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hayffiebird · 1 year

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Taste of Strawberries, chap. 30

Author’s note: It’s been 7 chapters (and 2,5 years, oh God!) since I introduced the Hayffie baby names Ian and Amy/Amandalyn to our fandom for the very first time. Will we watch them being born in today’s chapter? Read and find out! Also, wanted to take a moment to thank you all for the AMAZING response to the last chapter! You absolutely rock and it’s a big reason why this chapter was written and published so fast. That’s the kind of power readers can have on a story’s progress. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M Chapter 30 As old as life itself ”How would you like rabbit pie with wild mushrooms for dinner?” Katniss asked and dropped her game bag onto the table. She took a cheese bun from the top of the bread basket and had a bite. It was good to be home again. She’d been a-foot all day. “Rooba says hi.” Peeta nodded, hands cupped around a mug of tea. No sugar. There was still some left in the pot and Katniss poured herself a cup. Talking about her day out in the woods she joined him at the table. Peeta listened but like his father back in the day he didn’t seem to have a lot to say this evening. Nothing but a nod here and there as the cup turned cold in his hands. Finally Katniss couldn’t miss the lack of response. “What’s wrong?” Peeta drew a breath. Let out a sigh before he said, “Effie called. She’s gone into labor early.”

“Oh. That’s normal, isn’t it?” Katniss frowned, not sure herself. “With twins. You just go to the hospital. Have them.” “Yes, I don’t think there’s anything wrong.” He silenced. “Haymitch is not with her.” “Why not?” “No idea. She woke up and… he just wasn’t there anymore.” “Oh, Haymitch,” Katniss sighed into her cup. “Effie believes he might have taken the train home. Asked us to let him know what’s going on once he gets here.” A frown marred Katniss’s face, hearing those words. She tapped a dirty nail against the ceramic mug, then gave a firm shake of her head. “I don’t believe it.” “He’s only had four months to get used to this…” “I know and I don’t believe it. Haymitch is not a quitter. He’s just at a bar somewhere.” “Maybe. And that’s not much better. Either way, Effie’s alone and he’s gonna miss it all.” “If he’s drunk it’s probably best if he’s not in the room.” The harsh words were betrayed by the tired look in Katniss’s gray eyes. “He can see them all come morning.” They lapsed into silence. What else was there to say? Peeta lifted his mug but lowered it again without a sip. “I want to do something for them,” he said, lips pressed together in determination. “Like what?” “I don’t know. Something.” They sat across from each other, racking their brains for anything good. Katniss spoke up first. “I’ve got an idea.” xXx ”99 bottles of beer on the wall. 99 bottles of beer.” Haymitch lay cheek down against his arm slung over the counter. He reached inside the peanut bowl, got himself a nut and placed it after the wobbly “E” on the smooth surface, creating a dot. “Take one down, pass it around. 98 bottles of beer on the wall.” He lifted his glass and drank but not too steady on his hand liquor rolled down his chin and onto the front of his shirt. ”Oh, shit…” “Mr. Haymitch?” He wiped his face with his hand and dried it on his pants. Helped himself with another mouthful. “98 bottles of beer on the wall. 98 bottles of beeer.” ”Mr. Haymitch? Mr. Haymitch!” Someone tugged on his shirt tail and he waved his hand in the air, like warding off a fly. “Take one down, pass it around. 97 bottles of beer on the wa... aah!” His arm shot out clutching the counter by the next forceful tug that damn near pulled him off his stool. Peanuts flew every which way. “What the hell!?” he spat and turned around. A pair of big brown eyes stared into his. Frightened but standing her ground. Light brown hair tied up with ribbons. A girl. Just a little girl. She couldn’t be older than twelve. He blinked hard several times to make the two images of her emerge into one. “Who’re you?” She looked familiar. “Grace, Mr Haymitch,” the girl said. “Gracie.” Oh. Right. Effie’s student. He grunted and returned to his drink. “You shouldn’t be here, girl. This place ain’t for kids.” He lifted his glass and slumped it back down. Bone dry. His wallet was on the counter. He opened it and sighed at the lone coins. He’d burned through both his and Effie’s money in just a couple of hours and he didn’t even notice. He glanced at the girl, still there. “Why don’t you go play with your friends, kiddo.” Gracie didn’t move. She crossed her arms and un-crossed them, watching him. “What?” He turned fully on her again. Couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. “What can I help you with?” “Ms. Effie,” the girl said, her voice small but clear. “It’s about Ms. Effie, Mr. Haymitch.” “What about her?” “She’s at the hospital right now. Everyone says so. They say Ms. Effie’s gone into labor and that you’re not there.” It took a moment for the words to register. Even longer for them to make sense. ”What?” he got out, limbs flooding with panic. ”What?” “They think you abandoned her, Mr. Haymitch, but I thought maybe not so I went to come find you.” “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He stumbled more than climbed down from his chair and the world made an alarming tilt. “When!?” He all but shook the answer out of her. “When did she go to the hospital?” “I don’t know.” “Fuck!!” He pocketed his wallet. The brightness of the mall hit him like a sledgehammer when he staggered out the pub. “No, Mr. Haymitch. This way!” Gracie called after him and he skidded to a stop. Almost tumbled over when he followed her. Across the way, seated at his old table, Paulus Bell watched them go. xXx “Effie Trinket. She’s here. I mean… Haymitch Abernathy. Here to see Eff. I mean Effs Trinket. She’s in labor!” Ocean resided the reception today. That was his usual luck. And yeah, Ocean really was her name. Sky blue hair. A heart-shaped face. Cold pink eyes. Her lips were pressed to non-existence as she watched the wild man before her. “Please keep to your side of the glass, Mr. Abernathy.” Haymitch cussed and stepped back. “There, happy?” he said, arms out. “When do I get to see her?” “ID, please.” “What?” “I need to see some identification.” “You’re kidding, right?” “I am not, sir.” “He’s the mentor of District 12,” Gracie chimed in. “Damn straight, I am! Whole bloody country knows my face!” “That doesn’t earn you special treatment, sir.” ”I haven’t had an ID in all my life! You know me! You’ve seen me here with Effie a dozen times!” “Sir, if you don’t keep the volume down I must ask you to leave.” “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Is this cause I said you got a stick up your ass? Well, I’m sorry. Couldn’t tell what else was wrong with you.” Ocean sucked in a breath, back straight as a steel poker. “You district people are all the same! Every last one of…” “Something the matter here?” All three of them looked up. An Asian doctor approached. Haymitch knew it was a doctor. He’d recognize that white coat anywhere. His silver streaked hair and beard matched the ten well-tended finger nails. “She won’t let me in!” Haymitch pointed to the tight-lipped receptionist. “Eff’s giving birth right now!” The doctor listened to the spew of words with a vacant look in his dark brown eyes. Finally he cut in. “You’re drunk, Mr. Abernathy.” “I know I’m bloody drunk!” The other men and women in the waiting room squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. “What kinda morons runs this place!?” “Mr. Abernathy. This is a hospital. I must ask you to contain yourself.” “I’m the father, damn it! I should be here! I promised her I’d be here! If you don’t want me to turn this place upside down you let me see her NOW!” The doctor turned to Ocean. “Call security.” “Oh, for Christ sake, no! No,” Haymitch said and all his fire died out. “I’ll be good. I swear it. Please just… They’re my kids. Come on! Let Effie know I’m here at least. That’s all I’m asking. If she doesn’t want me in the room, then I’m gone. I’m gone!” xXx ”Unbelievable.” With a protective hand over her belly and pinching her nose the last lady rose from her chair and walked to the opposing wall. She was in good company. More than one set of eyes glared at the former mentor surrounded by all those empty chairs. People who would rather stand and wait than succumb to the smell of hard liquor reeking out his very pores. Haymitch didn’t even notice or if he did he didn’t care. Collapsed in a pink couch, elbows on his thighs he kept his head braced between his hands as if to block out a painful sound. “You pathetic, low-life, useless, no-good, miserable, vile, foolish, loathsome…” “Mr. Abernathy, I presume?” “Mr. Haymitch.” Gracie whom had remained faithfully at his side prodded Haymitch’s shoulder. He scrambled to his feet like his ass was on fire. Arms helplessly at his sides, body swaying like a sailor at sea his eyes hung on to the male nurse before him. “How is she? Did I miss it? Can I see her?” “You arrived at the last moment, Mr. Abernathy,” he said, neither kind nor unkindly. “Follow me.” He struggled to keep up. Bit the inside of his cheek until it bled to stop the world from reeling out of control. The elevator arrived, mercifully empty. It was a slow ride but the slight sucking sensation in his stomach was enough. He groaned, thrown back in time to those retched elevator rides with Effie at the Training Center. Twelve fucking floors! Now he only had to suffer through four but even that was almost more than he could bear. “Why’s there no air in this thing?” he slurred, more to himself than the nurse. Groaning, he leaned over against a corner, one hand clutching the wall, the other one the mirror, leaving a hand print of cold sweat on the surface. “Mr. Abernathy,” said the nurse, more in alarm over the clean floors than him, that’s for sure. “I’m fine,” Haymitch snarl at the floor. After what felt like 84 years the elevator dinged open on the fourth floor. He heard her before he saw her. When the nurse opened one of the many anonymous doors and he stepped inside. The hair on his forearms stood right up from the sounds she was making. The door closed behind him but he was frozen to the spot. His mouth filled with saliva at a ridiculous rate. He swallowed and swallowed but it didn’t help. The fresh waves of nausea turned into cramps that seared through his stomach. Wanted him on his knees. Walk. Just walk. He approached the bed surrounded by stranger nurses. “Eff.” The room swam before his eyes and now she saw him. Panting hard and quick, her color hectic, her soft, strawberry hair clinging to her with sweat she wasn’t able to form any words. Neither good nor bad. There was nothing left but agony. A pain he caused. He wanted to run away. Just run for Twelve and hide under a blanket. Most of all he wanted to escape Effie’s eyes. A look that would haunt him for as long as he lived. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. But not a single word came over his lips. He was avox-mute. Either way, there was no time for forgiveness now. He’d never felt more powerless. He didn’t even take Effie’s hand. He did bloody nothing but stand by her side and try not to puke, like the drunken fool he was. What do I do? He wanted to holler it from the top of his lungs. What do I do? Tell me what do to! New cramps clutched his insides like Effie clutched the sheets. With her eyes squeezed shut, a guttural noise started deep within her throat. A sound that only grew louder and louder and he stumbled back from the bed, away from her. “Haymitch!” He heard her desperate cry, like something out of a nightmare, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He pushed inside the adjacent bathroom and hurled into the toilet bowl. A vile concoction of cheese and toast and salami and floods of hard liquor. He heaved and heaved until there was nothing left but bile. Tears dropped down his nose and into the mess. He wiped his mouth with his hand and only managed to soil the shirt sleeve. “Mr. Abernathy.” A nurse stood in the doorway. The same or a different one, he couldn’t tell them apart. “I think it’s best if you go get some air.” For the most fleeting of moments he considered the idea. The offer of a way out. That it would be better for Effie; better for all involved if he just removed himself from the situation. He could be a house plant for all the good he did Effie right now. Then he heard her voice from the other room. Words he could hardly even make out for the ringing in his ears. “I want to go home,” she sobbed. “Please, just let me go home.” “No.” He struggled to his feet, knees shaking so badly they almost didn’t carry him. “Mr. Abernathy…” “No! She needs me. I won’t fucking abandon her.” The nausea had subsided. For now, anyway. He rinsed the foulness from his mouth. Washed his hands and cupped them under the faucet. Gave his red, bloated face a good splash. His shirt was soiled with puke and he pulled it over his head, dried himself with the clean part and tossed it in a corner, standing there in just his threadbare old undershirt where pink skin showed through the moth holes. Effie lifted her gaze when he reappeared and he expected something along the line of “Get out of here!” and “I never want to see you again!” Instead she reached her hand out to him. Tears and perspiration ran down her face. She reached out like a woman drowning and he was there. Clasped her hand in both of his. It didn’t strike him as nearly enough but what else could he do? One of the nurses helped him with a chair and he sank into it thankfully. “I know you’re tired, Ms. Trinket,” said the women in between Effie’s legs. Steel hair. Red rimmed glasses. Her he knew. Loredana. The midwife. “But I need you to give me a few more pushes. Just a couple more and they’ll be here. Amy and Ian will be here.” Effie clutched Haymitch’s hand and he squeezed back. “OK.” She sniffed and wiped her tears with her free hand. “OK.” And when it happened it happened quickly. Standing by Effie’s head he didn’t see much of the action. When the first baby slid out of Effie and into the midwife’s waiting hands. Nothing but a foot when it poked up between Effie’s legs. Just a little foot, dotted with blood and God knew what else. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of it and the next moment fierce cries filled the room. Impossibly loud and absolutely furious. One moment it was just them and the next someone else was in the room, demanding to be acknowledged. Loredana’s skilled hands held the baby and Haymitch got a glimpse of a beet-red face, toothless gums, hands clutched into fists. Their first one. Their girl. He resisted the urge to cover his ears at the sounds she was making. Like she couldn’t believe what they were doing to her. One of the nurses went to the silver tray where they kept the torture instruments or whatever the hell it was and picked something up that looked like an odd pair of scissors. She handed them over to Loredana, holding his daughter. “No,” Haymitch said, in alarm. He tried to get up but Effie held him back, speaking soft words. “Don’t worry, Mr. Abernathy,” said Loredana, focused on the infant. “I just need to cut the umbilical cord. She won’t feel a thing.” She took care of her and swathed her in a blanket. Amy kept on crying and Haymitch kept on staring. Effie wanted to hold her but she never got the chance. “Oh, sweet mercy!” She clutched her tummy. Loredana smiled. “Someone is eager to join his sister.” She handed Amy over to one of the nurses who stepped back from the birthing bed and Haymitch was struck by the same irrational fear. A stab to the belly. No! Don’t take her away! But Effie clutched his hand and he couldn’t run in either direction. This was only half-done. And so their son was born. Another purple little bundle. Loredana welcomed him like she had his sister and swathed him up in a blanket. Ian was slightly smaller than Amy but with the same full head of hair. Slick and wet, you couldn’t tell the color just now. Not yet. Beautiful. He let out a series of squeaks that were Effie spot on. Their cries filled the room, brother and sister both. Filled the whole world. Haymitch’s heart pounded in his ears as he watched Ian. This precious little person. Good God. “Haymitch?” Effie’s voice reached him like from underwater. All he really heard was their helpless cries, growing louder and louder all the time. His breaths grew short and quick. His mouth had gone so dry he couldn’t even swallow. “Haymitch, are you OK?” Loredana and the nurse walked in on them to put the newborns to Effie’s chest and it was like he snapped out of his daze. “No!” They stopped in their tracks. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Effie. I can’t! I’m not cut out for it. I can’t do it!” Effie didn’t let go of his hands. Her eyes flitted to Loredana. “Can you give us a minute?” “Sure,” said Loredana and all of them quietly retreated to the other side of the room. “I can’t be a father!” Haymitch’s blood-shot eyes shone with tears. “You were right not to tell me. I’m a toxic wasteland. I’m nothing but broken pieces. You should keep them as far away from me as possible!” “Haymitch, listen to me,” Effie’s words were soft as a caress. Firm as a cliff in the storm. “It’s OK to be scared. I’m scared too. Everyone is.” Tears rolled down Haymitch’s cheeks and into his beard. He couldn’t help it. “I’m gonna destroy them.” “You won’t. Their lives will be better for having you in it. They’re going to be fine, Haymitch. All three of you will. Just… surrender. I’m here with you. I’ll be here every step of the way.” Haymitch sobbed, eyes squeezed shut. Shoulder-racking sobs he couldn’t control as he clung to her hands just as much as her words. “Do you hear that?” Effie said. “How quiet it is. They have already come to a rest. It was just the initial shock. It’s no fun being squeezed out from a warm, snug place into this cold, bright world.” She caressed his hand that clutched hers. Spoke in the same soothing voice. “The only thing that really matters is that they’re loved. Loved and secure. You do love them, don’t you?” Haymitch choked back a sob. “Yeah,” was all he could manage. He nodded. “Yes.” Effie cupped his cheek. “Then everything is going to be OK.” Loredana and the nurse holding Amy and Ian returned to the bed. “Ms. Trinket. Mr. Abernathy,” said the midwife. “Would you like to meet your son and daughter?” Haymitch rubbed his tears with his forearm as Loredana placed the newborns in Effie’s waiting arms. Amy on the right and Ian on the left. Their eyes were closed. They’d gone to asleep, at least as far as he could tell. Effie smiled at him. Her cheeks were rosy from the ordeal. Her strawberry hair a mess. She’d never looked more beautiful. His gaze returned to the babies, stunned over how everything had changed so fast. “Why’re they covered in cream cheese?” Amy and Ian bounced against Effie’s chest when she chuckled. He didn’t dare touch them. Not with his big, clumsy hands. Nothing so pure and innocent should ever be man-handled by him. But Effie, when he caressed her hair – uncertain at first if she even wanted him so close – she leaned her cheek into his touch. He tried to speak but not a word made it over his lips. She dropped a kiss to the inside of his palm and gazed back at the twins, sleeping in her arms. She smiled. “I did good, didn’t I?” “They’re perfect.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “But they’re yours, so…” “They’re ours.” Author’s note: And Haymitch and Effie are parents! What did you think? Tell me in the comments! And heroine Gracie to the rescue! <3 I actually have a theme song for her called “Tiny Voice” by Lexi Walker. If you don’t get goose bumps listening to it you don’t have skin. ;)

#hayffie #everlark #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #fanfiction

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fluffshisuga · 2 years

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Festivities § Obi-Wan Kenobi

Im sick. That is all. This has 1135 words, you're welcome.

Summary- Obi-Wan searches for you at a festival, but finds himself stumbling instead.

Lights twinkled and shined as they swayed in the breeze. The festivities of the planet were full of vendors and people. Obi-Wan looked around, searching faces. He stopped when he saw his padawan, Anakin, talking with now Senator Padme. He watched for a few moments and continued his search. You had mentioned that you would be there, enjoying the festival alongside your companions, yet you were no where to be found. Obi-Wan huffed as he trudged towards Anakin and Padme and took a drink from the table beside him.

“Is there something bothering you, Master?” Anakin asked, looking at Obi-Wan quizzically. Obi-Wan shook his head in response, muttering “you did hear her say she would be joining us tonight, right?” Anakin looked down at Padme, a smirk on his lips. “She did say she would, are you looking for her?” He teased.

Ever since he became a padawan, Anakin had witnessed the connection between you and Obi-Wan, one that he would consider mutual crushing, much like him and Padme originally had. Though, neither of you had made a move, and even after Anakin and Padme had secretly married, they watched as the tension had only grown between the two of you. Padme thought it was sweet, where Anakin had just about enough of the side glances and smiles. But he had to admit, what Obi-Wan had said about you not being there set an unease in his gut. You had promised to be there. The planet of Aquim was celebrating the moon cycle, something that reportedly only happened every 20 years. Growing up on a planet of sand with two suns, the thought of a planet of water and two moons was something Anakin couldn’t miss, and had made you promise to come along after your many stories of the planet to him when he was younger.

The crowd around the open hall began to quiet and gather around the center, all looking in the direction of what resembled a long table towards the front, rested atop a small flight of stairs. A man came out, thanking the guests and announcing, “Our dear Duchess is thankful for your attendance, and wishes to thank you all personally.” With that, he stepped aside.

Gasps were heard throughout the hall as a woman dressed in a deep blue dress walked up. The dress was long and free flow, silver shone in small spots all over and two crescent moons sat just on the bosom. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened when he looked into the eyes of the Duchess, your e/c orbs scanning the crowed before you and landing on his own. You smiled softly.

“Thank you, all of you, for joining me in the celebration of the moons.” Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, eyes wide and mouth agape. Padme stood next to him, chuckling, for she had already known where you were and what you were doing. “For those who are visiting us for the first time,” you started again, “I thank you. The celebration of the Moons is a very important affair for my people. On this day every 20 years, our dear Moons Effie and Cyrus meet in the sky together and embrace. It is their love that allow our planet to function. Our tides are a key part to our way of living, and our dear moons control them and the water itself. Without them, we would not have the life we graciously live today.” You stopped, waiting for the applause to quiet down, before continuing. “This day is not only to celebrate the Moons, however. We are here today to also choose a new leader, one that has been touched by moonlight and has been chosen to lead us for the next 20 years. I have had the gracious responsibility of leading you all, but I’m afraid it is time for me to step down.”

With that, you stepped to the side, and a new girl took your place. She greeted the people before her and assumed the role of duchess. You smiled as the festivities started to truly begin and made your way to the east side of the hall, where you saw your companions waiting for you.

“Y/n! You look great! And you’re a duchess?” Anakin exclaimed, running up and grasping your waist and spinning you around in a hug. You laughed and hugged him back as he sent you down. Padme walked up to you and hugged you as well, squeezing you lightly in a way to show she was proud. “Thank you, really. I had been waiting for the next festival for a while so I could do this. Being a Jedi and a duchess is hard work, you know.” You joked, waving the two off as you made your way towards Obi-Wan. He eyed you slightly as you got closer, your smile still present on your lips. “So, a duchess?” He questioned, handing you a drink. You nodded in thanks and took a sip. “Yes,” you hummed, leaning your shoulder against his own. “And here I thought you bailed on me and stayed home.” Obi-Wan joked, looking down to look at your face. He couldn’t help the feelings that blossomed in his gut seeing you in such a beautiful dress, and the lovely look you gave him as you noticed his staring.

“Something the matter?” You asked, tilting your head slightly. Without thinking, Obi-Wan found himself reaching for your face and caressing your cheek, speaking just loud enough for the two of you to hear. “You look even more beautiful than the day we met” he hushed, resting his forehead against your own. Heat crept up to your cheeks as your breath hitched, resting your hand on his arm. “Well, I am dressed up for a festival,” you joked, moving to rest your head on the spot between his shoulder and neck. You felt him hum in response and take your hand in his own, a soft tone to his next words. “Each day, you grow more beautiful. It is something I cannot bare. Dressed up or not, my love for you grows.” His sudden confession makes your lips curl into a smile as you look up and into his eyes. His blue eyes stared into your own, lovingly, and before you knew it, your lips had connected. His beard tickled you as you embraced him and deepened the kiss, hands moving up and into his auburn hair. He hummed into the kiss and sighed when you pulled away. “Not here, darling.” You stated, looking around as the people around you bustled in excitement to enjoy the activities. “Perhaps you’d like to join me in the festivities, my love?” Obi-Wan’s smile grew at the new nickname and place his hand on the small of your back as you began to explore the festival.

#swooning #star wars #obi wan imagine #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x y/n #obi wan spoilers #obi wan x you #obi wan fluff #obi wan star wars #This is like tooth rotting sweet #obi wan my beloved

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jlalafics · 2 years

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So I was about to send this ask but each time I clicked on your profile, it would say shit like 'this minimalist tumblr has no posts' or 'posts? nah' etc and i freaked the fuck out because i thought i did something to offend you and got blocked 😅😅

now that i have realized it was my internet problem, not you blocking me, i shall move to the real purpose of this ask... The ghost of you...

I read it today, while sitting in my university because I was excited as fuck.

I really liked how all four of them immediately tried helping each other before realizing 'oh shit! we're dead!' it was epic, like, they were TRYING TO HELP and wanted to know if the others were hurt after the crash. also, for a minute there, i felt like Mr Everdeen was killed on impact too and Mrs Everdeen was seeing his ghost lol

I liked how all of them were tethered to a baby born after the accident, how there different personalities showed its effects on Katniss. I loved the fact baby Katniss could see and interact with them, it was such a tender moment and I just nearly screamed 'AWWWW' out loud 😂

Loved how the ghosts were the catalyst that started her friendship and eventual romance with Peeta. I loved it! them becoming friends on the first day. I loved how Haymitch helped her look a badass lil thing while she was defending Peeta. (i imagined a chubby, blond kid with blue tear-filled eyes on the ground and wee lil Katniss standing in front of him and defending his honour with those cute double braids and a cute kiddy scowl....😍😍😍😍)

I also loved how they found each other and Peeta promised no one could separate them again (just as the ghosts had predicted years ago) I loved how the kind baker softened stone-hearted, workaholic Katniss so easily, its like, everything bad that made her like that just melted as soon as she recognized him!!!

The only two things that upset me were the fact Peeta and the ghosts left her all at once for different reasons when she was so young that it hardened her enough to shut her family, especially sweet Prim out. That was sad. the fact Annie had died and they couldnt give her the letter was so damn sad too and by cancer, after being wasted away and left as barely there body was just...

It was also amazing how she gained new three friends after she helped them move on and find some sort of closure about the ghosts. Loved how I can see Everlark going to Ryan's for celebrations and everything, really like how Finn Cresta may become family to her and I definitely enjoy seeing Rue each time Katniss is involved in some car-related accident of any size 🥰🥰 I think Rue, Finn, Ryan and Everlark will become very very good friends with each other and will find a sense of calm and camaraderie among each other.

Ryan, the official bar owner where they hang out. Finn, the sweet brother-in-law with his mother's kindness and father's fierce loyalty and Rue, to bust them all out whenever they find themselves in trouble 🤩🤩

I really really loved it and I am so happy you wrote that!! It was so interesting and perfect for Halloween, so thank you soooo much for sharing that with us. It made me so happy!! 😘

Stay safe!!

Thank you so much, love!

I really wanted bring to 'Heart and Souls' into the Everlark universe and I'm so happy that you enjoyed it.

Yes, I can imagine later on Finn meeting Prim and just falling manly in love. They would all get together at Ryan's bar. Maybe once in a while, Rue will join in for a pint with her husband.

Somehow, I see Effie meeting Katniss in the future. Perhaps she comes into the bakery to pick up the cake for her grandson's first birthday (IMH his name is Mitch) and she becomes a regular. Since Katniss is always there, they become good friends.

I like the idea that even though her childhood friends are still gone, there is still connection to them.

Once again, thanks for reading! Hugs!

#the-complimentary-anon #reply #The Ghost of You

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 3 years

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Happy Birthday, jbsaucy!

Happy belated Birthday, @jbsaucy! We hope you had a wonderful day back on the 16th, and that you celebrated in style! To bring your party back around, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a story just for you!

For this year, I am recently divorced and trying to get the nerve up to get out there. So I would like to request a 30/40s Everlark, post divorced meeting

Jbsaucy

Dear Jbsaucy I hope you had a wonderful birthday. I apologize for the lateness, and I hope you had a wonderful day. This prompt BTW was amazing and I had a great time writing it. It was a blast. Thank you to Norbertsmom for Betaing

Rated T

Title: OFF THE MARKET

-kpkpkpkp-

Divorce sucks. SUCKS.

Getting divorced sucks, being divorced sucked.

But nothing, not the tedious nature of dividing unwanted movies, the fear of root canals, or getting a speeding ticket, compared to dating. Dating, ladies and gentlemen, after being married for ten years sucked royally.

ROYALLY!

After my divorce, my attorney suggested I get a hobby or join a club. I really wasn’t a social person. Not much of a talker, and avoided any and all spotlights. It was this fear of the spotlight that originally brought me in contact to my now ex-husband, Darius.

My best friend Gale pushed me to do one of those karaoke nights. I panicked and ran straight into Darius. He thought I was cute, and I was grateful he went up with me to the karaoke microphone. He sang and I laughed. The rest is history; the marriage only lasted ten years. But I knew we weren’t right for one another, partially because Darius was a very sexual person, for me sex wasn’t important. I got more enjoyment out of getting my teeth cleaned. He found someone who revved his engine and I got the fica and dates.

Yup Dates.

How did that happen you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you I followed my divorce attorney’s suggestion. Preface-OUTSIDE OF A COURTROOM NEVER EVER FOLLOW YOUR DIVORCE ATTORNEY’S ADVICE.

With that warning sign, I digress. Taking a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Wait for it... I joined a book club.

It was the only natural course of action. After our divorce I got all of the books. You see one of the things Darius and I loved to do was go to bookstores. We’d buy all of these books with the intention of reading them, and we never did. We had bookshelves filled with books from the 100 Must-Read Classic Books by Penguin. So after my divorce, I sat in my newly minted apartment with a box of wine and all of these books.

I was looking at the boxes, my divorce papers jutting out. Amongst them there was a note - with the name of a book club, the real 451 book club, with an address. I called them the Squad 451 or the Squad. The women were a hodgepodge of personalities; the right blend of sweet and crazy. There is Mags, the motherly type. She has boatloads of grandchildren. Then there is her neighbor Greasy Sae who runs a diner in town. I used to go to her diner as a kid and consume her mystery meat soups. The older woman is bawdy and half of the things she says makes me blush redder than a red bean. Next is Annie, a shy, slightly mad girl who is a librarian. Delly has the personality of the southern bell who wears pink and believes in romance. I’ve known of Delly forever; she and I went to the same high school.

Foxface, has one of those names with multiple consonants and vowels but prefers to go by Foxy or Foxface. She is freakishly smart and sometimes, I think she has blackmarket dealings because she’s so secretive. Then there is Effie, the middle aged, tightly wound woman whose book choices are as repressed as she is, like Jane Eyre. And last, but not least, is my divorce lawyer, yes the very same one who suggested I get a hobby, Johanna Mason who is, well, a sex fiend.

I started meeting up with them, and six months after my divorce, that’s when the ladies conspired against me and set up my profile on one of those dating websites looking for men, for me. I had no idea, and on my birthday, they presented me with their “gift.”

It was the gift you didn’t want, like a pimple on your wedding day or the runs before an important interview, or bad breath before a first kiss.

Greasy said that if I didn’t use my, well, feminine - looks around - petals. That they’ll dry up and turn into ugly petunias. I announced sex wasn’t important, and even friged Effie said a lady needed to literally, figuratively, and metaphorically, occassionally let her hair down.

I said NO.

I demanded.

I scowled.

Nothing helped.

They created a profile based upon themselves, and yet through describing themselves they pegged me. I was nurturing. I had a sexy edge. I was introverted, and yet mysterious. I was smart, honest, loyal and a closet romantic. But if you tell anyone that, I’ll hunt you down, even after I’m dead.

They split me up like a kid of divorced parents being schlepped from one house to the other. They set themselves up in teams and each team got to pick my dates. And everytime we met for a book club meeting, I was to dutifully report on the date. Based upon their success, a second date would be permitted.

It was a simple proposition.

I was naive. A stupid idiot, or as Bugs Bunny say’s, a maroon.

Because I hadn’t really ever been out there.

To be honest, I met Darius right out of high school, at my first college party, and we were married - okay it wasn’t a big wedding. It really wasn’t a wedding at all. It was a spur of the moment, we got drunk and ended up at one of those Elvis chapel impersonators. Annnnd bada-bing.

I never really dated, so I agreed with the book club’s plan, because how hard could dating be?

And thus began my nightmare.

I must state, or emphatically note, not all of my “dates,” were catastrophically bad. To be fair, most of the time I wasn’t interested. Delly said I wasn’t romantically pulled. Johnna said my engine wasn’t revved up. Greasy said if the man didn’t make me want to orgasam with a look, then he wasn’t worth my time. I posed this question to the universe: How in blazing blue inferno does a man make a woman...well you know, with a look? Was that even possible?

A hazy yellow fuzz enters my head and my mind wanders. I conjure up blue eyes and translucent lashes that never tangle.

Sigh.

…. (my brain just short circuited at the thought of large hands)

Earth to Katniss.

Okay sorry, I spaced out for a little bit, and their words spurred me on to continue my journey. And one year after my divorcce I had stories, no I have battle scars. To prove my point, the following are my top three worst dates. In no particular order.

Date Disaster # 1 was with an artsy type at a chique Italian restaurant. He arrived late, and was drunk, high, or both. Then fell asleep on his plate of bolognese. Yup, in his plate of spaghetti and meat sauce. I paid for my half, tucked my tail between my legs and left.

Date Disaster #2 was with a small man with glasses and a massive intellect who didn’t stop talking about flamingos. FLAMING PINK FLAMINGOS. My brain shut down. I didn’t hear the music in the jazz themed restaurant. I didn’t even taste the heat in the gumbo. The only factoid I remembered when we said goodnight was that flamingos were gray when they were born. I couldn’t even tell you how they became pink. The man was the human form of anesthesia for my soul.

Date Disaster #3 was a nice man. We laughed. And everything was going well. We ordered drinks, a cranberry and soda for me, the bartender special for him while we waited for our table. Turns out he has a milk allergy and the bartender special had milk. When we sat down at the table and we were talking about our hobbies, his stomach began to grumble loudly. He became pasty and then as the waiter brought out our appetizers, he threw up all over the place. It was a good thing that throwing up didn't bother me, but it bothered our waiter who gagged. Needless to say, I burned the outfit I was wearing.

Those were the top three...but there were more, just simmering to become the top one. And for a time I thought I wasn’t made to date. But the ladies had faith and they were really trying to choose nice, interesting guys. However, nothing, nothing that I could ever imagine could top my latest date.

I’m rushing along the sidewalk. I don’t want to be late, but at the same time, I don’t want to tell them how much of a calamity my latest date was, but to be completely honest, I don’t want to miss it. Tonight is also the night the group meets at Mellark’s. The friendly cafe style bakery with its rich and yummy pastries, both savory and sweet. It is my favorite place to meet. Squad 451 meets twice a month in different locations, including one of the two meeting rooms in the library, one of the community rooms in the Justice Building, and on our birthdays, we meet in a restaurant, but the bakery on Main Street is our favorite location. The Mellarks owned several locations. The flagship store was always managed by one of the original family members.

If George Senior, or the middle son Ryan Mellark is at the helm of the bakery, they allow us to cavort in the shop until close. When his older brother George Junior or their Mother Muriel was in charge, we tended to be quiet, relegating our conversations to the books. When Peeta is in charge, there are free cheese buns and chaos.

Please, stomach gods, let Peeta be there. I skipped lunch today because I had a deadline. I also forgot my wallet at home. Thankfully, my license was at the bottom of my backpack. I need food before my stomach eats itself. I am starving when I walk into the bakery. When I see Peeta, I stop. His blue eyes meet mine and my stomach flip flops. He gives me a slow sweet smile, before his eyes slide back to the customer who is ordering.

“Katniss,” Delly squeaks, waving frantically.

Somehow, my feet carry me over to the table and there is a plate of cheese buns and I thank every celestial being in the universe. His buns are heavenly. Sitting down, I take a napkin and snatch one. My mouth waters and my lashes close as I bring the cheese bun to my mouth. The smell of melted cheese, fresh bread, and the hint of dill, assuage my nose, before I bite into one of Peeta’s coveted flaky concoctions. The combination of the oozing cheese, the herbs and the buttery bread elicit a moan from deep within my being. These freaking cheese buns will be the death of me.

“Wow.” Peeta’s voice causes my lashes to fly open.

Peeta is standing near me with a cup of tea; his face and neck splotchy and red.

My mouth is full of delicious food, but I forgot how to chew.

Delly is looking between us. Her pale blue eyes quizzical, like when she’s trying to understand a concept or theme in a book.

“Okay, bitches,” Johanna says, slamming her brief down. “Where’s the rest of the motley crew?”

“Mags and Greasy just arrived,” Delly answers absentmindedly.

“Hey, Peeta, I need a strong black coffee.”

“Sure,” Peeta says, all the while staring at me. I finally remember to chew. “Here Katniss, your tea.”

Taking the paper cup, I can’t help feeling bashful. “Thank you.”

“Peet,” the girl behind the counter calls.

Whenever Peeta is here, the business is brisk. He is charming. He was always charming, even back in high school he was the most popular guy, not only because of his looks, but because he was genuinely nice. I, like all of the other girls, had a mini crush on him.

Looking over his shoulder he says, “I’ll be right back with your coffee, Jo.”

Now Jo is looking between him and me, but hers is a wicked grin, like right before she nails a sleazebag who doesn’t want to pay for his children. I quirk an eyebrow, clueless as to what has Johanna showing off her predatory gleam.

“Oh, it’s chilly outside,” Mags says.

“It’s colder than Rudolph’s balls outside,” Greasy says, her gruff voice is booming. Several patrons look at her. Greasy does not care. She’s well past her sixties and it’s her motto that she should live each day as if it was her last.

In walks Effie, Annie, and Foxface, and they all say, “Hello,” in unison.

The book of the month is actually a YA fiction called, The Fault in Our Stars, about teens with a terminal illness. I cried when Gus...I tear up once more...at the memory. But I know we aren’t going to discuss Hazel’s predicament with her parents.

“So,” Delly says, bouncing in her chair.

I can’t help but grimace.

“How did it go?” Foxface says. She has an accent, but I can’t place it.

“He looked like he belonged on one of those erotic books Johanna loves to read,” Greasy says, grabbing a cheese bun.

She’s not wrong. Gloss was a blond adonis, with slate blue eyes. And abs that have a flipping twelve pack, I ought to know, I counted them. The words are out of my mouth before I am aware of what I am saying. “He really does with a twelve pack,” I say drinking my tea.

“Did you say twelve pack?” Johanna sat up.

My eyes widen.

“Wait, why are you blushing Katniss?” Foxface narrows her eyes.

“Did you and he…” Annie trails off. Her doe eyes are wide.

“Did you have your first sleepover?” Effie leaned in.

“Or did you dry hump him like a horny-toad dog?” Greasy’s voice bounces in the bakery.

Peeta’s pauses , wiping down the counter and looks directly at me.

“NO!” My voice sounds half strangled.

Jo and Delly exchange a look. “Peeta,” Delly calls him over.

Oh, no, no, no, I say to myself, eyeing how quickly I can get from the back corner to the exit. It is one thing to tell the squad, it is another to have Peeta know. I think I can sprint around the chairs and clear the table near the door like an olympic hurdle jumper.

Peet walks over. “Hey Dells, can I get you ladies anything?”

“Katniss was going to regale us with her latest date,” Delly says.

“She’s going to tell us how she knows her date has Thor’s body.”

“You’re dating?” Peeta asks, looking at me intently.

He doesn’t know I am dating or rather, being raked through hot coals.

“Oh,” Foxface chortles. “She’s dating.”

“Remember the guy who was texting with his mother during the entire date,” Effie said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mags saids grinning.

“Only the part when he had Katniss talk to her, and it turned out she was psychoanalyzing her to make sure she wasn’t an ax murderer,” Annie said laughing.

“Or what about the guy who kept on mentioning his ex and cried through the crème brûlée,” Greasy slaps her knee, laughing.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Man, those are pretty bad,” Peeta says.

I hold up my finger. “No, those are tame.”

“Tame?” His blue eyes are sparkling. “You mean there are worse dates?”

Delly snorts. “Oh there are worse. I am so glad I am out of the dating pool.”

“Yeah, Gale just loves you,” Annie sighs.

Delly and Gale met when I joined the book club. And while I floundered, they fell in love and now Delly was pregnant.

My eyes shift to Annie. “It’s so much easier when you fall in love.”

“Oh?” I say.

“I met someone,” Annie says softly. “He wants to meet all of us.”

I wonder what type of guy would date quiet, shy, introverted Annie who sometimes says things that remind me of that song from those Freddy movies from the 80’s. I shake my head. Then I narrow my eyes. “Bring him to the next session,” I hear myself say. I want to meet this man, and make sure he will take care of my friend.

“Really.” Annie clasps her hands.

I nod, but I notice Peeta is looking at me with this strange gleam in his eyes. “Ah...yeah.” My voice sounds breathy. I frown, wondering why the heck I sound like one of those girls. You know the ones that always appear in the music videos washing cars and dancing on super yachts. Darius was fascinated by those girls, heck, his new girlfriend looks like one of those girls.

The women are chatting with Annie about the new guy in her life.

“We'll discuss Annie’s beau later,” Mags holds her hand in the air. “I want to hear about Katniss’ date.” Her white hair spills over her shoulder as she fixes me with a look. “So tell us, how do you know Thor has a twelve pack?”

Somehow or another I knew the scrutiny on Annie would be short lived. My time to shine would come, but when I open my mouth to speak I can see a conspiratorial glance between Mags and Annie. And it hits me that they chose this man, because he looked like Thor. I scowl at the women who set me up on this one. Mags and Annie both have a pink tinge to their faces. I would have expected this from Jo or Greasy, but Mags and Annie, well it’s INCONCEIVABLE!

I begin to speak. “He asked me to meet him at the edge of town, near route twelve.”

“Isn't that where Ripper’s place is?” Effie questioned, and she couldn’t hide her revulsion.

“Yup,” I said, popping the ‘P’, thinking of the bar that disguised itself as an eatery. It was a seedy diner with cracked linoleum floors, yellowing formica, booths that had patches, blinking lights, and rickety chairs.

“That’s where he asked you to meet him?” Mag’s sounds outraged. “That place is…is-”

“- a bedhaven for unsavory characters,” Foxface finishes.

“You're brainless,” Jo mutters darkly. "Ripper's isn't the type of place you can go to Katniss. You should have called me."

As protective as I am about my friends, so is Jo. She's tough on the outside but has a really soft center. It's what makes her a perfect shark in the courtroom. Not that Darius was a jerk during our divorce. He actually wasn't. Johanna was present at the restaurant where he announced he wanted a divorce. Johanna later said it was my face, the vulnerability I tried to hide was why she took my divorce pro-bono.

“I drove and brought my bottle of mace.” I know what everyone was thinking. The area in town where Ripper’s is located at, made the bad side of town look like a tourist destination. I didn't mind meeting my date there. I was looking forward to a basket of fries. Ripper's had amazing beer-battered fries.

I've been to Ripper's once. I was with Gale and Thom who needed to score fake IDs. I ordered the fries, since I wasn't there for an ill gotten identification. But let me tell you, those fries. Oh! Holy mother of fries, no other fries can compare.

Shivers!

I love food; it's why I'm a food critic now. What's so funny is that it was those fries that began my career as Buttercup, the elusive food critic. Back then I was Buttercup, the fussy eater. I blogged about them, no, I lavished them with love. I love my job. I can go into any restaurant, order anything on the menu, blog about it and get paid handsomely. And, most importantly, I can do it anonymously. Not even Darius knew I was Buttercup. He thought I was a boring housewife. Getting back to the fries, I wasn’t deterred from getting my fries.

“So then what happened?” Annie asked.

“He was there waiting for me. He stood up and smiled. And he's massive-"

"Just like a book cover," Foxface mutters.

"He said his name wasn't Anthony, it’s Gloss.”

“Gloss?” Everyone said at the same time.

“Yup.” I sighed. “It was a sign. I should've left." Damn those fries!

“So Gloss…" Peeta's sparkling eyes are on mine, his are an amazing hue of blue, like the indigo milk cap mushrooms. "Looks like Thor." He frowns. "Thor with the long hair or short?"

"Long." The women around me answered as one.

Peeta turned those gorgeous eyes back to me.

Thor isn’t my cup of tea. I shrugged to show my indifference. "Gloss was sporting the Ragnarok look, short hair with facial hair."

I swear I watch Peeta mouth, "short hair."

"Anyway, we sat at a booth. It was packed, actually." That should've been clue number two. Men at a joint like Ripper's at 8:30 on a Friday night, it was by the highway, plausible. But packed with just as many women. "The waitress who took our drink order could barely hear me."

"Was he nice?" Annie asks.

"He was sweet." Truthfully Gloss was a sweet guy. He talked about his mother in a positive way, even if she gave him the name that was another descriptor for shiny objects. "He was attentive too. He told me his mother worked in the makeup industry. "

"That doesn't sound too awful," Delly says.

"He sounds delightful." Mags pushes her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. The gang is getting tired of the story and I hope they will move on to the reason we are gathered, discussing the book we were reading. I begin to reach into my backpack because I really hate purses.

"If he's so delightful, why did he ask you to meet him at Ripper's?" Johanna says in her cross examination voice.

I wince as I take out my book.

"Yes, you must explain." Foxface demands.

"It's not nice to leave us dangling." Effie levels a look at me that has me squirming, feeling like I was being summoned into the principal's office.

"I wanna know how you know Gloss has a twelve pack," Greasy says.

Peeta looks at me expectantly.

Anndddd were back. I sigh. Will he run for the hills when I tell him? Most likely.

"We were talking about dancing.” My voice loses all it’s warmth. “I don't dance."

This causes a rumble of laughter and giggles amongst the women. Peeta looks confused. Finally Delly wipes the tears from her face and gasps, “You should never dance. Ever!”

"That poor man’s toes,” Mags says, her shoulders shaking.

“Do I need to know?” Peeta looks between them.

“I don’t dance!” I growl. The group erupts into another bout of laughter.

“It was a scheme, a dirty underhanded scheme,” Effie says.

The guy I was supposed to date was a dance instructor. He used the dating app as a way to drum up business. When the women meet him, he pairs them with guys who were there for a lesson. He paired me with a poor man named Harry. My nerves got the better of me, because I don’t like to be touched. Harry’s hands were sweaty. Harry tried to dip me as per my date’s instructions. I tripped, and in the process his toes were crushed, and I ended up with a sprained ankle.

When I arrived in crutches to the next book club, well, that was one of those dates that simmers at the surface vying to be in the top three.

“Gloss didn’t believe me. He said anyone can dance. I told him no, and explained that there are people who are predisposed to fly in airplanes, and some who get motion sickness in a car. “

“What happened next?” Foxface asks, moving to the edge of her chair.

“He went to the jukebox.”

“Oh no,” Johanna mutters. “Did he end up in the hospital?”

“Is that how you know he’s got a twelve pack?” Greasy questions. The ladies, and Peeta are all staring at me.

I shake my head. Why couldn’t there be a rush of customers right now? It is calm and I know the odds are against me.

“Spill it!” Johanna demands.

“Well, he queued up a song and waited a beat, and then Lenny’s Kravits’ American Woman started blaring. Gloss started sauntering and spun and did the splits on the floor. Next thing I know, the women in the place go nuts. They surround him, like a rabid pack of wild dogs.”

“Wait, what!” Delly exclaims her pale eyes bright, she grips the book in her hand.

“That doesn’t happen,” Peeta says.

“It does to her,” Foxface said, her eyes shining with ferocity, like the eyes of those women at Rippers.

“Shut it blondie,” Johanna orders.

“Yeah,” Annie says.

Taking a deep breath I continue. “He started dancing...hips…” my brain flashing to his hips gyrating. “...jutting out and…”

“Ohhhhh yeah,” Greasy cackles.

“Gyrating, his hips gyrating,” Foxface gasps.

With eyes closed I nod. “His hips were doing that all over the place. He then jumped on the table and proceeded to rip off his shirt. He shouted my name and told me his next move was his favorite. He spun onto his knees and slid up in my face before dropping his drawers.” I lower my eyes.

“What,” Delly squeaked. “His pants?”

“It’s like Magic Mike,” Mags whispers.

I know the movie Mag’s is referring to. I’ve never seen it. “Yes.”

“Was he naked-” Foxface began.

“-or was he wearing-” Annie cut Foxface off only to be cut off herself.

“A G-String!” Greasy shouted excited.

I shook my head no. He wasn’t wearing anything, I can feel the heat burning my ears.

“Well don’t stop! What happened next!” Even Effie has lost her sense of propriety.

“As I looked for an escape. It’s then I noticed the poster on the wall, for the Slag Heap.” I pause and sigh, “Men’s Magic Friday Night Extravaganza, and Gloss was the headliner. I realized he’s a stripper.”

And the place erupts in laughter.

“What did you do?” Peeta asks.

My eyes connect with his.

“I slunk down to the floor and crawled my way out...drove to the hospital and made my sister administer a tetanus shot.”

“Can I have his number?” Johanna says laughing but her eyes are dead serious.

Peeta is smiling at me and I grab a cheese bun because they are as delicious as the man staring at me.

Eventually we do get to the book, and it’s a pretty good discussion. Peeta let us stay until closing. Mags and Greasy are the last of the ladies to leave. It’s just me and Peeta since he let the staff go home. I’m loitering because I feel like I need to explain to Peeta why I let the ladies talk me into dating.

I’m putting up the chairs on the tables when Peeta comes out.

“You’re still here?”

“Yeah.” I look down at my feet.

“Katniss.”

“Peeta.” We both say at the same time, followed by a nervous chuckle.

“You first,” Peeta insists, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Dating wasn’t my idea.”

“It wasn't?” He raised an eyebrow.

I shake my head.

“So what happened?”

“The ladies, they got me a year long subscription for my birthday, and knowing I wouldn’t go through with it, they choose who I date...until I find someone,” I can feel the heat rising from my neck and reaching my cheeks, “I like.”

“Really?”

I nod, incapable of speaking. I cannot stop watching the way he blinks, those darned translucent lashes that never tangle.

“Dating is pretty brutal.”

“Yeah,” I snort because dating is horrible.

“My family is constantly setting me up. I went out with a girl who sang through the entire meal. She chose the pasta and sang On Top of Spaghetti.”

“What?” I laugh.

“That was my dad’s doing. My mom’s choice was a lot scarier. She made me do an obstacle course and made me do it three times until I beat the time she wanted me to reach.”

“Wow.”

“I was dressed in dress slacks, a nice shirt, and a tie.” He deadpans, “I even had on dress shoes.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he shrugs.

I couldn't help but smile.

“Dating sucks until you find someone who makes you laugh, someone who makes dancing easy.”

He approaches or maybe it’s my own feet that carry me to him. But it doesn’t matter because when his arm slides along my waist, and the other cradles my hand, I have no fears. There is something familiar with him as I dance with him. A slow shuffle, that has the room spinning but none of it matters because I feel at home.

“Will you dance with me Katniss?” His voice rumbles in my ear and my heart is pounding in my chest.

His scent is a warm heady mixture of spices, dill, vanilla, and cinnamon.

“Would you go out with me Katniss?”

“Yes,” I answer, and just like that my dating profile goes up in flames. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially off the market.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by mega-aulover

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love-geeky-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Ranking every Teen Drama I have ever watched

(Updated)

The Secret Life of the American Teenager

+ young Shailene Woodley and Molly Ringwald I guess

- everything else. Even Shailene Woodley's and Molly Ringwald's performances weren't that great because the writing is just oh so bad. The background music is bland and repetative and it sounds like out of some teenager's YouTube chanel. The plotlines are ridiculous and convoluted, which isn't neccessarily such a bad thing, because it is a teen drama show after all, the problem is the show seems to take itself too seriously. Other entries on this list also have ridiculously convoluted plotlines, but I'm ranking them highed because they don't take themselves too seriously and don't claim to be realistic like this show does. Seriously, from the title it suggests like this was going to be a real, uncensored look into high school but it's the furthest thing from it. Not to mention how problematic it is- God forbid someone suggests that a 14-year-old pregnant girl gets an abortion or gives the baby up for adoption without being seen as a terrible and despicable person.

Otp: Marc Molina x a job somewhere far, far away from these kids

Notps: every single pairing on this show

Best moment: literally none

Weirdest moment: "I'm such a whore!" "Well, you're my whore." What were the writers thinking??? Was this supposed to be romantic??

We Children From Zoo Station

+the aesthetic, the casting of Christiane, Detlef and Axel

-this was such a letdown. Honestly I was so hyped for it after seeing the trailer since I've read the book and didn't particularly like the movie- I feel like it's hard to fit all of Christiane's story into 90 minutes. That's why I was so excited about this show. Christiane's story covers so much, so it's easier to make it into a TV show when you don't want to ommit anything and butcher the story. But they somehow managed to do it anyway. They changed so much for no reason and completely erased Christiane's childhood trauma, which was important in the book. Now, I know you can say that it's just a loose adaptation, so it doesn't have to follow the book word for word. But I feel like if you already decided to tell her- a real person's story- you should at least do it authentically. Imo they shouldn't have tried to make the setting vague. It worked with Sex Education because the story of Sex Education is timeless. However, Christiane's story is not timeless. It's a true story set in the 1970s. If they were making a new show from scratch, I would have liked it. But this is an already existing story and they’re supposed to be just retelling it. My last issue is a nit pick but I wish the actresses playing Stella and Babsi were reversed. It just would've fit better.

Otps: all those kids x sobriety

Notp: Christiane x Detlef

Best moment: Christiane's first time in Sound was pretty true to the book

Weirdest moment: when Detlef became a gigolo because he needed money for his dog. Who tf thought of that?

Pretty Little Liars

+ makeup, style, the theme song, the drama and mystery that always kept me guessing, the cliffhangers at the end of each episode that made it so addictive, Emily's coming out story, Hanna and Spencer had some good lines

- the mishandling of some serious issues (namely eating disorders), romantization of student-teacher relationship, the timeline not making much sense, these writers seem to put more thought into the characters' outfits than the storylines

Otps: Emily x Maya, Hanna x Caleb

Notp: Ezria

Best moment: Hanna and Caleb in the shower (the sexual tension was cuttable with a knife)

Weirdest moments: Aria asking Ezra out in the middle of a make-up test (it was supposed to be cute but it was just cringy), Spencer trying to block A's text messages on a laptop, in the middle of a park (what? Spencer, you were supposed to be the smart one!)

One Tree Hill

+ Brooke, the theme song, Chad Michael Murray

- the casual drinking and driving (I mean seriously these kids play a drinking game at a party and then casually hop into a car and drive home??), too much basketball and cheerleading (that's not a bad thing per se but I just don't really care about neither of these things), it just seems too stereotypical and kinda bland?? I couldn't really get into it

Otp: Naley

Notp: Peyton x Nathan

Best moment: Naley by the dock

Weirdest moment: "I guess I'm just a riddle, wrapped in a mystery inside a bitch." It's not really a bad moment but a cringy line. I guess the writers though they were being clever but it just sounded bad.

Dawson's Creek

+ the clothes, the 90s aesthetic, the 90s soundtrack, many movie references, Pacey is a sweetheart, Jen is a feminist icon, dealing with mental health issues through Andie (it's rare to see in shows as old as this)

- the slutshaming of Jen really hasn't aged well, the storyline of Pacey being statury raped by his much older teacher was mishandled (it was either treated as scandalous, cool or in Andie’s case somehow shameful), same goes for Jen’s backstory- it was mentioned she was raped at 12 by an older man and then never brought up again, Dawson is the most unlikable protagonist ever and his friendship/relationship with Joey is codependent and possessive, the dialogue is sometimes pretentious and unrealistic, the timeline doesn't really add up- I can never tell what time of the year it's supposed to be, because it looks like it's always fall for some reason. And how did they sophomore year have two homecomings?

Otps: Pacey x Andie, Pacey x Joey (yes, both at the same time)

Notp: Dawson x Joey

Best moments: Jen helping Joey when that jerk was spreading rumours about her and then Jen and Joey locking Abby in the closet together (I love it when they stick together instead of tearing each other down), Pacey and Joey bickering

Weirdest moments: when Joey was upset because Dawson didn’t want to tell her how often he “walks his dog”, when Jen was about to have a treesome at a party and Dawson walked into the room and carried her out despite her kicking and screaming

Glee

+ funny, Sue Sylvester's iconic, great covers and a way to find new songs, the performances are aesthetically pleasing, lgbtq+ representation, tackling of serious issues, coming out story, a father who’s accepting of his son’s sexuality right away despite not really understanding it (it’s so rare to see, that’s why it’s so refreshing), the plotlines are ridiculous but at least the show doesn't take itself too seriously

-as I already said the 1st season was great but after that it just seemed like the writers made up a checklist of hard issues they should tackle and tried to tackle every single one of them while covering every single song and it just fell flat. Prime example- Quinn ending up in a wheelchair getting into a car crash to warn us from drinking and driving, singing I’m Still Standing and then suddenly being able to walk normally after. a few episodes Rachel and Finn got almost all songs, while other characters were criminally underrated and underused (Tina, Quinn, Mercedes). The teachers are questionable to put it mildly. Cringy moments- Finn singing You're Having My Baby to Quinn in front of her parents when it wasn't even his baby! Also no one except of Kurt looks like they could be in high school. And why are these cheerleaders wearing their uniforms 24/7??

Otps: Brittana, Sam x Quinn, Tina x Artie (unpopular opinion, I know), Mr Schue x unemployment

Notp: Quinn x Finn

Best moments: Quinn giving birth to Bohemian Rhapsody

Weirdest moment: Rachel's gross and painfully awkward crush on Mr Schue, Mr Schue joining the Glee club on the stage for a performance of Toxic and girls in the audience cat calling him (Ewww)

Euphoria

+ Zendaya's and Jacob Elordi's performances, tackling of serious issues such as drug addiction and overdose, anxiety and depression, abusive relationships and abortion in a better manner than most (if not all) teen dramas, the aesthetics, makeup and wardrobe, the musical number in the finale, the special episodes giving us insight into the characters' psychology, toxic relationships not being romanticized (which is sadly rare), teenagers sounding like actual real life teens (no "I reject reality" crap)

- lack of comic relief (why so serious all the time), sexualization of teen characters (I know this is something many teen dramas are guilty of but it's the most evident here), too much nudity (I know some of you are going to come at me with: "But it's realistic!" So what? It is realitic that teenagers get naked when they go into shower but does it mean we have to see it?? It seems to me like this show is trying too hard to be "boundary pushing" at times and ends up being scandalous just for the sake of being scandalous), these characters just aren't believable as high school juniors to me (they sound like high schoolers but they certainly don’t act, look or dress that way). There's no reason this show couldn't have been set in college.

Otps: Rue x sobriety, Nate x prison

Notps: Nate x Maddy, Cassie x McKay

Best moments: "You did this to me!" and the musical number in the season 1 finale

Weirdest moment: the fact that Maddy lost her virginity at 14 to a 40-year-old man being mentioned so casually because apparently she was "totally in control". Excuse me what??

Skins

+ style and makeup- each character has a signature trademark (Sid and his beanie, Effy's eyeliner, Cassie's soft eyeshadow), their British accents, I'm pretty sure this is the only teen drama that follows multiple classes, teenage characters being played by actual teen actors, the characters looking like average people you meet in high school and not as if they just walked off the runway, dealing with serious issues such as drug abuse, eating disorder, parental abandonment etc (yes, some people claim the show romanticized it, but I disagree. It's not the show that romanticized it- it's the fans. The show tried to portray the dangers of drugs as well as possible. Think about it- every time characters used drugs it ended in a disaster. In the pilot they thought that Cassie overdosed and ended up crashing a car while rushing into the hospital. In later season Effy hit her friend in the head with a rock because she was having a bad trip. That's not romanticizing drugs.), Effy is iconic and honestly the first episode was enough to get me hooked

- every single teacher being a creep and having a thing for a student at some point, the show can get too dark and unncessarily dramatic at times. Did that many people have to die? Did Chris's death really have to be this graphic? Timeline doesn't really add up- are 8 episodes supposed to cover the whole year? It would've made more sense if there were more episodes in a season.

Otps: Chris x Jal, Emily x Naomi

Notps: Sid x Michelle

Best moment: ooh baby it's a wild world

Weirdest moment: Chris's graphic death

The OC

+ more grounded in reality than many others on this list, the theme song, the love stories, Seth and Summer are funny, the friendships are believable and the whole group has great chemistry

- too many unneccessary fights, Luke is the worst, everyone is way too casual about drunk driving, these parents are WAAAY too chill (I know this can be said about many teen dramas but it's the most obvious here. How did the Roberts and the Coopers let two 16-year-old girls go to Mexico alone?? With no supervision?? What?)

Otps: Seth x Summer, Ryan x Marissa

Notp: Luke x Marissa

Best moments: the “oh no, there’s only one bed” in the Mexico episode, Seth and Summer's first kiss and that kiss at the yacht, Ryan and Marissa's first date by the pool

Weirdest moment: these parents letting their teenage kids go to Mexico alone. It's irresponsible when they're 16 but apparently they let them go there and party every year. What?

Gossip Girl

+ every episode having a clever title, the style, the makeup, the 00s soundtrack, the glamour of it all (it feels like reading a very gossipy magazine!), all the scandals, this show never pretends to portray the realitic teenage experience so it can pretty much be as far-fetched as it wants to and you can’t question it, it gives you a chance to live the fantasy of being super rich, living with a penthouse, riding a limo to school and going to parties in New York City every night

- the final reveal doesn't make any sense, just like with PLL these writers seemed to have put more thought into the outfits and makeup than into the plotlines, romantization of a toxic relationship, having every two straight characters date or hook up at some point, which just felt forced, mishandling of serious issues (Blair's eating disorder, Eric's suicide attempt and Serena and Jenny's sexual assault from the pilot being brought up when it's convenient but not really dealt with and brushed off at other times), sexualization of teen characters

Otps: Dan x Blair, Serena x Nate

Notps: Chuck x Blair

Best moments: the Thanksgiving flashbacks, Blair and Serena running around New York and taking selfies in stolen dresses, Nate and Serena’s first time (although it was better in the books) and then their kiss at the white party, the sheer scandal of "I killed someone", Dan giving Blair a plastic tiara to make her feel like a princess

Weirdest moments: Chuck's father returning from the death and then dying again, by yeeting himself off the roof

Freaks and Geeks

+ probably the most realistic teen drama there is, the characters dress the way I can see actual teens dressing, funny, but also heatbreaking at times, probably the only teen show that included an intersex character, the characters being a little stereotypical but self-aware at least, young James Franco and Jason Segel

- the bullying being a bit too much at times and it's a bit unrealistic that the teachers would do literally nothing about it, too short- I will never understand why this got cancelled

Otps: Daniel x Kim, Lindsay x Nick, Amy x Ken

Notps: Sam x Cindy

Best moments: Sam breaking down at the end of Garage Door, Daniel and Kim getting back together in the rain

Weirdest moment: Cindy doing a 180 and becoming super mean when she started dating Sam.

Gilmore Girls

+ so many movie, literary and music references, the quotable lines (what a great way to learn about new movies, books and bands! It’s so unique for a TV show to make you smarter), the witty banter, the comfort of the first few seasons (it really feels like wrapping a warm blanket around yourself while holding a hot cup of coffee, I can’t explain why, but it’s such a comfort show), the quirky small town with many unique festivals, many entertaining and snappy fights where everyone has a point, characters dealing with real world problems (seriously, how often do you see a storyline about termites? Or a teenager with zit cream on a teen drama show?), this is also one of the few shows where teenagers are shown to have rules and restrictions and curfews (finally some kids growing up with strict parents representation) and doing homework and studying and not just partying and drinking and having sex all the time and that’s so refreshing

- but while it is refreshing to see teenagers waiting to have sex and not doing it behind every corner, the show is kind of sex negative. Every single time a (female) character loses her virginity it ends in a disaster. Even when she loses it after she’s married! It doesn’t make any sense, unless the writers just really hated women. Also slutshaming (”I got the good kid!”) ewww. The money and budget doesn’t make much sense on the show either and the girls seem immune to calories. I know some people might come at me for this with: “But it’s just a show!” but I think it’s harmful to show beautiful, thin women eat nothing but tons of junkfood all the time and never excersize and then fatshame people who do excersize but aren’t fortunate enough to be blessed with amazing Gilmore genes, and then throw around tactless references to eating disorders.

Otps: Lane x Dave, Jess x Rory

Notps: Lane x Zach, Rory x Dean, Lorelai x Christopher

Best moments: Then She Appeared, Rory’s valedictorian speech, Lorelai’s graduation

Weirdest moment: Lorelai and Christopher getting married in Paris at 4am. That’s not how it works in Europe. Do Americans think every single Europian country works like Las Vegas, where you can just get married whenever you decide??

#teen dramas #these are just my opinions #so don't take it personally #u might disagree #but idrc

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 3 years

Text

Wedding Colors (Part 3)

(Hayffie ❤️🧡💛💚💙💖. An exploration of Effie’s evolving character as she faces past and present personal intensities while making preparations for Finnick and Annie’s wedding.)

13:00—lunch. For the first time since the ominous day in July that she’d descended into the gloom of 13, Effie’s belly was full. As weeks had turned into months, she hadn’t felt hunger. She’d picked at meals and pushed unpalatable food around her tray. But now something was different. Flint scraped over steel inside her like the wind across her cheeks that morning. Her spoon repeatedly clinked the bottom of the bowl of squash soup. It took every ounce of restraint to not bring the whole bowl to her mouth and tilt it upward to collect the last drops.

Keenly observant, Cressida noted, “That’s new.”

“What?”

“You finishing a meal here.” She dropped her voice. “Are you pregnant, Trinket?”

Effie’s face flushed scarlet, blushing through burnt cheeks. “Bite your tongue!” she snapped.

Cressida glanced at Pollux, and Effie recognized her own faux pas. “Please excuse me. I wasn’t thinking about...”

Interacting with an Avox who was a regular citizen rather than a servant of the Capitol was still a new experience for her.

Pollux signed, “No problem,” and his brother offered the translation.

Effie returned her attention to the inquisitive filmmaker. “I’m JUST hungry. Must a woman be pregnant in order to finish a bowl of soup?” She whispered “pregnant” as if saying it too loudly might invite the situation. Or just as worrisome, Haymitch could walk in at that moment, hear the word, flip out, and not touch her again. Now that she’d opened the Pandora’s box of sex with him, she didn’t want to put a lid back on it.

“Okay. I get it.” Cressida was intrigued by Effie’s blush, but otherwise mollified. “You like the soup. End of story.”

It was golden orange in color and lightly flavored with spices that tasted like autumn. Ginger was recognizable, but the others were a mystery to Effie. Her experience with cooking was mostly limited to a course she’d taken a decade and a half prior at Charis School of Grace, Beauty, and Charm.

Her mother had insisted on “Finishing School” for Effie after she graduated from the Academy. The summer classes had been a compromise, since her father was resolute in his intention to send her to University. He’d even dipped into his personal inheritance to pay extra tuition when her test scores didn’t qualify her outright for admission.

“Charis will focus Euphemia on the most sophisticated etiquette and deportment, preparing her for marriage into greater wealth,” her mother argued.

“University will prepare Effie for a practical career suited to her strongest skills,” her father contended.

“Grace, beauty, and charm ARE her strongest skills. Face it, dear. Like you, our daughter lacks the talent to be a Gamemaker.”

“She has the talent to be more than a rich man’s wife.”

“If I were the wife of a RICH man, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

Their barbs stung each other. After years of practice, the Trinkets knew just where to aim them. They agreed that Effie needed a path which would secure an optimal future for the family. Neither of them asked her what she wanted.

If they’d asked back then, she would have had one specific answer. And if she was honest with herself now, her deepest desire was exactly the same. If she’d voiced it then, her parents would have sent her to the Asylum first before anything else. So she said nothing about it.

By 18, she’d become a master at the art of knowing when to hold her tongue. She’d internalized the pressure to please her parents and reflect positively on her family’s name and station in society. The burden of doing so was a heavy weight on her shoulders.

Effie’s shoulders ached too from the physical work of gathering and carrying around large sacks of perfect leaves. She daydreamed about a bath full of bubbles followed by a nap on a real bed. Allowing the fantasy was a mistake because then her body screamed for it.

She wondered if even babies were allowed to nap here, or did they get merely a half hour of “reflection” before dinner like everyone else? Did they have daily schedules imprinted on their chubby little arms? Eat. Poop. Sleep. What else did the tiny things do? She’d never paid much attention to them in the Capitol. Had she ever seen a baby in 13? She couldn’t recall.

***

14:00—volunteering. The children would be out of school soon. Plutarch told her to expect them along with anyone who was between work shifts. Coin was allowing more flexibility than usual in order to encourage volunteerism. Effie considered the irony in the word spelled out on her arm in purple ink. Following schedules was mandatory. Once “volunteering” is tattooed on your body, doesn’t it cease to be voluntary?

That place made her head hurt if she thought about it too much. She pulled her rose-tinted sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on, hoping the change in light would temper some of the ache, and help her feel less vulnerable.

“Ready or not, here I go,” she said out loud.

She approached the kitchen staff for permission to use large plastic serving bowls to hold the leaves at the tables. The kitchen manager, a middle aged woman named Cuire, put up resistance, muttering something about needing authorization from the president.

Greasy Sae showed no qualms about interjecting. “Now, those leaves ain’t all that different from a salad. We’ll have the bowls washed again long before dinner service.”

The older woman, with her hair up in a kerchief more plain than Effie’s, carried a stack of serving bowls through the doorway without waiting for the manager’s consent. She returned to the kitchen for more until every serving bowl in 13 was in the dining hall. Cuire pursed her lips but said nothing.

Sae pulled a handful of leaves out of one of the canvas bags and dropped them into a bowl. “The list of procedures here’s a mile long. Sometimes the only way to keep these folks from sayin’ ‘no’ is to just not ask ‘em. And then work fast.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Effie joined her efforts to quickly transfer the leaves to the bowls. “Thank you, Sae.”

“Thank YOU, girl. Gatherin’ up all these to make pretty things for the weddin’, you must be exhausted.”

“I had help. From Haymitch.”

“Did you?”

“I had to ambush him.”

“Nah. As often as that boy looks at you, I’d guess he went willingly.”

Ambushed and willing. Yes, he was.

Beetee wheeled up to her with several spools of wire, wire cutters, rolls of electrical tape, and several pairs of scissors.

“The copper color is PERFECT!” Effie gushed.

“This wire is at least a hundred years old,” he replied with little emotion, “The only reason it shows no corrosion is because 13 is fastidious about its storage conditions, including adequate air circulation. The gauge is small. The electrical current from present technologies, would overload and overheat it. The wire is rather useless actually.”

“Well, we’ve found a use for it!”

“In the absence of copper tape, this seems the best match, which is ironic since brown is typically used for high voltages. And high voltages would burn right through this particular wire.”

“We’re just making garlands today, not blowing out an arena!”

“You’re speaking non-metaphorically, of course. We might hope the propo will play a role in shattering the Capitol’s grip on the restless minds of its citizens... That said, it isn’t my intention to imply that YOUR mind is gripped and restless.”

A gripped and restless mind sounded fairly accurate to Effie. “I doubt the Capitol views me as its citizen at this point.” I guess that makes me homeless, even though my family home, my apartment, my belongings, my entire history are all there.

Beetee noticed her smile fade. “You might be right about that. ...I’m sorry.”

After seeing what her victors had been through and what they were still going through, she felt uncomfortable being apologized to by a victor who she held in high regard. I don’t deserve an apology, though manners dictated the proper response to an apology was a gracious, “Thank you.”

“Will you be staying to help?” she added.

“I’m needed in Special Defense. Bring the leftover supplies when you come down later.”

“Beetee, thank you for this.”

The clock was ticking. Effie went to work immediately, arranging leaves in alternating colors and shapes and adhering the stems to a long length of wire.

“What a beautiful pattern!” A friendly voice spoke over Effie’s shoulder. She turned to see Delly Cartwright whose blonde hair fell free of its usual braid.

“An artisan! Delly, I’m grateful you’re here to help with production and quality control.”

From their occasional chats at mealtimes, Effie had learned that Delly’s parents had been shoemakers, and 13 put her to work in textile production as soon as she’d turned 18.

“Me? An artisan?”

“You WILL be, dear. I’ve seen your stitching. I’ve also observed your congenial way with people.” Effie cut a long length of wire for Delly and set her up with supplies to work at another table. “Let’s spread around the talent.”

When school let out, Delly’s younger brother was the first to arrive, not wanting to go “home” to empty quarters. Posy Hawthorne followed close at his heels, skipping to keep up with his much longer legs.

“Stop followin’ me!” he told her.

“I’m not followin’ you. We’re just goin’ the same place, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re a baby, and I don’t want you sittin’ at MY table.”

“Cordwain!” Delly interjected, “That’s not polite!”

“I’m FIVE years old, and I’ll sit wherever I please, CordWAIN.” With three older brothers, Posy could hold her own in disagreements with just about anyone, especially boys. Effie admired that along with her manners.

“Aw, Dellyyyy,” her brother whined, “You’re supposed to call me Cord!”

“You apologize to Posy, and I won’t have to be so stern.”

“Do I HAVE to?! She’s just Vick’s little sister.”

“And you’re MY little brother, so, yes, you do. You know Ma and Pa would say so if—“

“Ma and Pa are dead!” Cord sat at the table with Delly and folded his arms across his chest.

Delly sighed, and her tone softened, “Cordy, honey, that’s all the more reason to apologize.”

His lip quivered, and he muttered in a hoarse voice. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry they died,” Posy empathized, “My daddy died b’fore I was born.”

She sat across from Effie and looked at her for a long fifteen seconds. Effie wasn’t used to children being so young. The girl’s dark hair fell long past her shoulders in two braids. Her gray eyes were deeply set. She had the look of a person who’d seen the shadow of death and kept going.

“I like your pink glasses.” Posy twirled one of her braids around her finger. “I used to have pink ribbons. Two of ‘em.”

“When I was your age, I wore pink ribbons in my hair. Pink was my favorite color.”

“Mine too! Gale says we can’t go back fer the ribbons. He says they’re gone. Do you think they’re gone?”

“Well... I...” For goodness sake. What does one say to a child whose district was fire bombed to rubble?

Cord muttered some more, “Of course they’re gone!”

Posy ignored him, waiting for Effie’s response.

“Your brother, Gale, is wise, dear.” Effie saw her expectant little face fall. “I am going to your district tomorrow. With Katniss. Would you like for me to look for the ribbons so you know for certain?”

Posy nodded.

“Then I’ll be sure to do that. In the meantime would you like to help make a garland? There aren’t any pink leaves, but there are other pretty colors.”

Posy reached into the bowl and pulled out a red one. “Can I do this one?”

“Of course. Let me show you.”

Effie demonstrated with a different leaf then watched Posy’s small fingers peel and cut the tape and use it to add her chosen leaf to the copper wire.

“How’s that?” the girl asked.

The tape was crooked. The leaf was crooked, and it didn’t fall in line with the pattern. Effie considered telling her so. Aemilia Trinket certainly would have. And for that reason if no other, Effie said to the five-year/old, “That’s wonderful, dear.”

Posy beamed. “You’re nice. You’re not scary at all! I’m gonna go tell Rory that he’s wrong.” She hopped out of the chair and skipped away, turning around long enough to say, “I’ll be back!”

Effie watched her go, not knowing quite what to think. Rory?... She couldn’t remember who that was. One of the Hawthorne boys?

“This year would have been Rory’s first reaping,” Delly explained.

Effie didn’t need to hear anything more in order to understand. The truth split her heart. Half of it dropped like lead into her stomach. The other half rose up into her throat, threatening to choke her.

The children are afraid of me.

Even without a reaping ball in front of me, they are still afraid.

In that moment, she didn’t have time or space to process the realization. She just sat there, forcing a smile, trying to keep the vacant feeling in her chest from showing on her face. As volunteers streamed into the dining hall, she swallowed the lump in her throat, pressed her palm to her stomach, and directed the project as planned.

More children arrived giggling and singing, 🎶”Come live with me and be my love...”🎶 It was the beginning of District 4’s wedding song, which they’d started learning in school. 🎶”...I'll take you out upon the sea...”🎶 drew them into conversation about how the ocean might look, feel, sound, smell, and taste. None of them had ever been to the seashore. They’d only seen it in books.

🎶”...To share the starry night with you...” 🎶 intrigued them too. Some of the children from 12 tried to describe the stars to the kids from 13 who had never been above ground at night. “A star is like the tip of the flame of a candle that never flickers.”... “They just pop out in the sky as it’s changing from blue to black.”... “My grandma says stars are ghosts that come to visit us at night. Good ghosts, not scary ones.”... “Ghosts ain’t real.”... “Are so!”... “Are not!”

Dozens of adults were there to cut wire and strips of tape for the younger children and to ensure the garlands turned out beautifully.

With so many helping hands, Effie had to let go of her precise plans. The work of other artisans became apparent as some patterns emerged which were even more pleasing than what Plutarch and Effie envisioned.

Boggs showed up, carrying his son on his hip. The boy seemed younger than Posy, though Effie was far from an expert about children under 12. Boggs sat at a table with the boy in his lap. The little one reached for the leaves just as Boggs’ communicuff started flashing wildly. “Damon, buddy, President Coin is calling. I’ve just lost my break time. I’m going to need to take you back to daycare, but maybe Miss Trinket will let you take one of the leaves with you?” Boggs gave Effie a pleading look. The last thing he needed just then was an upset kid.

Damon’s big brown eyes welled up with tears. He wiped them away with the backs of his hands which were filled with leaves that he didn’t want to let go. Since the epidemic, Boggs and his son had been on their own. Looking into those teary eyes, Effie couldn’t help but feel for them. The feeling seeped into that empty space in her chest, and eased a bit of the void.

“Your son can stay awhile, if you’d like. Then I can take him back to daycare.”

“Are you sure? He’s a handful, and you have a lot going on here.”

Seeing herself in the moment as “scary ghost” rather than a star, Effie definitely was NOT sure that she was the right person to be looking after a young child. “Of course, I’m sure,” she spoke through her smiling mask.

“What do you say, buddy? Do you want to stay with Miss Trinket and make a garland, or do you want me to take you back to daycare now?”

“It’s Effie. The only one who calls me Miss Trinket around here is Mr. Heavensbee.” She laughed.

Damon climbed down from Boggs’ lap and up into Effie’s. “Oh! Well, hello,” she said, pushing her chair back far enough to make room for him. He was heavier than he’d looked in the strong arms of his father. He squirmed around reaching for everything at once: more leaves of every shape and color, scissors...

Boggs’ eyes widened.

Effie handed Damon a roll of tape in trade for the scissors. “You can hold the tape, and I’LL do the cutting.”

‘Thank you,’ Boggs mouthed the words then told his son, “This is an important job, soldier. Effie is your commanding officer. Are you going to take this work seriously and mind what she tells you to do?”

“Yeth, thir, Daddy, thir!” His lisp melted Effie’s heart.

“At ease, little man. I’ll pick you up from daycare at 18:00.” Boggs kissed his son’s forehead, and Damon was already hard at work attempting to peel tape off the roll.

As Effie helped the boy put leaves on the wire, Posy returned, accompanied by one of her brothers who hurried to claim an open seat next to Cord. Posy skipped up to Effie and patted her head. “I got Vick to come, but Rory’s stubborn. YOU know how boys can be.”

Effie looked up from the table to see Haymitch leaning against a pillar near the edge of the dining hall. He was watching her closely. The expression on his face was a loaded mix of curiosity and seriousness.

“Yes, I do know how boys can be,” Effie agreed, “Especially when they are afraid.”

Haymitch had never seen Effie around little kids, and he was fascinated. The Hawthorne girl chattered on and on, tucking leaf stems into the top knot of Effie’s kerchief. Boggs’ kid was in Effie’s lap, crushing leaves with his hands and unwrapping tape for her to cut with scissors. A girl Haymitch didn’t recognize sat to the side, touching Effie’s bracelet. “Is this silver and gold?” the kid asked.

“This s costume jewelry,” Effie answered.

“What’s ‘costume’?” the girl wanted to know.

“A costume is... something you might wear when you are... pretending.”

The Hawthorne girl said to the other one, “You can wear one of my pink ribbons sometime, and we can pretend to be twins... if Effie finds my ribbons in 12 tomorrow.”

Effie locked eyes with Haymitch. “I promised I’d look, Posy, but please don’t get your hopes up, dear.”

He was trying to make sense of the situation. Effie’s going to 12 tomorrow? Why? And why is nobody telling me anything! Pissed off, he started to walk away.

“Excuse me, girls. Damon, let’s go talk to Haymitch for a few minutes.” Effie stood up, holding the boy on her hip as Boggs had done. “Haymitch! Wait...” She caught up to him before the staircase. If he’d really wanted to avoid her, he would have already been long gone.

“What are you thinking!?” he asked, unsure of what he was wondering about most... Why was Effie going to 12 where the burned corpses of his people were still rotting? Why didn’t she tell him about her plans? And what the hell was his heart doing as he watched her with those little kids?

“Annie needs help selecting one of Cinna’s dresses for the wedding, and Katniss asked if I could go with them for support. So, of course, I said yes. ...Not that I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing, sweetheart. But it’s bad there. You’re going to see things that’ll change you.”

“I’m already changing.” She boosted the kid up on her hip. “There’s nothing I can do to stop that. ...And I don’t think I want to stop it.”

Damon dropped the leaves and rubbed his eyes. “Are you tired... buddy?” Effie hesitantly used one of Boggs’ nicknames for the boy. He shook his head ‘no’, but rubbed his eyes again. “How about we take these leaves to daycare so you can show your daddy?”

Damon nodded and opened his hands to the floor where the leaves had fallen. Haymitch bent to pick them up and handed them back to the kid. He stood close to them. Effie smelled like the woods, faintly like ginger, and mostly like her. The fragrances helped him feel less agitated. They were familiar, as if less was changing all at once.

“Thank you,” she said about the leaves, “Will you please tell Delly where I’m going and ask her to stay until I return?”

“Sure”

She rested her palm on Haymitch’s shirt where his sweater gaped open. She brushed her fingertips along the buttons. “Will YOU stay until I return? I could really use your help hanging these garlands in Special Defense.”

Her touch felt too good for him to say no.

The peace in his expression was answer enough for her.

As he watched her walk away, a smile crept over his face. He was far too amused to remind Effie that the Hawthorne girl had embellished her head wrap with at least a dozen leaves. In all the years, it was the best *wig* he’d seen her wear. If she was going to roam around 13 looking like a tree, then who was he to stop her?

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andsotheuniverseended · 3 years

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cephas my beloved

so i don't know if what you meant here was "answer all thirty of the dnd meme questions for cephas" but that is how i'm interpreting it so i'mma go ahead and put it under a cut

(also for those not in the know, Cephas (they/she/him/any pronoun you like) is my stone construct witch. yes those are both homebrew things I found online. i use this witch and just recently updated them to the 3.0 version and i'm very excited about it)

1. if one of their friends was jumping on a bed and asked your character to join them, would they?

Yes, absolutely, of course. The bed would then immediately break because Cephas is a couple tons of solid rock, but that's on their friends for not thinking it through. Or maybe that was the plan. Either way, Cephas is on board.

2. would your character carry around a tiny bath and body works hand sanitizer? if yes, would it have a specific scent?

I mean, Ceph does carry around smelling salts enchanted to smell like whatever would make someone feel better in the moment? Which is kind of the same thing? But anyways the real answer is Probably Not unless it was a gift, because Cephas has no sense of smell and has no need to sanitize.

3. does your character paint their nails? do they wait for them to dry fully afterwards?

Technically he doesn't have nails but Cephas will happily allow themselves to be painted over any part of their body, and will stay completely still until it's dry. I know because the party his done this to them before.

4. if you cut open your character’s heart and there was something inside, what would it be? why?

Hm. I mean. Literally speaking, no heart, you just find stone in there. Figuratively speaking... a jade earring. representative of their first steps towards freedom.

5. do/would your character carry lots of hair ties on their wrist?

Nah, not unless one of the other party members asked.

6. what parts of your character’s voice/manner of speaking are distinct, if any?

Hm. Mostly just that their voice is pretty rough and low. Otherwise I think they talk pretty normal??

7. what’s the first thing your character’s eyes are drawn to on a map?

New places. To all the parts of the world they haven't seen yet, and want to.

8. how did your character feel when they left home for the first time?

Okay I'm going to go with the definition of home that means Cephas has to feel like it's home, which would mean the place where they lived with their BFF Effie. And I think the first time they left there, with an intent to go out and adventure, they felt really excited, happy, and like they were finally doing what they were meant to be doing. They'd been feeling very restless up until that point, so it's kind of like scratching an itch. Very satisfying.

9. where does your character look when they’re the only one walking down a road?

All around. She likes to see everything and doesn't get particularly worried about other people or robbers or things like that, so there's a lot of being generally distracted by whatever scenery they're passing through. Sometimes he'll just stop and pretend to be a statue on the side of the road and people watch for a while, if there's time for it.

10. does your character have tattoos? were they alone the first time they got one?

Being made of stone, my darling Cephas can't get tattoos. If they had actual flesh I do think they'd wanna get some.

11. if a button came loose from your character’s shirt, would they make sure the replacement matched?

Cephas doesn't wear clothes, and if they did 'matching' would not be the thing they cared about, so for sure No.

12. how loudly do they cry?

Gods I feel like a lot of these answers are just "Cephas is a stone construct and therefore cannot/does not do the thing" but like Cephas is a stone construct and cannot cry. There have been a lot of times where they wished they could, but their body wasn't built for it. Typically if they're sad, they're quiet about it, reserved.

13. does your character like holding hands? do they do it often?

Yes! But he doesn't do it very often at all. Stone isn't comfortable for other people to hold, and they have to be careful not to hurt people when touching them, so it's generally more dangerous for whoever they're holding hands with than its worth.

14. is your character more likely to wear a necktie, a bowtie, or a bolo tie? (if any at all)

Again, no clothes. But I think Cephas would enjoy a good bolo tie.

15. have you ever said something as your character that stuck with you for a while after? what was it?

Oh lord. Uhhh... hm, well there was this one thing but it is very dependent on the context of the moment. Which is that they were talking with another character who was frustrated about not knowing things, and talking about how in order to be people you have to ask questions even if you don't get answers, you have to keep asking questions. And then they discovered something that was a step in a mystery they'd been trying to deal with and Cephas said "and sometimes you do get answers" and I don't know why but that one did stick with me.

16. what does getting flustered look like for your character?

Stuttering. Awkward hand movements. Maybe reverting to the old "I am but a simple construct with no consciousness" trick if they're really feeling out of sorts.

17. does your character have to glance at their hands to remember left and right?

Ha, no. Cephas knows what they're doing, unlike me.

18. does your character have stuffed animals? would they if they could? what kind?

Hm, no, xe doesn't. But I think they would if they ever settled down and stopped traveling. Even if Cephas can't really feel the softness, they would like it. And they'd be very careful with them too. As for the kind... I'm thinking those, like, huge round ones? Fuck there was a name for them. Squishables?? I think???

19. does your character walk or run down stairs?

Walk, typically. Running could damage things lol

20. if your character saw a turtle stuck on its back, would they flip it over?

Oh yes 100%. And also try and talk to the turtle and see if it needed any further assistance.

21. has your character ever climbed out of a window? would they do it again?

I don't have a moment in mind specifically, but there's no way Cephas hasn't, and they would absolutely do it again.

22. what’s your character’s ideal way to wake up? what usually wakes them up?

Cephas doesn't so much sleep as... go into Obedient Construct mode for four hours, which is to say they will obey any order given to them. Ideal way to wake up from that is in some weird/compromising position because it means his friends were messing with them and they love that. And they can't be woken up unnaturally, so its just that after Four Hours something in their head goes Ding and they're back.

23. what’s the pettiest thing your character’s ever done?

Dyed a nobleman's hair bright pink because he was kind of rude to them when they were pretending to be a normal construct.

24. what made your character the angriest they’ve ever been?

Cephas... doesn't really do anger, generally. But! There was a man who pretended to be a prophet of a god, and collected a small group of true believers. And then he took over a town, and made the townsfolk slaves. And that really got to Cephas, in a very personal way. (They did take care of the man and they still have mixed feelings about doing it.)

25. how does you character smile?

With great effort. Cephas wasn't built to emote, so any facial expressions are subtle and take a lot of concentration and effort to make happen. Over time they've gotten more practiced at this and can do it almost without thought, but it's still the smallest movements for a great amount of toil.

26. does your know the names of their constellations? how did they learn them?

I think, some of them? Cephas lived with her best friend's family for a long time and I think they would've learned some of them there. But then they also definitely made a game out of making up constellations and naming them whatever they wanted, so it's a toss up whether what they know is a real constellation or one they made up and then forgot they made up.

27. do/would your character draw or write on themself?

Oh yeah, for sure.

28. would your character race someone to the top of a tall tree for bragging rights?

Not for bragging rights, but absolutely yes Cephas would race someone. And they would lose because they are big and heavy and not made for climbing, but its more about the fun of it than the winning or the losing for them.

29. is there an artist whose style you associate with your character? (visual or otherwise; poets and musicians, etc. count)

Hmm... not really?? I don't really associate artists with my characters. My friend drew Cephas once, so I think that's the closest I'm gonna get to that. Maybe Delta Rae? I feel like Delta Rae has got those witchy vibes, and that makes me think Cephas.

30. how has your character’s first impressions of their party members changed since they met them? have they stayed the same?

Oh this is delightful because when Ceph first met the party, they were pretending to be a normal construct, so the DM was 'playing' them. Which meant I got to sit there and watch, and so I wrote down what Cephas was thinking. They only met the first three members of the party that day, but I literally have it written down that it was three "good first impressions" because one of them stole a book, another one turned invisible to draw a face on a trash can, and the third called Cephas 'interesting'. Overall impression? A group of messes who just went through something tough and are not dealing with it super well.

Current impression? A surprisingly competent group of messes who are working through some stuff, and very much don't like talking about their feelings. Also, I'm invested.

Seriously though it started out as Cephas thinking they seemed fun and wanting a distraction, and now Cephas is like actually really invested in all of them and their growth and wants to help them as much as they can.

#Cephas #dnd #this was. long. but also fun.#also anon u called cephas 'my beloved' and i was like Ah? did i send this ask to myself??#maybe i did maybe i willed it into existence #anyways i love Cephas they're weird and beautiful and love their party and they have to leave soon and i am sad #Universe Answers

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sammysreelreviews · 5 years

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Counting Down The 10 Most Shocking Moments From My Favorite TV Shows

So I just finished Jane the Virgin and it inspired me to make a list of moments in television that had me fucking SHOOK. Maybe some other things happened in the show that were just as crazy but these are the moments that affected me personally. This list was so spontaneous but it might be my favorite one cause it was a nice trip down memory lane. Any who, here are the moments that have fucked me up along the years!

WARNING: LOTS AND LOTS OF SPOILERS!!!

10. Gossip Girl: The Dark Prince

Let’s be clear Gossip Girl stopped being the show it was by season 4 by adding insane story lines but one that was realistic was Queen B marrying a real life prince! Although there are some minor hiccups Blair finally has the dream wedding she always wanted. Unfortunately everything comes crashing down when Louis basically tells her that she means nothing to him and the marriage is now just for show. This SHOOK me cause Louis was such a good guy until that exact moment. Ugh the moment he whispered those vile words to Blair her heart dropped and so did mine.

9. Elite: So who’s actually dead?

From the beginning it was clear that one of the promiscuous teens of Elite was going to die it’s just not who you’d expect! In the first episode you find out that it’s none other than Marina! She was such a big part in the first episode I didn’t think her character would be the one to kick the bucket. Yes I am aware that the real mystery of the show is who’s the murderer but Marina being dead threw me for a loop.

8. On My Block: The Quinceañera from Hell.

On My Block is supposed to be funny and it was until the last fucking episode of season one. Ruby decides to throw his crush Olivia a Quinceañera and everything goes smoothly, she even gets to face time her parents that got deported, until Cesar’s past comes to crash the party. Let me explain. Cesar finally joined his brother’s gang and had the job of executing Latrelle who’s from an opposing gang. Cesar is too sweet for his own good and lets him live. Unfortunately Latrelle shows up to Olivia’s Quinceañera, uninvited, and fires at Cesar but hits Ruby and Olivia in the process. In the end of the episode two ambulances are on their way to the hospital and ones lights go off indicating one of them has died. At the beginning of season two we finally find out that Olivia has passed which is sad and like talk about the worst birthday party ever!

7. Pretty Little Liars: Boo!

There were literally 100 different A’s on this god forsaken show but the final A reveal was definitely the best. Spencer and Ezra have been kidnapped by A in a weird underground whatever thing and Spencer wakes up to her reflection only it’s not her reflection ITS HER TWIN. The elite PLL fans like myself always had theories of Spencer having a twin but when it actually happened I couldn’t believe my eyes. When Alex puts her hand down and says “boo!”... chills literal fucking chills.

6. Vampire Diaries: Dead girls walking.

I could honestly make a list of the top ten shocking moments from the Vampire Diaries alone but this one had 15 year old me shaking in my Ugg boots. Jeremy’s first love Vicki died in season one, which was like WILD for 2009 let me tell you, and his other lover Anna also died. In the season two finale we see two shadows walking around following Jeremy in his house and they’re none other than Vicki and Anna looking straight at Jeremy and even speaking to him. At this point in the show people coming back from the dead was unheard of and this is why it beat everything else.

5. Dark: What REALLY happened that night?

Ok so Dark has a lot of WTF moments like the entire show is a total mindfuck but in season 2 they answered a question and I was not prepared for the answer. Let’s back track realllll quick. Mikkel goes missing in the woods one night and no one finds him BUT Mikkel is alive and well he’s just in the year 1986! In the cave he went through there was a wormhole that took him to the past but the question was, how the fuck did he even end up there!? In the last episode of season two Jonas, Mikkel’s son (I know it’s confusing) goes back in time to stop Mikkel from disappearing to make everything right. Jonas talks to his dad, adult Mikkel, and Mikkel drops the bomb that Jonas was the one to lead him to the fucking wormhole in the first place!!! Everything about this show is absolutely insane but I mean this shit was INSANE. I literally could not believe what I was hearing and honestly neither could Jonas.

4. Jane the Virgin: Have a nice day bae!

Michael begins his day going to take a test and he doesn’t come back. I am so team Michael just so y’all know so I loved the flashbacks of the fair with Jane this episode. What I DIDN’T like was the end of this episode. When Michael “died” I dead ass did not watch the rest of season 3 until it was streaming on Netflix. I sobbed so bad and then at the end of the episode when Jane gets the phone call that Michaels “dead” WOW that shit HURT. Thankfully I decided to keep watching the show cause at the season 4 finale Michael is alive and well but has a little amnesia. I literally will never forgive the writers for ripping my heart out and stomping on it.

3. American Horror Story: Running in circles.

Violet tried to kill herself and Tate saves her by making her throw up except, she didn’t actually survive. Violet is depressed and stays home and it’s not until she tries to leave the house do you realize she’s actually been dead for a couple episodes. Its heartbreaking cause she’ll be stuck in that house forever but the moment you see her dead corpse was absolutely disgusting and heartbreaking at the same time.

2. Skins: Where’s Cook’s main hoe?

When Skins came back for a 7th season wrapping up the lives of Effy, Cassie, and Cook I thought we were gonna get some closure but what I got from Cook’s episodes was very unexpected. There’s honestly a lot going on in Skins Rise but Cook’s second episode has him facing off his psychotic boss Louie. Let me give a little backstory. Cook deals drugs for Louie but Louie made Cook drive his girlfriend Charlie around. Cook being Cook fucks Charlie while simultaneously cheating on his own girlfriend Emma which makes it super awkward when the three of them runaway together to get away from a psychotic Louie. Before Cook absolutely beats the shit out of Louie he’s in the woods looking for Emma and he fucking finds her in a clearing HANGING on a tree!!! Like WHAT THE FUCK!!! Skins has never been THAT brutal and I honestly think it was the most jaw dropping moment that ever happened on the show. God I love Skins but I did NOT love that death like can my baby Cook just be happy!?!

1. Degrassi: The Next Generation: A night to forget.

I was 13 the first time I got my heart broken, the perpetrator, Degrassi: The Next Generation. I was OBSESSED with this show I watched it from the very beginning. JT was my literal MAN like I loved him so much and when they CRUELLY killed him off I legit didn’t want to go to school the following Monday. JT dying is number one because it was my first big TV death and I’ll never forget it along with Liberty’s blood curdling screams.

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

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Unmasked ~ Twenty

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Please enjoy the twentieth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 20 ~~

I barely make the post with my letter for Peeta. I squander several minutes ensuring Sir Robert and Delly are settled as well as introduced to my parents. My father greets the newcomers rather stiffly, a searching look in his eyes when he glances at me. I cannot remember how much I told him of Sir Robert but if his expressions are any indication, it was enough to make my father uneasy in Sir Robert’s presence.

Then I am forced to ruin what I had thought was a passingly affectionate letter to my husband with a hasty and rather impersonal post script that reads:

Your brother and his wife have come to visit. They have not stated how long they intend to stay.

I rush to seal it and burn my thumb on the hot wax, sucking on it and whining like a babe. I despise pain and I despise pain from burns most of all. Tears prick at my eyes and yet I refuse to cry, rushing back into the hall to add my letter to the small stack of outgoing post. A coin for the lad carrying the post and I accept the newly arrived missives. There are quite a few of them and I quickly sort them.

After the morning that I have endured, one of Peeta’s letters is precisely what I need. I smile when I find one among the letters and slide it into my pocket for later.

There is one for Haymitch, although he seems to have disappeared. When I ask Sae if she has seen him, she chortles.

“Last I saw him, he was slinking into the library like he didn’t want to be noticed. Had a bottle of your father’s brandy and a glass with him.” I scoff at this and take his letter to the library.

At first, I think it empty but then I hear the distinct sound of glass striking glass, a drink being poured. I move on silent feet to the back of the sofa and lean over it.

“Ah!” Haymitch startles into a seated position and sloshes some of the brandy onto his waistcoat. He glares at me as I snatch the glass out of his hand and replace it with the letter.

“Your post. And might I suggest a better hiding place next time?”

“I am not hiding.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Your house has grown quite crowded,” Haymitch grumbles.

“Family is always welcome at Everdeen,” I mutter and he throws his head back with a chortle. He sets the bottle on the floor and brushes uselessly at the brandy stain on his clothing.

“Such excitement in your tone, sweetheart. Do not tell me you are agitated by the new arrivals.”

“I damn well am and you know damn well why,” I say and take a healthy swallow from his glass. He snatches the thing back, chuckling before turning to open his mail. I am stalling, rudely observing him as he reads. “I had better see about tea this afternoon since we have more guests.”

“Wait. You’ll want to hear this. It is from Mr. Burbank, my solicitor.” His words bring me to a halt and I spin with hope in my heart. “Yes. Yes you will certainly want to see this. But I warn you, sweetheart… there are not many more available rooms at Everdeen.”

“Let me see,” I insist and snatch the letter out of his hands.

“My belongings seem to be continually disappearing in this room. You may be right about another hiding spot.”

I ignore his sarcastic comment, scanning the words on the page and shouting with triumph. “What luck! How has she remained in the same orphanage all this time?”

“No one adopted her.”

“Can this…” my heart pounds and I feel cold, so very cold and faint as I continue reading the letter. “No. This cannot be true. They mean to send her to a workhouse?”

“When she turns eight, my dear. It is quite common among these institutions.”

“No. I will not stand for it.”

“Are you going to adopt every ragged urchin nearing their eighth birthday?”

“Would that I could,” I say and sniffle. Haymitch makes a noise of protest.

“You are not going to weep?”

“Of course I am going to weep! You should as well! An innocent child sent to those…beastly conditions! What sort of monster allows such a thing to continue?” In truth, I wish that I could adopt every one of them or find them decent homes, burn the workhouses to the ground and see the proprietors hung in the square.

“Here,” he hands me a handkerchief and I snivel into the thing. Haymitch opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. Again and a third time as I attempt to gain control of my tears with little success. When I try to hand it back, he pushes my hand away from him. “Keep it.”

“Thank you,” I say and he sighs, grumbling about losing yet another of his things in the library today.

“When will your husband return? You’ve a month before she’s sent away, but if you are truly determined to do this–”

“I am. She belongs here, with her family.” I do not know why I feel so strongly about this, yet I do. I know that it is the right thing to do, and although I have not yet told Peeta, I am certain that he will agree. “Peeta will be home in four days. I hate to ask him to turn around so soon for another journey, but time is critical.”

Haymitch grunts. “I can have Mr. Burbank begin inquiries and start any paperwork needed to assume custody of the child, arrange a meeting for you with him.”

“Yes, do that. Thank you, Haymitch.” I lean over to embrace him then and he pats my back awkwardly.

“There now, Sweetheart. No need for more tears. Marriage has made you terribly sentimental.”

“And it made you a hermit,” my father says as he strides into the room. “Effie is going on about how you are never about when she needs you. She has also gotten it in her head to have fresh blackberry jam and Maysilee is insistent on a berry hunting adventure after I mentioned that it will likely be the last opportunity before winter sets in. Haymitch, I am not certain your wife understands the rugged sort of adventure Maysilee has grown used to about here.” When he sees my face, my father frowns. “You truly have been crying. Is everything alright?”

“It will be,” I say and hand the letter back to Haymitch. “I think I may join them on their adventure. Perhaps then Effie’s dress will be spared the thorns and we will be spared her lamentations.”

Laughter follows me into the hall and I stop short as I come face to face with Sir Robert.

“Ah. Miss Ever— Mrs. Mellark,” he says with a slight bow. Heat rushes over me, my heart dances oddly in my chest. I ignore it.

“Tea will be served in the parlor soon,” I tell him and motion towards the library, “But I do believe fortifying refreshments are already being distributed in the library.”

“Why don’t you announce it to the entire village?” Haymitch protests.

“Then perhaps I should fetch a few more glasses.” Sir Robert looks to be saying more and so I give him a nod, a curt affirmative, and slide around him, making my escape to the kitchen.

Haymitch is quite right. My home grows crowded and it is most inconvenient to have so many guests underfoot right now.

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

Tea is served and the niceties of society observed. Comments made on the weather, bits of news shared, excitement over the festival expressed.

“It is a shame my brother has not been here to enjoy it,” Sir Robert says. His words prick my ire for some reason.

“He was able to enjoy a few days before he left,” Madge soothes.

“I am certain he enjoyed it immensely. He was always fond of the Harvest festival when we were children. I did tell you not to worry so about him, Robert,” Delly says as she accepts a cup from Madge and turns her attentions to my friend. “Peeta has a talent for endearing himself to others wherever he goes, and you were all so kind in welcoming myself and my brother during the spring. I had no doubts he would be happy here.”

“Of course they were welcoming. You were handing out boots free of charge,” Robert says with a smile. My father makes a strange noise in his throat, something like a cough. My mother leans in to tend him, but his eyes meet mine. The look he gives me tells me that I must have indeed told him a great portion of the story involving Sir Robert. In that moment, I am glad that I gave my father so many of the particulars.

The sound he makes, however, has also drawn the notice of others. Sir Robert’s eyes drop to my father’s arm, then away. He seems discomfited around Father’s truncated limb and that makes little sense, given the close nature of his relation to Peeta. Surely Sir Robert is used to such a sight.

“How is Eljah?” Madge asks Delly and her smile brightens at the mention of her brother. She speaks about how Robert has agreed to see Elijah Cartwright educated, or at the very least apprenticed.

“How splendid,” Madge agrees. “An opportunity to study. Has he an idea what profession he may take?”

“Not as yet,” Delly says. “We are still determining the particulars.”

“Yes, well certain needs must be met first,” Robert says, an odd strain in his voice. I tilt my head and cannot help the examination of Sir Robert’s dress. On closer inspection, the boots do not shine as much as they ought. His coat seems wrinkled and there is a patch in one section – a poorly done patch. A stain on his waistcoat that has faded as though it happened some time ago and has withstood the siege of many washings yet still holds ground in the fabric.

My eyes lift to his face to find him watching me, and I realize they lack some of the carefree, foppish shine that I recall from earlier this year. Sir Robert, it would appear, has received a cold dose of reality in marrying his beloved shoemaker. Reality appears to disagree with him.

A sharp twinge of pity strikes before I can stifle it. This is Peeta’s brother and for that reason I should show him care, but he is also the man who so easily discarded me. My pride raises sabers to battle my empathy, and yet neither are perfectly right in this war.

“Katniss, won’t you sit?” My mother asks with clear concern in her eyes, but I cannot. I cannot sit still, a restless need having taken hold of me since ushering Peeta’s brother – my former fiancé – into our home. I sit anyways and refrain from partaking in the conversation as I sip my tea and barely taste it.

During the entire ordeal, Maysilee inches closer and closer to me until she is pressed into my side, despite her mother’s gentle admonitions to sit still to drink her tea and not crowd other people. I give Madge a smile and a shake of my head to let her know that Maysilee is not bothering me. In truth, I am glad for her nearness and bring her to sit on my lap.

“Darling girl, what troubles you?” I whisper and tuck back some of her hair. She turns to cup her hand over my ear, her sweet child’s breath tickling as she whispers to me.

“What’s wrong with Miss’er Pee’ah? His voice sounds strange.” My heart clenches as I follow her line of sight to Sir Robert as he accepts a biscuit from a plate that Delly holds out to him.

“That is not Mister Peeta. That is his brother,” I explain and her face crinkles in thought.

“Oh. Yes I suppose that makes more sense. So he is not cross with me?”

“Why would he be cross with you?” I ask, my ire rising as I prepare to defend Maysilee.

“I tried to give him a hug and he acted strange.”

“Oh darling, because he did not know you. Mister Peeta would be glad of your hugs, you know that.”

“Yes, yes he would,” she says solemnly and then takes another look at Sir Robert, eyes narrowing. “He stole Miss’er Pee’ah’s face.”

I cannot help it. I laugh. For one second, Maysilee appears crushed until I move close to whisper to her again.

“Indeed he has, and stealing is not right.”

“He should be punished. No biscuits with tea,” she suggests and I tickle her until she giggles.

“I’ll see that he gets no more biscuits for a week.”

We manage to sober when I see that our antics have drawn some attention. Sir Robert watches me with the child, an unreadable expression on his face. I offer Maysilee a biscuit and a kiss on her temple, reaching around her to drink my tea and uncaring if I am rudely leaving my saucer on the table. My hands are full with child, I couldn’t possibly manage being a complete lady right now.

“Although, Maysee…you should know that some brothers and sisters are like that. They have faces almost identical.”

“If I ever have a sister, I hope she has her own face, like you and Miss Prim,” Maysilee says and I again chuckle, holding her close. “When will Miss’er Pee’ah come home?” Maysilee asks, and this time, the conversation has lulled enough that several of those present hear her. The stab it causes in my chest is more easily concealed.

“Soon, darling girl. Soon,” I assure her as she winds her arms around my neck. Then I whisper for only her to hear. “I miss him too, my sweet. I miss him too.”

After tea, we set out on our adventure. I see Maysilee and myself changed to breeches and shirts before we leave. I wear a coat and both of us wear wide gardening hats to protect our faces from the sun. Delly seems a bit shocked by our appearance as Sir Robert helps her into the cart. He himself seems distracted, acknowledging each of the ladies in our party yet unable to look me in the eyes.

Effie protests my appearance mightily and continues to do so as I drive. Prim defends my dress as practical to our task, and I am grateful for her support. I bring the cart to a halt next to the patch of blackberry bushes and Effie silences her protests when she sees how muddy and rugged the trek will be. She laughs nervously and opens her parasol.

“Ah perhaps I shall sit here and enjoy the fine weather.”

“I will keep you company, Effie,” Madge offers with a smile before turning to admonish Maysilee. “Darling, be sure to listen to Miss Katniss.”

It strikes me then how different she looks now than when she first came to Everdeen. Still beautiful, always beautiful. I am convinced there is no situation in which Madge could appear ugly. Eight months ago her beauty was pale and ethereal, aloof and almost fragile. Now, her cheeks bear a rosy glow, her figure and features more plump and healthy, and her eyes shine with an open and happy brightness to them. Eight months ago, a Countess came to visit, and now it is a country beauty who lives with me.

I help Maysilee from the cart and hide my smile. Everdeen has been good for Madge, for Maysilee. I tickle Maysilee and she giggles, hurrying towards the bushes. “Mind the thorns!”

I take a deep, bracing gulp of the fresh air and survey the spread of bushes before me. We are on the hunt and our quarry shakes on the boughs, Maysilee fancies herself a skilled huntress, stalking her prey, gingerly shifting branches.

“Tremble with fear, oh berries! You shall make a tasty tart tonight!” She coos and I laugh. I catch the heat of the hunt, feel it warming my blood and increasing my pulse. A soft sound catches my ear and I turn towards it.

Delly has alighted from the carriage and stands, biting her lip and examining the muddy ground. She seems at odds with herself, glancing down at her dress. It may not be the silk gown of a duchess, but neither is it the rough homespun of a servant girl, a cobbler.

My heart squeezes in inconvenient sympathy. For a moment, my hunting instincts surge upwards, smelling weakness in an adversary. It occurs to me that I should despise this girl, for she is half the reason for my humiliation and heartache earlier this year. Her weakness presents an opportunity to seize.

And yet I cannot. Because I was never in love with Robert. The heat of the pending kill wanes, presenting one last argument in the form of a delicious, suppressed memory.

The man in the mask.

I shake my head, attempting to do as I have done for months now. Ignore and discard the memory. Delly is simply a girl who fell in love with someone society claims she could never have. Yet she found both the courage and a way to have him, and while my pride was collateral damage in the transaction, I do not believe it was done to spite me, specifically. Delly has no reason to wish me harm. There is also the fact that long before she was Sir Robert’s wife, she was Peeta’s friend.

She is not my enemy.

I watch her struggle with the choice before her and allow the sympathy to rise up again. How difficult the changes must be for her. A country farm serving girl would think nothing of hurrying into the bushes to claim the tart berries. A city wife of the third son of a marquis would be more concerned with her dress.

“There are some good groupings here, along the perimeter, where it is not so muddy,” I suggest and she looks up at me, a small smile curving up her lips.

“Yes,” Prim offers, looping her arm with Delly’s. “We shall hunt here. Maysilee and Katniss can hunt deep in the wilds.”

“Thank you,” Delly says softly to me as she and Prim set out.

It is a glorious day. A cool breeze nips the air and our cheeks, rustles through the leaves, providing a soothing sort of song. Maysilee and I lend our voices to the sounds. The sun shines warm and bright. Every now and then, Madge and Effie’s laughter will dance on the breeze towards our ears. The faint sounds of Delly and Prim speaking to one another. Maysilee offers a berry to me and I accept it with thanks, the tart juice bursting over my tongue.

“Oh these are quite good.”

Maysilee eats one as well and nods in agreement. It feels as though we eat almost as many as we pick and yet we still manage a gallon of blackberries.

Most importantly, though, as we return to the cart, it is abundantly clear that Effie would not have fared well in the bushes. Sitting in the cart ensures that Effie’s dress remained intact. Delly’s was not so fortunate, her hem an inch soaked in mud, but her cheeks are bright and the damage appears perfectly repairable.

Maysilee and I are an entirely different picture. Wisps of hair escape her hat and I am sure mine is in a similar state. We both have mud up to our knees, splattered across our shirts. My shirt clings to me beneath my coat, damp with perspiration. Small tears rent by thorns cover our sleeves. I shed my coat as we reach the cart.

Maysilee’s lips are stained with berry juice and Madge giggles as I hand her daughter up to her. She does not even flinch at the mud transferred to her dress from Maysilee’s clothes, instead wiping at the berry stains on Maysilee’s lips with no luck.

“Margaret, darling your dress,” Effie frets.

“It will wash,” Madge says and then lifts a crown of ivy she must have woven as she sat waiting. Removing her daughter’s hat, Madge places the crown in its place upon Maysilee’s head. “Maysilee Charmaigne, Princess of the Blackberry Thatch.”

Maysilee giggles and insists that I wear one as well, as I am the queen of the blackberry thatch.

“Luckily, I made one for Miss Katniss as well,” she says and produces one from behind her back, handing it to Maysilee.

I am struck with a memory of Madge’s mother, weaving crowns of ivy and proclaiming us Princesses of the Rose garden. Two girls laughing and scampering through the flowers and ordering the bees about our pretend kingdom. My mother singing as she embroidered. Primrose napping peacefully beside her.

A sweet longing to hold on to this moment fills me and nearly blinds me with the tears of it. Until Maysilee turns to me with the crown, woven through with a few vibrant autumn leaves of yellow and orange.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, touching the leaves and sweeping my hat from my head.

“Your majesty,” Maysilee says and curtsies before coronating me. I lift my chin and haughtily survey my subjects.

“To the castle!” I declare to lively cheers.

We return to the house with laughter on our lips, and descend upon the kitchen in a mess. Mrs. Chilton protests our appearance and sends Maysilee and myself to wash. When we return, appropriately attired in simple dresses and our ivy crowns, Madge and the kitchen staff have already begun the process of turning some of the blackberries into jam.

Johanna wanders through, her motions much less laboured now that she has truly begun to heal. She snatches a berry and Madge swats at her hand, missing as Jo pops the fruit into her mouth. Jo cackles gleefully and scampers from the room, chased by loud shouts of protest and laughter, epithets of scamp and rascal following her.

Maysilee and I toast thin slices of bread until they are golden and crisp, smearing it with goat cheese and topping the treat with a leaf of basil and fresh blackberries. We distribute them through the house, calling out to all who might hear to taste the fruits of our labours, bidding our subjects to enjoy themselves. Had we more berries, we might venture to the festival with more.

It warms my heart, watching Maysille smile so, spreading the comfort of home and family necessary to sustain us through the long, cold months of winter ahead as we go.

“We need to save one for Miss’er Pee’ah,” Maysilee insists and tears form unbidden on my eyes.

“Oh Maysee, it will not last quite that long. But we will be certain to save a jar of the jam especially for his breakfast.”

“Do you think he would like it if I drew him a picture? Or wrote him a letter about our adventure? Like you do, Miss Katniss?” she asks suddenly and I nod.

“I think he would like that very much.” The idea brings a smile to both our faces and in no time, she is running off to her rooms, with Sae in tow, intent on creating artistic masterpieces to send to Peeta.

“She is quite attached to my brother.”

I startle at the voice. I’d not even noticed him approaching, so distracted by Maysilee I was. “Indeed she is. It is not such a difficult thing to do.”

“No, I suppose not. Merely strange. They are not related by blood, yet she acts as though he is her father,” Sir Robert says and eyes my crown.

“Her own father died when she was a babe. Peeta has provided affection, protection, and caring for her. He is the only man she has known to act towards her as a father would. How is it strange then that she be attached to him?”

“Please, I mean no offense, Mrs. Mellark. I merely attempt to understand my brother’s life here, and how all the players fit. It seems to me that one day the countess would wish to remarry, make her own life. She could easily snare another eminently wealthy husband or even a paramour for herself, security and a home for her daughter, yet she lingers here. It is most curious.”

I stare at him and hold my tongue. Of course it is possible that Madge would find another home, a husband for her and a father for Maysilee. My heart shouts in protest at the thought. As selfish as it may be, I wish them to stay here.

“Or perhaps not. Perhaps she has found precisely what she needs here,” Robert suggests in my silence.

“She was in need when she came to us, widowed and cast out as many women unfortunately are. We welcomed her, and this is her home for as long as she wishes it. The countess is my friend since we were infants, of course I endeavor to meet every one of her needs.”

“And I am certain you do a marvelous job of it. I only wonder at…” He trails off as though uncertain he should speak it aloud.

“Do not stop there, Sir Robert. By all means, enlighten me on how my family functions.”

“I hate to be rude.”

“Indeed? I shall endeavor to not take offense,” I say and his eyes narrow at me. It’s a strange sight. I cannot recall Robert angry or perturbed. He always seemed unshakable in his jocularity.

“There must be some needs you cannot meet, either the Countess’ or perhaps…” He struggles with the words momentarily and I cling to the quickly fraying shreds of manners I have left. “My brother, I worry about him being an outcast. Delly thinks he fits in well wherever he goes, but it is not without some… turmoil that he accomplishes this, usually internal turmoil.”

“You think I neglect his feelings?”

“You were once honest with me, allow me to be honest with you. Yes, I fear that you may neglect his feelings and he will not ask you remedy that, as it is not his way to do so. He may turn elsewhere instead.”

I cannot stop the stunned noise that I make. I could easily set Sir Robert’s misconceptions straight with simple confession yet I refuse to give it to him before I give it Peeta himself. They are my words to gift.

“It must be difficult for him here with so many lovely ladies about.” His words and their bitter tone draw the silence straight out of my lungs.

“You’ve known your brother for years and believe him capable of such perfidy?”

“You’ve no idea what he’s capable of, given enough desperation.” Robert’s words sink into my brain as I see flashes of nightmares painted in Peeta’s own words. Johanna’s words. No, I suppose I haven’t much idea what he is capable of in desperation.

“His choices in mistress are rather limited here. There isn’t a one I do not know,” I attempt to argue and he snorts. Indelicate and rude.

“Oh Katniss, there you are!” Madge says, a bright smile wreathing her face, fading slightly as her eyes flick between myself and Sir Robert. “Are you ready to head over to the festival?”

“In a moment,” I assure her and lift the tray I still hold. “I need to return this to the kitchens first.”

“Of course. We will meet you in the hall.” Madge disappears and I grip tight to the tray.

“Are they so limited?” Sir Robert asks softly. “The Countess is uncommonly handsome. She has the look about her of a woman in love.”

I stare at him, aghast. “You know so much of women in love then?”

“Enough,” he says and smiles at me. “Enough to know when I see one.”

Stupid, traitorous, fickle pulse. It leaps and nearly chokes me in response to that smile, even as I dream of skewering him through the eye for his words.

“She is only recently out of mourning,” I murmur instead. He does not look impressed, and I know, as he clearly does too, that Madge never cared for her husband. I know, as he likely does not, that Madge is not afraid of engaging in an affair, of a touch of scandal.

My heart pounds in my breast as he reaches towards me.

“Then again… perhaps I am mistaken. My only concern is my brother’s happiness. May I?” Sir Robert indicates the last cheese and berry treat on my platter. I cannot help but think of how Maysilee wished to save this for Peeta. How I wish I could deny Sir Robert the treat with those words, the insistence that this last morsel is reserved for Peeta. Instead, I am forced to offer it up to his brother or let it go to waste.

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” he says and eats the treat with relish. “Delicious.”

His voice is warm and almost tender. Sensual.

“If you will excuse me, Sir Robert. I have work to accomplish,” I tell him and scurry away, ashamed at my cowardice. Furious with his insinuations and the way they have wound into my brain, making sense where they should not. At his treatment of Delly in so blatantly flirting with me, me of all people. His discarded fiancé. His brother’s wife! Then his insinuations that there might be something between Madge and Peeta.

I think of the pack of suitors who descended on Haymitch and Effie’s parlour, all clamoring for Madge’s notice. Sir Robert is correct in that regard at least. It would take little effort on Madge’s part to secure a second husband or a paramour. She could have her choosing of men and yet she shows no desire to do so, although she has expressed a desire for more children.

No. I cannot believe it. There are a thousand other explanations for Madge’s radiant appearance. The man is despicable and I cannot countenance Peeta’s love and defense of him one bit. Worse, I cannot explain my bodily reaction to him. It is unnerving and infuriating.

In desperation, I retreat to my room and tear into Peeta’s letter. It is short and blindingly distant compared to some of his previous letters, no flowery prose, no longing or love. Merely a reassurance that he is well and that while the work progresses satisfactorily, his plans remain as we discussed. The last few sentences warn that his brother Sir Robert has written, intending to visit.

I must apologise for his lack of consideration in giving so little notice. He may even be on your doorstep before this letter reaches you. If he is still there when I return, I shall take him to task for inconveniencing you so. There is no need to overexert yourself in entertaining him and Delly. As soon as I return, I shall assume the task of host.

Your husband, ~ Peeta ~

I send for Mary and ask her to inform the countess that I feel ill and will not be joining her tonight. Then I stretch out on our sofa, mine and Peeta’s, and hug a cushion to my chest. I need rest, I decide. I must be exhausted for surely that is the explanation for my tears as they leak from my eyes.

************************

To be continued… Chapter 21 will be posted to the @everlarkficexchange. My thanks to all who have read, shared, and left such lovely comments on this story.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #late submission #m #prompt 88

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uncloseted · 5 years

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Effy’s Closet Watches Skins: 302 “Cook”

Hey everyone! I'm back with another recap. I've always found this episode to be a bit of nonsense and i've never loved Cook as much as the other characters, but I think it gives a lot of insight into who he is and what motivates him. More under the cut!

- I’m still annoyed about the music change. I get why they had to do it but whoever chose the replacement music really didn't even try. I've said this before, but the original music isn't just music- it adds emotion, but it also adds commentary and lets us know what the characters are feeling. This is missing that.

- Cook and the boys are wandering down the street. It's Cook's 17th birthday, and he's having a party. Freddie says he hopes some people will show up; JJ says he invited half the college. It's a throwaway line, but I think it's actually pretty important- Cook wants people to pay attention to him, to think he's funny, to witness his debauchery. He wants people to like him despite how hard he tries not to give a shit about anyone or anything. So he invited everyone to make sure some people would come. Cook almost gets into a fight with some posh kids and looks thrilled about it. They're at Uncle Keith's pub and I'm a bit offended that the bartender is named Christina. It seems like Uncle Keith might be the only adult male influence Cook has had in his life in a long time, which explains some of why he is the way that he is. He introduces Freddie and JJ. Cook has an earring, which I don't think I've noticed before now. Keith is telling stories about his wild days and I think Cook feels like he needs to live up to those stories. Cook claims that Uncle Keith is a legend and JJ asks who exactly Keith is a legend to. Cook, who's looked up to Uncle Keith for a long time, seems really offended by the idea that Uncle Keith isn't a legend to *everyone*.

- Enter the girls. Cook says, "Look, man. Look at that. Quality totty. That's top shelf shit" about Effy to Freddie and then "hey baby" to Effy and puts his arm around her. Effy looks very uncomfortable. At this point in time, Cook really views Effy as being a hot girl more than anything else. Freddie looks upset by this. Then Cook declares that his party will be legendary, which it clearly is not. There's also an interesting throwaway interaction with this guy who wanders into the pub. Cook says the guy burnt his house, and the guy apologizes. Cook's life is clearly very hectic if his house is being burned down by some random dude, and yet he doesn't feel like that's enough. His party needs to be wild, crazy, legendary.

- Effy and Freddie share a really nice "Cook is crazy" look, and for the first time in this episode she seems happy that she came. They sing "For he's a jolly good fellow" and Effy looks very unamused and bored with how tame this whole situation is. "He's already had half a bottle of vodka" says JJ. "Really? How crazy" deadpans Effy. She looks about ready to leave, except Freddie is there so we all know she won't. The gang does tequila shots, and Cook howls. JJ joins in, excited to be included, and Freddie begrudgingly follows along. Effy gives him this cute little understanding smile. I just noticed that the headband she's wearing has star studs on it. Freddie says that Effy will like JJ's magic trick, and what I love about this is that he's right. Effy is all "what? He does magic?" And then she's totally amused by JJ's magic trick. It's one of the first times we see her smile like that in the series, which doesn't mean anything right now, but it's interesting in the context of her mum saying that she likes magic. I think part of the reason JJ likes her so much is that she really, unapologetically likes his magic tricks. She spends so much time being unimpressed about pretty much everything else that I think her liking his magic makes JJ feel special. She seems uncomfortable with Cook drinking the goldfish- the other girls definitely are.

- Pandora pukes, and Cook is excited- that means they're having a good time. Freddie and Effy share another glance, and then Naomi enters. She looks vulnerable, like she's not quite sure what she's doing there. For Naomi, this is being brave. The guy who harasses her and the girl who tells lies about her in one room... all because she wants to see Emily. Katie makes a lesbian joke, and Emily hisses, "Shh... I've told you to fucking... Just leave it, ok?" Clearly they've had this conversation about Naomi before, and it gives us a hint that maybe Emily has been standing up to Katie more in private. Cook tells Naomi that the cure for gayness is his cock. I think he likes the challenge of a girl who won't sleep with him. He's really set on impressing Naomi pretty consistently in the early episodes of this series. Effy is not having Cook's views on lesbians, but meanwhile Katie finds it hilarious, I guess because someone is finally on her side about it. Emily comes to the rescue by producing a cake. I like this because she's saving Naomi from this awkward situation, but without actually having to defend Naomi or tell her how she feels. Very series 3 Emily of her. Also, how cute that Emily made Cook a cake? Cook eats the whole thing and Effy smirks. Everyone else looks disgusted.

(Also, can I take this time to ask people why on earth they color edit gifs of Skins like this? The entire show is already color edited by professional color editors. It’s a big part of its look. Why make everything orange?!) - Katie is fed up with the situation. She asks where the conversation, the dancing, the men are. Cook is offended and tries to insist that they're men, but the rest of the gang finally says what they mean- this party is shit. Cook stands outside, waiting for a sign from God about how to improve his party. This is really, really important to him, and nobody else seems to care, so he has to make it happen himself. Then an opportunity presents itself- Freddie's sister is at an engagement party. Cook seems pleased at the idea of seeing Karen (he mentions that he's always touching with her and flirting with her, to which Freddie responds that that's why she doesn't like him), and I've always thought they should have delved into that relationship more. They have a really interesting dynamic- both Cook and Karen are characters who will do whatever it takes to be noticed and to be loved. One thing I really love about this episode is the pressure that everyone is feeling to have a crazy night and a good time. I feel like that's such a relatable part of being a teenager that doesn't often get depicted- you feel like you're supposed to be going out all the time, having the craziest moments of your life, but sometimes there's just nowhere to go and nothing to do. This episode captures that restlessness really well.

- They get to the engagement party and are turned away by the bouncer. Freddie talks Cook down from fighting the bouncer, which it seems from his expression like he has to do a lot. Karen and her friend come out, Cook offers them drugs, and finally they get let into the party. It's clearly not exactly their scene, but Cook isn't deterred. He meets Johnny White, a gangster, who threatens him, but he doesn't seem to care all that much. Pandora has decided she loves drugs, I guess because she's on a quest to get everyone to like her and everyone else is doing drugs. Pandora eats all the drugs, which provides a big problem for Cook. Effy, who is used to Pandora, thinks the situation is hilarious. Everyone else, not so much. Kayleigh tells Cook to get her more drugs. The rest of the gang is dancing. Effy's maroon dress has a black diagonal stripe on it, which I guess I always thought was part of her jacket but isn't.

- Cook talks to Freddie and JJ about how he needs the drugs so that he can get with Kayleigh. Freddie says, "I thought you liked Effy", to which Cook replies, "Yeah, she's a peach. But I already tapped that. Top-dollar shag. She's my last resort. Sure thing, I reckon." Freddie didn't know that Cook and Effy had sex, and now he's upset. "But...JJ likes her", he says. Meaning, "I love her. Why would you do this to me?" I think it's the first time he realizes how Cook will never put Freddie before himself, and that he's a way better friend to Cook than Cook is to him. Effy and Freddie steal another glance; she seems to be trying to inviting him over to dance with her with some flirty eye contact, but he's still processing what he just learned.

- Now we cut to Naomi and Emily in their first real conversation of the series. As a sidenote, both of their outfits are utterly ridiculous and perfect for them. I like how the pink in Naomi's top matches Emily's cardigan. Emily asks Naomi not to leave, and Naomi asks her why not, maybe hoping, just a little bit, that Emily will say "because I want you to stay". Here's Emily, being brave, going out on a limb for Naomi. She may not seem like it on the surface, but I think Emily is actually one of the bravest characters in the show. She knows that if she pushes Naomi too far, Naomi will run away from her, and so she's subtle, gentle, leaving room for Naomi to feel how she feels. Emily starts to say exactly what Naomi wants to hear, "I don't know....because...." and then thinks better of it and backs off. She knows that even though it's exactly what Naomi wants to hear, Naomi isn't ready to hear it. Naomi asks her why Katie thinks she's gay, and Emily apologizes. Naomi leaves.

- Johnny White gives a speech, and clearly this marriage is political; he's merging two gangs so that they won't fight anymore. Freddie looks upset, in general I think but also because of all the people there, he believes in love, and I think he feels like Kayleigh shouldn't be getting married for politics. Pandora faints and Effy tries to wake her up. Cook gets more drugs from Keith and gives them to Kayleigh. He has this argument with Kayleigh where he tries to convince her to have sex with him, which is gross but also I think shows his desperation. Cook is not someone who knows how to let go, even if he doesn't really care about the endgame. She says that if he impresses her, she'll have sex with him, and so Cook hatches a plan. He does the rest of his drugs (interestingly, he eats them in the same way Pandora does) and then does a whole song and dance number, angering Johnny in the process. Freddie sees danger coming, but not before Cook gets hit over the head with a bottle. Cook continues to poke at Johnny, getting himself deeper and deeper into trouble, and it's at this point that I wonder how prevalent gang activity actually is in Bristol. Every series these kids get into some sort of altercation with a gang. Is that normal for the UK? Anyway, Freddie sweeps in and saves the day, promising that they'll leave, and Johnny tosses Cook off of a balcony, starting a gang war in the process.

- Cook seems relatively unharmed from this fall, and begins to laugh. He's definitely gotten the legendary night he wanted, and to him that's all that matters. The gang runs away, hooligans that they are, before their situation can get worse. Effy concedes that it was a cool party and has this cute moment in the background where she and Pandora are playing. Freddie says that Cook is "fucking unbelievable", still with a mixture of admiration and disgust, which I think is common for their relationship. Still smiling, Freddie says, "you're always fucking trying to get laid", and it's interesting, because it's friendly but sharp. Cook isn't sensing the escalating situation with Freddie, and just says that he tries and succeeds before turning to the girls to see if any of them want to fuck. All of them evade him, including Effy. She pauses, thinks about it, looks at Freddie (who seems very nervous about what she's going to say), and then turns Cook down, saying that she has to take Pandora home. She looks like she might be wearing some sort of feather in her hair?

- Cook, undeterred, says that he wants to go somewhere with women. Freddie says he's tired, and Cook initially thinks he means sleepy, but Freddie says no- he's tired of Cook. I think Cook propositioning Effy right in front of him is the final straw for Freddie; clearly Cook doesn't care about his feelings, and if Cook doesn't care about Freddie's feelings, Freddie's not going to go with him and protect him from himself anymore. Cook responds with anger, a "fuck you, then" and tries to get JJ to come with him. JJ, I guess not wanting to rock the boat further, only hesitates for a second before he goes along.

- The rest of this episode is mostly filler nonsense so that Skins can earn its "edgy and provocative" stripes. It feels like a rehash of the events of episode 101, except now Skins has a reputation to uphold. Cook and JJ go to a strip club/brothel situation. Cook says JJ is going to lose his virginity; JJ stands up to him (a bit) and says he's not sure he wants to. I think Cook thinks he's doing JJ a favor, and by getting JJ laid, he'll make sure JJ stays on his side if this fight with Freddie is real. JJ is totally out of his element and clearly uncomfortable. Cook can't afford what he wants, and I think he's surprised that this is not a situation where he can bargain, no matter how good or sexy he thinks he is. JJ just wants a kiss; he's never kissed a girl and doesn't know how. He realizes that Johnny White is in the other room and goes to get revenge, but not before he sees JJ kissing Megan and calls it "gay shit". JJ apologizes to him, as if he's wronged Cook in some way. Cook takes pictures of Johnny in a... compromizing position... and takes Johnny's necklaces. Like Cook was doing before, Johnny provokes him- he won't let go even when he knows it's in his best interest. Johnny makes some comments about Cook's mum, and Cook physically fights him. JJ tries to pull him away and accidentally gets caught in the crossfire, with Cook almost hitting him. Cook looks disturbed by the fact that he got so angry that he almost hit JJ, and JJ runs away. Johnny threatens to kill Cook, and Cook, for the first time all episode, seems to realize that his actions have consequences.

He walks across a park alone at dawn. He doesn't have anywhere to go, so he goes to see Freddie, the only person who's always been there for him. Freddie comes out of his house and into the shed, looking like a bit of a grandpa in his dressing gown. Cook is drinking and Freddie calls him on it, but he's not willing to push the issue. I think he's hoping Cook has come to offer some form of apology. But Cook asks, "so what are we doing today then?" And Freddie knows that that's not why he's here. Freddie says he almost got them killed, and Cook finally offers up an apology of sorts. Freddie says that it's a first; even Cook's half apology seems to be more than Cook has ever said before. But Freddie's not having it- Cook says he wouldn't have done the stupid things he did if Freddie was there, and Freddie reiterates that he's not going to take care of Cook anymore, that he's tired of being a bystander to Cook's death wish. Cook pulls the Three Musketeers card and says he loves Freddie to bits, and Freddie relents. He knows that he's all that Cook has, and I don't think he's ready to let go of that. He asks just one thing, that Cook "stops all this crazy shit". But even that's too much for Cook. His response is only "shut it, you pussy". And so he goes right back to his old ways, walking down the street and singing loudly, just like he did before. Only this time, he's all alone. In this episode we see how far Freddie has been pushed, how much he just wants Cook to be okay. How much he thinks that somehow, he'll be able to get through to Cook and save him from himself. And it's so clear from the ending of that episode that that's not where Cook is,that's not what's going to happen. He wants to keep things exactly as they are, with Freddie looking out for him so nothing truly bad happens, where there are no consequences for his actions because Freddie will shield him from them. This conversation marks Freddie's final straw- he's trying again, one more time, hoping he got through to Cook. Forgiving him for everything with Effy, for creating messes he always has to clean up... offering one final olive branch.

Bonus: Effy and Freddie sharing glances in this episode:

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hayffiebird · 4 years

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Taste of Strawberries, Chap. 21

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

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

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

Chapter 21 The betrayal

*ring ring*

… What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haymitch…

That’s my name.

I really must speak to you. It’s im…

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

I’ve never called…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sobs* I’m so stupid.

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

*toot toot*

xXx

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

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

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

“I’m going to the bakery.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anywhere but home.

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

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

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

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

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

And it wasn’t the only thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just leave him be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost everyone.

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

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

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

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

But even that came to an end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What for?

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

And Effie, how was she doing?

xXx

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

Reaping day’s almost here!

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

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

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

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

A phone. Ringing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck me,” he wheezed.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not her.

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

“Hello?” someone called. “Helloo?”

He brought the phone closer.

“Who is this?”

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

Haymitch drew a silent sigh. Of course.

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

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

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

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

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

And her brilliant laughter hammered his head.

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

She had a sip of something and then rallied on,

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

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

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

That finally silenced her. For about three seconds.

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

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

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

And she slammed the phone in his ear.

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

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

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

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

The liquor numbed his worries like they numbed everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A good day in an ocean of bad ones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On the train.”

Katniss stopped, eyebrows lifted.

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

Gem of Panem Heart of justice Wisdom crowns your marble brow

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

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

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

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

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

Protect our land With armored hand Our Capitol, our…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, the joke’s on him.

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

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

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

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

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

But she’s not back on pills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eff?”

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

“She’s not here,” a voice rung out.

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

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

He crossed the road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mrs. Quinlan.”

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

Mrs. Q.

“You’re Eff’s landlady.”

The woman shook her head.

“Not anymore.”

“Because you kicked her out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

“They won’t even…”

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

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

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

Right on cue the bell rang.

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

It rang again, on her way through the hallway.

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

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

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

He didn’t let her finish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabel had followed inside and he turned on her again.

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

“I’m not lying to you.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s resting.”

“Well, go and wake her up!”

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

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

“Not until you’ve calmed down!”

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

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

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

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Haymitch, what are you doing!?”

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

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

What have I done to her?

xXx

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you were on the pill?”

“I was.”

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

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

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

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

“What, Eff?”

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

“We’re what?”

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

No! No, I don’t wanna hear it!

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

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

“I can’t do this.”

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

”I need some air.”

xXx

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

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

He didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Euphemia.”

Effie looked up, startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Euphemia.”

“Must be something I ate.”

“Euphemia, look at me, please.”

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

“Are you with child?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had never felt so safe.

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

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

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

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

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

Haymitch Abernathy.

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

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

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

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

“Nine weeks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s OK.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”It’s pennyroyal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I didn’t drink it. I never drank it.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haymitch…”

“That’s my name.”

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

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

“I’ve never called…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so stupid.”

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

And she was left with just the flat audio tone.

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

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

#hayffie #everlark #haymitch x effie #taste of strawberries fanfic #thg #post-mockingjay #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #fanfiction #myfanfiction #district 12 #the capitol

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aaltena26 · 5 years

Text

Unmasked ~ Eleven

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Also my thanks to @aaltena26 and everyone else who has offered up their inbox for submissions. Please enjoy the eleventh chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 11 ~~

I sleep wretchedly. In fact, I am certain that I slept better in the days leading up to our wedding than I do on the wedding night, despite being left utterly alone and untouched. There are a few moments of tension in the morning, with Peeta and I moving around one another in an attempt to prepare for the day.

“I swear this room was enormous just two days ago,” I mutter as we nearly collide for the fourth time. Peeta laughs then and reaches behind him to grasp my morning dress from where it lays. I hold my dressing gown closed tight, hoping he will not be able to see how my chest heaves with my rapid breathing as he hands the garment to me.

“I suppose this will require some further adjustment on both our parts. I will try not to be so much underfoot, madame,” he say, offering the gown to me.

“It is your room as well,” I mutter through clenched teeth, accepting my dress and turning away from him, giving him some semblance of privacy to dress as I wash my face.

In the mirror, I catch a brief glimpse of him and avert my gaze. Heat creeps up my neck like grasping vines of ivy climbing walls. The sensation will not cease and urges my eyes up and up against my will until I become a spy, stealing a glimpse of my husband with no shirt and barely any pants on his body.

The day we met, I considered that what appeared to be broad shoulders beneath his coat might be a trick of the tailor, but no. There is no trick at all. Peeta is solidly built. As he moves, I feel as though some sort of string has been tied between his arms with their evident strength, and my gut. Surely that is the reason for my reaction to him, for the hollow feeling when his shirt is in place and he asks me a mundane question about the arrangements for church today.

I answer him and finish scrubbing. By the time Mary arrives to help me dress, Peeta is fully garbed and leaves me in the clutches of my maid. I am in a daze until I reach breakfast and eagerly grasp at the food as a distraction from the feelings churning inside me. It does little good with the source of my distraction seated across the table, engaged in easy conversation with his brother and sister-in-law, Maysilee perched in her now usual spot on his knee and Emma beside her, explaining how she combines flavors of jams to create new ones and what does Maysilee think of strawberry-apricot?

“Katniss are you feeling well?” Madge whispers to me and I startle, nearly spilling my tea.

“What? Fine!” I hiss under my breath so that no one might hear. She glances between Peeta and I, and I can see the concern in her eyes. It is then that I notice the faint rings beneath Peeta’s eyes that speak of poor sleep. At least he suffers as I do. Serves him right. “I will tell you later.”

Church presents its own form of torture, being forced to sit still and exude pious serenity with so much turmoil in my brain, especially given how centered on the bedroom and copulation my thoughts are this morning. Father Crane prattles on about devotion, the need to fulfill one’s promises even in the face of extreme adversity. I fume silently, twitching with the heat in the stifling building and hoping the sermon is burning my husband’s ears. Devotion indeed.

Father Crane continues, berating those who might attempt to influence the Hand of God, to alter their fate or question the Almighty’s plan, to escape their duties. I am certain that I have heard this exact sermon before and tune him out. His nasal voice disturbs my thought processes and I must be focused if I am to sort out the mess that is my marriage.

Peeta sits across the church from me, apparently serene and focused on the words, head bowed slightly. The sun even dares to shine on his hair in such a way that he seems almost divine. Beside him, Haymitch snores, although no one bothers to wake him. To do so would cause more disturbance to the sermon than the snores themselves, Although Father Crane sends him several withering glares throughout. On Peeta’s other side, his brother Henry stares out the windows, as though longing for an escape.

He is playing some game by not touching me, my husband. I am certain of it. Perhaps he means to force a divorce or an annulment by claiming that I have neglected my duty as a wife. Yes! That is it. If we do not consummate our marriage, he can use the lack of children to discard me. Or perhaps he means to weaken me somehow in refusing to act as a husband, lulling me into a sense of security before claiming what he truly wants. Whatever game it is he plays, I cannot allow this. I have worked too hard to secure a husband and a fortune to support my family to allow it to all fall apart now. I will simply have to seduce him tonight.

With a plan and resolution, I am better able to sit still through the sermon. It is once we are at home after that things begin to fall apart.

“Katniss,” Madge grabs my arm and keeps me back from the remainder of our party. “Are you alright?”

“Quite fine, now that I have a plan.”

“A plan?” Madge asks, her hand flying to her throat. “Oh no. Was it that awful last night?”

“Awful? Yes, it was wretched.” I bite out the words, unable to hide how embarrassed I feel. Why I am embarrassed is beyond me. I am not the one in the wrong here. It is Peeta who is shirking his duty in our bedroom, not I.

The more that I think about it, the more I am convinced that he either is repulsed by my scars and is therefore the worst sort of hypocrite, or he is using this to somehow manipulate me. I will not allow that. I will instead outmaneuver him.

Before Madge can question me further, I tear myself away from her and focus on our guests. Most of them will depart tomorrow, leaving us in peace to establish our new lives. I will have time to talk with Madge then, after I have seduced my husband.

************************

In the evening, there are games and conversation. Music and laughter. Primrose plays on the piano to great appreciation and the atmosphere is cheerful, lively. Haymitch and Peeta engage in a game of chess. Aunt Effie and Angelica Mellark somehow find common topics to discuss. Henry reads and on occasion joins in with the ladies’ conversation. Madge embroiders and I sit content with my book. A strange sort of domestic tranquility settles over the group. Frivolity continues into the evening and yet my book fails to win my interest.

In fact, the warmth of the scene lulls me into a relaxed, almost dreamy state. I blame the exhaustion of the past few days as I am jostled partially awake, lifted into arms and held against a solid chest.

“If you could assist her in preparing for bed, Mary--”

“Of course, Mr. Mellark,” I hear Mary answer as I am moved through the hall. “Poor dear has had an exciting few days.”

“Haven’t we all?” he says and I hear my maid chuckle.

“Where is Mrs. Everdeen?”

“Upstairs with the Mister.”

It is a haze of movement and whispers. I drift in and out, only aware of vague instructions that I follow until I am tucked in and content, fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, I wake, startled by thoughts that finally coalesce. I sit up and stare at the back of my husband’s head as he sleeps in the chair, seemingly at peace.

“Curse him!” I mutter. He evaded me, the bastard.

************************

Our wedding guests depart, and I discover just how inept I am at seduction. I am thwarted at every turn. Peeta fabricates all manner of excuses to remain out of our room until late at night, past the time I fall asleep alone in our bed. Other nights, if I attempt to stay awake with him, I inevitably fall asleep in a chair or sofa only to have him carry me to bed and leave me alone there, still a maid.

Madge frets over me, concern apparent in her eyes each morning at the breakfast table as I struggle to hide my growing fatigue. I do not know how to tell her that my lost sleep is due not to a situation similar to hers, but to an entirely different dilemma. She might tell me how fortunate I am to not have to suffer my husband’s amorous attentions, and that would only aggravate me even further. My only consolation is that my husband appears to be suffering the same affliction as I. The circles beneath his eyes gradually darken and his limp grows more pronounced. My indignation grows with them.

“Mr. Marvel comes to call this week to discuss terms of sale,” I tell anyone who will listen one morning.

“Is that usual?” Peeta asks and Madge’s eyes dart between us. I can see her increasing desire to ask private and prying questions. I hope she does not. I am not sure how to answer them.

“Yes, they are fond of establishing terms of sale in person.”

“Perhaps you should have Peeta with you for that meeting,” my mother suggests and I scowl at her.

“Mr. Marvel knows me. Father always had me present at our negotiations in the past.”

“Yes but your father will not be there this time.”

“Are you suggesting I cannot handle the bargaining and sales on my own? That I need a man to accomplish it for me?”

“Of course not, Katniss,” my mother answers with clear exasperation. “I am simply considering the implications of you conducting business alone with two men.”

“I am married now. That affords me some freedom and protection from scandal, does it not?”

“I think perhaps,” Peeta says softly, leaning towards me as though we are conspiring. I turn my head to better hear him as he continues, “that your mother means to protect Mr. Marvel from your strong will and any hard bargains you might drive, madame. And perhaps from that ferocious scowl of yours.”

This, of course, only serves to make me scowl at him and he grins in response. After a beat of silence, Prim’s laughter rings out. My mother smiles and I lift one shoulder in indifference. “It is not my fault if a man cannot hold his ground in negotiations with me. Very well then husband, if you must attend, by all means, do so to protect Mr. Marvel from being intimidated.”

I can feel Madge’s eyes on us through the entire exchange and my cheeks heat in shame and embarrassment. I feel as though I am somehow lying to her, yet I do not know how to soothe her concerns for me.

Two days later, Mr. Marvel arrives with his son to conduct business.

“Ah, Miss Everdeen. A pleasure to see you again. Where is your father?”

“My father is indisposed, Mr. Marvel, I wonder that you had not heard.”

“I did hear of his accident in spring but had hoped he would recover by now.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Surely then the rumors of a recent wedding are false then? I cannot fathom Miss Primrose marrying without your father’s blessing.”

“My sister is not married,” I say, spine stiffening at his words, at the assumption that it must be Prim who married. Am I so undesirable that everyone believes it impossible for me to find a husband? “Now are there any changes you wish to make to--”

“I am glad to be reassured of Miss Primrose’s prudence,” he says, turning to share a strange look with his son and it occurs to me that perhaps Mr. Marvel means to see his snivelling son wed to my sister. Not likely. “Surely it is unseemly to negotiate with your father indisposed? Miss Everdeen, a young, inexperienced, and unmarried woman--”

“Mrs. Mellark,” I say. It is the first I have demanded someone refer to me by my married name and causes a strange tingling in my skull.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is Mrs. Mellark, not Miss Everdeen. The rumors of a wedding were quite true, Mr. Marvel, only not in regards to my sister. How rude of me to neglect introductions. Mr. Marvel, this is my husband, Mr. Peeta Mellark,” I turn then to find him standing right beside me, if slightly behind, in a position of support and solidarity. He inclines his head to Mr. Marvel and his son as the introductions continue.

“My dear girl how did this happen?” Mr. Marvel asks, near to sputtering.

“It took a great deal of convincing on my part, I am afraid,” Peeta says, giving me what can only be termed as a very convincing look of complete devotion. “But I fell madly in love with her and simply could not allow her to escape.”

“Yes,” I say with as much charm as I can muster at his complete lie. “I could not imagine my life without you, husband.”

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes, but he deflects whatever his thoughts were, lifting my hand to his mouth in a gesture of affection. It gives me the chance to gather my wits and refocus on Mr. Marvel. “My father would be more apt to encourage the continuation of life as normal, Mr. Marvel, than to have his family wallow in sorrow and allow the farm to deteriorate. So if there are no further objections, shall we adjourn to the study and order refreshments?”

“Very well then, if you insist.”

As we turn to enter the study behind the Misters Marvel, Peeta offers me his arm. My hand shakes slightly as I take it. He covers my hand with his, and presses down, leaning over to whisper in my ear. “They are already shaking in their boots, atremble with fear. You’ve no idea the effect you can have.”

I am uncertain what that means, or even if it is meant as compliment or insult, but I’ve no time to discern which as Mr. Marvel launches immediately into negotiations

“Mrs. Mellark, I have issue with this price for the sage.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes it is much too high. It will fetch no profit at six pounds a bushel.”

“That is the same price you paid last year, and as I recall, you were quite pleased with your profits.”

“Indeed but demand for such herbs has lowered.”

“What price then do you suggest?” I barely notice Peeta accepting tea from Mary and pouring for us as the younger Mr. Marvel stares at my husband. Is it so shocking that a man might pour tea?

“Four pounds.”

“A one third reduction? Mr. Marvel, that is ridiculous.”

“Yes of course. This is why ladies should be left to the tea service and the gentlemen to the bargaining. Were it left to them, we would pay our entire income for a trifle,” Mr. Marvel states as he accepts the tea from Peeta. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Mellark?”

“Not at all. Mrs. Mellark is an expert on the functions of her farm and the values of her product. If you are disinterested in a fair price and exceptional product, no matter. We have other buyers more than willing to meet our price.” I glance at Peeta, uncertain where he is taking this as he hands me my tea. It is true that we have other buyers, but the Marvels have long been one of our larger sales. “Here you are, my dear.” I thank him for the tea. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Mellark?”

“Indeed it is,” I say automatically, too bewildered to question or contradict him. Such a thing might make the situation worse than I have already done.

“In fact one such buyer plans to expand our market beyond the borders of Panem. Oh dear I cannot seem to remember the name. Harmon? Blackthorne?”

“Hawthorne,” I say the name most present in my mind that fits and Peeta snaps his fingers with a bright smile.

“That’s the one! Mr. Gale Hawthorne. He is traveling abroad at the moment but should pay us a visit...within the fortnight, isn’t it dear?”

“I believe so, husband,” I say, catching on to his game.

Mr. Marvel blusters still, yet his son engages with him in furious conference. Peeta’s eyes meet mine as he sips his tea, almost tranquil. If I were not looking directly at him, I would miss the subtle wink he sends me.

“We are loyal customers, Mrs. Mellark. You cannot in good conscious sell our wares to someone else.”

“On the contrary, I can. Until you sign, the wares are not guaranteed for you. Mr. Hawthorne has offered a most generous price.”

“How much?” Mr. Marvel squeaks.

“Five percent increase from last year,” Peeta says. My stomach drops and I attempt to signal that this is too much.

“Ridiculous! I shall offer you a two percent increase.”

“Three,” I counter. “A bargain for an old friend. A sign of my father’s respect for your business acumen, Mr. Marvel.”

“Done,” he says and smiles as though he truly did just achieve a bargain. “Shall we discuss terms for this goat cheese your father mentioned in his last letter to me in the spring? I am most intrigued by the possibility.”

“Of course. Shall we ring for a few samples?”

The meeting proceeds quite smoothly from there, and as Peeta and I stand on the front steps, waving farewell to our visitors, I watch Peeta in my periphery. Today has given me a new appreciation for him, and when he turns to face me again, I am struck with my good fortune in finding, however unknowingly, such an apt partner and ally, despite our remaining differences.

“Have I anything I need apologize for?” Peeta asks me, true concern in his eyes. I consider my feelings on what he did today, but I do not feel that he did anything to demean or countermand me. True that he showed how smoothly he is capable of lying and yet I feel...empowered. I set out to find a business partner, not a romance, and that is precisely what I seem to have gotten. A partner I can rely on. He suggested that his presence would protect Mr. Marvel from my biting tongue and stubbornness, yet it turns out that what Mr. Marvel truly needed protection from was Peeta and I working together.

“No. Nothing today, husband,” I tell him and he smiles, tilting his head as if in regret.

“I shall try harder tomorrow then, wife.”

“Well, it shall be a new day with fresh opportunities.”

“If it is to be spent with you, then I look forward to it.”

Once more, he lifts my hand to his lips, no audience, no buyers to convince, and the effect of it is overwhelming. A brush of heat up my arms that gives rise to the thought that perhaps I am failing so completely at seducing my husband because he is attempting to seduce me, in a different way.

***********************

The days begins to shape a pattern. In public, Peeta and I are the picture of domestic tranquility. It is strange how easily we work together. How simple he makes the labor and how smoothly he defers to my judgement, even when people first seek his approval as the man. Our encounter with Mr. Marvel and his son is only one example in what becomes a pattern of us working together, and I quickly learn just how dependable my husband truly is. He is as at home laboring beside the common folk -- as evidenced by the day he spends digging and shoring up drainage systems after a rainstorm nearly washes away half of a field -- as he is negotiating terms of business in the parlor.

In the privacy of our rooms, it is another matter entirely.

Why does he not wish to touch me, anyways? He has proved himself most persuasive and does not hesitate to compliment me and yet he has not used that power tempt me into bed with him. It confuses me. I cling to the idea that he must be repulsed by my scars, although that does not hold up under even a cursory examination.

He is not afraid to touch me in smaller ways and has never once flinched from contact with me. With a grasp of my hand in assistance into or out of a carriage, he causes flutterings of sensation up my arm. A simple touch of his palm on my back, a deference of the lead to me as we move from one room to another, is like a shovel digging those unpleasant worms right back up to turn my innards into a squirming mess. I will not even speak of what happens when he assists me down from Sagittaria after our daily rides.

Each day passes much the same as the last. The hours while the sun hangs high in the sky are spent dealing with the business of the estate, preparations for the harvest and for selling our wares. Contracts are drawn up and signed. The goat cheeses we now offer in all their varieties of flavor begin to take off with great popularity. There are moments of quiet when I will catch Peeta working diligently over a book he seems to carry with him at all times. I wonder at the contents but do not muster the courage to ask just yet.

In the evenings, after retiring to our chamber, Peeta and I will sit before the fire and share a drink. We restrict our talk to that of the business of the estate and family. Everdeen -- all of his concerns seem to revolve around Everdeen. It is unemotional and forthright. It is maddening.

When it is time to sleep, he remains in the chair. Most nights he removes his trousers and I think his false leg as well. I cannot be certain as I am too occupied hiding beneath the sheets, battling an insane desire to demand that he consummate our marriage. Why? I ask myself. He has given me what amounts to a stay of execution and here I am considering pulling the lever on the guillotine myself.

Most nights, I lay awake and analyse each brush of fingers at the dining table, and most especially each reassuring squeeze of my hand or comforting caress of my shoulders when father’s health looks to be taking a turn for the worse. Caresses on my scarred shoulder, nonetheless.

What remains of my hold on my quest to seduce him disintegrates when my mother asks Peeta about his time in the infantry at dinner one evening. He speaks of several of the foreign lands he has been to, strange cultures that sound lovely and exotic -- and so exciting. He enchants the entire table and I am left feeling small, inconsequential.

My husband has seen the world, experienced so much of life. Despite what Haymitch said of the absence of any lovers in Peeta’s past, I cannot believe it. A soldier traveling in foreign lands would have a much simpler time disguising his dalliance with a mistress or lover. No one would think twice about it nor consider it amiss for him to have such worldly experiences. What do I know of seduction compared to the exotic women he has likely lain with? Absolutely nothing. Of course he is not tempted by me, why should he be? The last time I attempted any sort of flirtation or seduction before this, it turned out horribly. I drove away every other potential suitor and then my intended eloped with another woman!

I sit vigil over my father that night rather than going to bed and facing the chasm between Peeta and I. It must be near midnight when my mother wakes me.

“Katniss, darling you should be in bed, not here,” she whispers, soothing back my hair and kissing my brow.

“I was worried about Father,” I argue and she nods.

“As am I. We shall ask Doctor Aurelius to make another visit as soon as he is able. In the meantime, your husband surely worries after you.”

I do not argue with her, although I am certain he could not care less. Gathering the frayed ends of my resolve, I return to my bedchamber only to find it empty. Peeta’s coat is draped over the chair as usual. The fire, left unattended, has burned down to mere embers.

I disrobe and change to my nightdress and dressing robe before examining the area where he sleeps for clues to his whereabouts. His book which he usually carries with him is set on the small table, open to a page. I should not pry so, but my eyes are drawn to it despite my intentions.

An exquisite sketch of Maysilee smiles up at me from the parchment, her youthful glee over the flower in her hand sparkling with such light, even rendered so in charcoal pencil. I gasp and snatch up the book, forgetting Peeta’s privacy as I turn the pages, reversed from here to the front of the book, and marvel at the drawings he has made. Dozens of pages filled with renderings of Everdeen and her people, her teeming wild life and cultivated life as well. Beauty leaps from every page, leaving me breathless and misty eyed.

There are a few scattered pages that have been torn from the book, as though their presence angered or offended the artist. Then I find one of a beautiful woman with softness and love glowing in her expression. It stops me cold. I do not recognize this face at all, but the way Peeta has so lovingly depicted her, I know that she is exceptionally important to him.

Now the coldness lives in my veins as something that has never before occured to me strikes deep in my heart. There are pictures of everyone at Everdeen -- Maysilee, my mother and Prim, any number of the servants and laborers, even Madge and Haymitch and Aunt Effie -- yet there are none of me. Only this strange woman with her soft smile. Perhaps in marrying me, Peeta lost someone he loves, someone he wished to marry.

I dare to flip another page to find more of my mother and Prim, more of Everdeen, one of Cicero and Joe. Near the front, there are several more pages torn from the book and then the drawings shift to people and places I do not recognize -- with the exception of his brothers and their families. The strange woman makes several appearances throughout. She is the one constant. The drawings grow somehow darker and more disturbing the closer I get to the start of the book, until finally, I reach the beginning. Staring aghast at the first ten pages, I discover distant battlefields, bodies in agony, hazy nightmares, the haggard face of a tired man.

I move to return the book and then decide against it. No, I wish to know more. I wish to know more of the nightmares that plague him. I wish to know who this woman who crosses my husband’s mind so often is. What place in his heart she holds.

Clutching the book tight to my chest, I venture forth into the midnight darkness of my home to seek out Peeta and confront him with my questions. My bare feet grow cold and I chastise myself for not pausing to don slippers. Noises from the kitchen alert me to human presence and I turn in that direction. The sight that greets me halts my tirade on my lips.

In the light of the fire, Peeta stands dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled up and flour kissing his forearms. His hands are sunk into a mass of dough as he kneads it with fluid motions. A stray lock of hair falls across his forehead, his blue eyes intent on his task. My mouth falls open at the domestic scene before me.

I must make some sort of noise that draws his attentions to me. Pausing in his motions, Peeta lifts his head and smiles at me, the expression slow, soft and welcoming, yet also shy in such a way that I momentarily forget about the strange woman in his drawings.

“You have discovered me, madame. I hope you do not mind.”

“I am not precisely sure what to think….since I do not know precisely what you are doing.”

“Kneading bread dough,” he offers and I can’t stop the short note of laughter.

“That much is clear. What is not clear is the why.”

“It helps me to relax.”

“That is a strange hobby for a soldier and field medic, the son of a marquis, to assume,” I say and he shakes his head.

“But not so strange for someone raised as the child of a baker.” I do not know what to say in response to that and remain silent. He sees my confusion and uses one hand to beckon me into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry? I confess to baking one of the loaves meant for tomorrow to sate my own hunger. This is meant to replace what I plan to eat.” He motions to the dough on the table before returning to his task.

Intrigued, I slide the sketch book into my robe and enter the room, taking a seat opposite to where he works.

“Is this where you vanish to in the night? When you are trying to avoid me?”

“Ah, I see I have not been as subtle as I would have wished,” he says and glances at me, holding my gaze for a moment before he continues. “Please understand, it is not meant as an insult. I simply needed something to help me sleep. This helps.”

“You say you were raised by a baker?” I ask rather than dwell on the hurt I feel, despite his reassurances.

“I did not always live with the name Mellark,” he whispers and sudden warmth fills my cheeks. Haymitch urged me to ask of Peeta’s past, and yet I did not, perhaps to protect myself. More likely to protect my animosity towards him. If I remained angry with him, righteous over the way I was forced into marriage, it was easier to forget that Peeta was forced into this marriage as well. That seems silly now, although there is still the strange woman in the sketch book to contend with. Perhaps I can learn her identity as well if I learn of his past.

“Where did you live before? Before you went to live as a Mellark, then?”

“With my mother,” he says simply and gives me another smile, this one sad. “My real mother.”

“What was she like?” I ask, drawn in to the story before he even begins, seduced perhaps by the crackling fire and the comforting smell of spices and herbs and yeast that lingers in the kitchen.

“She is...she was...beautiful.” I fold my feet beneath me and arrange my robe for warmth and comfort.

“Tell me more?”

“You really wish to know?” I nod eagerly, curiosity eating away at my patience.

“I would not ask if I did not.”

“Very well. She was not glamorous or wealthy, Katniss. She was a maid. Specifically a lady’s maid to the three daughters of a very prominent and wealthy family. The ladies my mother served… their names at the time she began her employment were Tabitha, Fanny, and Chastity Hilston. When Tabitha was married, my mother remained with Fanny and Chastity at their parents’ estate.”

I blink and search my memories for a connection. The name sounds vaguely familiar. Peeta seems to recognize my quandary and, slapping more flour on the table, flips the dough and resumes kneading.

“You would know her as Lady Tabitha Mellark, Marchioness de Vale.” I stare at him in shock and shake my head, denying the truth of where I sense this story is headed. “You still wish the sordid tale, madame?”

“I--” I swallow and search for courage. I find it in the challenge in his blue eyes as he levels a stare at me. Sitting straight, I nod to him. “Yes. I wish to know your origins, husband. Your past and all your family’s secrets shrouded in darkness. You have become privy to mine, after all.”

His lips twitch and he watches his own hands as he works and speaks.

“It is quite simple, really. Moving through society as someone no one wishes to see and is therefore generally ignored, I have since seen it more frequently than I would care to acknowledge. A man of wealth, power, and privilege can claim most anything he desires with little consequence, even in the home of another wealthy man.

“The Marquis, even after they were wed and had children, would often take his Marchioness home to visit her sisters and parents at their country estate -- how thoughtful of him allowing this family connection to continue rather than cleaving her from her beloved mother. They would bring their children and stay for some time. While there, Lady Tabitha would enjoy the service of her old maid who now served only her sisters now that she herself had a much fancier lady's maid befitting her title. And the Marquis...well he demands a different sort of service of the maid.”

“He raped her?” I ask, appalled and Peeta shakes his head.

“I believe so. I speak based only on the conversations I overheard between my mother and my father as a child. I do not think my mother fought the Marquis or denied him in so many words, but I believe that is because she felt that she could not. But not fighting, a sort of frightened acceptance of the thing, is still not equal to a desire to participate in the act,” he says. I mull over that for a moment. “When I was a child and Lady Tabitha would visit with her husband and sons, my mother would inevitably fall ill. She would sequester herself, despite Lady Tabitha’s pleas for her former maid to dress her and fix her hair.

“I did not understand the connection, nor why my father would insist that I stay in the kitchens and work with him during those visits. I was scarcely allowed outside the servant’s quarters while the Mellark family was present.”

“Your father?” I ask, confused momentarily with his choice of words.

“The man who raised me. The man I knew as my father until I was ten years old.” He pauses then to set the dough aside to rise, covering it with a cloth and checking the bread in the oven.

“The baker then? You knew the baker as your father.”

“Yes,” he says, using the paddle to remove the bread from the fire and setting it on the table before me. He sighs as he takes a seat, the steaming and fragrant loaf between us. “That will need to cool before we slice it.”

“Then you have time to tell me more,” I say and he folds his hands together, tilting his head to examine me.

“You are not scandalised yet?”

“I am not so fragile as that,” I whisper and he smiles. It courses through me, warm and comforting as the bread cooling between us.

“No you’re not, are you? As you wish, madame. The man I knew as my father was named William Thackeray, and he was a baker at the Hilston country seat. He and my mother, Nancy, had fallen in love as children living and working there. They had plans to marry when the Marquis...took liberties he should not be allowed. When my mother discovered she was with child as a result, she attempted to break her engagement with William. He refused, insisting that he loved her and that they could still marry and raise the child as theirs. Which is precisely what they did for ten years.”

“You had a happy childhood then?” I ask, touching the loaf of bread, my fingers dancing lightly over the crisp, golden surface to avoid burns.

His eyes dip to the motions then back up before he continues.

“I did have a happy childhood. Loving parents, a cousin who was the child of another serving couple and a dear friend--”

“Delly?”

“Delly,” he confirms with a smile. “As I have told you before, she was like a sister to me.”

“So then what happened?”

“My father -- William, the baker -- died when I was ten. For years, my parents had kept me separate from the Mellarks when they came to visit, fearing the truth coming to light. Until then, no one looked closely enough at the servant’s child to notice. There was no reason to. That year, without my father around to keep me occupied and protected, and with my mother fighting her usual response to the presence of the Marquis, worse this time without her husband around...well let’s just say that Lady Mellark was furious to find her youngest son playing with a servant boy who looked to be his brother.”

“No.”

“Yes. You can imagine what happened. My mother was let go, dismissed without references and thrown from the house with her son and little else. She struggled for close to a year to support us, I helped any way that I could, but no family nearby would take her in and the city offered only questionable sorts of employment for a widowed mother. One day, when we were both nearly dead from hunger, she stole a bar of soap and told me to wash. It was pouring rain that day and bitterly cold. We took to the streets, she claimed so that she might find work, but instead she knocked on the door of the Mellark household.”

“Oh Peeta,” I gasp, holding my nightdress collar closed against the imagined feel of the rain, against the heartache Nancy Thackeray must have felt in giving up her son.

“She demanded that the Marquis see to the needs of his illegitimate son, if nothing else, demanded that at least her child be cared for since he had cost her everything. I will never forget the things Lady Tabitha called my mother that day, but the Marquis...he accepted. He promised my mother he would give me his name, educate me, give me a future and a home, raise me as his son. On the condition that she would leave and never see me or any of them again.”

We sit in silence, the fire the only sound as the pop and crack of the wood does little to dispel the chill in my bones at his story.

“Some days, I am convinced he only did it to anger Lady Tabitha, to remind her of the power he holds over the lives of everyone around him.”

I blink the unwanted tears from my eyes and bring forth the sketch book from my robe. I stare at the cover and then glance up to catch his furrowed expression. “I am sorry. You left it on the table...open and…” I cannot finish and find one of the many drawings of the strange woman. How desperate and sad she must have been that day. How terrified Peeta must have felt, abandoned and lonely in a strange home with strange people, many of whom likely resented his presence if not outright loathed him for it. How sad and confused he must have been for months, perhaps years of not understanding why his mother had left him so. “This is your mother...is it not?”

“Yes,” he says softly.

“What happened to her?”

“I do not know,” he says, and I hear the resounding crack of pain and regret in his voice. “I never saw her again after that day in the rain, although I have looked for her.”

He takes the book from me, running one finger down the side of the page before shutting it and setting it aside. I watch his fingers splay over the cover as something else strikes me.

“That day in the rain -- with me -- when you brought me home,” I prompt and he confirms with a nod.

“I had news of someone who might be her. That is where I was headed in such a hurry.”

“Oh no. Peeta, I am so sorry,” I whisper as guilt floods through me. His warm fingers brush over mine and pry my hand free of my dressing robe.

“I was days late, Katniss. Practically a week late, in fact. Not hours. By the time I arrived, whoever she was had moved on long before. Stopping to help you did not cause me to lose her trail again. It was already cold.” I stare down at our hands as he winds our fingers together. It is comforting, this small touch, almost a promise in itself as I realise just how much of his heart he has revealed to me, entrusted to me, tonight. When I lift my eyes, he’s watching me with a steady sort of trust or understanding.

“And to think I was angry with you so long for not dismounting. Such a silly thing and--” Peeta’s laughter halts my words.

“I imagine that had I dismounted to assist you, we would have both wound up in the mud.” He leans over and I cannot help but chuckle at the strange sound his fist makes on his false leg. “But enough of that, we should not let this bread go to waste,” he says and stands abruptly, releasing my hand to pick up a knife and slice the bread.

I reach out to halt his motions, my hand on his wrist. He stares first at my hand then into my eyes. I take a deep breath and rise up to kiss him.

A brief touch of warm lips and a flutter of pulse is all I am allowed before he lifts his head away from me and places his hand on my shoulder, shaking his head as I wonder what objections he could possibly have now.

“Pity is no better a reason than duty, Katniss.”

“It is not pity I feel right now.”

“Then what is it?” He asks the question, still close enough that were I to pitch forward the slightest bit, we would be kissing instead of speaking. I search my heart and attempt to put a name to the thing blossoming inside me and yet I cannot.

“I do not yet know.”

“At least you are honest. I would rather have the truth between us, wife. The last kiss we shared with false ideas in our heads did not result in much good.” He gently pushes me back and I sit heavily as he continues slicing bread. “When you determine what it is, and still wish to kiss me, then perhaps I shall kiss you back.”

I grip my braid as he sets aside his knife and looks around the kitchen.

“Do you happen to have any goat cheese? Perhaps some apples,” he says and I stand, glad for the task. I find what he needs, and with a few more swipes of the knife, Peeta hands me a slice of bread, spread with goat cheese and topped with apple slices. “And now, wife...it is your turn to tell me a story.”

“What sort of story?” I ask and he thinks for a moment.

“A happy story, I should think.”

I hum and bite into the treat Peeta has made us, closing my eyes to savor the tastes as they caress my tongue. Finally, I settle on a story, telling him of the time Father took me into town to purchase a birthday present for Prim. I had the most elegant blue ribbons selected for her, but on our way home, we stopped to speak with the Goat Man. As my father conversed, I gazed into a pen where several goats were busy feasting on their lunch.

“I was not paying nearly close enough attention and one of the goats snatched Prim’s ribbons right out of my hand and ate them! I started shouting and kicking up a fuss, so loud that my father thought the goat had bitten me. When he finally discerned what had happened, I demanded the slaughter of the goat so that we might retrieve the ribbons.”

Peeta laughs at this, preparing a second slice for each of us. “You were quite bloodthirsty. So then what did he do?”

“He bought the goat with the condition that the goat man provided an undigested blue ribbon. I tied the ribbon around the goat’s neck, after lecturing her that she was not to eat any more ribbons, and that was Prim’s birthday gift instead.”

“That is a very happy story,” he says, our fingertips brushing as he hands me the slice of bread.

“Indeed. That goat produced excellent milk. You are in fact eating cheese made from the milk of one of her many granddaughters.”

“The beginnings of your goat cheese empire then,” he says. “All born of your love for sister.”

“The goat owed me after eating those ribbons,” I say, lifting my nose in a haughty gesture.

“And she wouldn’t dare disappoint you.”

The night hours dwindle as we talk and eat, sharing pleasant stories of childhood and friends. When we are both full and content, we clean up our mess, bank the fire, and walk upstairs. Peeta is limping again and so, despite my freezing feet and the beckoning of my bed, I slow my pace to one that seems more comfortable to him.

When we reach our room, a strained silence fills the air. I twist my braid round my fingers, round and round as I consider my next course. Do I kiss him again, and risk another rejection? I was telling the truth, it is not pity that I feel for him, but something more akin to...understanding. He opens our door and then pauses, stepping aside to let me pass first, ever the gentleman. I move to do so.

“Wait, Katniss,” he says, stepping forward and filling half the opening. I might still pass by him if I wanted, but I find myself standing perfectly still, gazing up at him as he caresses over my cheek, back to my ear. He takes a breath and leans towards me, halting with a pained look on his face, close enough that I can see the freckles that grace the bridge of his nose, each individual lash. They are so long that I wonder how they do not tangle when he blinks.

“I told you that I would spend months courting you, would you grant them to me.” An almost foolish happiness forms in my chest and I strain to keep it contained.

“Are you asking to court me, then, husband?”

“As best I can, given the circumstances.” His fingers trail down my neck, over my scarred shoulder with layers of fabric still between us.

A smile curls my mouth upwards at the idea. It is so sweet and endearing and utterly maddening. “I will...allow it.”

His smile mirrors mine then and he once more laces our fingers together, as they were downstairs. “Then allow me to escort you home, madame.”

I nod and turn into our room, trailing Peeta behind me and then beside me as we approach the bed. It rises in the darkness, draped in welcoming fabrics like the arms of a lover, inviting whispers and secrets. I turn and lift on my toes, kissing his jaw, not out of pity or duty, but because I wish to do so.

He assists me onto the mattress and essentially tucks me safely beneath the covers before turning towards the fire and his chair, a soft smile on his face. For one moment, I consider inviting him into the bed with me, but as I lay down and finger my smiling lips that still tingle with the scrape of his stubble beneath their caress, I think that such a kiss is a very good start indeed.

To be continued...look for the next chapter on the blog of @sunflowerslyf

#Unmasked #thehungergames #submission

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Rosie Lee Tompkins: A Retrospective at BAMPFA

Untitled, 1986

Walking through the Rosie Lee Tompkins exhibit that just opened up at the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive in Berkeley, one phrase kept reverberating through my mind: “an ordinary mystic.” There is a spiritual element to this artist’s quilt work that goes beyond her frequent incorporation of bible verse references stitched onto fabric and weaves its way through every subtle connection made in each joined-together piece of colorful texture. You can sense it in just one of the quilts, but when you view the 65+ quilts hung together on the wall in one sitting, it permeates your awareness in a deeply profound way. The artist combines her own diverse cultural background with the influence of the upcycled/repurposed culture of Bay Area arts scene to create a set of brightly-colored, vivid, and vibrant quilts that emanate their own energy.

Tompkins applies her Christian background in the irregularly embroidered numbers and letters cascading across the surface of many of her quilts. Rosie Lee Tompkins would sit down to a quilt, with both a theme and a specific human in mind, and she would meditatively and mindfully stitch together the varied pieces of fabric into something more than the sum of their parts; it was a spiritual practice. She would take the fabrics that others in the Bay Area were giving away or throwing out, find a theme within them, and bring new life to them through her creations. Her work was spiritual, meditative, and intentional. Tompkins’ work evokes a sense of everyday spirituality; it is also materially beautiful and certainly doesn’t require a religious interpretation if you yourself aren’t comfortable with or interested in one.

Tompkins' quilts caught the eye of Bay Area psychologist and art collector Eli Leon who had an ardent passion for African American quilts. When he passed away in 2018, he willed his entire collection, consisting of more than 3,000 quilts, to BAMPFA. It was a surprise to the museum but one that opened up a grand opportunity to delve deep into this niche of art. Of those 3,000 quilts, approximately 500 were created by Rosie Lee Tompkins. The museum curators knew that sharing the work with the public might best begin by introducing us all to her body of work. Although there are references to Leon in the collection, the curators intentionally made Rosie and her creations the star of this exhibit. A second exhibit is in the works for 2022, which will display a greater range of artists from the quilt collection along with additional information about Leon.

Exhibit co-curator Elaine Yau has been delving deep into a socio-cultural, historical perspective on the artist’s work. Until relatively recently, the art world looked at Tompkins solely from a formal perspective. This was due in large part to the fact that Tompkins wanted to keep her life private. In fact, Rosie Lee Tompkins is actually a chosen pseudonym for the artist born Effie Mae Howard. Notably, although she was called Rosie throughout her artistic life, she has embroidered her original name, Effie, on to the borders and faces of many of the quilts that you’ll see in the exhibit. Nevertheless, she refrained from engaging extensively with the art world. This is not to suggest that her work hasn’t been seen before. Co-curator Larry Rinder remembers first coming across her work in 1996 at a Richmond Art Center exhibit by Eli Leon, an experience which moved him so much that Rinder went on to help launch her first solo exhibit at BAMPFA. However, it is only since Tompkins’ death in 2006 that the art world has been looking, as Yau has, at the way the artist fits into the narrative landscape within which her work was created.

Yau emphasizes that we have to consider Tompkins’ work in light of The Great Migration as well as her experiences in the Bay Area as an adult. Effie Mae Howard was born in Arkansas in 1936, a child of The Great Depression and World War II. She learned quilting as a child, taught by her mother, passed down from a lineage of African-American women living in the South. She left the region in hopes of better opportunities, ending up in the San Francisco Bay Area by way of Chicago then Milwaukee. Once she arrived here, she was influenced by the late 1970s urban arts scene. In particular, there was a culture of re-use (or what we would now term upcycling). She would head to Thrift Town and Value Village and the many flea markets throughout the Bay Area, collecting fabrics and notions as she went along. She stitched together her own identity as an artist, joining her mother’s visual and tactile quilting lessons with her new Bay Area experiences and inspirations, and the result is a body of work that shows both consistency and growth over time.

Untitled, 1968, 1982-3, 1996

There are a couple of quilts in the exhibit that date to the 1970s but most of them were created in the two decades starting in the early 1980s and leading nearly up to her death. The first two quilts that you’ll see as you enter the exhibit are early pieces that instantly tell you a lot about what you’re going to find as you venture along. Both pieces are large quilts that at first glance look chaotic. They each incorporate a range of different fabrics as well as utilization of a variety of techniques drawn not only from quilting but also including embroidery and other handcrafts. Tompkins’ pushed the boundaries of what a “quilt” could be. Once you realize that there is a theme, you can see that Tompkins set parameters for herself, but then allowed herself to go wild within those parameters, and it is this exact combination of restraint and fluid creation that makes her work so uniquely hers.

Untitled, 1970s, scriptures

The first room offers just a taste of what is to come. We see Tompkins’ creativity flourish as we enter the second room, which is themed around assemblage and applique work. In this room, we see Tompkins’ take on a classic “crazy quilt.” Seeing several pieces hung together, it becomes obvious that the artist has a broad vocabulary for quilting, and she continues to put her own spin on traditional techniques. Some pieces are dense and almost cluttered, but she never loses track of her sense for composition and shows exquisite skill in her variation of it from piece to piece.

"Jewelry Christmas tree" bottle, 1996

Make sure that you take the time when you are in the applique room to turn your attention away from the quilts for a moment and towards the case in the center of the room where half a dozen “jewelry Christmas trees” are showcased. These were found in a closet of her home, perhaps originally intended for her eyes only, but they are jewels that glitter so bright that it would have been a shame to keep them stuck in a closet. Tompkins had a love for glitter, sparkle, ribbon, sequins, and all things a little bit extra. She combines them densely on these sculptural forms, creating a three-dimensional version of her quilt style.

Thirty-six Nine-patch, Three Sixes Combination, 1999, quilted by Irene Bankhead

The next room of the exhibit can’t be missed - you couldn’t fail to notice it - because of the three bright yellow/orange/purple pieces that stand out in the corner. The curators have called this room "Personal Symbolism," and it is the best representation in the exhibit of how Tompkins combined her traditional Christian beliefs with her personal lived experience as well as other elements of transcendental, mystical spirituality. These pieces are called The Three Sixes. They loosely represent three people in her family who all had birthdays with the number six in them. The first is her own birthday: 9/6/36 which seems to have taken on a magical quality for her. She stitches it frequently into the surface of her quilts, sometimes written out directly and sometimes written backwards. The second color and number in the Three Sixes represents her grandfather, a family member she grew up with. The third represents a number of different people - a great uncle, a cousin, a brother. In any case, there is a magical quality to the numbers that Tompkins draws from. However, co-curator Yau points out that sometimes the artist took liberties with her math. For example, there’s a piece that’s a “Thirty-six Nine-patch quilt.” The nine-patch is a traditional quilting technique. Tompkins’ often puts her own twist on classic techniques and this is no exception. In this case, she’s worked the numbers of her birth date in to create a set of 36 9-patches, except that as Yau points out, there are strictly only 33, and you have to count certain yarn ties to get to the “correct” or intended 36. Nevertheless, the gist is there, the cohesion between all of the pieces in the series is undeniable, and there is something a bit mystical about the number play at work here.

Untitled, 1996 (circa)

When we head to the next room, we see a visible shift in the artist’s work. The pieces collected here represent her cultural concerns. Mostly created in the late 1990s, Tompkins has composed quilts with specific themes in mind, although it’s not always easy to guess exactly what she was trying to say. For example, there is a piece with a big image of OJ Simpson right at the top. The piece includes other prominent Pan-African leaders and celebrities. There is clear thematic cohesion and yet it raises questions as to what precisely she was trying to say. Although this is a political piece, it is also highly personal. Her name, Effie, is stitched not only on the border but also on a cross that says “Michael + Effie + Love” (likely referring to the nearby image of Michael Jordan). And this is where all of her life’s work seems to coalesce, as she combines a deep mindful meditation with both personal and socio-political issues.

Untitled, 1996, quilted by Irene Bankhead

Another quilt in this section prominently features an image of the Kennedy brothers with Martin Luther King Jr.. It is surrounded by several different versions of the American flag, positioned both vertically and horizontally. Within this, though, the thematic stripes of the flag are repeated in other fabrics including an Indian-inspired batik and a Mexican stripe drawn pulled from serape fabric. There are pastoral scenes here that seem almost colonial with a Latin American reference in a piece of fabric showing flamenco dancers. The statements here are bold and striking.

Untitled, 2002 (circa)

In her latest years, Tompkins’ work became more overtly religious. The final room consists of many pieces incorporating crosses and other religious symbolism. Then there are two striking pieces at the very end that bring a sense of closure to the entire show. The penultimate piece is a non-quilted single-piece embroidered green-on-green that combines her personal details (including her name and address) with Christian scripture verses as well as a quote that “love is like an ice cream cone; it gets better with every lick.” The last is a black-on-black embroidered quilt that is slightly reminiscent of a funeral gown. Compared to the bright colors, textures, and pictorial narratives of the other rooms, this is understated and yet astoundingly powerful. We see the artist come full circle as we circle through the rooms of this exhibit.

Untitled, 2005

Rosie Lee Tompkins: A Retrospective is on display at the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive (BAMPFA) at 2155 Center Street in Berkeley, CA. The exhibit runs from 2/19/20 - 7/19/20. It is the largest-ever retrospective of the artist’s work.

BAMPFA galleries are open 11-7 Wednesday - Sunday. General admission is $14 with discounts / free admission available to varied populations including students, UC Berkeley staff, seniors and children. Galleries are free to all on the first Thursday of every month.

Special events for this exhibit include:

Colloquium: Re-visioning the Art of Rosie Lee Tompkins, 2/29/20, 2 pm

Fabric Postcard Collage Workshop, 3/7/20, 11 am

Improvisational Quilt-Print Making Workshop, 4/5/20, 2 pm

And more. Details on BAMPFA website.

By: Kathryn Vercillo

#berkeley #berkeley art museum and pacific film archive #rosie lee tompkins #textile art #textile artist #quilting #press preview #san francisco bay area #art museum #art exhibit #art history #history of art #sartle news #5 women artists #women in the arts

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jlalafics · 4 years

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I’m clearly on a dessert kick at the moment ... how about Everlark chancing a moment alone at an event on the tour to enjoy some sort of treat they found/generally check in with each other and have a breather (or some variation or that — supportive Everlark moment alone on the tour) (I mean they do get caught trying to sneak away a lot, maybe sometimes they succeed)

Hope this satisfies your dessert craving! Thanks @rosegardeninwinter for the prompt!

______

District 5

It’s far into the evening when there’s a quiet knock on the door.

God, I hope it’s not Effie coming to complain about my lack of enthusiasm during the most mind-numbing speech in all of Panem. I don’t know how she comes up with these words, sometimes.

Pressing the door button, it opens and instead of an irate Effie, I find Peeta.

He looks me over. “You were really going to go to sleep?”

My gaze goes to his dark pants and heather-green long-sleeve. He’s also holding a brown leather jacket with a wool collar. “And you aren’t?”

“No. Get dressed,” Peeta urges. “I want to show you something. Wear something that’s not too obvious.”

“I guess my fuchsia sequin dress is out of the question,” I retort.

“Very funny. Hurry up, won’t you?”

“Fine.” I yank him into the room and Peeta looks surprised. “You can’t stand in the hallway waiting for me. Everyone thinks we’re engaged, we’ve probably since each other in various stages of undress.”

“Right,” he manages to sputter out.

I find myself grinning as I look through my closet, pulling out a simple navy-blue dress and a cropped jacket. Quickly, I pull my shirt over my head and shimmy out of my lounge pants.

Behind me, Peeta is quietly whistling to himself, probably avoiding the fact that I’m practically naked in front of him.

What a gentleman.

There are times, however, when I wish he wouldn’t be. When I wish we could recapture the hunger that had welled up inside our cave. Some nights on this train, I find myself replaying those kisses in my mind over and over—

“You okay?” I look over my shoulder to find Peeta watching, his eyes darker than I have ever seen them. I recognize that want in them. “You spaced out for a moment.”

I quickly pull the dress on and pull on the jacket. Finally, I bend down and pull out a pair of sturdy boots.

“I’m ready,” I declare.

“You look nice,” Peeta replies with a soft smile. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

++++++

We find ourselves in a village. The buildings are tall with cone roofs and painted in muted primary colors. Some have stone walls. As we walk through the village, the hand that isn’t grasping Peeta’s reaches to touch one of the stones. It makes sense as we are close to the mountains; it must be their primary resource for building material.

“Where exactly are we going?” I ask as Peeta looks around, his eyes searching the street signs.

“One of our handlers mentioned this one place…” We make another turn and his blue eyes brighten. “There!”

We go to where a small crowd hangs around a…bakery.

This isn’t like Peeta’s bakery as there are wide glass windows displaying trays of baked goods. Inside there are a few tables where the townspeople sit and lounge. It looks cozy and inviting and I find comfort in seeing people living their everyday lives, enjoying time to just be together.

It’s hard to feel like that when you’re on a never-ending train ride.

“Do you see anything you like?” Peeta asks me as we stare at various trays in front of us.

“I really don’t know,” I say. “Why don’t you pick for me?”

Together, we step inside and the noise ceases. I try to ignore the shocked expressions as Peeta leads me to the front counter.

All charm, Peeta gives the older woman with snow white hair a smile. “Hello. Francis recommended your bakery—”

“I’m flattered, Mr. Mellark,” the woman replies kindly. “My name is Mary. What can I help you with?”

“Peeta, please.” He turns to me. “Katniss and I have a limited knowledge on dessert pastries. What would you recommend?”

The woman beams at us. “Well, we are known for our eclairs—”

“I’ve heard about them!” Peeta says excitedly and I smile at his enthusiasm. He’s been so upset with me and I’ve given him several reasons to be. For the first few days of our trip, we avoided each other. However, Peeta has brought me with him on this jaunt so we can get out of our gilded cage for an evening. It is the faintest shimmer of forgiveness and I will take it. “May I see?”

The woman goes to one of the display cases and, taking a smaller tray on the counter, grabs a pair of tongs to pull out some eclairs. She returns, placing them in front of us.

There are two eclairs in front of us, both oblong-shaped, but one has a dark glaze on top and the other a lighter brown.

“This one is a chocolate éclair.” Mary points to the darker one. “And this one is maple. Both have cream filling and both are delicious.”

Peeta nods and turns to me. “I’m convinced. Katniss?”

I muster up a smile. “I trust you…but we don’t have money—”

“I’ve got it,” Peeta tells me.

“They’re on the house,” Mary insists, and she turns to me. “When I saw you with Rue…my heart just broke for you.”

My eyes fill and I’m barely aware as Peeta puts an arm around me.

Rue never had the chance to live, to be able to see any place but her hometown or even try an éclair. These are such little life moments, but they feel bigger since she nor any of the other fallen tributes will ever experience them. My chest burns at the thought.

“Why don’t I buy two more?” Peeta suggests gently. “Let’s enjoy them for the people who couldn’t.”

++++++

We find ourselves in a garden, entering through an archway that looks like the one in front of Victors’ Village back in 12. Peeta finds us a bench that overlooks the whole garden and from the far distance I can spot the shadows of the mountains that tower over the town.

“Wow, this really is beautiful,” Peeta says as we sit down. “Francis made great recommendations.”

“When do you even have a chance to speak to the handlers?” I ask curiously as he opens the paper bag.

“While Effie is lecturing you to smile and stuff, I get to talk to them,” he explains. “I mean the handlers are here to welcome us and someone has to extend their gratitude. We’re Victors, but we’re not going to be jerks about it. They love to talk about their District and Francis just happened to be a chatty one. He’s the one who told me that this is a great date spot.”

A date?

I’m confused for a moment. Is this what this is?

“I’ll give you the chocolate one,” Peeta tells me. “Just don’t eat all of it.”

I’m so flabbergasted by what he’s just said that I reach for the éclair, holding it at both ends and readying myself to take a bite in the middle.

Peeta chuckles lightly. “It’s not a sandwich.” He rotates it so one end is facing me. “Go ahead.”

Tentatively, I take a bite.

The pastry is light, and the chocolate glaze gives it sweetness. I’m amazed at how well the slight buttery taste of the pastry mixes perfectly with the heaviness of the chocolate. The cream is sweet and airy but messy. I find myself licking the excess off the sides of the éclair and along my lips.

“Wow,” Peeta says, his face slightly crimson but the smirk is evident on his mouth. “That’s an image that I’m going to remember for the rest of life.”

I smack his arm. “I’m new at this!” He laughs as I put the éclair back on its wax wrapping. “Peeta?”

He’s already polished off his maple éclair—gluttonous boy. “Hmm?”

I adjust myself in my seat. “Have you ever been on a date?”

“I’ve gone with my brothers and some girls on a group thing,” he replies carefully. “It’s more like I tagged along to make it even. Why?”

“Then how do you know this is a date?”

“I asked you to come out, you got semi-dressed up, I paid for the meal, and took you to what some people might consider a romantic spot.” Peeta turns to me, his eyes warm. “So, yes—according to my brothers, this would be considered a date.” His eyes look off in the distance towards the mountain and I hear his quiet sigh. “Were your dates with Gale different?”

Gale has never asked me to go anywhere but to the woods or maybe to the market. I wear what I usually wear; my father’s jacket and my hunting clothes. Not like Gale’s ever offered, but I pay my own way…and we’ve never really gone anywhere remotely intimate. The thought alone makes me wince slightly.

Clearing my throat, I respond. “Um…I’ve never gone out with him like this.” Peeta turns to me, his eyes hopeful. “So, I guess this is…a…date.”

Peeta nods and I look around at the magnificent garden around us as we sit in content silence. Quiet moments like this are rare, but we take what we can. I breathe in the cool air, hearing the slight whistle of the wind between the mountains and let myself relax for a second.

His hand covers mine and gives it a squeeze. I know he feels it, too.

There’s a shift in the air; something wildly intimate is happening between us. Something that neither of us can really explain. It’s new territory which can be scary but his hand in mine gives me assurance like nothing else can.

“How are you?” he asks me suddenly. An arm moves stealthily around my shoulders and Peeta avoids my suspicious gaze. “I mean, not counting the whole Snow hating us thing.”

“I guess I’m okay,” I answer. My body curls against his, my head to his shoulder. “And you?”

“I’m on my first date with Katniss Everdeen,” he tells me and I can feel his smile against my hair. “What more can I ask for?”

++++++

It is all too soon when we return to the train.

Being the nice guy that he is, Peeta walks me to my room.

It’s right across from his, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Thanks—” I say, my eyes darting downward. “—for tonight. I think we both really needed it.”

“I agree.” Peeta looks to me, uncertainty in his eyes.

My palms are sweaty because I’m waiting…hoping…that he’ll take that next step—

“Where have you been?” We pull apart, finding Effie charging towards us sans wig and wearing the most garish purple robe. “Do not tell me that you snuck out!”

Behind her, a groggy Haymitch joins us.

Something tells me he knew, but did he care about our one night away from our steel cage?

I’m betting not.

“Then we won’t tell you,” I reply simply. I take Effie’s hand, rotate it palm facing up and give her the paper bag with the extra eclairs in it. “Good night.”

++++++

I’m disappointed.

Not by the outing…date.

There is still a pleasant roll in my stomach at the memory of the garden…our garden…of the taste of chocolate éclair along my tongue…and the look in Peeta’s eyes as he watched me.

Actually, that gives me a whole different feeling.

Going to the closet, I take off my jacket and reach for a hanger—

A gentle knock sounds against my door.

Hanging my jacket quickly, I press the door button and find Peeta in front of me.

“What are you doing here—”

I don’t even finish the sentence before his mouth is on mine. My arms wrap around his neck as we kiss, his hands moving along the line of my back. The heat is encompassing; our mouths connected, breaths puffing against each other, and foreheads pressed. Somewhere along the way, my hands travel down, grasping at his shirt…not quite sure where this will go…nor caring.

“Peeta…” I whisper against his lips.

His mouth moves along my jawline trailing down to my neck. “Yes?”

“I had a really good time,” I whisper into his ear as he mouths the gentle curve.

Peeta kisses me gently, a promise against our lips. “I’m going to take you on another date one day.”

I close my eyes hoping, after this tour is done, he’ll make good on that promise.

FIN.

And we know what happens next.

District 5 is supposed to be located around the Rocky Mountains. I imagine that the town they visited was what was Veil, Colorado and the bakery in the Lionshead district. The gardens would the Betty Ford Alpine Gardens.

I’ve never been there, but now I want to go.

Thanks for reading!

#Everlark #During the Victory Tour #firstdate!Everlark #District 5: Power #Everlark Fanfiction #victorytour!Everlark

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