tree and —

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

Caesar leans in to him a little. “I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive.”

“That was it. Clear and simple.” Peeta’s fingers trace the upholstered pattern on the arm of the chair.

A hush has fallen over the room, and I can feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in toward its screens. Because no one has ever talked about what it’s really like in the arena before.

Peeta goes on. “So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss.”

“When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself. I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena . . . blew out.”

“Katniss blew it out, Peeta,” says Caesar. “You’ve seen the footage.”

“She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee’s plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire,” Peeta snaps back.

Peeta’s on his feet, leaning in to Caesar’s face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer’s chair. “Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?” He’s yelling now. “She didn’t know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!”

Caesar places his hand on Peeta’s chest in a gesture that’s both self-protective and conciliatory. “Okay, Peeta, I believe you.”

Gale’s expression darkens. “Peeta might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire’s clearly President Snow’s idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of Peeta’s mouth.”

I’m afraid of Gale’s answer, but I ask anyway. “Why do you think he said it?”

“He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He’d put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there’s still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right.” I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. “Katniss . . . he’s still trying to keep you alive.”

To keep me alive? And then I understand. The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren’t killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands. His idea is to have me lie low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war plays out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill me. And Peeta? If the rebels win, it will be disastrous for him. If the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe we’ll both be allowed to live — if I play it right — to watch the Games go on. . . .

Caesar and Peeta have a few empty exchanges before Caesar asks him about rumors that I’m taping propos for the districts.

“They’re using her, obviously,” says Peeta. “To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what’s going on in the war. What’s at stake.”

He asks Peeta if, given tonight’s demonstration, he has any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen.

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

#everlark #thg #hunger games #thgagain #Peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #bookcomb ♥️🔎

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

Wild Thing

This is a second part, find part one here

Pairing | James Cook x reader

Summary | the aftermath of that night not only has Cook feeling immensely heartbroken, but also furious. And you, the one that caused all that pain, are the whom he is intent of directing his feelings towards. This time however, he is not to make himself so vulnerable.

Warnings | angst, swearing, mentions of sex, shaming for sex (everyone is free to do what they want sexually and to their bodies), sex addiction.

Requested ☑️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

A fire burned in his chest, the flames reaching his face and causing a red hue to interpret the presentation of his milky skin. It was anger; he had been furious with you that night. broken by the shattering of his heart. It made him feel worthless, the way that you had just left with another bloke, abandoning him to satisfy the pity of his friends.

But you had returned to college, after your little suspension, and that amused and mischievous smile on your face riled him completely. Before if you wore it, he would want nothing more than to follow you into the nearest dark corner, and do unspeakable, yet brag worthy things with you.

However, he found himself not willing to give himself so easily away to you again. For you would do nothing more than discard him, and bend him to fulfil your insatiable lust during school hours. He knew that it wasn’t your best moment; there was shit tons of alcohol involved in your bloodstream, as there was his, but nevertheless, he saw your true colours, and had decided from then on out, that he had decided that he did not like them.

“Don’t worry about it mate, just ignore her.” Freddie was admittedly worried about his friend, albeit if he could easily annoy him and get under his skin. But nobody deserved such ignorant and hurtful treatment, after all, Freddie knew far too well of how that all felt. His relationship wit Effy was promptly messy, but he could not help but be enticed by the danger that she radiated.

“Yeah.” Cook shook his head, trying to convince himself to cool down, and listen to Freddie. “I, uh - I’ll meet you after class. Gonna go out and have a smoke, then, who fucking knows.” And thus, he walked away from his friend, heading towards the back doors that permitted him some fresh air.

Inside made him feel trapped, as though he were in a room again, surveying how you threw yourself at that stranger, willingly allowing him to grope you as you returned the favour. And then you left him, after he had made himself vulnerable to all eyes after opening up his heart.

That had been a grave mistake on his part, it was dumb idea for him to have thought of himself as anything more than another one of your toys, that you happened to throw away after one game, like a spoilt, and vindictive brat.

Everyone knew what you were like, Cook thought he had seen past the exterior that you flashed off, envisioning something deeper within you. But in the end, the only deep insight that a part of him ever had in you, was when his cock had been pounding in your pussy, that had swallowed god knows how many other dicks.

He breathed a breathy sigh, holding back his tears as he grew determined to stay strong through all that was happening. To his friends, he was the man. There was no soft side to him, and there sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be a girl that was able to break down his walls so easily.

You had made him feel weak, something he never wanted to experience again. And so he pulled out his box of cigarettes, wrapping his palm around the front so that he could light it without the wind dismissing his wishes, as you previously had done. He watched the fire balance on the end of the bud, but with a gust of wind, it disappeared, making him huff.

Nervously, you watched James from behind him, biting your lips as you silently closed the door. “Fucks sake!” He half yelled into the autumn day, throwing his useless lighter to the ground, finding it to be out of fuel, and no longer igniting the end of his fag.

“You need a light?” Your voice rang through his head like a painful echo, his shoulders wincing. He refused to turn, for he knew that taking one glimpse at your inducing face would break him all over again, and so he remained directing his eyes the opposite way, gulping before opening his gob.

“The fuck d’you want?” He spat out, shooting a droplet of saliva upon the concrete as he mindlessly dragged his shoes along the gravel. His tone made you shrink, though you continued closer, until you handed him the black encased lighter, unsurprised by how he roughly snatched it out of your hand.

He took a puff once he had brought fire to the end of his cigarette, refraining from turning from the side. “I’m a bitch.” You sighed, tugging your jacket closer around yourself, as the wind swept through your hair. Admitting you felt terrible would be a mistake, it would only set Cook off again, and that was the last thing you wanted. To make amends was your goal.

“Yeah, you are.” He agreed, carelessly throwing the s lighter sideways towards you, smirking as he heard you fumble to catch it. “Can’t even be polite about someone telling you that they care about you, all because you don’t care about yourself. You think of yourself as a rag doll that can be thrown around until the person playing with you makes you cum.”

Staring at the ground, you breathed through your nose as you really allowed the words to sink in. He wasn’t entirely wrong, pleasure was a distraction, an escape from the reality that you were forced to live in.

“I deserve that.” You nodded, finally feeling your heart stop as he turned to look at you. To say you looked different was an understatement, he hadn’t realised earlier since he was trying his utmost to avoid you, but you were dressed in baggy articles, and void of any traces of makeup. And you looked partially hungover, karma was a right bitch.

“You don’t deserve nothing.” He took another inhale of the toxins within the cigarette, trying to keep Freddie’s sense in his mind, though it was difficult to ignore you when you had sought him out to talk rather than a quick and mind fucking shag.

“Maybe.” You breathed steadily, shoving your hands in your pockets as your hidden fingers played with the lighter that he had returned. “But I messed up, and I know you understand that, because you push people away too Cook. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, I mean, I woke up in that guy’s bed, ‘n all i could think about was you. I’ve never been so stupid.”

“Speaking to me right now is pretty stupid of you.” He retorted, releasing a tension filled scoff. “Tell me y/n did you fuck that guy? Did you allow him to run his nasty hands all over your body, did you shove his cock inside of you, using him like you use everyone?”

“You already know that answer to that.” You replied, for sure not proud of yourself. “I have a problem, I think. There’s something fucked up inside of me Cookie, and I can never say no to someone that wants to do me.” Your hands grasped the air, as tears spilled from your eyes. “I think I need help.”

“What problem y/n/n?” Cook dug in deeper, needing more of an answer. It wasn’t enjoyable to see you cry, it made his veins turn to acid, burning him from the inside out, but this was the first instance that you had been so open with him.

“I think I’m a sex addict.” The words weighed heavy on your tongue, making them feel more real as you spoke them. “The doctor said he needs to do a couple more assessments then we’ll know for sure, but I really am fucked; in both ways. I can’t stop fucking, and I’m fucked up. I’m unable to commit to anybody because of this, but that doesn’t mean that in this sickness in my mind doesn’t leave room for me to leave room about it...”

“Fuck.” James dropped his cigarette, allowing you to fall into pieces within his arms. “We’ll get through this, I’ll help you, yeah?” He stroked your hair, making you bite your lip, inwardly pushing away the dirty thoughts that sparked within your head.

“I can’t ask that of you.” Your whimpered, finally feeling safe yet pained in the worst way whilst in his embrace.

“You don’t have to ask me. I’m here.” You gulped at his words, deep down knowing that you would get again fuck up, and he would not remain by your side for the long run. If he did, then he’d be insane.

#james cook imagine #james cook x reader #james cook #skins cook #skins x reader #skins imagine #jack o'connell #imagines #imagine #xreader

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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years

Photo

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 25-27 are below the cut.

heart

The imagery that really caught my attention this time was Peeta pointing out the changes in the moon to Katniss: The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again. - So for one, we see another example of Peeta focusing on the small details in life (which I’ve previously hypothesized to being an important element in his recovery from his hijacking) as well as Peeta being the one to give Katniss hope, even if it’s just for a brief moment. Also, it’s a nice parallel to Katniss looking at the moon and desperately wishing for it to be “her moon” back in chapter 23. As a nocturnal person, I also love watching the moon from my living room window🌙

mind

Hmmh, I don’t think that Katniss and Peeta’s win was predetermined - although I do believe that by introducing the romantic angle, they significantly improved their odds. A Career winning the Games is not really that special and exciting, since it happens so often (although Careers generally satisfy that excitement for violence/blood/gore, that plenty of Capitol people seem to share). As a volunteer from District 12, who achieved an extremely good training score and proved herself to be very capable in the arena already, Katniss definitely had an edge by playing into the classic underdog story, which offered another exciting “narrative” for the Capitolites to follow - that, coupled (heh) with the romance angle Peeta introduced? Katniss (and Peeta) definitely had the entertainment (and excitement through novelty) factor on their side. Ironically, Cato’s chances of winning were not as good as he expected, precisely because he was playing it by the book.

soul

Poor Peeta (and Katniss), it hurts that their relationship was in such a rocky place by the end of the book. Especially those weeks right after the end of Book 1, when there were still cameras around District 12 and they had to pretend while hurting must have sucked big time🥺

Chapter 25

Ugh, the muttations are just so unsettling... *shudder*

Honestly, I’m just so impressed by Peeta’s presence of mind to draw that X on Cato’s hand, after he had just most of his calf ripped off, only to be grabbed and put in a headlock by Cato! He and Katniss work insanely well under pressure

God, Cato’s death is just so gruesome and awful... In the end, his “gift” from the Feast doesn’t help him win at all, but instead ends up prolonging his suffering a cruel amount... I wonder if in general these “gifts” come with a string attached (aside from the expected danger of trying to get them, I mean) - because the Gamemakers also intend for Katniss’s “gift” (medicine for Peeta) to force an even more cruel outcome on her - saving him from blood poisoning only to be forced into killing him herself... 🤔

I’m not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I’m terrified that if he drifts off he’ll never wake again. “Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. - Katniss is terrified of the idea of Peeta dying; at the same time, Peeta worries about her freezing - I can’t with these two 😩

Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I’ll go completely insane. He’s fighting it, probably more for me than for him - Katniss can’t lose any more people she cares about 😢; on a different note, Peeta fighting his unconsciousness “probably more for [Katniss] than for him” points out one of the crucial elements Katniss brings into Peeta’s life - she is that someone for whom he will fight - including for his own life and well-being - even when it feels easier to give up... Having that person in your life that keeps you going can make all the difference - if Katniss hadn’t had Prim and promised her “to really, really try” to win (and later also made Rue the same promise), I’m not sure she would have made it this far; it’s the thought of Prim anxiously watching her after Rue’s death, that forces Katniss to keep going, to not give in to despair after that particular traumatic event - Peeta, on the other hand, didn’t really have that kind of person in his life, as he will point out on the beach in CF (and Katniss acknowledges herself that the only person who will be devasted if Peeta dies is her)... that is not to say that neither Katniss nor Peeta aren’t fighters on their own - but it helps to have someone that inspires you to not give up

the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can’t let him go. I just can’t. - We’ll see the mirrored version of this by the end of Mockinjay

Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into [Cato’s] skull. - Another act of rebellion, technically (sure, this can be spun as Katniss killing Cato so she and Peeta may win - before Peeta dies from blood loss - but we know better - Katniss’s motivation was compassion for her supposed enemy)

We inch down to the tail of the horn and fall to the ground. If the stiffness in my limbs is this bad, how can Peeta even move? - Peeta is tough as nails, yo!

Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart [...] I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. “No,” he says. “Do it.” [...] “I can’t,” I say, “I won’t.” - In spite of her initial reflex, Katniss chooses Peeta/ chooses not to kill him; it’s a recurring theme in their relationship (despite her wariness of others, she chooses to open up to Peeta eventually; although she vowed to never marry and have children, she’ll choose to have a family with Peeta); also, my psychology-brain just noticed how this moment illustrates how harmful thoughts/impulses don’t have to determine your actions and are not an indicator of who you are - it’s about what you choose to do

“You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this areny trying to think my way out. - Again, makes me think of MJ; also, I think that from this point onwards, Katniss and Peeta are officially linked together forever; the bond they forged during this traumatic experience will connect them to each other until the day they die

“On the count of three?” Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says. - My heart😭

Chapter 26

... while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta’s leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious [...] Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration [...] I’m not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. - Peeta was in such a bad shape by the end of the Games; I’m still kinda salty that the movie really glossed over this fact :/

... they’re taking Peeta but leaving me behind the door. I start hurling myself against the glass, shrieking and I think I just catch a glimpse of pink hair - it must be Effie, it has to be Effie coming to my rescue - when the needle jabs me from behind. - Oh geez, in Catching Fire Katniss will also get sedated in a hovercraft because she’s upset about being separated from Peeta 😢 (also, Katniss thinking that Effie is coming to her rescue 😭)

While she [Lavinia, the avox] adjusts my pillows, I risk one question. I say it out loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will seem secretive. “Did Peeta make it?” She gives me a nod, and as she slips a spoon into my hand, I feel the pressure of friendship. - Katniss is so considerate of Lavinia’s situation, and Lavinia’s giving her a gesture of comfort and support; they’ve never been able to have a proper conversation (Katniss doesn’t even know Lavinia’s name), but still they managed to build up such a bond - compassion certainly is a strong thing to behold 😭 (and this whole scene is just through and through about compassion, with Katniss asking how Peeta is doing!)

Home! Prim and my mother! Gale! Even the thought of Prim’s scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home! - Katniss is so excited to see her home and her loved ones again

I want to get out of this bed. To see Peeta and Cinna - Aww, the two people she grew closest to over the course of the past weeks (Haymitch will be added to that list in just a smidge)

Or do I hear a man’s voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can’t help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me. - Thank God for Haymitch!

And behind one of them [doors] must be Peeta. Now that I’m conscious and moving, I’m growing more and more anxious about him [...] “Peeta!” I call out, since there’s no one to ask - Katniss is sick with worry over Peeta; romantic feelings or not, she cares so fricking much for him by now!

I run for them [Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna] and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch’s arms first. When he whispers in my ear, “Nice job, sweetheart,” it doesn’t sound sarcastic. - These reunion scenes are so intense and heartwarming! And then Katniss asks about Portia and Peeta because their presence would make this scene complete

when I asks for seconds, I’m refused. “No, no, no. They don’t want it all coming back up on the stage,” says Octavia, but she secretly slips me an extra roll under the table to let me know she’s on my side - It’s moments like these that help humanize Katniss’s prep team - they might be shallow, they might be completely oblivious and ignorant, but they aren’t that bad [of course, the prep team chattering about their mundane lives while talking about the event that ended with the deaths of 22 children shortly after, leaves a bad taste in our mouths]

I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body. My hands go to my chest and I frown. “I know,” says Cinna before I can object. “But the Gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise.” - God, the idea that the Gamemakers wanted to give a boob job to an unconscious, malnourished 16-year-old girl makes me sick 🤢 (Also, what’s the flipping deal about boobs?! As a pretty flat-chested gal, I’ve always been annoyed that there are barely any bras my cup size that are not push-up ones; I’m not self-conscious about it, so stop making me pretend that I’m bustier than I actually am!)

“I thought it’d be something more... sophisticated-looking,” I say. “I thought Peeta would like this better,” he [Cinna] answers carefully. Peeta? No, it’s not about Peeta. It’s about the Capitol and the Gamemakers and the audience. Although I do not yet understand Cinna’s design, it’s a reminder the Games are not quite finished. - Ugh, that sinking feeling when Katniss and the reader realize that the Games are still not over... Sidenote: Peeta flirted up a storm with grimy, bloodied Katniss and complimented her when she wore Cinna’s first, absolutely badass costume (”You should wear flames more often”)... Katniss’s girlish outfit has nothing to do with Peeta and she knows it... Cinna could have dressed Katniss up in a trash bag and Peeta would have been smitten - although a trash bag by Cinna would probably still look pretty good ;)

“How about a hug for luck?” Okay, that’s an odd request from Haymitch but, after all we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. - Aww, Katniss actually wouldn’t have minded giving Haymitch a hug just because - sadly, this is about survival tips instead :/

But what was it Haymitch said when I asked it he had told Peeta the situation? That he had to pretend to be desperately in love? “Don’t have to. He’s already there.” Already thinking ahead of me in the Games again and well aware of the danger we’re in? Or... already desperately in love? I don’t know. I haven’t even begun to separate out my feelings about Peeta. It’s too complicated. - Poor Katniss... she didn’t have the time and peace of mind to sort out her feelings regarding Peeta before they all got tied up and muddled with her need for survival. Now she’ll be having an even harder time trying to untangle that mess :(

Chapter 27

Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms [...] He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his choulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. - Man, their reunion here always gets me - it would be so fricking good if Katniss didn’t have to worry about their potential doom 😒😔 - she barely has time to just be happy to see Peeta alive and well before slipping back into survival mode while Peeta is just genuinely thrilled to have her in his arms, completely unaware of the pressure and immediate danger Katniss experiences in this moment... It hurts so bad

I’m with Katniss - How did the previous victors endure rewatching those horrible moments from the Games?! I guess because they had to, but oof... I think I’d just completely shut down, blocking out the footage shown, ugh

But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her [Rue] in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. - In such a callous and cruel place as Panem, any act of compassion can be regarded as rebellion, it’s crazy. In a place filled with apathy, hedonism, greed, and cruelty, the most radical things you can exhibit are love, kindness, and respect!

A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night. - Again, another instance where Katniss’s genuine feelings/reactions to Peeta are get muddled with her need for survival

The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta’s hand. - irrevocably linked with each other

Despite Haymitch’s running interference, I’m determined to see Peeta privately. - Katniss just wants to have an honest and open talk with Peeta 😢 (I get where Haymitch is coming from, and maybe in this instance it’s the right call, but we’ll see a similar situation in the beginning of CF when Haymitch advises Katniss not to tell Peeta about President Snow’s visit and that time, it doesn’t go so well...)

Then Peeta’s there looking handsome in red and white - for someone who isn’t sure whether she’s into him or not, Katniss sure mentions how good Peeta’s looking a lot 😏

“Well, there’s just this and we go home. Then he can’t watch us all the time,” says Peeta. - 👀👀 Peeta is so thirsty here; reminds me of when he pulled Katniss close to him in the cave before they set out to hunt... He clearly believes she’s also “already there” regarding their relationship; he’s never this “suggestive” (can’t think of a better word right now) with her once she lets him know that she doesn’t really know how she feels about him - I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there’s no time to analyze why - Katniss totally isn’t averse to what Peeta’s suggesting here, either (though there’s probably also a healthy amount of fear mixed in with the thrill of being wanted - letting people in can be terrifying)

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh. - It’s me; I’m people 🙋🏼‍♀️ (also, the “turn in to him”?!?!! it just suggests such a closeness, I can’t-)

Katniss burying her face in Peeta’s shirt when she’s afraid she might cry learning that he lost his leg 🥺 (how awful it must be to be constantly on display while you’re dealing with your private feelings, ugh)

“... The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind... hm?” [...] It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentences. “I don’t know, I just... couldn’t bear the thought of... being without him.” - It might not be a super eloquent way to put what she was supposed to say, but this way, Katniss is being perfectly honest (and frankly, if she’d had the chance to properly process her feelings, she would have been able to voice this sentiment with less hesitation)

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there’s nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. - For one, Katniss didn’t think of that pin (again), but also - was the pin returned to her simply because it’s standard procedure or did someone (like Plutarch, for example) arrange for Katniss to get the pin back, to keep her connection to this symbol going?

I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. - Poor Katniss! She’s been through so much, experienced so many traumatic events in short succession recently (aside from the trauma she already had), already had problems defining her identity beyond sheer survival, and now the Capitol also keeps pushing an identity onto her and a romantic relationship, when she hadn’t even had the chance to figure out how she felt about that yet

“... Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. - Oh boy. It’s always so painful to see Peeta realize that he’s been completely out of the loop; again, we’ll see how Katniss and Haymitch adopt a similar strategy in the beginning of CF: banking on Peeta’s good social skills and eloquence and keeping him in the dark. In a way, it’s a sort of compliment they pay to Peeta for being good with people, but, by not telling him, they are also using him for their purpose (which is motivated by caring for and wanting to protect Peeta, but still). Peeta is right to be upset about it - he has always been very clear about not wanting to be used as a piece in anyone’s games, really. And, as we will see later in CF, they are way more effective as a team when they are open and honest with each other.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. - It’s just so goddamn painful😢 They’ve both been done so dirty by that forced star-crossed lovers of Distrct 12 routine. (Sidenote: I appreciate that Peeta actually gives Katniss the chance to explain herself here - still, it’s too much to deal with on the spot so I can understand why Katniss ended up dropping the ball, even though it’s frustrating to read.)

That it’s not good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? - Oh Katniss, you certainly are skipping a couple of steps here; I’m pretty sure there are some options in between dating and being married with kids you could look into. Also, she’s just assuming that this is what Peeta wants, but she doesn’t know that at all - As someone who also has this stupid habit of imagining how whole conversations could possibly transpire and then resigning myself to the hypothetical outcome of said imagined conversation instead of actually having them: Don’t do that. ‘Never assume - it makes an ASS out of U and ME.’

I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’ t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding it tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go. - Ma babies! They are both so hurt and both just want to be with each other 😭 But they’ll need some time apart, to figure things out before they can do that.

#thgagain #thg #hunger games #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #my sketches and drawings #thg meta

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