#he brought me the second blanket and another mug of broth

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

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[wolfs-hunt1]

Soaring Love 1

Pairing: Severus Snape x reader

Word count: 1937

Warnings: none so far, sorry for any typo

A/N: For so long I’ve been wanting to write HP fanfic, but i’ve been puting it off. Well not anymore. I’m starting with this fandom that i love so much, so bare with me for a bit XD

A/N 2: AU Right after the marauder's era, when Severus started teaching, but more modern-ish times, he started teaching at 21, they're 25 in this (so everyone is overage and legal)

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As the new teacher at Hogwarts, you were invited to arrive a few weeks earlier so that you could get your bearings of the castle before it was filled with students.

And so that's what you did. You packed all your stuff from your small apartment, did an expansion spells in your bag, and a shrinking spell in all of your furniture, books, and clothes so they could all fit in it, and grabbed your broom, ready to fly to Hogwarts two weeks earlier.

You waited for the night, before flying away, less any muggle would notice, and once you were in the air, you flew as high as you could to get concealed by the low hanging clouds. The weather was relatively warm that you only needed a leather jacket to cut off the wind, and lights underneath you guided you until all you could see again was the inky darkness of the water.

You had been sent a letter from Dumbledor to be the new flying teacher, and you couldn't be more ecstatic about it. Flying was your passion, you could literally spend hours atop a broom just chilling and you would be happy about it. Aside from that, you would also be helping Madam Pomfrey at the hospital wing, just as an extra hand.

It took only a couple of hours to reach Hogsmead, and so you decided to stop for a butterbeer, or something a bit stronger before getting up to the castle. You walked inside and leaned your broom across the wall. You approached the bar and took a seat, being greeted by a smiling witch.

"Good night, dear, what will you have tonight?"

"I'll have butterbeer for starters, and maybe something to eat?"

"I'll get you some warm broth I got cooking, I don't remember seeing your face around?"

"I'm new, I'll be teaching up at the school, so I came a few days before the start of the term."

"Well, welcome to Hogsmeade, and I hope to see you more often, I'm Rosmerta. "

"(Y/L). Nice to meet you." she slid a mug of butterbeer your way and a bowl of steaming soup, followed by a shot glass of fire-whiskey, that you don't remember having ordered.

You confused face prompted a laugh from Rosmerta. "It's on the house, don't you worry." and she wandered off to tend to some of the tables. Well, you weren't about to waste it, so you picked up the glass, and doing a little toast to yourself you downed the contents of the glass feeling it burn your throat all the way down. A full warm stomach later and a couple more butterbeer and you were ready to climb the path up to the castle.

It was starting to be a bit late, around 11 pm, but you could still see some lights up on the castle, so at least there would be someone to point you in the right direction of your room. Getting to the great door, you knock, waiting for a bit untill the old wood cracks and opens ever so slowly, the light from the inside spiling in a straight beam on the cobblestone outside.

"Who is it?" an uninviting voice calls, before its owner sticks his head outside, and you can see the scowl the man is wearing.

"Hi. I'm (Y/N), the new teacher." this makes the man force a smile up to his lips instantly, and open more the door, bowing to you and inviting you in.

"I'm so sorry professor, we were not expecting you until the morning. I'm Filch, and this is Mrs. Norris." with this you notice the scruffy cat at his feet, looking very intently at you almost as if it was expecting you to do something incriminatory.

"I ended up traveling a few hours sooner, fewer muggles to see me fly on my broom. I hope it's not a problem, if the room isn't ready, I can go back to The Three Broomsticks and get a room there for the night…"

"No, no, not a problem at all, the elves will get it set up in a moment… you… didn't bring anything besides your broom?" he asks, searching for any luggage you might have been carrying.

"Oh don't worry, I have everything I need right here." you say, patting your bag. Filch visibly sags in releaved to hear this, obviously not wanting to haul heavy trunks up the stairs at this time of the night.

He takes you up some flights of stairs and then through some tapestries hiding secret doors, and then up some more stairs, this one smaller, making you have to walk behind him and not side by side. By the looks of it, you were in one of the towers of the castle, or at least you climbed enough stairs for it.

"Here it is, your room. Anything you need will be delivered by the elves, breakfast will be served tomorrow in the kitchen, since we're so few just yet, but if you need help finding it, just call for an elf, they will be more than happy to lead the way." Filch didn't even wait for you to thank him, he was already out the door and climbing down the stone steps.

You looked around the room, it was spacious, and had an archway in the middle, leading to an open bedroom, and a small door on the corner of it, that once opened revealed a small cozy bathroom. The entire space was completely empty besides a king-sized four-poster in the bedroom and a fireplace opposite it.

"Perfect." you whispered out loud. This way you could decorate the room to your liking with everything you had brought. You noticed the bed was freshly made, and a few more blankets were at the end of it. Despite being summer, you did notice the chill there was in the room, so you were thankful for the elf that left you an extra blanket.

you took off your jacket, and threw it onto the bed, making then your way to the bathroom to take a warm shower before turning in for the night. You acioed your toiletries out of your handbag and started to carefully lay them on the stone counter, just the basics for tonight. You could unpack all the rest tomorrow and over the next few weeks.

The shower wasn't anything too big, but it was spacious enough that you didn't hit your elbows on the walls. And despite the water being freezing when you turned it first, it was only a matter of seconds before the temperature evened out to allow a nice relaxing soak.

You didn't stay too long in the shower though, you were tired after all, and the couple of more fire-whiskeys Madame Rosmerta had goaded you to drink with her were making themselves felt. So you turned off the shower, toweled off, and got into your comfortable pair of pajamas, falling asleep a few minutes after getting the bed covers neatly around you.

It was barely any light outside when you wake up, groggily, a flash of pain shooting up your leg making you groan into the pillow uncomfortably. You pat your hand to the other side of the bed, trying to find your wand and once you feel your fingertips brushing over the wooden surface you grip it tightly, and call for your bag, making the small thing shoot from his place near the door into your hands.

You rummage the inside furiously trying to find a particular flask of the pain soothing potion or even of the balm for minor bruises you carried with you, the potion bottle appeared faster, and so you downed the contents of it as fast as you could, laying back down on the now cold pillow and waiting for it to take effect.

After some deep breaths you could feel the dull pain turning to a more manageable ache, and after a while more you didn't felt it at all, allowing you to get up and go get dressed, despite the early hours. You had attended Hogwarts a few years ago, but since your parents moved around so much, you only stayed for one year, having moved to another country right after. So getting acquainted with the castle was in order before all the students arrived.

You made the bed and grabbed your bag, you could unpack after exploring around a bit and having had breakfast. You pocketed your wand, and made your way to the door, having to squint at the little light streaming from the windows on the spiral staircase.

Your bedroom must have been on the sixth floor, or even seventh because of the number of twists and turns you had to climb down with the changing stairs working against you, but eventually you did reach the ground floor, near the doors to the great hall, that were closed at the moment. You dared a glance at your wristwatch and noticed that you had wasted more time trying to find your way down that you had wished to admit and was now 7:40, almost time for breakfast.

So now you had to find the kitchens so you could have breakfast with the rest of the faculty. Walking around and climbing down some stairs you found yourself in the lower parts of the castle, the dungeons, where a damp cold was rapidly creeping up to you and making you shiver and be thankful that you had brought your jacket down with you.

You did remember this part of the castle vividly since you spent so much time down here for potions and your common room. So the dark cold corridors weren't a problem to navigate, and the soft scent of sweet-smelling apple pie lead you right to a portrait of a fruit bowl, which was slightly opened and you could hear more noises coming from the inside.

You slowly walk over the portrait threshold and see right away some familiar faces, Dumbledore was talking to McGonagal, and you did notice that Flitwick was standing on the seat so he could reach the pastry plate in the middle of the wide table. Despite having only studied for a year at Hogwarts, their faces were some you wouldn't forget. That and the fact Dumbledore interview you for the position of flying professor. But there was a new face you didn't recognize.

He was draped in all black from head to toe, and his long hair reached the top of his shoulders, his long face was pulled into a half sneer, making his face wrinkle, but despite that, he still looked young.

"Ah, (Y/N), welcome. I hope you had a nice trip here?" Dumbledor asked with a soft and soothing voice.

"Good morning, everyone. Yes, I had a safe trip, flying over was no problem at all, and Mr. Filch took me in last night when I arrived."

"Well, we're not all here at school yet, but we can start with the introductions, although, I believe you are just one year younger than Severus here, so you two must have met already?" he's pointing to the dark-haired male, that was now looking pointedly at you, almost looking bored.

"I don't think I did, I'm (Y/N). Nice to meet you."

"Snape. Severus Snape." he doesn't look away from you, but you can feel that if he could he would be anywhere else than in this particular place. Guess this is going to be a complicated start of the year with him giving you suck a cold shouler right from the begining.

Part 2

[sometimesiwrite]

Sick of This

 A/N: Modern AU inspired by a random piece of dialogue from TW2 (Roche’s Path) in Vergen when Geralt and Zoltan speak with Yarpen and Burdon (I think). We hear a story about how Geralt took care of Triss while they were travelling together and she had a horrendous illness. I’m working with hybrids of these characters, but primarily drawing on game dynamics with a bit of book influence for Yennefer and some Netflix influence for Triss. 

Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are in town for a an important political dinner when Geralt learns that their friend, Triss is down for the count with a terrible stomach flu. With some time to spare, he visits her, intending to stay a short while, but her condition worsens to the point where Geralt feels he can’t leave. Internal and inter-personal conflict arises as Geralt vies to skip dinner in favour of caring for a friend in need. tl;dr: Going through a relationship rough-patch (again) and realizing you might have feelings for a close friend makes for a difficult night.

Characters/pairings: Geralt x Triss; Geralt x Yennefer; Yennefer x Istrid; Jaskier

Warnings: Infidelity, verbal abuse/toxic partnership, detailed descriptions of vomiting/severe nausea/stomach pain.

MASTERLIST

Triss looked down at the illuminated screen of her phone: “In town for a few days,” the text read. “Long story. Yen has a work thing. Anyway, let me know if you want to grab a drink.” The number didn’t belong to a name in her contacts—but then again, Geralt’s number never did. Every few months, he’d get a new pay-as-you-go so that old clients wouldn’t try to contract him under the table. It only took two calls from the same tight-assed, penny-pinching hypocrites who’d tried to low-ball him on his first case to make him realize an ever-changing phone number was a good idea. So: burner phones. As a nice added bonus, it made it harder for the Redanian Secret Service to keep tabs on him which meant a little more… investigative freedom when push came to shove. The few people he ever contacted regularly—Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier (Vesemir didn’t text)—never bothered putting his number in their contacts. By the time they got around to updating his number, he was changing it within a few weeks anyway. Besides, he insisted it was safer for all of them if they didn’t have his name in their phones in the first place. By now, everyone knew that if they got a text from an unknown number, there was a 99.9% chance it was Geralt. 

The toilet gurgled as Triss returned to the sofa with a groan, scrunching her knees up against the pain in her stomach. She checked her phone again: “Only if you’re free, I know Foltest keeps you pretty busy…” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Thanks, Ger. Ordinarily, I could use one right about now, but I’m feeling pretty sick. Think I should stay home </3” She smiled weakly as the text fwiipped its way up the screen. Too bad she was laid up. Would’ve been nice to see him. Her friends always said he was too grumpy and moody to be any fun, but Triss always thought of him as being quite mellow and calming to be around. He never imposed expectations on their time together, unlike her other friends who were always scheming, gossiping, or bitching about their bosses. Just easy conversation and a few good laughs as they caught up on the past few months or years or however long it had been since they last saw each other. 

She checked her phone again and fired off a few brief “not today, babes, sorry, I’m just so sick” texts before her mouth started watering again and she headed into the bathroom: a routine by this point. A few girlfriends had offered to keep her company with rom coms and ginger tea, but she was already feeling so exhausted and it was only 1pm. Besides, Triss wasn’t sure she was prepared for anyone other than her cat (who was hiding under the bed) to see her like this: tawny cheeks flushed with fever, tight brown curls haphazardly bunned on top of her head in a pragmatic attempt to keep them out of the toilet and away from her face, frizzy ringlets falling loose down the back of her neck… and she was acutely aware that she smelled of sickness. Her body’s best attempt to rebalance itself meant that her underarms would overpower even her best deodorant. IF, that is, she cared enough to put any on which she Did Not. She was also, like any sensible woman in her current state, not wearing a bra. 

Nope. Today was a day of horrendousness. Her phone pinged. “You need anything?” 

“A new body might be nice. If you happen to see one that would suit me… 😝” 

The fwoop! came in before her screen went dark: “LOL, I’ll see what I can find. Any preferences?” 

Triss smiled despite the pain in her stomach. “Hmmm I did always want to be a physiotherapist. Oooh! Or a gymnast!” Fwiip!

Fwoop! “Still at your same place? I can send it by courrier. Should get there before 3:00”

Triss was trying hard to come up with a witty enough comeback, but her head was starting to ache. Hmmm. Yes, body, I would love to hydrate you, but you keep rejecting everything I put inside you. “Ugh,” she groaned again and made her way to the toilet. When she got back a few fruitless minutes later, she checked her phone again. Nothing. She just replied, “Thanks, Ger. BRB, going to go die now. When the courier gets here, just tell him to transfer my soul into the new body. I’ll leave it under the Welcome mat.” The TV flipped on as its owner began the endless Netflix Scroll of Indecision. She finally settled on Blue Planet for the 50th time hoping that slow-moving sea blobs would be soothing in some way. 

It didn’t. Another excruciating hour of bathroom visits every ten-to-fifteen-minutes had her googling ‘pressure points to relieve nausea’ by 2:30. She had just pinched a spot on her wrist between her thumb and forefinger when she heard a soft knock on her door. “Ugh, no, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” she called out from her nest on the sofa. It was too late. The she heard the door brush against the spongy beige carpet as someone poked their head inside, “Triss?” It was Geralt.  

“Oh gods, no, Geralt, stay back, save yourself!”

He gave a low chuckle and Triss already felt a little better. How does he always manage to do that?  “I don’t have a new body for you, but I might have the next best thing. Permission to enter?” 

Triss let out a rueful groan, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She heard him step in quietly and toe off his shoes as the door closed. A second later, he came around the corner with a Rexall bag in hand. He’d been to a barber recently, and his silvery hair was looking more stylish than usual—cut shorter on the sides and stylishly swept back from his face. Paired with his dark-teal flannel shirt and grey denim jeans, Triss thought he looked unusually striking. 

Geralt tilted his head sympathetically at the sight before him. Triss was bundled on the sofa in an oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks bunched around her ankles, and what looked like any and all home remedies gathered around her: hot water bottle, cold pack, three mugs of tea (ginger, peppermint, and chamomile by the smell of them), a glass of ice water, a barely-touched bowl of chicken broth, a mangled bag of oyster crackers, and a thermometer. 

“You’re really down for the count, huh? Got a fever?” before she could object, the back of Geralt’s hand was on her forehead. It felt cool and refreshing against the dry heat of her face as he assessed her condition. “Meh. Could be better, could be worse.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Triss retorted with a halfhearted smile. “Ugh… sorry, um, I have to…” she pointed towards the bathroom and Geralt raised his hands (‘say no more’) as his friend scuttled exhaustedly around the corner. He busied himself with watching manta rays gliding through the open ocean until he heard the toilet flush and Triss emerged again, looking ragged and a little sheepish. “Sorry,” she said, pouring herself back onto her nest of blankets and stuffed animals. 

Geralt shrugged, “No need to be, you’re sick. Here,” he reached into the pharmacy bag and brought out a box of ginger Gravol tablets and a medium-sized bottle of Cherry Punch Pedialyte—she was allergic to most over-the-counter cold and flu medication.

“Geralt, you didn’t have to do all this for me. How did you even know I had the stomach flu?”

He looked over her shoulder at her laptop which was still open to the page of various nausea-relieving pressure points, “Hm. You should have this stuff around anyway,” he paused as Triss swallowed heavily and went to the bathroom again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, her mother had been a nurse practitioner for heaven’s sake. Still, Geralt was never one to leave a friend in need if there was something he could do about it. A particularly visceral sound drew him from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa. Triss was crouched on the bathroom floor, shivering with her forehead resting on her elbows over the toilet bowl. She spat. Geralt sat on the edge of the bathtub. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since about... 10am,” she managed to get out before her entire body heaved. Geralt instinctively reached out to place a hand on her back. She didn’t object. She never objected to these little shows of affection from Geralt. There was always something reassuring about them, and it felt particularly nice to be reminded that she wasn’t alone just now.

Geralt rubbed slow circles across her back as he coaxed her through retching and dry heaves. “You know you could've just asked.”

“I know but—”

“Stubborn?”

“Uh-huh,” Triss admitted, sitting back on her heels and flushing the mostly-empty toilet. “Besides, the last thing you need is to be taking care of a gross friend right before getting ready for a fancy business gala.

“You clearly don’t know just how little I’m looking forward to this evening,” Geralt grumbled, passing Triss a cool glass of water to rinse with. 

“Not looking forward to talking the talk, Mr. Slick P.I.?” Triss’s eyes gave a twinkle as her freckled cheeks pulled into a cheeky smirk.

Even when she’s a mess she still finds a way to light up. Geralt furrowed his brow at his own thoughts. Where did that come from? “You know how it is, all this high-society stuff, rubbing elbows, laughing at tasteless jokes. It’s just not me. But Yen—well…” he sighed heavily, “I dunno. She’s right in that it’s a good way to get the information we need, stay visible to the right people but… I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I know she’s your friend.”

Triss raised an eyebrow, “Oh, go on. Trust me, there’s nothing you can say about Yennefer of Vengerberg that will surprise me. Besides, you’re my friend, too.” 

“Hm.” Geralt stared down and fiddled with his crossed thumbs. “Lately I can’t get anything right. I’m always asking the wrong questions, or I’ll try and talk to her about something I want us to work on and it’s never worded the right way and then it just turns into a fight which is what I want to stop doing in the first place. And then I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough and… it’s like she has a set of rules inside her head she won’t tell me about. Feels like it’s harder than it should be. But who am I to know?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt. Yennefer can be so unfair sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much she can push against the people she cares about. It’s one thing to be a friend, at least I can take a breather every now and then if I need to. But it’s different for you. You don’t like taking time apart.” Triss offered an apologetic smile before groaning and leaning back over the toilet and Geralt’s hand took up its place on her back again as he worked her through another round. 

Geralt’s phone rang as Triss flushed the toilet. “Sorry, it’s Yen. I should take this. Be right back. Yen? Yeah, I’m with Triss, got a stomach thing, I stopped by to bring her some...” his voice disappeared around the corner as he went into the bedroom. Triss couldn’t make out their whole conversation, but it sounded tense. The phrase, “...just trust me to dress myself, I’m not a—,” came through the drywall. Triss sighed sympathetically. It certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing for the two of them. Geralt had his own flaws and foibles in the romance department—he could be callous and insensitive in favour of honesty at times, and never shied away from pushing buttons—but Yennefer was mercurial, brazen, rash, and brutal; all excellent qualities for a powerful and influential chief advisor. But as much as Geralt was his own handful, she’d never known him to willfully hurt someone he cared about, and was quick to apologize when he did. 

When Geralt came back, Triss was trying to push herself to standing. He caught her as she swayed on her unsteady legs. “Whoa, whoa, Triss, easy. Here, sit back down, wait here for a second.” Triss did as she was told and settled miserably back onto the bathroom floor. Geralt immediately returned with two blankets before disappearing again. A few minutes later, he returned once more with a tea tray on which was balanced Triss’s laptop, a small glass of Pedialyte on the rocks, the pack of gravol, and the box of oyster crackers. 

Triss let out a soft giggle, “What is this?”

“You need to try and get something in you. Might not be pretty at first, but if you don’t get some fluids soon, you’re going to be in bigger trouble.”

“Really. I had no idea. I can take care of myself, you know… sorry that was,” Triss sighed. “It’s been a long day

Geralt hunkered down next to her on the floor on top of a throw pillow, “Hey, I get it. But that’s not why I’m here. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. So take this, with a sip of this,” he handed her a blister pack of the Gravol and the glass of Pedialyte, “and let’s see if you can keep it down.” 

“Cherry Punch. How did you know this was my favourite?” Triss could no longer hide the fondness that was welling up despite her unrelenting discomfort and growing exhaustion. Geralt gave a muted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s Yennefer?”

The lines on Geralt’s face became more pronounced, “She’s… fine.” Triss tilted her head (‘really?’) and Geralt relented, “There’s a chance Istrid will be there tonight.”

“The head of the Archeological Association? I don’t get it, what’s he got to do with you and Yennefer?”

Triss could guess the answer from Geralt’s pause. His words merely confirmed it, “They have history.” 

“You don’t think that Yennefer will—I mean, she wouldn’t—”

“She has. She doesn’t know that I know, but…” Triss’s heart sank. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for her to tell me. Guess I don’t want her to feel like I went out of my way to find her at fault—which I didn’t, by the way. I found out by accident.” 

“I’m sorry, Ger.” The weight of Triss’s head against his shoulder brought Geralt out of his daze and he looked down at the messy updo of mahogany hair. He smiled again, a delicate, private, unconscious thing that sparked from an unconscious uplifting somewhere in the middle of him and pulled the corners of his eyes. He thought about ignoring it, not wanting to have to go digging inside himself for what it meant. Instead he wrapped an arm around Triss’s shoulder and pecked a chaste kiss to the top of her head. 

“How’re you feeling?”

The answer to that question proved complicated. Triss’s spirits were a bit better thanks to Geralt’s stubborn-yet-easygoing caretaking. But the introduction of contents into her contrary stomach was yielding less-than-desirable consequences. Painful cramps persisted between more frequent bouts of vomiting—which by this point was mostly dry-heaves followed by the occasional expulsion of bile. Meanwhile it was 5:30 and Geralt’s phone beeped a notification. He checkecked the screen with one hand while he soothed Triss with the other: Where are you??? Yen. Who else could it be? He’d have to call her.

“Geralt, go! Really, I’ll be fine I promise. You’ve got to rub elbows and laugh at bad jokes, remember?” Triss propped herself up on wobbly elbows over the toilet bowl, not trusting the wave to be over. 

Geralt was already dialling. Triss heard the faint echo of her friend’s voice on the other line as she answered with, ‘Where the HELL are you?’ 

“I’m still with Triss, Yen. Things aren’t looking good here, she’s just gotten worse. If I can’t—Yen, listen if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t get any fluids in her I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” Geralt pulled an apologetic face and Triss gave him a reassuring wave that she’d be fine if he stepped out for a minute. “Yen, please, I thought we talked about this, please don’t use that tone, it makes me feel…” The conversation continued, though this time in the living room: “I know this is an important night for us to both be there, Yen, you’ve been reminding me for the last month, but I can’t just leave until… what’s that supposed to mean? That’s not—no, hang on, that’s not fair, Yen… Well if you already don’t believe me I don’t—Okay, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say! I’m tired of this, Yennefer, I am so. Exhausted trying to figure out exactly what to say in order for you to not react like this every time I… can I finish?...”

Geralt was pacing back-and-forth now, and Triss could tell from the tone on the other end of the line that Yennefer wasn’t backing down anytime soon, “Geralt, if you don’t leave Triss’s apartment and come back here and get dressed this instant, I swear I will—”

Geralt paused outside the bathroom door for Triss to flash a wilted thumbs-up as she tried to drink more Cherry Punch Pedialyte, “Or you’ll what, Yen? Count to ten and then chuck me in the coi pond? I—you know what?” he moved back into the living room, “No, you know what? How ‘bout this: I’m staying here with our friend who needs help, and you can go to this big event, embarrassment free, and do what you do best without the big idiot holding you back. Whatever needs to get done at this dinner tonight, I bet you’ll do better on your own than worrying about me screwing something up.” 

Triss heard his phone flip shut followed by a heavy sigh before his sock feet padded back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, just then, her suspicions about not being finished proved correct as her mouth, once again, began to water. Thankfully Cherry punch wasn’t nearly as bad coming back up as other flavors were known to be. In less than a second, Geralt was there with a warm hand and a blanket around her shoulders. They didn’t talk much over the next little while as Geralt continued his attempts to soothe Triss’s stomach enough to hold something down. After an hour, Triss finally was able to rest a little, albeit still in quite a bit of pain. But with the toilet no longer an ongoing necessity, the sofa once again became a viable option. Geralt scooped up the blanketed bundle and carried her back into the living room to continue their journey under the sea, complete with cold compress and bendy straw.

By 7:30 Triss hadn’t needed the toilet at all in the last hour, and some of her stomach pain was starting to diminish. However, she was still shivering and achy, and not interested in food. She kept insisting that Geralt had time to meet Yennefer at the gala, that she would be perfectly fine on her own, but Geralt wasn’t convinced. Showing up now would not only put Yennefer in the awkward position of having to save face by not murdering him in cold blood in front of a dozen or more foreign dignitaries, but it would also mean having to face Istrid who, if he wasn’t already, would doubtlessly be very interested to hear Yennefer’s thoughts on a great number of things before the night was over. Geralt didn’t trust himself not to do something he’d regret—or at least that Yennefer would regret.

Another hour in and Triss was starting to perk up: minimal stomach pain, and she was making a decent dent in her Cherry Punch. Geralt decided it was time for a little chicken soup. He made a freezer pizza for himself and cracked a beer while he warmed up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, ladelling out all the broth into a mug for Triss so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat more than she could handle. Geralt had only one goal for her tonight: keep everything down. If she could do that, then he had at least been able to do something for her. If not… Geralt tried very hard not to listen to the voice that said, ‘then you’re no use for anyone’ in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Triss finished her broth without concern and he didn’t have to worry about that voice for the time being. Instead, he settled a little deeper into the sofa cushions as Triss resumed a comfortable spot against his shoulder. 

After another little while, a miracle happened: Triss started to have fun. That characteristic sparkle came back to her eyes, and the two friends quickly began to actively enjoy their evening. They watched The Fellowship of the Ring and took a drink of beer or Pedialyte every time Frodo had a dramatic closeup, was stabbed, or rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. Geralt microwaved a bag of popcorn, and Triss cautiously had a few oyster crackers as they laughed and caught up. Finally. It may not have been the original vision for what drinks and casual hangs would look like, but it was good. It was nice. Relaxed, and pleasant. Easy. Geralt’s mind wandered as the Fellowship fled the Balrog, and he didn’t notice the little line his thumb was leaving on Triss’s blanket as it traced up and down her shoulder. He also didn’t think twice when she shifted, half-asleep, to lie her head in his lap and his hand moved to the curve of her waist. It wasn’t until he looked down in the direction of soft snoring that he was reminded exactly who was lying in his lap. 

His initial thought was, ‘shit,’ as he slowly removed his hand from her waist, not wanting to wake her, but also not knowing what to do. It was suddenly all so intimate, though he didn’t quite know why. As he watched her, peacefully asleep in his lap, he realized he didn’t want to break away. Didn’t want to wake her to adjust to a more ‘appropriate’ orientation. He touched her shoulder again. That was nice. That felt… nice. She stirred, and Geralt wondered if she was comfortable as he brushed a tight ringlet behind her ear. She smiled in semi-consciousness and his heart sang. This was bad. This was very very bad. He reached for the remote and flicked the tv off. It was after midnight, and high time everyone went to bed. Alone. 

That was the only option. Right? In theory, no. There was another option, and a significant part of Geralt wanted to go with that one, stay in this soft warm place where everything felt easier… where he felt happy. But a louder part of him knew that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair; that even if he was unhappy—even if Yennefer had spent the night with Istrid (Geralt tried not to think about that). The bottom line was Triss felt well enough that he no longer needed to stay with her to make sure she was alright. That was why he’d come. If he stayed for other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. End of discussion.

“Triss,” Geralt murmured, rousing her as gently as he could. 

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open to see Geralt staring down at her. She didn’t remember lying down in his lap, but she must have just before she fell asleep. “Did I fall asleep on you?” 

Geralt’s eyes crinkled, “Hm. Yeah. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!”

“You needed the rest. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out on me, and you’re significantly easier to deal with than Lambert.”

Triss bunched her blankets around her shoulders and shivered sleepily, “You should go. Yennefer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Geralt heaved himself off the sofa as Triss released her hair and gathered her nest to head to the bedroom. Geralt waited until she was bundled in bed. “All set?”

A little smile peeked over the tops of the covers, “Mmmhmm, thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight, Ger.”

“Goodnight, Triss,” Geralt flicked off the light. In the entranceway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and left, locking the door behind him and putting the key back in its usual hiding place. Enough now. Done. He was determined that whatever he had felt, whatever warm, unexpected thing had bubbled to the surface, would forever exist behind that locked door, frozen in time. A blip. The important thing was nothing was acted on. Not really. At worst, they wandered into a grey area by accident. These things happen. The key now was not to dwell on it, to move forward. 

Geralt’s stomach soured as he slid his keycard into the slot of room 622. The lock clicked open as the little light on top flashed green and Geralt turned the handle, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He toggled the dimmer switch next to the door; the lowest setting would give him enough light to get changed without waking up—Yen? The bed was empty, still freshly turned-down, with his pre-approved evening attire laid out as he had suspected. He fucking hated that tie. He put the suit back in the garment bag from whence it came and checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Might still be out. It wasn’t unusual for these events to turn into afterparties which was where most of the juicy information was gathered. He hit speed-dial. 

“Hi, Jaskier? It’s—yeah, hi. Listen. Are things still going over there? I just—hm? Yeah, she’s doing okay now. Took awhile for me to get anything in her, but no hospital visit so… yeah, she finally got to sleep just as I was heading out, made sure she was hydrated and had a little something… I’m sure she’d appreciate that… Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I just got back and she’s not in, I was wondering if you knew where she…When?…Okay…No, archeology… Mmm no, they’re very different fields. Nevermind, thanks, Jas…Yeah, no it’s, um, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Didn’t want to bug her in case she was in the middle of—something. Yeah… Well don’t let me interrupt that. Okay, all the best. Go get ‘em tiger. ‘Night.” 

Geralt tossed his phone on the bed and flopped heavily on top of the duvet and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Goddamnit, Yen.”

__________________

@the-space-between-heartbeats 

@just-a-sad-donut 

@oxenfurt-archives 

@thirstyforred 

@titaniafire 

@belalugosisdead 

@lonelygayz 

@awkward-turtles-world 

@iloveyouyen 

@criminaly-supernatural

@friendlybelladonna

@enkelikauneus 

[mosylufanfic]

Killervibe + 66 😈😈

CONGRATS ON FINISHING! ✨🎉

66.  “I’m not sure you understand how much I care about you.”

    @thatkillervibe, I had this ready a few days ago, and then I watched the clips from the episode to get the details of her apartment right . . . and realized I'd have to re-write a bunch of it. Ugh! Anyway, thanks for your patience. Enjoy!

Keeping Warm

Ralph left after they got Caitlin stable - which in this case, meant they'd gotten her up to a temperature above freezing and she wasn't spilling off mist like a cooler full of dry ice. He was reluctant to go, but she shooed him out. "I'm doing much better and I'm sure you have things to do."

When she tried to shoo him along after Ralph, Cisco crossed his arms and said, "Nuh-uh, I'm parked here, young lady."

She knew that look. She gave up.

But she out-stubborned him on the topic of maybe going to a hospital, or at least urgent care. "They wouldn't know what to do if my cold powers took over again," she said, "and they might contract frostbite trying to treat me."

Cisco had his mouth open, ready to offer up a quick breach to Star Labs, before he remembered he didn't do that anymore.

He retrieved throw pillows from the floor instead, tucking them behind her so she could sit up on the couch and drink clear broth out of a coffee mug. There was still a zone of cold around her, but no worse than sticking your hand in a refrigerator.

Against his will, he pictured her as she had been when he and Ralph had burst in: lips blue, fingers bone-white, mist spilling out around her, even the blanket frosted over. And her plaintive voice - help me.

He shuddered.

"Real talk," he said. "You think this is going to hold?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I hope so. At least until my mom gets back to me."

She'd called her mom and left a message, clearly trying to strike a balance between asking for help and sounding like she didn't really need it, not really. Ralph and Cisco had exchanged the looks of men who had experienced Caitlin's mom in person.

Dr. T hadn't called back yet.

He brought her another mug, this one piping hot, drowning a tea bag, with a thick layer of honey at the bottom. "Well, I'm here."

She gave him a smile. "Thanks." She considered her half-full mug of broth and traded it to him for the tea. "I'm just glad that your plan worked to bring my temperature back up."

Cisco frowned down at the broth. He'd brought it to her less than ten minutes ago, fresh from the microwave, and it was stone cold. "You done with this?"

"Mhm," she said, stirring the tea.

He took it back to the kitchen and dumped it out in the sink. As he was stashing it in the dishwasher, a yelp of surprise and distress came from the couch.

He whipped around. "Caitlin?"

"I froze it," she said, staring into her tea. 

"You froze it?"

She held the mug out to him and sure enough, the tea inside was frozen solid, the handle of the spoon sticking up straight, the string of the tea bag sadly flopping around the surface like ice fishing gone wrong. It was a wonder it hadn't cracked the mug.

He picked up the thermometer and aimed it at her forehead again. 4 degrees, he saw, and his throat locked up for a second before he realized it had switched to Celsius. He hit the button, and it converted to Fahrenheit: 39. Still not great, but not freezing, either.

All he could think to ask was, "Need another blanket?"

"I think it was a flare," she said, carefully setting the mug down on her end table. She held her hand out in front of her. "I'm not misting."

Her fingers were shaking.

He went and got another blanket anyway, tossing it over her feet when she wouldn't allow him to wrap it around her shoulders. He wanted to cuddle her for comfort, but she was worried that she'd freeze him next, and he wasn't one-hundred-percent pooh-poohing that notion.

He texted Barry to bring him a set of dampener cuffs, and got a text back that their friend was in the middle of something. He said, 911 Caitlin needs them and got no reply.

"I'll be okay," Caitlin said. "He needs to conserve his speed and the cuffs would be a last resort anyway. It took me by surprise the first time, but I know the warning signs now and I can turn things over to Frost if it gets really bad. She thinks she can handle it better."

Cisco sent out a group text asking for someone to bring him the cuffs, just in case, and stuck his phone back in his pocket. "Maybe you should call your mom again," he suggested.

She shook her head, pulling the second blanket up over herself. "I've called her once. She'll get back to me."

"Call her again. Please."

She looked away, and it might have been a really long-winded argument except that her phone rang at that moment. She grabbed it and informed him, "It's her," before answering. "Mom? Hi. Thanks for returning my call."

Seriously. Who said that to their mom? What kind of mom made their kid feel like they had to say that?

He tried not to listen in, but the open layout of her front room made that pretty hard. He focused on washing dishes and figuring out how to thaw the frozen mug enough to dump the tea-block out. When that was done, he busied himself texting Kamilla that he wouldn't be home tonight. 

"Okay," Caitlin said. "Okay. Uh-huh. No, that's all right. Yes. I'll keep you informed. Okay. Bye, Mom."

At the sound of her sigh, he put his own phone down. "What'd she say?"

"She'll be here in a few days."

"A few days!"

"It's fine, I'll stay home until then. I'll take care of the wound and switch to Frost if I need, and if someone can bring by the cuffs, I can have those, too."

"But - "

"She has to get things in order at the office so she can take the time off."

He stopped dead, mid-protest. He couldn't think of the last time Mama Snow had ever taken time off work for her daughter. He was pretty sure that when Caitlin had been born, Carla Tannhauser had popped her out during a board meeting and stashed her in a file cabinet.

Caitlin looked up. "She's very concerned."

"Yeah." He sat down on the coffee table, ignoring the way she hissed at him. She hated when he did that. "So she's going to like, come here?" He pictured Mama Snow at Star Labs, snipping at all of them. "How long?"

"No, she - " Caitlin cleared her throat. "She'd like to take me to the lab in the Arctic."

"Hang on, Icicle's cryotastic lair of chilly evil?"

"Don't call it that, and yes."

"You're leaving?"

"I agree with her. We'll need the specialized equipment there to figure out what's going on, and maybe to stabilize it."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes, I guess."

How long would that be? "You want I should come with?"

"You just got back," she said. "And no offense, this is really more of a biomedical issue than a mechanical one. If it turns out we need some kind of device built, I can always call you."

"Yeah, you got my digits," he mumbled. "So what'll you do until then?"

"The wound did close up before my immune system went haywire," she said. "So now it's a matter of taking it easy. The antibiotics should start to work, and I'm taking in lots of fluids. I'm not concerned about that part, it seems like it's just a matter of time."

She was the doctor. He nodded. "Okay. But I'm staying here tonight to look after you."

"You don't have to do that!"

"Yeah, I know, I want to."

"What if I freeze you?"

He grinned at her. "Baby, I'm too hot to ever get that cold."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Seriously. You don't have to stay."

He squatted down next to the couch, as close as she would allow him to get. "Caitlin," he said, looking her in the eye. "I'm not sure you understand how much I care about you."

"I know you care about me."

"But you still think I'm going to see you in this condition and go swanning off back home."

She chewed her bottom lip. "What does Kamilla think?"

The rebuttal should have come easy. She's fine with it. You're my friend, you need help. It wouldn't be the first time he'd put in overtime to help a friend. It was one of the things Kamilla said she liked about him.

But for some reason he couldn't get the words out. "She understands," he said. "I filled her in. She says get well soon."

She doesn't have any reason to be jealous, he thought, and then immediately thought, Jealous? Why did that even cross my mind?

Caitlin studied him, and he tried not to squirm. 

"Anyway," he added. "We should get in some concentrated bestie time, since I was on the road and you're going to be off in the Arctic. Hmm?" He looked around and found her remote. "Here, I'll even let you pick the first movie."

"Oh, really," she said archly.

"Yes, really, here."

She took the remote with a pleased hum. "I should get injured more often."

"Umm, hard no on that."

***

By the time they'd finished “Always Be My Maybe” and “The Old Guard,” she'd downed some egg flower soup and a mug of tea without flash-freezing either, and taken some antibiotics as well. The cuffs had arrived too, courtesy of Allegra, who'd stayed long enough to eat three egg rolls and watch the end of Caitlin's rom-com. 

When Cisco finished cleaning up the Chinese delivery boxes, she was snuggled into her pillows, eyes closed.

"Hey," he whispered. "You awake there?"

She snored a little. He snickered.

He considered her couch. He'd had occasion to sleep on it before, and he knew it was decently comfy. But she would probably prefer her bed. 

On the other hand, she was asleep now, and she clearly needed the downtime. He didn't want to wake her all the way up just to steer her into her bedroom a few feet away. Especially if it would break open her wound again, or her suddenly-uncertain powers were under shakier control in her sleep.

He decided to leave her where she was and claim the futon in her study. He knew where all her extra blankets and pillows were. 

He held his hand a few inches away from her cheek, testing. When it failed to freeze over, he pulled the extra blanket up over her, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her skin was unsettlingly cool under his lips, and he paused until he saw her chest rise and fall. Then he brushed her hair back and murmured, "Sleep tight, frosty girl. I'll be right here if you need me."

FINIS

[queenmylovely]

You’re so good at writing fluff and I’m on my period and I just need all the fluff and I love Ben so much and fuck I need all the fluffy Ben hmph I just want him to cuddle me and rub my tummy it’s not fAIR why do periods suck wtf I didn’t ask for this 😭😭😭

So i don’t think this was an actual request but seeing as i don’t have anything with ben where he’s helping out due to a physical issue, i thot i’d write a little thing for you, hope this helps, babe!

also, in no world is this a blurb, it’s 1.5k, but no warnings!

Masterlist, BLM Resources, Register to Vote (U.S.)

☆☆☆

You were an adult, you knew how to plan, how to be organized, how to take care of yourself, and dammit, you knew when your period was. But no matter how many calendars and period-tracking apps you used or how many period products you bought, nothing could take away the pain and discomfort, not to mention bleeding, that came around every month.

But, like stated before, you’re an adult, so when your period came around this morning, you dealt with it in the ways you could: taking acetaminophen, marking it in your calendar and phone app, and wearing black trousers just in case. You left for work, going through the coffee place on the way, getting a mocha (because you deserved chocolate) with an extra shot of espresso (because you had read somewhere that periods make you more tired and caffeine can help).

Work was bearable, but by the end of the day, all you wanted to do was go home and lie on the couch in your comfy sweatpants and your soft from wear favorite t-shirt. However, there was one more thing that you knew you needed to feel better. So when you got to your car, but before you drove away, you texted your boyfriend who had been asleep when you left that morning.

y/n: period started today, heading straight home. can you pick up ice cream on your way?

You waited a couple minutes for his reply, starting the car and turning on the seat heaters so the warmth would help the slight pain in your back.

ben: ofc, triple chocolate?

y/n: ofc

By the grace of the heavens, there was almost no traffic on your way home, so it only took about 15 minutes to get there. As soon as you were inside, you made a beeline for the bedroom. There, you stripped all of your work clothes off in seconds, including your bra which had become incredibly uncomfortable over the course of the day. Finally, you dug through your drawers, finding the sweatpants and t-shirt you had been daydreaming about for hours.

Thinking that tv would help distract you from your current plight, you went into the living room and searched the cluttered coffee table until you found the remote. When you did, you turned the tv on, grabbed a throw from the little basket by the couch, and laid down on your side on the couch. Clicking through until you got to Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix, you curled your knees up so you were in the fetal position. As an episode that you had seen before started, you tossed the blanket so it was at your feet and then grabbed one end, pulling it until the blanket laid nicely over the lower half of your body.

Around halfway through the episode, when one of the doctors was pulling another into an on-call room, you heard a key in the door and sat up to see Ben opening it and walking in, your eyes lighting up.

“You are literally the best, I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask for Panera,” you said when you saw the take out bags in his hands, along with the reusable tote you assumed the ice cream was in.

“Well, I know it makes you feel better,” Ben said casually and though your eyes had originally lit up because of the food, they were now sparkling with the love that you felt at the fact that he knew you so well and would do something so nice without even thinking about it.

“I love you,” you said earnestly.

“I love you too,” Ben replied with a chuckle, leaning down to kiss you briefly. He set down the take out bags, “I’ll go put the ice cream in the freezer and grab some real silverware.”

While he did that, you pulled the food out of the bags. Yours was chicken soup that was the closest it gets to homemade and white cheddar mac and cheese. They also included a slice of a baguette. Ben had gotten some kind of sandwich and the chicken and wild rice soup with a bag of kettle chips.

The two of you dug in right away, with you catching Ben up quickly on the details of the episode before pressing play. The warm soup and yummy mac and cheese made you feel better, soothing your body, partly because of the broth of the soup and partly because it was just comfort food.

After dinner, you didn’t want ice cream right away, asking Ben to lie down with you instead.

“Sure, should I go grab your hot water bottle first though? I already have the kettle going and ready,” Ben told you.

“Somehow you’ve gotten better at this than me,” you said with a laugh and Ben just shrugged and smiled. “Thank you, that’d be great, babe.”

Ben got up from the couch, also taking away all the empty containers and you smiled, just watching him and admiring how he moved, even doing this menial task. He was back in a couple minutes with the aforementioned hot water bottle in hand. The cover was a soft fabric in your favorite color with little sketched plants and flowers all over it. He handed it to you, and knowing the drill, laid down against the back of the couch.

You laid down in front of him, humming happily when the two of you fit your bodies together naturally. Resting the hot water bottle against your stomach to diminish the strength of your cramps, this time you didn’t need the blanket with Ben behind you keeping you warm. His arm rested on your side, his elbow at your waist and his hand on your thigh. Picking his hand up, you brought it to your mouth and kissed his palm before putting it back where it was. Ben kissed the side of your head in return and then you both settled in and started watching the show again.

Every once in a while, your cramps would be particularly bad and you would moan in pain. When you did this, Ben would move the hot water bottle out of the way and use his hands, one to rub over your tummy, and one on your lower back, and within moments the pain would subside. You weren’t totally sure why it worked, but it didn’t really matter because the sharp pain was gone. Once it was, you would pat Ben’s hand that was on your tummy and he would put the hot water bottle back in place on your stomach and his hand back in place on your thigh, rubbing his thumb across your skin soothingly.

A while later, you needed to go to the bathroom, so you patted Ben’s hand and got up from the couch, stretching for a second in place.

“Can you get the--?”

“I’ll get the ice cream,” Ben said at the same time and you giggled, pressing a quick kiss to Ben’s lips once he sat up.

You took care of business, and then went back to the living room, but saw that Ben wasn’t back yet. Thinking you’d help, or at least keep him company, you went to the kitchen. He was standing at the counter, scooping the ice cream into two coffee mugs, so you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek on his back.

“Hey, babe,” Ben greeted you and you hummed in reply.

“You know, I really, really love you,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his back and hoping he felt it through his sweatshirt.

“Yeah?” he asked and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You nodded, knowing he could feel the movement.

“Well good, because I really, really love you too,” Ben replied, picking up the full mugs. “Now why don’t you take these into the living room while I put this stuff away?”

You nodded again, but this time he could see it because he was handing you the mugs. But before you walked away, you turned your head a little, angling your cheek towards him and Ben smiled, knowing what you wanted. He kissed your cheek and you smiled before turning around and heading to the living room.

This time, you sat normally on the couch, resting the mugs on your knees, glad that your sweatpants were protecting you from the cold ceramic. Ben was less than a minute behind you, sitting next to you and grabbing his mug from your hands. Both of you scooped your first bite onto your spoons and started eating as you pressed play.

Ben finished before you, like he always did, and when you were on your last bite, Ben bumped his shoulder into yours playfully, making you get a little on your chin. He laughed but before you could complain or reach for something to wipe it off, he kissed where it had gotten, using his tongue and lips to get it off. You laughed, surprised, as he did, but when his lips moved to yours, your laughter was stifled. And though his lips were a little sticky from the ice cream, you found that you couldn’t care less.

★★★

p.s. this was not the original blurb that i was talking about when I talked ab looking out for a ben blurb, but that is very specific and wouldn’t really relate to this issue, that one will be up in a couple days, this one just seemed kinda time sensitive. Anon, i have not forgotten about you!

yeah I'm doing the taglist bc it’s 1.5k lol Permanent taglist: @riseetothesun  @caborhapch​​ @drowseoftaylor​​ @queenlover05​ @johndeaconshands​ @supersonicfreddie​ @stardust-galaxies​​ @madamsledge​ 

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, Chap. 21

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay Multi-chapter, Rated M

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

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

Chapter 21 The betrayal

*ring ring*

… What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haymitch…

That’s my name.

I really must speak to you. It’s im…

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

I’ve never called…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sobs* I’m so stupid.

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

*toot toot*

xXx

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

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

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

“I’m going to the bakery.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anywhere but home.

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

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

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

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

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

And it wasn’t the only thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just leave him be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost everyone.

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

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

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

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

But even that came to an end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What for?

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

And Effie, how was she doing?

xXx

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

Reaping day’s almost here!

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

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

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

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

A phone. Ringing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck me,” he wheezed.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not her.

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

“Hello?” someone called. “Helloo?”

He brought the phone closer.

“Who is this?”

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

Haymitch drew a silent sigh. Of course.

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

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

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

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

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

And her brilliant laughter hammered his head.

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

She had a sip of something and then rallied on,

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

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

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

That finally silenced her. For about three seconds.

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

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

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

And she slammed the phone in his ear.

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

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

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

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

The liquor numbed his worries like they numbed everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A good day in an ocean of bad ones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On the train.”

Katniss stopped, eyebrows lifted.

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

Gem of Panem Heart of justice Wisdom crowns your marble brow

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

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

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

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

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

Protect our land With armored hand Our Capitol, our…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, the joke’s on him.

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

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

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

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

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

But she’s not back on pills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eff?”

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

“She’s not here,” a voice rung out.

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

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

He crossed the road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mrs. Quinlan.”

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

Mrs. Q.

“You’re Eff’s landlady.”

The woman shook her head.

“Not anymore.”

“Because you kicked her out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xXx

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

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

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

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

“They won’t even…”

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

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

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

Right on cue the bell rang.

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

It rang again, on her way through the hallway.

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

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

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

He didn’t let her finish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabel had followed inside and he turned on her again.

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

“I’m not lying to you.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s resting.”

“Well, go and wake her up!”

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

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

“Not until you’ve calmed down!”

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

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

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

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Haymitch, what are you doing!?”

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

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

What have I done to her?

xXx

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you were on the pill?”

“I was.”

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

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

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

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

“What, Eff?”

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

“We’re what?”

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

No! No, I don’t wanna hear it!

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

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

“I can’t do this.”

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

”I need some air.”

xXx

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

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

He didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Euphemia.”

Effie looked up, startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Euphemia.”

“Must be something I ate.”

“Euphemia, look at me, please.”

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

“Are you with child?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had never felt so safe.

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

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

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

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

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

Haymitch Abernathy.

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

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

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

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

“Nine weeks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s OK.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”It’s pennyroyal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I didn’t drink it. I never drank it.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haymitch…”

“That’s my name.”

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

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

“I’ve never called…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so stupid.”

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

And she was left with just the flat audio tone.

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

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

[elisaphoenix13]

A Sick Tell

The family had a tell when they were sick. Tony zoned out in the lab when he was supposedly 'working', Stephen napped in the middle of the day, Peter and Harley tried to hide it even though Stephen would immediately find out, and Diana immediately called for one of her parents. Then there were the Avengers. Most of them were smart enough to admit they were sick and stay in bed, but there were those that weren't so smart. Scott and Quill being among them. Scott's tell was someone finding him sitting cross-legged on the island counter and taking some electrical thing apart. It was usually something small and fixable like the tv remote. Quill on the other hand...well no one even knew he could actually get sick. Drunk, sure...but not sick. They got a scare when they first found out too.

Namely, Quill arrived on the family floor looking a little dazed (which was understandable because it was still pretty early), and stumbled over to the fridge. Stephen was immediately on alert because the moment the pirate passed behind him, he could feel the heat. Quill was like a walking furnace. Stephen watched him grab a can of whipped cream and make his way over to the living room where he promptly fell back onto and fell asleep.

"Victor...give me Quill's temperature please." Stephen asks his AI calmly.

A few beats pass before he responds. "One hundred and five Doctor."

"What?! Call Bruce and--"

"He's stable. According to my data, his fever is equal to a regular human fever of one hundred and two." Victor interrupts and Stephen sighs.

"His Celestial genes...right. Let me know if anything changes."

Then Stephen started on some soup before taking back the can of cream through a small portal and returning it to the fridge. The only reaction he got was a groan of relief when he took a cold washcloth over to Quill and placed it on his forehead. With a small spell, the cloth would stay cold and wet and would hopefully help as long as Quill didn't move and dislodge it. Not that he was going to do much moving now. Based off the quiet rumbling coming from Quill's spot on the couch, he was out cold despite being sick, but that was good. He was getting actual sleep. Stephen would just have to keep the floor quiet. He wasn't going to risk waking the man up by trying to portal him back down to bed, especially since Scott was out of town. That was probably the only reason Quill came up in the first place.

"I thought one of the kids were hiding a dog." Tony says as he walks into the kitchen and straight to the coffee pot. "But no...it's just our resident god. What's Porcupine doing up here anyway?" 

Stephen throws some noodles into the broth and looks over at his husband to accept his coffee flavored morning kiss. "He's sick and Scott isn't home."

"So he just came up and asked you to take care of him?"

"No. I don't even think he was aware he came up here in the first place. He grabbed our whipped cream and then fell back asleep on the couch." Stephen says and Tony raises an eyebrow over his mug.

"Didn't even eat any of it did he?"

"He probably forgot about it as soon as he grabbed it."

"At least he's got pajamas on."

Stephen snickers and leaves the soup to sit for a bit as he walks back into the living room after grabbing a spare blanket, and throws it over the snoring celestial. If one could call the rumbling coming from Quill snoring. It was more like purring. It was weird but Stephen wasn't complaining. It was much more tolerant than actual snoring. Scott had brought it up one day and said it was actually really nice and calming, and that it didn't keep him from sleeping. Which if Tony snored like that, Stephen might like it too...but he didn't. The sorcerer was stuck with the engineer periodically snoring right in his ear at three in the morning. The urge to bunk with one of the kids always followed, but before he could act on that urge, Tony would stop snoring and Stephen could go back to sleep.

"Damn." Tony sits on one of the adjacent couches with his coffee and turns on the tv. "He's like a furnace."

"What's considered an emergency temperature to us is just a high temperature for him." Stephen sits next to Tony and uses a portal to grab his cup of tea he left on the counter.

"How high?"

"He's currently sitting at a hundred and five."

A giggle sounds from behind them. "Uncle Quill sounds like a big kitty."

Diana rounds the couch with a blanket in one of her hands and crawls onto the couch between her parents, and Tony helps her with her blanket when she snuggles into his side. Once comfortably covered, Stephen changes the channel to something more child friendly, and both men secretly die a little inside when it's an episode of Dia's favorite show that they had seen and heard at least five times now. A repeat episode was a million times better than glitter though. Stephen banned glitter after Diana brought some home and easily convinced Harley to use it in his potato gun inside. Everyone still walked away with some part of their body dusted with sparkles.

"Uncle Quill isn't feeling good so we're all going to have a quiet day today." Stephen says as he weaves his hand through Diana's hair.

Tony snorts. "We're going to try at least. The boys don't really know what quiet is."

"Why is there soup on the stove?!" Harley yells from the kitchen and Stephen sighs before getting up.

"You better not touch that soup Harley." The sorcerer walks into the kitchen and finds the teen replacing the lid and taking a bite out of the apple in his other hand. "What did you do to it?"

"Nothing. Didn't get a chance to." When Stephen narrows his eyes, Harley grins. "I'm kidding Mom. But seriously, what's with the soup?"

"Quill is sick."

"Spacecase can get sick?"

"Apparently."

Stephen bats away Harley's hands and the teen turns his attention to the cupboards to grab cereal and grabs a few bowls from a second cupboard. One going to Stephen so he can fill it with some soup, the other three being webbed from Harley's hands. He didn't even blink. He just opened a drawer to dig out some spoons as Peter crawled across the ceiling to put the bowls on the table. Stephen and Tony had tried to get Peter to stop crawling on the ceiling, but the farthest they got to succeeding was him only doing it weekend mornings. They figured they could deal with that if it meant no more heart attacks for Tony. Well, Tony, the kids, and some of the Avengers. Peter successfully scared the crap out of Rhodes and Tony thought it was hilarious.

"Quiet day today." Harley and Peter look at Stephen and he gives them a look when they open their mouths. "Yes, seriously. Either find something quiet to do or see if you can go to a friend's house."

Nothing more is said and the boys sit at the table with a couple of boxes of cereal, and as soon as the first bits clatter into a bowl, Diana hops off the couch and joins her brothers at the table. Stephen of course had to confiscate the coffee that Harley tried to sneak past him and pour into his cereal, and the teen grumbles.

"It was worth a shot."

"It's bad enough that your father tries it. Don't pick up his bad habits." Stephen replies easily and takes both the mug of coffee and the soup into the living room.

Just in time too. Quill had woken up from his nap when Stephen stepped in and he was looking around in dazed confusion. The pirate definitely didn't remember coming up, but he was more lucid than he had been. Quill even sat up, causing the cloth on his forehead to fall down into his lap.

"How did I get up here?" Quill asks with a bit of a slur.

"You walked with your own two legs!" Tony says dramatically. "And with clothes on!"

Stephen rolls his eyes and walks over to Quill to hand him the bowl of soup. "Eat. You're welcome to stay on the couch if you want."

"...where's Scotty?" The celestial asks as he accepts the soup.

"Out of town. How long have you been sick?" Stephen questions.

"Dunno. Since maybe a day before he left?"

Stephen raises an eyebrow. "The last time you ate?"

Quill replied with a lazy shrug and eats his soup with a bit of a grimace. Stephen wasn't offended though because it wasn't a grimace of disgust, it was a grimace of discomfort. Quill's stomach was very likely churning but he wasn't about to argue with an actual doctor. So the bowl of soup was slowly, but surely, polished off. A few minutes pass as the man makes sure his breakfast isn't going to come back up, and then lays back down on the couch before sending a dirty look to the children's show on the tv.

"Hey, you came up here, you have to suffer through kid shows." Tony points out.

"At least make it a Disney movie." Quill grumbles out as he makes himself comfortable again.

Stephen grabs the washcloth and hands it to Quill and he holds it to his forehead with another relieved groan. Diana scrambles in the living room after she finishes her cereal and changes the kid show to a Disney movie (for Uncle Quill), but it ended up being pointless since Quill fell asleep in the first five minutes of Sleeping Beauty. Harley made a joke about the pirate having the right idea and that comment had Diana chucking a crayon at his head. She had taken over the coffee table with coloring supplies (the entire living room if you asked everyone else), watching movies, and enjoying listening to Quill purr (snore) like a big cat. Cassie did end up joining them not much later, actually looking for Quill, and when she found him conked out on the couch and being taken care of, she sat with Diana and colored with her. That was how most of them spent their day. Coloring, watching Disney movies, or in Tony and the boys cases, down in the lab. After the second movie started, the three if them fled to the lab and left Stephen to the girls and the sick god.

Fine by him. It was much quieter that way.

"Cassie, were you aware that Quill was sick?" Stephen asks as he cleans up the kitchen.

"Hmm? Yeah. I've been taking care of him the last couple of days. He's been doing...this." She motions toward the slumbering god.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Victor said he was fine and there wasn't much for me to do since he was always sleeping."

"Well...I'll help you keep an eye on him until he gets better or Scott gets home. Whatever comes first." The sorcerer rejoins the two girls and sits on one of the empty couches grabbing a crayon and inspecting it closely. "Is this a glitter-"

Diana grabs it. "It's in the crayon Mommy!"

Stephen sighs and looks down just as Tibbs walks past them and over to Quill. He jumps up on the celestial, kneads his still rumbling chest, and then turns around once before laying down. Tibbs' purring adds to Quill's snoring and the girls giggle.

"Uncle Quill really is a big cat!"

Stephen smiles. "Our actual cat isn't affected by much."

"Peter's right. Tibbs is the chillest cat in the world." Cassie reaches up to pet Tibbs, and the feline responds with louder purring.

"Victor, take a picture and send it to Scott please."

"Yes Doctor."

Quill blinks his eyes open once again and finds himself staring at a furry lump on his chest. "Wha--What's on my chest?" He mumbles and Cassie grins.

"Just a fuzzy multitentacled otherworldly being. No big deal."

"...kay."

Quill falls back asleep and Stephen snorts. Healthy celestial god Quill would have sprung to his feet in an instant. Sick Quill? He didn't give a single shit.

[i-love-charles]

Money Can’t Buy

Chapter 2/2 

Part 1 [in case you haven’t read it]

Notes: Smut, Slight Spanking, Romance, Fingering, Creampie, Pregnancy Kink, Long Imagine, Charles Smith + Female Reader

Wordcount: 2,360

You were softly awakened by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through your nostrils, along with the joyous laughter of small children radiating from the slightly ajar window across your bedroom. The blankets still clutching at your tired silhouette gave you reassurance of the day ahead, but soon your thoughts drifted to the cold, vacant space behind you and the lack of Charles’ warmth pressed against your back. Groaning as you prop yourself up upon your elbow, you wiped at your sleepy eyes and stretched out your restful limbs.

The heavy door creaked open suddenly and you were welcomed with the warming presence of Charles at the door frame, a hollow tray rest upon his palms occupying two metal cups of hot coffee and a small bowl of peaches and strawberries collectively. He was still in his sleepwear, an old pear of beige fabric trousers and, as usual, his broad dark chest was uncovered, and sun kissed by the light rays streaming in from the slit between the swaying curtains. His hair was splayed down his back in a cascade of black ink, almost like an endless waterfall.

“Good morning, my love.” He spoke the words softly as he lay the tray on your lap, calmly crawling his way to the vacant space beside you. “I thought we could enjoy the morning with fresh coffee, I’m collecting timber for the cabins this afternoon with the men, so we have a while to be together.” This made your heart flutter, it was rare these days you were able to stay in bed together, the past few months had been very busy for Charles, yourself, Arthur and Mai. The thought of spending your morning in bed with your husband, without a worry, was a pure luxur- Arthur and Mai!

“Oh, Charles, I promised the children we would go the fields near by and pick flowers, I slept in too long, are they – “ Your eyes met his, disappointed in the possibility you might’ve let your children down.

“They left with some of the other children this morning, they’ll be fine, women from the reservation went, too.” Charles reassured as he rests himself against the bed frame with his large fingers gently intertwining with yours. His other hand picked a strawberry from the bowl at your lap and raised it up to your plush parted lips. With a sigh of relief, you parted them and bit down on the sweet fruit. The rest of your breakfast consisted of you telling Charles’ about the day before, how Mai had helped you make broth for dinner, washing and handing the vegetables to you, and Arthur had read to you snippets from a book Charles had bought him about birds – expertly reciting the names and habitats of each species. You both cooed at how intelligent your children are and smiled in unison.

“I guess we aren’t doing such a terrible job, ‘eh” you giggled whilst lifting the steaming mug to your lips, Charles’ joined in, his chuckle echoed throughout the room, leaving a pleasant atmosphere. His dark eyes drifted to meet yours, a hint of pride visible in his gaze. Charles’ was a reserved man, not with you, but sometimes it was more peaceful to sit in comfortable silence. You brought the last strawberry to your red-tinted lips and in your peripheral you could see his gaze drag your mouth, watching as you slowly licked at the sweet juice from around your finger. Was this making him hard? The quiet was broken by Charles’ low words. “You know, some of the other cabins have three bedrooms.” His tone turned serious, although there was a hint of something else there. Lifting himself in a sitting position with the covers pooling at his lap, he looked down at you, his hair falling in smooth strands around his neck and upper chest.

“That so?”

“Yeah. So, if we ever…well, you know.” You met his gaze with bright eyes after setting your empty cup on the tray placing it on the nightstand. You had talked about more children, but the past few months had been so hectic that it got pushed to the backs of your mind. Although, your children were quick to remind you both of other kids at the reservation and how they had baby brothers and sisters, and how the stork would could with a baby soon.

This abrupt sentence coming from Charles’ mouth was the only ‘go’ you needed to celebrate a childless house, and the possibility of a third baby, so you quickly lifted yourself up and straddled yourself on his lap, his smirking face aligning with yours. Charles’ eyes became dark and lustful, his arms hitching your nightdress to your hips and gripping at your exposed thick thighs. A small hum escaped your mouth at this, and you felt yourself get wet at his large hands and how they grabbed at you as if you belonged to him. The thought of being Charles’ property was something that secretly you fantasised about him acting out.

Bringing your hands to rest against his glorious wide chest, one resting at the base of his large bicep, you pulled yourself closer to his soft pouting lips, whispering just inches away from where he wanted you to meet “Give me another child, Charles.” With this you crashed your mouth against his, your words clearly having a huge effect on him as you felt a stiff tent grow beneath your smooth, soaked pussy and the irritable covers that separated you. His hands gripped at your night dress, pulling the flimsy fabric over your head in one swift, desperate motion. Your bare body was displayed to him, the breeze from outside catching your sensitive skin and only adding to the pure craving you felt for his touch. Your nipples grew into soft peaks against his broad chest, begging for his callous attention.

“There’s no one else home. I’m going to make you scream, ___” he growled lowly from his throat, the warm hardness throbbing for you beneath the covers now at its peak. A hand rested upon one of your heavy breasts, a thumb flicking over your hardened soft nipple causing you to slightly jolt upwards at the torturous contact. You landed harshly back down on the bulge beneath you a surprised moan irrupted from both of your throats. Charles’ other hand landed hard down on your ass, causing a sharp slap to resonate throughout the room. The slight pain from the smack paired with the immense lust you felt for this man had you at his total mercy, begging for more with the soft rocks your hips made against his.

“Again, Charles. Please, again…Oh!” Your voice trailed off into a loud and breathy moan at the second contact. After a few more slaps at your reddening ass cheek you brought yourself out of your trance to acknowledge of the hardness resting below you, The covers were pulled down and his cock flung upwards towards his stomach, reaching his belly button. The thick head was an angry red and the long base was painted with dark veins just aching for friction – precum leaking from the top and spreading in long trails down to the base. Lifting your heavy-lidded eyes to meet Charles’ you brought a finger to each bead of precum, raising it to your soft lips and moaning at the creamy, salty liquid. Each lap of his arousal brought a deep and erotic gasp from his mouth. Kissing on his chest and down the path towards his hard cock you left little bites and licks.

“Charles, you’re so perfect.” You moaned as you inched towards his hard cock. Raising your ass into the air and arching your back to look up at him, you moaned at the cold contact the fresh air from the open window blew against your greedy, plush pussy, but this was about him right now.

Licking a small stripe up his cock you made sure to keep your eyes fixated on Charles’, his eyes growing heavy and his mouth exhaling deep and gruff breaths out of his slightly opened lips. When you brought your mouth down around him his eyes rolled back in total ecstasy at your warm wet mouth. You couldn’t take him whole around your lips, and that had always slightly disappointed you, but you had always made sure to take him whole in your pussy instead. Bobbing your head up and down on him a few times, you moaned against his thick cock, the vibrations sending him higher, and laying your tongue flat against the small slit at his base you could feel his thighs beneath you begin to shake.

“Shit, ___.” He grabbed your hair in a tight knot, pulling your mouth upwards to meet his, his thick cock leaving your mouth with a satisfying pop. “I won’t last much longer if you keep doing that with your mouth, my love.” The words left him in a tumble of breaths and grunts, and he gripped at your round hips, twisting you both so that you lay beneath him, your hair surrounding your face in loose tendrils against the pillows.

His large rough hand came up on rest against your flustered cheeks, his thumb against your lips, begging for entry. You opened them hungrily and began sucking at his thumb, kissing and nipping against the pad. His other hand trailed down to where his cock nudged against the inside of your thigh, rubbing it a few times before stroking it against your soaked pussy lips, when the head nudged against your aching clit you let out a choked moan against his thumb.

“Charles, please.” You begged into his thumb, melting under his lusty gaze.

“I want you to be soaking for me ___ so that you can accept all of my warm cum for you… I need you to beg for me…” He whispered against the skin of your other cheek, pressing sloppy kisses between sentences.

“Charles, please, plea-“ Your eyes slammed close at the immense pleasure of his cock completely filling you, the stretch just as perfect as its always been. Knowing his size was above average, he always gave you a few seconds to adjust to the intrusion. Apart from this time he didn’t, he followed straight away with another calloused pump into you, and then another, and another. Leaving you a screaming pathetic mess beneath him, just clutched at the large arms framing your head and pressing your lips against his sensitive neck, nipping and sucking at the skin.

Your moans melded together in a beautiful symphony that echoed throughout the room, thankfully the children outside had quietened down, so you hoped they had began playing farther from your cabin as you knew your sex wasn’t exactly ever discreet. His thick hips began grinding in small circles against yours, and your mind filled with a state of nirvana as the man above you fucked you into the mattress. Your clit was suffocated between your bodies and the friction was only reaching you higher towards your inevitable climax.

Charles could sense the rapid tensing of your pussy around him, but wanted to make you wait a while longer, he wanted to savour this and make it special for you. After a particularly deep pump into you he lifts his heavy hips, resting against the backs of his muscly thighs. A smug grin plastered his face and you whimpered into the back of your palm at the loss of him inside you. Charles enjoyed watching you helpless and needy for him, so after a moment of watching you collect yourself, he pressed the pads of his index and middle finger against your aching, swollen clit. The pressure only brought you closer and as soon as the pleasure began it was finished, at this another whimper escaped past your lips into the back of your palm.

“I know, sweetheart.” He whispered in response, pulling the hand from your mouth and intertwining it with his above your head. His cock returned to your pussy in one harsh, quick pump and the torture continued. You felt an intense fire build in your abdomen and soon you were screaming for him again.

“Charles, I – I’m so cl- Please make me-“ You whimpered into his shoulder, scratching against his tensing biceps for release.

“N-not yet, sweetheart. Wait for me.” Your husband was fucking you so well, how could you ever disobey? His pumps became noticeably rapid and desperate, and you felt his lips hungrily search for yours. Your tongues danced together, just like your bodies, warm, wet and welcoming. “G’na cum so hard inside you.” He rasped against your swollen lips. The ball of heat building between your legs became unbearable to hold back, and when Charles broke the kiss to press his forehead against yours: your eyes staring in ecstasy at one another, his simple “Now, my love” had your entire body shaking, a moan got caught in your throat and your vision turned a bright white, hearing yourself cursing and screaming, but not exactly knowing what you were saying you felt a rush of warm liquid shoot deep inside of you. Looking up at the beautiful man above you, his long black hair plastered to his slick, toned body and his eyes closed tightly shut while the last spurts of cum were emptied inside of your sensitive, satisfied pussy – completely filling you.

Charles lifting you up in his strong arms and placed you on top of him, his back now against the mattress and his twitching cock still nudged inside you. You could feel his rapid heart beats against your bare chest and his thumb lazily stroking at your heated cheek, his shallow breaths hitching in his lungs.

“How do you do that to me, woman?” He groaned in his comedown, causing you both to let out heavy chuckles. You propped yourself up against his chest, lifting to meet his lips in a sweet embrace, he pulled away and lifted your chin to his level “I love you, so much.”

You whispered against the damp muscles that plastered his perfect body “I love you too, Charles Smith.”

End of Chapter 2

I hope those of you that read this enjoyed it, feel free to request, I don’t just write for Charles, I swear.

[svu-stories]

.77

Note: Follow up to (.76)! I feel like these two might get a few more stories out of me beyond this one. For: Well, @dreila03​ had asked for more of this recovery. Warnings: Mentions of hostage, assault Word Count: 1,562

You curled your toes over the middle cushion, hands resting on your knees, deep purple and oversized mug filled with chicken noodle soup warming them easily. Your eyes were trained on the broth, watching as the steam rose and dissipated quickly. You swallowed hard.

Rafael was trying to help. He’d done everything he’d promised the night before. Carmen was holding his calls, his cell phone was on silent – plugged into an outlet in the kitchen, and all of his meetings had been pushed. He used a day of personal time. You felt safe when he was next to you, arms holding you close, lips peppering your hair with sweet kisses and voice wafting with sweet nothings.

He was trying so hard.

But you couldn’t erase the images of the gun pointed at you, staring down its barrel. You couldn’t ignore the echoes of threats, the sound of your own shaking voice as you pleaded for your own safety.

You weren’t ever going to be the same again.

Your ears perked up as you heard the soft padding of his feet toward the living room. He’d been cleaning up the mess he’d made preparing your lunch. The soup you had silently agreed to consume. The chicken tender, the seasonings perfected, diced carrots and celery with garlic and onion. You could smell it, and it made your stomach churn.

The fear was still too overwhelming.

“Scoot forward,” he whispered, running a hand over your hair. You leaned forward, carefully balancing soup as he slid behind you. You silently thanked God that he’d picked an oversized couch, allowing him to slip one leg on either side and tug you back against his chest. You dug your feet further under the afghan before resting your head against his shoulder.

You heard the spoon clang against the side of the mug, turning your attention to the long fingers that gripped it. You frowned as Rafael raised the spoon.

“You have to eat something,” he urged.

You shook your head, knocking his wrist and spilling chicken broth over the afghan as you set the mug aside. You frowned, “I’m sorry.”

Rafael dropped the spoon into the glass, wrapping his arms around your midsection before pulling you close. His lips found your cheek. Your eyes closed, a deep breath inhaled through your nose as you found comfort in the embrace. “Don’t be sorry,” he murmured. “You can try again later.”

For all of the months you had been seeing Barba, you had wished for one day like today. A day where neither of you had to work, where the sun shone in from beyond the curtains on his windows and the lively city was the background noise to a day of rest and relaxation. You’d long imagined his arms around you with lazy kisses, a bottle of wine, and nothing but your war stories and laughter to fill the time.

You just hadn’t imagined the day would involve a never ending rotation of memories that left you questioning every decision that had led you here – a mobile of tattered dreams hanging above you as you drifted in and out of consciousness after a restless night.

The fear was growing exhausting, though, and you found yourself turning in his arms, cuddling close as your shoulder fit below his, eyes finding his green.

“Talk to me,” you whispered.

Rafael offered you a closed lipped smile, fingers tangling with your own, “About what?”

“Anything,” you shrugged. “The silence is going to kill me. All I can hear is a soundtrack of begging for my own life. I can’t anymore.”

The smile turned to a frown for a split second, and your heart broke as you realized your words had hurt him. Barba had always tried to make you happy – even shooting sarcastic quips in your direction at the office to distract you from whatever horror you were living in the moment. Your laugh, he claimed, was one of the reasons he hadn’t pushed you away when things started to get heated.

When he broke his own rule of workplace fraternization.

You never once complained, though. Some rules were meant to be broken when the feelings elicited were oh-so-right.

He corrected the look of dismay as quickly as it formed, squeezing your hand before he started to speak. His voice was gentle, laced with a hint of nostalgia you rarely heard him reveal.

“I was nine. And I was quite the scrawny nine year old. I loved chess, reading, and helping Mami with crossword puzzles, though I’m sure I was more of a hindrance than a help,” he began. You settled in for the story, tugging the still damp afghan up to your chin. “My father had brought home a present for me – a new bicycle. Well, new to me, at least. We didn’t have much, and this gift seemed like everything. I set off down the street at once, hearing him call after to not be out past sun down.”

You smiled softly. Rafael rarely spoke of his childhood. You’d often wondered why, but it had never been something you openly questioned. You looked up at him with a soft expression, “What color was it?”

“Blue,” he chuckled. “I thought that this was it – I was finally going to fit in. My hand-me-down, thrift-shop clothes weren’t going to matter with my bike. I rode like the wind. Until one of the older kids tried to take it while I wasn’t looking.”

“Why did your parents let you go to the park alone at nine years old in the Bronx?”

Rafael shrugged, and you could sense his sorrow. You wondered what piece of the story he was leaving out to protect you, but you didn’t complain. The day was hard enough. You reached out with your free hand, thumb brushing over his cheek to bring him back to the reality of your presence. He smiled sadly, “I don’t know. But I fought him. I told him it was my bike, that he couldn’t have it. He pushed me out of the way, roughed me up a bit, and rode away. I started walking home – knowing I would never make it before sunset and convinced my father was going to have my head on a silver platter. I was late, scraped up from the schoolyard scuffle, and without the new bike.”

You frowned, kissing his cheek softly before pressing your head into his shoulder, “What happened?”

“When my old man saw me, instead of yelling, he poured me a glass of orange soda. He drank a beer while I fought back my tears, and then he taught me how to punch,” Barba murmured. “He said I would be able to defend myself next time. It’s the one memory of my papi that doesn’t give me nightmares. Unfortunately, I never really used that skill. It was always my mouth that got me out of trouble.”

His words felt like a sucker punch and you suddenly realized why he generally kept quiet about his childhood. You knew it hadn’t been perfect. They had been poor, he hadn’t been well-liked by most kids, and you assumed his relationship with his family had been rocky based on the subtle cues you received from his reaction to different victims.

You hadn’t expected that disclosure, though.

“Sounds like a bittersweet night,” you whispered.

“It reminds me that there’s good in everyone,” Barba shrugged. “Even if the bad outweighs it.”

Your brow furrowed, wondering if his statement was true. Most days you felt as though the perpetrators you collared couldn’t possibly have any good in them. It was too much to bear, giving them honest personas that were capable of feeling guilt and compassion.

“I don’t think McColley has a good side,” you whispered quietly, feeling guilty that you stole back the spotlight.

Barba, however, didn’t seem to notice as he tugged you close, his cheek resting on the top of your head. He sighed, cringing as he thought about what could have happened when the suspect got his hands on you. The entire predicament could have taken you away entirely. You felt him tense slightly, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” You asked quietly. “You’ve been perfect.”

“Because I can’t take it away,” he sighed. “Because once you’ve been broken by another human, once you’ve seen the malicious intent that can lurk beyond the surface, you oft can’t go back…”

You held up a hand, interrupting him effortlessly, “I don’t believe that everyone is like him.”

“It’s not going to get better overnight, though,” he assured you.

“I know.”

“You’re going to have to face it, to talk about it, to testify.”

You felt a sharp intake of breath fill your lungs. Your body fell cold, shivering below the light blanket, “I’m not ready. Maybe tomorrow.”

Barba sighed, “When you’re ready, I’m here.”

“And if I’m not ready?” You asked softly, eyes filled with a vulnerability that overwhelmed every fiber of your being.

“I’ll still be here,” he whispered. “You’re still safe with me, right?”

You nodded slowly, swallowing hard before turning your attention back to the mug you’d previously discarded.

“I think I’m hungry,” you murmured. “But my soup is cold now.”

Barba reached for your phone, unlocking it easily and scrolling through the contacts.

“How does Chinese sound?”

“Get an extra egg roll?”

He nodded, “Anything for you.”