A/N: I went back through my reviews and found quite a few prompts that I either missed, didn't care to do, or was no longer inspired and had already stopped writing prompts. I'm going backwards to answer prompts that have sparked an interest in me.

Prompt:" Haymitch explaining the evolution of the term 'Princess'. How it morphed from insult to fondness." -Pari B

FROM INSULT TO FONDNESS

Rated M for language but mostly fluff and hinting at s e x

Haymitch cursed for the millionth time, annoyed. He had been looking for his glasses for hours and he had no idea where they had gone. He had checked upstairs, downstairs, in the bathroom... even in places he knew they couldn't be, like guest rooms that were so unused there was dust, and the fridge and even the oven.

He was forced to admit that his glasses must have grew a pair of legs, and simply ran away.

When the front door opened, he sighed with relief. She would know. She always knew.

"Effie, where are my glasses?"

She looked up at him, and then looked at what was probably a destoryed house. He winced inwardly, forgetting just that quickly about the mess he'd made: cushions were everywhere, the throw was on the floor near the door, magazines were out of order.

"I'll clean it up promise," he said quickly before she would start nagging.

She just looked at him, and then -

"I am sorry, what did you say?"

"I said have you seen my glasses?" He started walking towards the kitchen to grab a water. Looking for things made him thirsty.

When he realized she hadn't followed him he went back to her, confused.

"No, I heard you ask your question. I meant what you said before that."

Haymitch stared at her, his brain working over time. "I don't think I said anything. You walked in, and I asked you about my glasses."

She huffed. "You called me Effie."

He just blinked at her.

"Why did you call me Effie?"

He stared. He didn't think she was having an episode... She seemed perfectly fine. He knew what her episodes looked like, and if there was something wrong, she would just be quiet...

"I'm not gonna say I'm not crazy... all the shit we been through, I'm probably insane. But last time I checked, your name is Effie. If you think I'ma start calling you Euphemia, you got another thing comin'."

She looked at him – her eyes genuinely searching his – and he felt his stomach launch itself into his throat.

"Are you... mad at me?" The question was asked with a bit of uncertainty, like she was trying to remember if they had argued or not.

"How the bloody hell could I be mad at you, you just walked in the door?"

"Then why would you call me Effie?"

"Because that's your name?" Haymitch was flabbergasted.

"Not to you, it is not. You never call me Effie. I mean occasionally... like when we are having sex. Or when I am back in that cell. Or maybe having a nightmare. But you do not casually call me Effie, Haymitch."

"I am this close to finding the nearest bar. Stop talking nonsense."

"You call me Princess, Haymitch, and you have for I do not even know how many years now. You do not call me Effie unless you are cross at me or concerned about me. So if you are neither one of those, I suggest you call me by my proper name and ask me your question again."

She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin and Haymitch realized she was serious.

"You're giving me shit cus I called you your name?" He snorted, and his eyeroll was massive. "You're nuts. All the shit you used to give me for my pet names, and now I'm in trouble for calling you Effie. You're bat shit nuts."

Her frown finally relaxed – and he cringed as he realized she had actually been tense – and she gave him a soft smile.

"Well, I suppose I may have overreacted. As long as you are not mad at me."

He sighed and walked up to her. "No, Princess, I'm not mad." He gave her a chaste kiss on the lips that he deepened until he felt her truly relax.

"I did used to give you a lot of hell for the nicknames," and the smile she gave him was filled with fond memories. "Oh, I hated you... You came up with the worst... Sweetheart. Barbie. Doll. Barbie Doll. And then one day you called me Princess and it just... stuck."

"Yah, cus you liked it."

"I liked why you called me Princess," she corrected, starting to pick up after him.

"No, I'll do it, seriously. I made the mess. And I know you just had a long day of getting your nails and feet and hair done, so I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself."

She arched a perfectly waxed brow. "How kind of you," she deadpanned. Still, she continued helping him.

"Why did you like me calling you Princess?"

Effie gave an elegant shrug. "I felt like you were calling me pretty. All the other ones... mocking, and saying I was plastic... They were not lost on me. But I could get behind Princess if it meant i was pretty. Why did you keep calling me Princess if you knew I liked it?"

"You were hot. You walked into this house looking like a Disney character, only you were smoking. It was the first time I lusted after you. And you melted, a little, the first time. I saw it, briefly, the way your eyes widened. A faint blush on your cheek. Even when you pretended to hate it... and like everything else about you and me, I don't know why I kept at it. It wasn't like the style even lasted that long. None of them ever did."

She glanced at him, her eyes dancing. "That was the 58th Hunger Games. Eighteenth century fashion was in that year and both Cinderella and Belle were my inspiration. But that was not the first time you wanted me, Mr. Abernathy."

He rolled his eyes. "I think I can remember when I found you attractive, Princess."

"There were plenty of nights I know you do not remember. You used to talk a lot... and your hands did a lot of wandering, that was for sure."

"Well, those times don't count. I was drunk."

"And I am not complaining either way," she teased, in that voice that always got him going.

"Why don't we take this conversation upstairs?" Her twinkling blue eyes met his dark grey ones. "I can be Beast, you can be Belle... since you wanna be a Princess so badly."

"What about your glasses, Darling?" asked Effie innocently, playfully, teasingly.

"Fuck my glasses." He walked up to her, his eyes hungry.

"However are you supposed to see me, then?"

He snatched her up and she squealed, her laughter drowned out by his kisses.

They would find his glasses the following morning, outside on the swing in the backyard, where he had left them while tending to the geese.

He didn't rush to find them now, though. No, some things could wait.

He could see her just fine.

A/N: Keep the prompts coming! Happy Monday :)