#they actually hate when i sneeze too much like get visibly annoyed

[snzluv3r]

my ex is one of my best friends (in true lesbian fashion of course) and i’m their ‘witness’ for their autism evaluation so i’m staying with them for the week and their cats are ALL over me so i’m all sneezy and an allergic mess.

and they know about the kink so every time i have a sneezing fit they just give me this LOOK like they know how crazy it’s driving me

i am getting absolutely no work done because i am so distracted in multiple ways

[softsnzstuff]

6,7,8,10 (sorry it’s a lot!!) for doctor Eddie and nurse Steve?

Hey, no I love answering things so thank you for sending!! ❤️❤️ KB

6. Feelings/habits surrounding medicine? What about doctors?

Well they’re both in the medical practice so they def trust doctors and medicine. That being said, it doesn’t mean they like them. Steve totally is all for doctors and stuff unless it’s himself. If he’s sick, he does not like being “doctored” by Eddie. In terms of medicine, Steve has no problem drugging himself up so he can keep working.

I feel like Eddie is a less extreme version of the “You know all it does is make you feel better” in terms of OTC medication. He will fall back on it if he needs to but he personally will try not to. Eddie like will not see other doctors. He’s very much a do it himself kind of guy. Doesn’t want to appear “weak”. If anything he’ll let Nancy or Steve do a quick look over but he doesn’t like going to see other MD’s.

7. Do they have any obvious/visible tells when they’re unwell? If yes, do they know about these tells themselves?

Eddie gets a lot more sassy. Very quick witted and low tolerance for BS. He reacts that way because he feels crummy. If you caught him when he thought he was alone you’d see he’s actually drained of energy and very tired and that’s usually a sign somethings off. He knows he’s being sassy but he can’t really stop himself.

Steve will be a lot more quiet? He does the whole faking being well so he can work more schtick every god damn time so he’ll try to not talk as much so no one can hear how congested or raspy he sounds. I also feel like his sneezes are different when he’s sick. Like regular ones are more loud for sure and mostly singles, but I think when he’s sick I feel like they’re more fittish. I don’t think Steve actively knows that this is a tell, but Robin has known him for so long, she’s way too familiar with this song and dance.

8. What do they find more irritating, a bad cough or a frequently recurring urge to sneeze?

OOF good question. For Eddie I think the recurring urge to sneeze would be worse. He sneezes in triples and already dislikes the entire “bless you Doctor rockstar” running joke. I think he’d get embarrassed or annoyed way too easily.

Steve, however, is already a v sneezy fellow. I think for him a bad cough would be more irritating. It would probably mess up his voice and he had to do a lot of talking with the patients before Eddie, Billy or Nancy go and see them.

10. How do they respond to someone blessing them? (The other blesscanons question.)

Nothing too fancy here. Usually just a simple “thank you”.

Although Robin got the entire staff to start saying “Bless you Doctor Rockstar” in unison whenever Eddie sneezes because he hates drawing attention to himself. So sometimes if it’s been going on for a while and he’s cranky he might say something less polite.

[dianapana]

SasuHina Month 2020- Day 13

Prompt:  Met Gala + Indirect Kiss.

Prologue 

Sasuke POV

I wake up when my phone just won’t stop ringing. I’ve ignored it for about 15 minutes but the damn thing just won’t shut up. With my eyes still closed I roll on my side and blindly search for the phone on my nightstand. It stops ringing just as I get my hand on it but it starts again the moment after. Without looking who it is I pick up and place it to my ear.

“Have you seen it?” my agent asks sounding part annoyed and part tired.

“Seen what?” I ask and take the phone from my ear to check the hour, it’s barely fucking 7 a.m. It’s my time off, I can’t believe he woke me up at 7 fucking a.m.

“Twitter. You have gone viral” he says; I can already picture him; his teeth are clenched and the vein on his forehead is about to pop.

“Why? How did I go viral when I did literally nothing?” I have no notifications on my phone besides the billion missed calls from him. It’s true most people aren’t awake this early in the morning and I always turn my internet off on my phone before going to bed; the notifications wake me up otherwise.

“Check it and we have to have a meeting. I’ll call the other agents and talk about how this should be handled.” He says and disconnects.

I’m tempted to ignore his call and go back to sleep but I know myself and now that I am up, I won’t be able to fall asleep again. Still instead of checking twitter right away I get up to take a shower and have some breakfast. Only after I’ve finished eating and drinking my coffee do I turn on my internet and I am immediately spammed from every social media app there is. I have been tagged and mentioned in a lot of posts. I click one of the tweets and it simply says “@SasukeUchia @HinataHyuga

#SasuHina

That’s it. That’s the tweet”

There are many other tweets similar in notion and they all have the #SasuHina, and each of them has over 70k retweets and comments and 150k likes. I am still extremely confused by what is happening. I keep scrolling until I reach a tweet that has pictures, the pictures are from last night’s Met Gala.

I start recalling my memories from last night

We were barely in the car when the night started going sour. Sakura was texting away on her phone with a speed I had never seen before, she was frowning and her mood was just…awful. Naruto kept sneezing, before we started getting ready, he had a fight with his and Hinata’s agents; he didn’t want to attend because of his cold but they pushed him; Hinata kept looking at him with sympathy and offering him tissues. We were 5 minutes away from the venue when Sakura put her phone away, no longer looking angry but more tired. Her shoulders were lowered and she burst into tears. Neither or us knew what to do for a moment before Hinata moved and rubbed her back for a moment.

“Sakura what’s wrong?” Hinata asked softly and did her best to dab her tears away without smudging her make-up.

“She broke up with me.” The air fizzled with anxiety for a moment. Sakura and her girlfriend whose name she never revealed to us, had been having problems since the fake dating thing started back in November. Honestly, I had never expected them to last that much; does that make me a dick? Maybe. But almost 5 months had passed and that’s a long time to be fighting with somebody. The car stopped and we had to get out and do the red-carpet walk. Sakura’s eyes were red just as Naruto’s nose. All in all we were a mess.

For a second, we all stood still, I was considering telling the driver to just take us back to the hotel but Sakura took the initiative and told us to move; so, we did. Naruto exited first and helped Hinata out. Her dress was massive so she needed a helping hand. I waited for the two to take a few steps away from the car before I got up and helped Sakura; thankfully she didn’t have a huge dress on but a pantsuit so it was easier for us to walk around and move.

As usually reporters kept screaming their questions at us even if we never actually answer any of them. Paparazzi too followed their normal routine and kept asking us to kiss but we didn’t. It didn’t feel right; Sakura was heartbroken and I’m pretty sure Hinata didn’t kiss Naruto because she didn’t want to catch his cold. After a hundred flashes blinded us, we made our way to the inside of the venue. Despite the fact that they had forced Naruto to come, our agents were kind enough to say we could leave early if we wanted to; I was quite sure, actually I was certain that we would.

The night went on as normal for a while, we chatted among ourselves, with other celebrities we did all you were supposed to do at this type of event. Sakura went to the bathroom to “check her make-up” but I heard her phone rang so I put one and one together and assumed she’d be in there for a while talking on the phone. Naruto and Hinata had split for a moment to go talk to different people and I took the opportunity to get myself some water. When i returned with my water, I walked back to where Hinata was sitting alone.

This is where apparently the night went wrong; the first pictures are from this following 5 minutes

As I’ve mentioned before Hinata and I aren’t close so even when I went to stand by her side we didn’t really talk. I took another sip of my water and looked around the room thinking we had stayed long enough and that we could leave soon. I turned to Hinata to tell her my idea and she too seemed eager to leave. I put my glass of water on the table behind us.

“You don’t want that anymore?” She asked and I shook my head, putting my hands into my pockets. She took the glass and drank the rest. I saw nothing weird then and I see nothing weird about it now, the past half year we’ve been shoved together so much that despite not knowing each other we were comfortable. Naruto finished talking and he was looking for us; I nodded towards the door telling him silently that we were ready to bounce and he nodded back.

“I’ll go look for Sakura so we can all leave” Hinata said and took a step forward, she hadn’t held onto the skirt of her dress and stepped on it and stumbled, so I did what everyone would do in that case; I caught her. I held onto her waist and arm until she was back on her feet and stable. She looked up at me with red cheeks; probably from the embarrassment that could have been and thanked me. I let go of her and she went on to find Sakura. The two of them returned soon; Sakura had cried some more, it was obvious from the redness of her eyes and the smudged make-up. The two girls walked in front of us and we all moved quite fast so the paparazzi couldn’t take clear pictures of us. We got into the limo and left. Instead of going to the hotel where we all got ready, we asked the limo to take each of us home. Sakura lived the closest; than Naruto; Hinata and I were last. We were alone in the limo a maximum of 10 minutes which she spent with her eyes closed her head tilted back. When we got to where she lived, I got out of the limo to help her with the dress and walked her to the elevator so she wouldn’t fall again. We hugged good night and I went on my way. I got home took a shower, put on some boxers and went to sleep. I slept until I was woken by my agent and now, I’m looking at the pictures on this twitter thread.

The first one is me holding my glass water, the second is of me drinking, then the glass is on the table and the final one is Hinata drinking from it. The most liked comment under these pictures is the one saying “So they just swapping saliva like nobody’s business. Can I get and ‘indirect kiss’ please? Anyone?”

The next pictures are of me when I caught her; my arms around her waist and her looking up at me flushed. I know how that looks out of context…The comments on this one vary, but most of them have the word ‘swoon’ in them.

The next pictures are of me helping her out of the car, me walking her to the door, us hugging but the angle on the last one is weird and I have a suspicion that whatever scumbag paparazzi followed us did that intentionally. It doesn’t look like a simple hug. It looked like a kiss. This tweet has the most likes and comments and as I’m looking at it, people keep liking it and retweeting. It has over 170k likes.

I scroll for a while longer and I keep seeing the same few pictures and just people making up something that really isn’t there. I stop when I see a picture of us leaving. Hinata looks at Sakura with sad eyes; Sakura’s eyes are visible you can tell she has been crying; Naruto is behind and he had just sneezed and they caught him with a weird expression on that looks similar to disgust and I just look tired. That certain post has the SasuHina hashtag but it’s a hate post. The thread goes on and on saying how disgusted this person is with me and Hianta for breaking Naruto and Sakura’s heart. How we’re cruel for doing that in public and so on. Another person points out the fact that unlike normally we did not kiss for the paparazzi. They keep on piling up evidence from nothing.

I keep scrolling and scrolling and even after almost 2 hours I can’t reach the beginning of the hashtag. We returned home at about 1 or 2 in the morning. How could this happen in 5 hours?

I walk to my bedroom, put my phone down and lay down. My phone keeps buzzing with each notification. I only looked on twitter. But the notifications come from every social media platform that I am on. I don’t know how we are going to fix that. We could tell the truth that nothing is there but misleading pictures. We could even go as far as to tell everyone that the dating was fake all along. That would be a huge relief for all of us I am certain.

My phone rings a few moments later and I see it’s Naruto. The fact that he’s awake at 9 in the morning is concerning.

“Dude. People took 7 pictures out of context and made a literal drama. I had like 25 texts from random actresses telling me that it’s such a shame Hinata and I broke up and that they are there for me if I need the comfort”

“Yea it’s all a mess.” I say and sigh loudly.

“Did you get any kind of shade?” He asks and he sound concerned.

“No, what do you mean?”

“Well I just talked to Hinata for about 30 minutes. She was really upset. Apart from you and hers ship name trending and most of her accounts gaining a lot of new followers she said she got a shit ton of hate too. People messaging her telling her she’s a whore and shit like that. People are disgusting man”

I clench my teeth and just say that I got nothing. I can’t fucking believe they are slut shaming her. I mean I do believe it I know that people suck but it still feels so wrong and unfair. They are shaming her only and not me. She’s the female and society has decided she is the bad one, she is the one with the fault, the one to blame. I hang up with Naruto and look for Hinata’s number in my phone. I want to text her and see if she’s ok. I feel bad and responsible.

I start laughing like a maniac when I realize I don’t even have her fucking number. We’ve been coworkers from 8 years and I don’t have her number, I know literally nothing about her. And three interactions have been blown out of proportions by people and fucked with our lives.

A couple hours later all 4 of us and our agents are in a meeting. Hinata looks ok, maybe a little annoyed, I was worried she’d be crying or throw a fit. Naruto’s cold seems to be worse; he looked like a zombie and Sakura has sunglasses on, inside so I can only assume she’s feeling peachy too.

“We haven’t yet decided how to handle this but the damage is done I don’t think we can simply deny the pictures and go back to normal, nor do we really want to. The SasuHina thing is bigger than anything we’ve seen in a while” My agent states and looks to the others to go on.

“Maybe the best course of action is to come clean, tell everyone that the two couples split up a while ago but you guys are still really good friends and on amazing terms which is why you didn’t want to make it public yet and create any sort of drama” Sakura’s agent is the one to speak next and he does look to be a bit regretful. Had this happened a few days faster maybe Sakura and her girlfriend wouldn’t have broken up, pretty sure most of us are thinking that.

“But we won’t be addressing the SasuHina thing yet; if someone asks about it during an interview in the following weeks you all have to say ‘no comment’” My agent added.

“Why? Won’t that make them think we are dating…?” Hinata asks and her agent nods.

“It’s vague. You don’t say no and you don’t say yes either. The amount of exposure you two are getting right this moment is huge. We even got a few shows calling asking for the two of you to be the protagonists” Her agent says and stops for a second for, what I can only assume is dramatic effect. “One of the offers is a really huge movie that people have been waiting for a long time but it kept getting postponed, it is after a book and the writer has the last say when it comes to casting and she never liked any of the actors but this time she is the one that contacted us not the casting director. All you have to do is go audition and the roles will be yours”

I haven’t really started looking into new roles yet, despite Naruto being done for almost half an year we’ve still been very busy with other things still about it. There’s even a talk about them wanting to film a documentary with us actors talking about the journey and how we think we differ from our character and such. But having options is always good and even if I do get casted and don’t really enjoy the role, I can always turn it down. I look to Hinata and she too is in deep thought but her eyes raise to mine and I rise an eyebrow towards her and she shrugs and nods.

Just when I thought the fake dating was over with…We both say we’d like to audition for this movie and our agents start moving on super speed making phone calls, organizing conferences, booking plane tickets and hotels. The buzz of the Naruto ending was just starting to fade a little and I thought I could have a few weeks off but it seems that’s not in the books for me.

[livayl]

A sneezy OC introduction

Until now I somehow forgot about this- but I thought it would be nice to write a bit about each of my OC´s sneeze related things. I´ll start with my oldest ones and end with the newest. :3

This is going to be long af for being pure self-indulgence but you can always scroll down to the character you like the most. xD In case you want to know more or look at their art/read some stories: If the tags work right all should be found by searching my blog for the OCs name. :)

Lillandlian: 

He has a distinctive photic sneeze reflex due to his unique, pallid complexion and the fact that he has lived in a deeply shaded forest. If not in complete shadows he´ll sneeze right after waking up, when passing through rays of bright sunshine or from looking directly into any radiant source of light. Quick changes in light-and shadow ratio can trigger a sudden release as well.

Those forced photic reactions tend to be quicker and less drawn out than his regular sneezes. For example a sudden yet forceful: “heh-PTSCHieh!”   Due to his unique link with nature the druid is also oversensitive to any kind of air pollution (smoke, ashes,...). This can cause prolonged fits and even breathing troubles. Lillandlian is also prone to catch colds and vulnerable to cool weather and chills. His cold sneezes tend to be more drawn out, come in multiples and rise from deep out of his fused lungs. His regular sneezes are very wet and spraying already and things can get very messy when he´s sick. Generally he does his best to keep them as quiet and polite as possible- giving them a softly spraying, yet forceful kind of tone. This won´t work when his nose is affected very badly- they´ll burst out unrestrained, loud and thus embarrass him even more than his regular ones.  The sounds are all wet, spraying with a lot of force behind and often ending with a higher pitch. Mostly expressed in one or two syllables but rarely in three. ”hhh-TDZSSSSCHiieh!”,  “ hah-IDZSCHHIIIEW!” Stifling them always hurts and needs lots of effort but he will do so to be unobtrusive and considerate despite his discomfort. Telling him to stop will secretly relieve him a lot.  The centaur always tries to shield or angle them away from people and prefers to safely release sneezes into a handkerchief. If nothing else is available he´ll sneeze against his bare forearm, wrist or into his hands. Feeling or seeing his own spray makes him cringe and shutter though.  He will bless other people with: “May Acacia bless you!/Acacias blessings be with you!” or simple “Blessings to you!/Bless you!” -referring to the goddess of nature and creation and wishing the other health in that way. Lillandlian will be very flustered after sneezing himself and apologize. 

Shokhrakka: 

Is sensitive to certain flowers and healing herbs. They will make his nose itch and tingle for a while before the teasing grows into a more pressing need. At that point his nose will be utterly swollen shut and they´ll burst out suddenly. With a lot of force behind. 

There´s not too much actual voice in them but a snarling, deeply growling quality mixed with the distinct sound of air rushing by mighty tusks. The kind of release that vibrates through ones chest and scrapes the throat a bit. Also they´re really loud and tend to startle others. They mostly happen in singles but a very persistent tickle can cause a double with a stray third trailing behind. They mostly sound like: “Huhhr-ERZSSCH-UE!”, “HEH-HURRZSCHH-ah!” Changing or cleaning his several nose piercings can cause a sudden and powerful reaction too. The big Orc is rarely sick and generally not prone to any kind of infection. Shokhrakka is not considered to be a sneezy person and has no other sensitivities.  He´s simply angling his head to an unoccupied side or will sneeze down towards the floor- not being rude on purpose but simply not thinking further about the matter. Surprisingly he always carries a handkerchief with him in case he needs to blow his nose.  If another person sneezes he´ll mostly ignore it but is more attentive to people who are close to him. Then he´ll make sure that the sneeze is not caused by any kind of discomfort. And in case it was: Find a way to ease it.

Marya: 

The Alchemist is allergic to a flower that´s simultaneously an important  medical ingredient called pale nightingale. It´s pollen or crushed petals will cause an instant and strong allergic reaction expressing itself in multiple wet, desperate sneezes. And a clogged or streaming nose as well as badly tearing eyes.  Generally her sneezes are pronounced softly: There´s a wet, mellow sound in them even in the bigger ones and they´re mostly voiced and blended together as one syllable, very rarely two. They come in rapid, spraying multiples that have a distinct “girlish” pitch and ending.  “apTSCHIU! -TSSCHih! -ahTSSCHIEW!” or “ Ah~PTSCHiih!- IZSCH-uh!- TDSCHiuh!”

They´re neither very loud nor very quiet and almost never stifled. She´d only restrain them to avoid sneezing on somebody or infecting another person. Marya tries to cover with a handkerchief or something else available. She is thoughtful about germs and careful not to cause others harm. Yet sneezing is a completely natural thing to her and normally no cause of embarrassment or stress. 

She also has the kink and very much enjoys most sneezes of other women. Especially those from her girlfriend Amaziah. In that relationship Marya has fantasies about being sneezed on and inducing the Archmage in various scenarios.With the later both have had a surprising amount of fun and excitement already. Although not a necessity for fun sneezing does play a big role in her sexuality.  Maryas overall constitution is very sturdy and healthy though she´s prone to falling sick when overworking herself over a long period of time. Or after taking care for Amaziah- because despite knowing better she´s adamant in cuddling and keeping comfortingly close to her girlfriend. There any shared intimacy and care is worth a possible contagion in her opinion.  She´ll mostly wish the other “Gesundheit!” after a sneeze but will vary with “Bless you.” or exclusively to Amaziah the elven “Anvael ci na´eve.” from time to time.

Amaziah:

Is a rather sneezy person and hates every bit of it. She´s a highly decorated leader that personally emphasizes a lot on self-control, manners and ever present strength. So when her body is “disfunctioning” like this it makes her feel angry, annoyed and embarrassed in company.   This is why she´ll try to fend off the inevitable multiple releases as best as possible when others are in vicinity. That works only for a while though. If she´s forced to give in she´ll try to stifle them with cruelly pinching her nose. The action is hurtful, full-bodied but mostly silent. Sometimes the restraint fails and is painfully audible: “-kdnxxt-ugh” or like “Hah-kngxt-uh”. Her natural sneezes are clearly vocalized and mostly separated in two or three syllables: The first distinctly stressed, the middle a deep, harsh and throat scraping sound and the third again rising in pitch and vocalization. Also very loud and a bit achy for her chest: “ Hah-ERRSCHH-hue!”, “huh-AERSSCHH-ah!”. Amaziah has severe dust allergies and is suffering from a strained physical constitution that makes her fall sick often and easily. In addition to that she´s mostly unable to get the much needed rest and thus her condition worsens despite healing potions.  She does hate it when others acknowledge this or react to her sneezing which is why most people have given up on it. They get the dreaded and very intimidating “How dare you!” stare if they dare to offer a blessing. This does not include close people or her girlfriend Marya however: While Amaziah had felt embarrassed and shy about the matter of sneezing at the beginning of her relationship she´s now fine with it as long as both are in private. She even enjoys inducing for her but struggles with the concept of actually sneezing freely.  

The Archmage prefers to turn aside and muffle them securely into a silk handkerchief or the crook of her arm.   Normally she does not offer any kind of blessing because she things it would make others as uncomfortable as herself. She may make an exception for Marya though:  “Anvael ci na´eve.” Amaziah is afraid of germs and thus always aiming for good hygiene in both ways. She´s struck with quite some persistent stuck sneezes and false starts from time to time.

Azra: 

Does share some sensitivities regarding certain flowers and healing plants with her half brother. They cause a lingering, buzzing sensation inside her nose that soon spreads to a full faced tickle and discomfort. She´ll try to harshly rub it out of every offended place which will cause her eyes to water even more. She mostly doesn't mind rubbing, grinding or even wiping her nose against her palm or back of the hand. Her nose responds with a lot of visible crinkling and flaring nostrils when teased.  Other than those triggers she also has a slight sensitivity to dust. It doesn't bother her much in small portions but can trigger some impressive sneezes when she´s exposed to bigger amounts over time.  Azra is not sick too often but when it hits her it´s usually doing so in a hard, unforgiving fashion. She´s not too good with taking care of herself and tries to hide any discomfort since being sick is could be equalized to a weakness she can´t really afford.  Generally her casual sneezes tend to come in doubles with the occasional triple. Her pre-sneeze face and build up are rather expressive and involve a lot of snarling, fang baring and possibly a few irritated hitches that grow in strength and audible depth before reaching their climax.  The final releases are very harsh and resound in her chest with a latent growling intensity. They´re sound could be described as “masculine”, fairly vocal, loud and she mostly sneezes off to her free side: “HuhhrERSSCHH-UH!  HAH-ERSSSCHH-ue!- HURH-EIZSSCHhah!” She does make an effort to cover or shield them when she´s sick. Will even try to stifle when in close quarters despite the fact that this is not fully possible due to her protruding, very big tusks. It´s a good way to tell that she´s unwell though. As are the longer fits that can hit her when she´s suffering from a bad headcold. Azra sometimes uses her plenty nose piercings to coax out some stubborn stuck sneezes rather violently. The feeling of having to sneeze and not being able to is a lot more annoying to her than the actual release.  Generally she doesn´t feel bad about sneezing if it´s not happening in an inconvenient situation or displaying too much vulnerability.  She´s not very used to any kind of blessings or reactions related to sneezing. 

Zephyr: 

Has the kink. And enjoys his own sneezes more than those of another person. He loves the feeling of it, the start of a light teasing tickle that rapidly grows into a more demanding itch. The first subtle and than more visible changes it causes to his body posture, breathing and face. The building pressure in his lungs right before the exquisite release hits him. 

The Satyr goes even so far as to watch his reflection while the sneeze builds- his eyes try to stay open and admiring as long as possible but will eventually be forced shut.  If he would live in a modern day setting instead of the present high fantasy one Zephyr would record his sneezes to watch and listen to them later. Revel in the moment and feeling. And probably have pleasure with it all over again. He can be rather embarrassed to sneeze in front of another person though.  Both things can lead to activating his curse: He´s prone to evoke gusts of wind and even storms with any kind of deeper routed feelings. So semi destructive blasts of wind that trail after some sneezes are an often occurring possibility. 

To Zephyrs own dismay he does not have many allergies. Luckily for him his nose is very sensitive to touch and inducing- a condition he uses very often. With feathers, sensual massages or by teasingly plucking the chain that´s attached to his nose piercing.  Zephyrs sneezes mostly build teasingly slow and are almost always precluded by a series of hitching breaths. Sometimes slightly moaned in desperation. They´re harsh and full-bodied commitments that tend to rattle him more than a bit. Although he does try to give them a (to him) pleasant sound: Always aiming for all three syllables, audibly parted and still musically melting into each other. With that slightly over dramatic rise in pitch and voice towards the end to conceal the harsher middle part: 

“hah-heh- HAH-ERRSCH-iiuuh!- HAH-IZSSCHH-iuh!- hheh- ah- Hadt-EISSCHIOO!” He´s not the type to stifle because... Why miss out on something great? Zephyr will sneeze freely and uncovered when alone but will turn aside to sneeze against his forearm or wrist when around people. 

Evan: 

This man has an immune system so strong it´s an almost indomitable fortress. Which is good since his husbands health is the exact opposite. Normally he does not sneeze much at all but has developed a nasty and itchy allergy to birch tress and hazel bushes. When exposed his eyes and nose are opening the flood gates simultaneously while both turning visibly red and irritated. His nose starts to tingle and buzz with sneezy desperation right after and it doesn't take long to be fully overcome.  Despite him being very tall and muscular his sneezes are restrained and squelched into almost silent submission. And directly followed by an achy groan or shaky exhale. Desperate and painful sounding stifles that can arrive in singles or a whole big party when allergies hit him.  Initiated by a big breath and trembling grimace as his hand flies up to press against his shaking septum in a futile attempt to avoid the following: “HAH-nxdt!-uhh” or “HEH-kxndt-ah!” and very rarely he looses the battle for control after a longer fit- ending it with a harsh: “AERRRSCHooh!” or a similar sounding, very relieving sneeze. All variations are followed by some sniffs and a husky “xcuse me...”. His Love does chide him for stifling and keeps reciting the risks and possible harms of this kind of action. Although this does not stop Evan from doing it again.  Most of his stifles are dry since he effectively blocks every other option. A full release or a bad allergy day can still turn out messy from time to time. 

Evan always sneezes against his shoulder, into the crook of one arm or into his shirt that will be hastily pulled up over mouth and nose. He is especially careful with keeping all kinds of germs away from his husband Alexej. He´s not scared of catching things himself though.  He does thank people for blessing him and also very friendly blesses others who are in close vicinity to him. No matter if they´re friends or complete strangers. Has kind of a funny habit with calling “bless you!” through the whole flat upon hearing his husband sneeze in a far away corner of their shared place.  Which leaves Alexej blushing a bit, silently thinking: “Was it.... that loud?” before calling back a flustered “Thank you!”.

Alexej:

His health is very frail with his immune-system  actually compromised due to several chronic issues. He´s almost all the time at least achy and sniffly with the tendency to get worse very fast and really seriously.  In addition to catching colds and being sick way to often Alexej is also suffering from severe dust and perfume allergies.  Both he and his husband Evan do avoid any kind of scented products and keep their shared flat meticulously clean.  Despite the constant struggles his nose did not seem to have hardened against outside teasing since it can be vexed and irritated pretty easily.  All these ailments make him a very sneezy person and when doing so it´s almost always happening three times in a row. Although an allergy attack can easily cause a prolonged fit.  Especially his cold sneezes build awfully slow- teasing him with lots of gasped out hitching and a couple of false starts here and there. A struggle so clearly visible in his desperate facial expressions.  When they finally come they do so forcefully and accompanied by a lot of mess while shaking his lithe body and leaving him dizzy.  Despite their force and volume the sound is desperate yet underlined with a rather soft, spraying base that´s ending in a higher pitch. “hhh-heh-hhiih-PTZSSCH-hieh!”, “-IZZSSSCH-iieew!” He manages to keep his regular “just an itchy nose” kind of sneezes a bit lower in volume and force. They´ll built and come more sudden and he´ll hold them back to a more suppressed but still spraying “TZSCHieh!”.  If possible Alexej will always try and muffle his sneezes into a tissue, his sleeve or crook of an arm- resulting in big, very visible wet spots and a lot of blushing.

He used to apologize a lot after sneezing but has moderated that habit around Evan a bit due to his husbands constant reassurances and care. Although generally he´s feeling both deeply embarrassed and angry at himself for his often “misbehaving” nose and shattered immune system.  Having to sneeze in public, or worse in front of his audience during a concert, is still a huge horror for him. One that´s recurring from time to time despite his tries to ward it off.  Alexej is often too shy to bless anyone besides his husband Evan. He dislikes it when his husband stifles because he´s worried it will cause harm or hurt him. Alexej himself has had bad experiences with stifling- which is why he avoids doing so. 

Whew that was it for now. Somehow that was great to do but harder to write than an actual fic. Hope you liked reading it though! :)

[writingontheclouds]

How You Get The Girl

Read it on AO3.

Chapter 2. How To Know If A Bloke Fancies You (Spoiler: Ask His Best Mate, He'll Snitch)

Lily,

I know.

Sirius

...

Sirius,

Stop being cryptic and tell me what you know.

Lily

...

Lilyflower,

Something that seemed to have happened on the last night of the term? *wink wink*

Sirius

...

Sirius,

He told you, didn't he?

Lily

...

Lils,

Uh huh he did. That is not the only thing I know.

Are you telling him or should I?

Ecstatic now the unthinkable has happened, Sirius

...

Sirius,

BLACK IF YOU TELL HIM, I SWEAR TO MERLIN AND DUMBLEDORE I WILL END YOU!

So now that you have figured it out, help out a poor soul, will you? Does he still, you know, fancy me?

Waiting impatiently, Lily

...

Lils,

Relax, Red. I'm not telling him.

I will help you, darling. After all, I am the godfather to your first child who you will so kindly name after me.

Sirius

...

Sirius,

Black, you delusional little git. I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF HE STILL FANCIES ME HOW ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT NAMES OF CHILDREN??

About to commit a homicide, Lily

PS. No child of mine will be named after you.

...

Lily,

Ofcourse, he does. He's fancied you for years.

Homicide is quite frowned upon in the society, darling, Sirius

PS You wound me. I'll be talking to James about it.

...

Sirius,

…he does?

Lily

...

Red,

A hundred percent sure he does.

Awaiting red haired babies with Quidditch abilities, Sirius

...

SIRIUS

THANKYOU. You put me out of my misery.

Ignoring the babies jab and prancing around, Lily

PS I should probably stop prancing lest I break my leg.

...

Red,

Keep dancing, but there might be just a teensy bit of a problem.

Sirius

PS I'll send James for your rescue if you do break something.

...

Black,

I’m sending hexes you’ve never heard of in the next letter if you don’t spit it out.

Lily

...

Lily,

He might have not EXACTLY said he still fancied you.

A toad would be highly preferable, I'll have you know, just in case. I hate cockroaches. Sirius

...

Sirius,

.

Lily

...

Lily,

I swear to Merlin’s pinkie I’ve never been frightened more by you.

Alright. He said he's moved on and didn't fancy you anymore.

Also, he might have said he's asking out Emily Cooper from Hufflepuff the week we get back. Might. I'll neither confirm nor deny that for the fear of red heads popping out from underneath my bed and hexing me while I sleep.

Sirius

...

Sirius,

HE'S ASKING OUT EMILY THE TART?!

Insulted, Lily

...

Lily,

Now, now Lilyflower, let's not disrespect others. They've already been on 3 dates this past summer and I'll have you know she's a completely fine bird. Blonde and blue eyed without any anger management issues.

Sirius

...

Sirius,

3 DATES? WHERE DID THAT INFORMATION GO WHEN I ASKED YOU WHETHER HE FANCIED ME OR NOT SIRIUS SODDING BLACK?!

Lily

...

Lils,

Told Isis to peck me, didn't you? She did, and since her temper quite matches yours, I'll have permanent scars from this ordeal.

Just tell him, would you?

Highly annoyed, Sirius

...

Sirius,

No, thank you, I'd rather not get rejected.

Lily

...

Lils,

Trust me, he does. He's just protecting himself from your rejection, it's not the other way round.

In any case, you have a week before September starts. Tick tock, Red, time is ticking. Tell him or you'll lose your only chance. Who knows? Maybe it'll be blond babies I'll be godfathering.

Sirius

...

Lily Evans sat on her desk, the book in her hand long forgotten, with her gaze locked onto the clouds rolling above the little town of Cokesworth. She loved sitting at her study, which had a perfect view of the countryside behind their little house, reading another classic or stargazing.

But today, she sat by the same window, her mind in a whirl, half of her heart hoping to see a grey feathered owl heading towards her house and the other half wanting to fling herself off the darn window and end it all.

Usually, when she was home for breaks, her window always had traffic from a certain female owl delivering colorful little letters and small, friendly chocolate treats from a bespectacled black haired boy she had come to adore. But this summer was a long, hard, dry spell, and Lily often found herself looking out the window with a sorrowed expression, waiting for something that apparently wasn't coming anytime soon.

The summer when she actually wanted to hear from him was when he decided he preferred the silence between them. And Lily was sure this silence would end in her booking herself a ward in psychiatric care at St Mungo's.

She was pulled back into reality when she heard a familiar pecking on her window. Looking up, a barn owl flew right outside her window, with a letter attached to its talons, looking expectedly at her with big brown eyes. She promptly opened the window, her heart sinking just a little and Odin, Marlene's majestic owl, flew in swiftly and landed in front of her.

"Hello there, Odin." Lily spoke, as the owl nibbled Lily's hand gently. She untied the letter attached quickly, stroking Odin's feathers as he cooed.

Lily Evans,

This is an intervention. If I receive another letter about you moping around, I'm going to set your flaming red hair on fire and I'm not kidding.

Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow at 12pm sharp. Don't be late. There's something you need to know.

Marlene

"Marlene is such a bossy little thing, isn't she?" She asked Odin who hooted in response.

Lily sighed. She had no desire to go out, much less change out of her 3 day old pajamas. But she needed to complete her school shopping. And she was shocked at how low she let herself get. Sod him.

Hastily scribbling down an affirmative reply, she sent Odin on his way before going down to the kitchen to fix herself a bowl of ice cream.

...

The streets of Diagon Alley were bustling with last minute shoppers on this last weekend of August. September 1st was a mere few days away, and the excitement of a new year lingered in the air. As Lily wove through the crowd behind Marlene, ducking here and there from things flying overhead, she realised how much she loved to see Diagon Alley in its full dramatic flair. After 7 years, this magical world still hit her by surprise sometimes.

The pair made their way through the crowd to reach the entrance of The Leaky Couldron, a popular wizarding pub and inn.

"Ooh c'mon, or we'll be late.” Marlene exasperated, urging Lily to catch on with her quick. She was busy inhaling the sights of the street.

"Late for what?" Lily asked, confused, as she increased her pace.

Marlene didn't answer as she pushed the heavy door of The Leaky Cauldron open. The aged pub attracted both young and old alike after an exhausting day of shopping.

Scanning the crowd, she smiled at two guys sitting in one of the booths, nursing butterbeers with smirks plastered all over their faces as they spotted the girls.

Lily's heart stopped as she registered the familiar faces of the Marauders. No, no, no, no, no, no, her heart thumped in rhythm with her thoughts.

She pulled Marlene back by her clothes violently; she stumbled backwards into Lily but she paid no heave.

"You called the Marauders?!"

"Yes." Marlene answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Mar!" Lily exclaimed loudly. Her cheeks were boiling hot by this point, and the heat in the pub wasn't making things easier.

"Oh my god, you've got it bad." Marlene snickered, then stopped when she saw her best friend's vicious glare. "Don't worry, he's not here."

"He's not?" Lily's face visibly fell as Marlene shook her head.

"C'mon!" She tugged Lily along as they reached the booth.

"Hello boys!"

"McKinnon!" Both boys sang together.

"Red." Sirius said mockingly with a giant smirk.

“Hi Remus,” Lily said, completely disregarding the presence of Sirius Black.

Lily and Marlene sat in the booth opposite the boys as Peter came trodding, carefully trying to balance three butterbeers in his hands.

“For you, girls.” He said, as he put down the mugs.

“So, Marlene, ready for your last year on the pitch?” Sirius started the conversation.

“Oh, absolutely. I trained all summer. Need to leave Hogwarts with a bang,” Marlene replied, the excitement of a new quidditch season evident in her gleaming eyes.

The conversation drifted into the nitty-gritties of Quidditch, which Lily did not particularly understand. They discussed, nay argued, about Chudley Cannon’s new beater formation strategy, how the tragic fall of Harpies is going to affect the coming years of Quidditch World Cup and the incoming seeker of Puddlemere.

When the conversation finally died down after a good hour, Lily plucked the courage to finally ask, "Where's James?”

"A little too excited to see James, are we, Lils?" Remus smirked, giddy like a little kid.

"I thought I could expect some maturity from you, Remus."

"I'm still a Marauder, Lil.” Remus shrugged, lifting his mug to her.

"James is otherwise occupied." Sirius answered, as he gulped down the last of his butterbeer.

"What?!" Lily's head perked up at that, shock colouring her face. She looked like she was about to break down.

Remus, Sirius, Peter and Marlene promptly burst into laughter. Everyone in the pub paused to look at them howling with laughter for a moment, then turned around to their conversations.

“You were right, McKinnon, this was totally worth it,” Peter spat out between his laughs. Marlene gave him a high-five.

"My apologies, Evans," Sirius tried controlling himself under the murderous gaze of Lily, "By occupied I meant sneezing and coughing his bloody brains out."

"He's poorly?"

"Just a nasty flu. Courtesy of a thrilling game of Quidditch in the rain."

Lily nodded and shook her head, now embarrassed to have been caught red-handed, though her mind couldn’t help but wonder Quidditch in the rain, such a James thing to do. She really has got it bad.

"So, Lily, how do you plan to tell him?"

"Tell who what?"

"James."

"I'm not telling James anything."

“And why in Merlin’s pants not?”

“I don’t know."

“You have to tell him.”

“I don’t HAVE to tell him.”

“But why wouldn’t you?”

“Because-“ Lily tried, but her heart hurt thinking of James with Emily. Happy. She sighed, and shook her head, playing with her nails instead. Sirius, Remus, Peter and Marlene exchanged glances.

"Alright, I knew she wouldn't be convinced. You're as stubborn as James." Marlene said, shaking her head. "And that’s precisely why I brought you here." She turned to Sirius. "That's your queue."

Sirius nodded, and produced a piece of parchment from his robes and passed it to Lily. It was crumpled and then smoothened out. Surprised, she took it.

"What's this?"

"Just read it."

Lily opened the folded piece of parchment. There were just a few lines in a very familiar scrawl.

Lily,

I don't know how to start this letter, but it's high time we talked, shouldn't we? I know you must be mad at me, you should be really, because of what I did. And you know what? I'm not sorry I kissed you.

I've fancied you for a long time now, and truthfully speaking, I don't know remember a time when I didn't.

Just wanted to get that out of the way.

James

Or Potter, whatever you prefer.

"I don't understand, was I meant to read this or..?"

Sirius thought about it for a moment. "Yes, and no."

Lily raised an eyebrow in question.

"A few days ago, I found him in his room writing a letter to you. Well, trying is the key word here. The room was filled with half finished letters, some were just a pain to read, you know how cheesy James can get. Well, this one particularly piqued my interest, and I kept it. He burned the rest of them because I threatened I’ll send them all to you."

"What if he wrote I don't fancy you anymore Lily, it's best we just stay friends on the last letter he wrote?"

"But he still wrote this." Lily furrowed her brows and Sirius sighed. "He wouldn't have written this if he didn't fancy you. Doesn't matter what he wrote on the other, he wouldn't have been spending so much thought into what to write if he wasn't scared of hurting your feelings, or his own."

"I've never seen this insightful side of you, Sirius. I must say, it's rather frightening.” Remus remarked. Sirius grinned at Remus.

"He just doesn't want to be hurt again, Lil.”

Lily nodded, staring very hard at the parchment in her hand. She swallowed. There was silence for a moment as the group stared at Lily as she read the words on the parchment over and over again.

"So? What’s the verdict? Can we expect some Potter babies soon?" Remus asked.

Lily glared at him. "It's like there are two Sirius' now." She shook her head in disbelief but laughed in the end.

"So?"

"Lils?” Marlene urged.

Lily looked at each one of them. They looked so hopeful that she didn’t want to break their hearts by saying no. But more importantly, she didn’t want to break her own heart by not trying.

"James Potter wouldn't know what hit him." Lily stated and gave a small smile.

Marlene cheered and hugged her best friend. The Marauders’ grinned and cheered on. Remus pointed his wand to the ceiling and produced confetti while Sirius whistled. The bartender brought around another round of butterbeers.

“Here's for the future Potters.” Sirius took his mug and raised it in the air. Everyone else followed.

"To Lily and James!” Marlene and Remus piqued together, and they clinked their mugs together and drank.

"5 Galleons says James will shit his pants when he hears.” Peter added, and they all dissolved in laughter again.

[honeybee-babe]

Sharing is Caring (Except When You’re Sick) Part 3

Part three of my collab Sick Luther and Sick Klaus fic with @hargreevesstyles. Can also be read on her blog!

Meanwhile, at the CVS check-out counter, Klaus held the sleeve of the hoodie Diego had forced him to wear up to his face.

“Hih… xngt-ishuu! Ht’TDZshieww!” He scrunched up his nose afterwards and the itchiness that had barely been affected by the sneezes, and rubbed his hoodie-sleeve covered knuckles underneath his nostrils to prevent another outburst. Diego tried not to watch. He would definitely be washing that before he wore it again. In fact, maybe he’d just give it to Klaus.

“Bless you, dear!” The middle-aged cashier flashed him a warm smile as she put the cough suppressants and expectorants (“Might as well get both, knowing you!”) into a brown paper bag.

“Thanks! I’ll take that!” Klaus said with a grin as he took the bag from her, punctuating the sentence with a watery sniffle. Diego rolled his eyes, not looking up from the card reader as he punched in his pin. The total was a bit higher than he’d hoped for, but he tried not to let his frustration show. At this insistence of Vanya’s frantically scribbled list, they’d stocked up on tissues, cough drops, Gatorade, the whole nine yards, even buying extra of the stuff they already had at home. Plus Emergen-C for Klaus. And ice cream, he’d insisted on ice cream (“It’s for Luther! It’ll help with his throat.”). Yeah, right. But Diego had agreed, not wanting to waste time arguing with a pouty Klaus. He just wanted to get home and give everyone their pills ASAP.

“Always best to plan ahead, I guess, hmm?” The cashier smiled at Diego, holding up the last remaining item -- Echinacea -- and putting it in the bag turned to Diego. “You make sure your boyfriend takes this right away before that cold gets worse!” Diego blushed deep red. Klaus chuckled out loud, stopping himself when he felt a bit of a tickle forming in his throat at the tail end of it. He cleared his throat subtly, which subdued it, but it still lingered a bit.

“Will do. But he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my brother.”

“Oh my god.” The cashier brought her hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay. We’re not exactly twins -- and I’m not sick,” Klaus said with a proud smile. “It’s for my brother.”

“You’re sick?” The cashier looked at Diego with a raised brow.

“No,” he sighed, “he means our other brother.”

Speaking of brothers and twins, Five was surprised to find Allison and Vanya speaking in hushed tones in the living room. He licked the peanut butter off his fingers as he stood in the entryway and watched them deep in conversation

“I don’t know, Van. But I’ve never seen him so sick, he’s always had a pretty decent immune system”.

“But then how did he get so sick?” Vanya asked, voice soft and scared. “I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Five cut in, crossing his arms smugly over his chest as he stepped into. Allison whipped her head up at him and shot him daggers.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about, Five.”

“Let me guess, you’re talking about Luther, who is sick, and you’re trying to figure out how it happened.”

“Is this some sort of weird twin thing?”

“No, Allison. It’s a having-a-brain thing.”

Five explained how it really hadn’t been that difficult to figure it out, even without his ability to literally jump through his brother’s locked bedroom door -- which he’d only done once, when he heard him whimpering, thank you very much. The fact that Luther had been holed up in his room for two days was enough for him to draw that conclusion -- and let’s just say the largest Hargreeves sibling wasn’t exactly the best at stifling his sneezes. Plus, Five had passed by the pot of chicken soup boiling on the stove. It had to be for someone.

“And to answer your previous question,” Five turned to Vanya, “have you ever tried living in complete isolation for four years? Because I doubt you would feel very healthy when -- “

“We come bearing gifts!” Klaus stood in the doorway to the house, holding up one of the paper bags from the drugstore up above his head with a huge grin on his face. Even despite his chipper energy, his red-tinged nose and slightly-more-pronounced than usual pallor was unmistakable. As was the slight hoarseness of his voice.

Diego trailed behind with two more bags, filled to the brim. You couldn’t even see his face behind them. Vanya rushed to grab one of the bags off of Diego. As they started unpacking everything, Klaus started laughing.

He joked, “What, are we opening up our very own hospital?”

“Come here, ghost boy. We’ve gotta get some of this stuff in you,” Diego ordered.

Klaus groaned and sat down next to his stabby brother. Diego opened the Emergen-C and a water bottle and poured the drink mix in. He shook it up and handed it to Klaus who just set it down beside him.

“Drink it, headass,” Five said.

Again, Klaus groaned. He opened the bottle and drank about a quarter of it. As soon as he put the bottle down, Diego was forcing pills into his hands. Mucinex and Sudafed along with a couple of cough drops.

“I’m not sick!” Klaus said.

Vanya jumped in, “You’re going to catch it. The thermometer I brought downstairs that Diego took your temperature with...I had just used it on Luther and I don’t think we cleaned it in between uses, and...yeah.”

“Hh’-gkSCHh-nGXTchiew! Hh’tsxchyuu!” Klaus caught the sneezes in his palms like normal, but what he forgot was that Diego’s sweatshirt was about four times his size and the sleeves draped over his hands. “Sorry.” He sniffled lightly.

“Bless you,” Allison said pointedly.

The attention of the whole room was on Klaus, something he’d usually bask in but this time he felt vulnerable and uncomfortable in the spotlight.

He grumbled, “I’m not sick! I sneeze all the time!”

Five shrugged, “He’s not wrong.” Still he picked up the thermometer off of the coffee table and blinked over to Klaus’ side. “Open up.”

“Really? This? Agai-ow, what the hell, Five?” Klaus scolded, as his tiniest sibling tried to shove the thermometer in his mouth as he was speaking. Klaus ripped the device out of his brother’s hand and put it in his mouth. After it beeped, he looked at it. “Look, 98.7. It’s pretty much the same as last time.”

“You went up a tenth of a degree,” Diego noted.

Klaus rolled his eyes. “What-fucking-ever, Diego!”

“Take the pills already!”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that from you,” Klaus chuckled.

It was Diego’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah and it’s the fucking last time too so don’t get used to it.”

Klaus ignored him and swallowed the pills dry. With another threatening look from Five, he took another swig of the Emergen-C.

“I’m gonna go check on Luther,” Allison said.

Five added, “I’ll come with. I’ve yet to see him in all his sick glory.”

The two disappeared, Five actually walking with Allison instead of blinking away.

“Hehht’TSCHHhyeu-nkTT!” Klaus moaned lightly after.

“Bless you. Where’s Ben?”

Klaus rubbed his nose vigorously. “Uhh, he’s right here. Yeah. No, no I’m not. Shut the hell up! Whatever.” He turned to face his visible siblings. “I will not be manifesting Ben for the time being, as he is being a complete bitch!”

“What’s he doing?” Vanya asked.

“Pestering me! He’s all like ‘Oooohhh Klaus! This is exactly how Luther was at the start! Blah blah blah!’ like, I don’t care!” Klaus ranted. “I feel fine! I know that you’re all used to me being useless but I actually think I’m okay for once and no one will hip off my fucking dick!”

It was silent. Klaus sighed. He felt guilty. Sure, Ben was annoying him but Klaus was the only way his siblings could see Ben. He couldn’t keep him from them like he was his master. He didn’t want to be like that.

“Whatever,” Klaus muttered. Slowly, Ben became visible.

Klaus tuned out the conversation as he slumped back down on the couch.

Up in Luther’s room, Allison and Five were trying to give Luther everything they could without absolutely filling his stomach cavity with different types of medicine. They used some spray Klaus found that was supposed to numb your sore throat. Luther said it didn’t work.

They waited a few minutes after applying everything. Allison was impatient to see improvement. She hated seeing any of her siblings feel like this, especially Luther. He was supposed to be their leader, and when he couldn’t lead them who was supposed to?

For the next hour, Allison checked Luther’s temperature every fifteen minutes. It finally dropped back down to 100. Still a fever, not not nearly as bad as his 103.4 degree fever from before.

“Allison?” Luther asked weakly. His voice had become so much more raw and broken as his coughing had increased. “Can I have another cough drop? My throat hurts so badly.”

Allison nods and goes to give him another one. She hands him two this time, just in case. She then announces that she’s going to go get some tea for him because the cough drops aren’t working as well as she’d like.

All Allison can think about is how sick Luther was. She had had to change his shirt because of how sweat-soaked he was. Luther was obviously embarrassed but he let Allison do it without complaining. That was a big clue to Allison that he was really miserable. He had started having more productive coughs, ones that were wet so everyone in the room could feel his sickness.

Five had left shortly after Allison had taken Luther’s temperature the second time. She didn’t know where he went, but she knew that Five didn’t like seeing his brother in such discomfort. Luther wasn’t one to really show how he was feeling. He was almost always still as a stone. It was odd for them to see him break his walls down for once.

As Allison poured the tea into the kettle, a quiet voice asked, “Can I have some? Only if there’s enough water. Diego said I should keep drinking it just in case.”

“Of course. Sit down,” Allison said.

It was Klaus who had entered the room and he sat down quickly and quietly. Allison would have noticed that he was acting off if she wasn’t so worried about Luther.

“I’m gonna take this up to Luther and then I’ll come back down to hang out with you,” she promised.

Klaus shook his head, “No no no, you don’t have to. You can stay with Luther, I know you want to. You don’t have to feel obligated to stick around. I’ve got Ben here.”

“Klaus, I want to hang out with you,” Allison’s voice faltered. “I thought it would be nice.” She couldn’t help but be upset that Klaus thought she was only offering to hang out with him out of pity. That’s what Klaus was used to: people pitying him.

“Oh, okay then.” He grabbed a napkin off of the center of the table and held it up over his face. “Hh’eiishieww-ishhew! H’nxght!”

“Bless you. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

Klaus nodded, “Must be pollen or something. Diego took my temperature and I feel pretty okay otherwise. I’ve been sneezing all day, but that’s something I’m pretty used to.”

He was right. Klaus was a pretty sneezy guy. Due to his several-year-long relationship with snorting cocaine, Klaus was set off by almost every strong smell there was. He had grown up being allergic to pollen and he had found out in his late teens that he was quite allergic to cats. Klaus wondered if there was anything Luther even could be allergic to on the moon. Moon dust? Recycled air? He didn’t know.

“As long as you’re not feeling too badly,” Allison said.

“Hihh...hh...fuck I...hh’ishhyu! Ugh. My god!”

Allison giggled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Allison continued laughing.

Klaus feigned anger. “What’s so funny?”

“You just had that dramatic ass buildup for that tiny sneeze!” She confessed.

Klaus cracked a smile but then quickly went back to faking his furiousness. “My sneezes aren’t tiny! They’re quite average, thank you very much! They come out so damn fast sometimes, it’s like they’re all on top of one another. They all fuck me in the ass one after another. It’s like a damn orgy but without any orgasming.”

“One time I read that if you sneeze enough it can make you orgasm,” Allison doted. “Not sure if that’s true though.”

“I’ll have to try it out someday,” Klaus said. “Not today though.”

Allison joked, “You better be quiet about it because Diego would not be happy to hear about you triggering your allergies or your asthma on purpose.”

“You’re doing what?” Diego’s voice came in.

“Nothing! Just fun and games, that’s all,” Klaus said.

“Allison mentioned your asthma is it acting up? Are you feeling alright? Christ, Klaus you have to tell us these things Allison where’s the thermometer-“

Klaus laughed, “Calm the hell down, Diego. It’s not acting up, I promise. I’ll tell you if it is, you know that!”

It was times like this where Klaus really saw how much Diego cared for him. He could become so worried in .2 seconds and it always threw Klaus off of his game. Part of Klaus’ whole routine was people not caring about him and it kind of threw a wrench in things when people started to care.

Diego looked at Allison with the same urgency, only calming down a bit when she nodded her head in agreement with Klaus, who was sniffling and rubbing at his nose.

“You mentioned his asthma --”

“In jest, Diego. Jeez, lighten up!” Klaus play-chastised his brother, shoving him lightly with his free hand, which of course left his brother completely unfazed. Diego was similarly unfazed by Allison’s explanation of their previous discussion. While Allison and Klaus chuckled again, Diego’s jaw remaining locked and he rolled his eyes.

“Hilarious. Klaus is getting sick, Luther’s upstairs hacking his lungs out and you think it’s the perfect time for a stand-up routine.”

There was a silence after that. The spoon Allison was using to stir a cup of tea hovered in mid-air. Even Klaus’ sniffling and nose rubbing stopped as he stared at Allison in excitement, waiting for her response. Finally, she started stirring the cup of tea again.

“Yes, Diego. My brothers are sick,” she said, voice calm. A small smile on her lips. “And I’m making them feel better by being a nice, pleasant presence. You should try it, god forbid you might like it.”

“For real, D, don’t be a dick. Sissy is a mom, she’s the best at this kind of thing -- see?” Klaus took the cup of tea from her hand as she offered it. “Thanks, Ally!” He blew on it as Diego shot him a look. “Hey, you’re good at this stuff, too, man!” he quickly added on. Klaus was truly grateful for all of the times Diego had helped him out in the past when he was sick, before he was sober. But now his brother went into panic mode the second he heard him sniffle. It really killed his vibe.

“You’re just a little… intense,” Klaus said with a small grin, quickly covering it up as he raised the mug to his lips. He sipped way too quickly. Not only did he burn his tongue, but steam rising from the mug made his nose itch. He rubbed at it again to delay the inevitable reaction.

“Well, if you’d been in my shoes all these years maybe you’d understand why I don’t think it’s funny to see you make a joke out of it when you’re sick.”

“But I’m not even sick!” Klaus bit back, in that same whiny tone Diego had become familiar with over the years. His nose chose the perfect time to finalize its reaction in that moment. He hastily set the tea down on the counter as he again buried his face in his hoodie sleeve. “nxXGsht-ixgtshu! Hih! H’dtZshiuhh--fuck!”

“Not sick my ass-”

“Bless you!” The three siblings whipped their heads to the entrance to the kitchen, but Vanya was standing at the stove seconds later, having rushed in in a panic. She was just as bad as Diego. She fussed over the large pot of soup boiling on the stove, lifting a small spoonful up to her mouth to taste-test and blowing on it. “Diego, I told you to watch it while I was gone!”

“Sorry, Van, I was too busy watching over our idiot brother.”

“Rude!” Klaus gasped, moving his hand to cover his mouth in pretend shock.

“Klaus, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick yet?” Vanya asked, as if it was an inevitability. She turned to look at him for concern, the spoon still raised to her lips, her anxiety over his well being overpowering her anxiety over dinner. Diego swapped anxieties with her, diving in with another spoon and tasting the soup without blowing on it before she could bring the spoon to her lips. He burned his tongue in his haste, but he nodded through the little wince of pain.

“It’s done.” Vanya shifted her focus back to her own soup-filled spoon and finally tasted it, nodding in agreement.

“Klaus, come get your soup.” Vanya started ladling the soup into the six bowls she had laid out.

“Wait, it’s for me?” her curly-haired brother asked in mild shock (again, people caring about him was not the reality he’d known most of his life). Though what came across was annoyance as he crossed his arms over his chest. He’d sat at the counter watching them prepare the soup for the last hour, sniffling discreetly and rubbing his nose as Diego rapidly chopped vegetables and flung them into the pot with perfect accuracy, Vanya quietly stirring and adding the seasonings. “Give it to Luther, he’s the one who needs it. I’m not--”

“Klaus, eat the damn soup!” Ben had apparently appeared behind him, and he could hear the eye-roll in his voice. Klaus’ living siblings had blinked at him when he’d apparently cut himself off mid-sentence, assuming he was going to sneeze, since he’d cut himself off in the middle of the sentence. When it didn’t happen, Allison sprung into action, picking up a bowl and putting it into Klaus’ hands. She chuckled as she brought a perfectly manicured hand up to his cheek and patted it gently.

“Klaus, do you really think we made this whole pot of soup just for you? And you guys say I’m a narcissist.” Klaus watched as Diego shook his head and walked over to the table with a bowl of soup, Allison and Vanya following shortly after.

“Oh.” Klaus looked down at the soup in his hands and tried to hide the little smile that had formed on his face. He knew for a fact that they had made the soup because of Luther and him, and even if he was convinced he wasn’t sick, the fact that they cared so much and they were going to make a family dinner out of it made him feel just a little bit warm and fuzzy.

“Where’s Luther?” Klaus asked as he set his soup down on a placemat. “Shouldn’t he be the one we’re worried about feeding?”

“He’ll eat in his room. He needs to be quarantined,” Diego said, blowing on a spoonful of his own soup.

“I’ll bring him some!” Klaus rose from his seat.

“Absolutely not.” Diego shot him daggers. Klaus slumped down into his seat with a pout and scooped up a spoonful of soup. “Allison, why don’t you bring it--”

“Oh, no, let him be. He’s asleep.”

“Again?” Allison gaped. “Well I guess that’s what his body needs more right now.”

“Mmmhmm,” Vanya responded a little too quickly, putting her water glass to her lips almost immediately afterwards and taking a big, audible gulp. All these years and she was still a terrible liar. Thankfully, everyone was so preoccupied with eating -- and, in Klaus’ case, trying not to sneeze -- that they’d let it slide.

Around twenty minutes prior, Vanya had left her precious soup entrusted to Diego’s care and walked upstairs to Luther’s room to check on him and ask if he was ready for dinner. Afraid that he might actually be asleep, she opened the door slowly and carefully, not making a sound. The sight that greeted her had been pretty surprising, and even more so touching.

Luther was lying on his bed in the fetal position, barely fitting on the twin XL mattress. His blankets had been pulled back up to his chin, hopefully due to the fever breaking. He was wheezing in that careful way that meant one miscalculated breath would send him into the harsh, liquidy coughs he’d been producing for the past hour or so, thanks to the hefty dose of Mucinex.

And at his side sat Five, probably the only one of the siblings who could fit next to Luther’s massive frame on the bed. He looked down at his brother with intense concentration, brows furrowed as he traced constellations on his broad back with his index finger.

“Gemini,” he announced softly. Despite his expression, his voice carried an air of tenderness Vanya hadn’t heard from him in years. Not since they were kids, and even then it was rare. And he never used it on her. Only Luther, and only when he really needed it.

“The twins,” Luther wheezed out, a small smile playing on his lips, which quickly dissipated as his jaw went slack with a shaky breath. Five quickly retracted his hand, just as Luther buried his face in his blankets. “Heh-nGXTchiew! Hahh-nXXT!” He was stifling again, and judging by the slight curl in Five’s lip, Vanya knew the reason why. Five had never done well with germs, and she caught his slight flinch when Luther’s blanketed form contracted a third time. “S-heh!-sorryfive-

‘nGXTSCH! Hhh’nXGTschiehh. Hhh… heh!”

Luther tensed in anticipation, and so did Five; Vanya could tell he was about to bounce. So she decided to be a good sister and do something about it.

Concentrating on the sound of Luther’s breathing, she focused her energy on his nose, sending little waves of energy flowing outwards against the walls of his nostrils from within, and thus applying pressure from the inside out; something she’d been doing to herself lately, whenever she had to sneeze in a crowded place, or just didn’t want to attract any attention to herself. She released her hold when Luther’s breathing evened out.

As if on cue, Luther let out a deep, wheezy sigh. Five relaxed again, chuckling a bit as he put his finger back gently on his brother’s back.

“That was a first. Gesundheit!” His voice still held the soft tone Vanya had feared it might lose. “How about Libra next?”

With a small smile on her face, Vanya had slipped out of the room even more quietly than she’d came in.

She walked back to the kitchen, satisfied with her ability to stop Luther from sneezing, and she wondered if she could possibly do the opposite. She would get to test this theory out at dinner.

[steal-this-idea]

Babylon 5 rewatch continues...

Now with a LINK to the original post that I had let grow to unreasonable length instead of forcing the two people who will see this scroll through ever last piece of dumb shit I’ve had to say first!

JUMP TO ORIGINAL LONG POST HERE

(Learning Curve)

I’ve taken the talk on meditation to heart (the “anyone can meditate in silence” bit) to the point where I think I can become impatient or even annoyed by those who insist upon quiet to do so (think especially for certain sports like golf and tennis...like, if you’re to the point where you’re a professional, some asshole in the stands should be able to neither faze you nor distract you)

If garlic stinks then what’s saffron? (the meal where Garibaldi starts laying into Lochley’s past and Zack is obliquely commenting on it, asking if anyone thinks the food tastes funny, suggesting saffron when it starts getting awkward and concluding garlic after Lochley puts Garibaldi in his place)

Continuing my Takashima just disappeared rant: N’grath, our season 1 praying mantis gangster, gets a mention in this episode but Lt.Cmdr. Takashima? Who’s she?

I do love that the Minbari are an advanced race but not an impassionate one...which honestly makes them scarier, as the Earth-Minbari War shown to us throughout “In the Beginning” demonstrated...

Meaning does not exist independently... I wonder if this episode is where I got that idea from?

(Strange Relations)

I don’t hate the ex-wife of Sheridan revelation of Capt. Lochley. If anything, it kinda complements how Cmdr. Sinclair got appointed to run Babylon 5. I assume, like with the Minbari when the station first came online, Sheridan insisted on veto power over anyone EarthGov might select to run Babylon 5. I wonder if Capt. Lochley was far down the list too?

Zip ties: Still good enough for the 23½ century :-)

The bottle tossing Hyach is at it again...

(Secrets of the Soul)

I do like Season 5 being like a mirror of Season 1 and giving us more standalone type episodes which allows us to be given closer looks at members of the (former) League of Non-Aligned Worlds. This episode, the Hyach; the next episode, the Brakir; and the one after that, the Drazi.

And I have to say this again. Even when he’s cheesy, I don’t hate Byron.

I think Lyta made me love bangs :-)

I liked the detail of the Drazi record not being in English

Also, why didn’t we learn Byron’s secrets too? While, yes, dramatic effect for the later episode, sure...why not? I suppose also Lyta’s walls coming down during her intimacy may have simply flooded everything else out too. Hard to say. I also wonder why Lyta’s eyes went black during their lovemaking when, since this is a Vorlon-influenced memory, they should’ve glowed white? Again, I’m sure it had something to do with dramatic effect...

(Day of the Dead)

I love that Capt. Lochley hates Rebo & Zooty. It’s like, ugh...these hacks :-)

And I also love Delenn’s reaction to one of their jokes. I wonder what Mira Furlan was thinking about to get herself to laugh so heartily and convincingly?

Nice that the guest spots got end credits billing and not upfront so as not to spoil the surprise (unlike what happened with Anna Sheridan). I wonder if that cost TNT a fine with the Screen Actors Guild? I know Lucas always had to pay a fine to get out of putting traditional title screen credits over the start of each Star Wars film.

I presume there is plenty of A.U. fiction out there about who the other characters would have met had they been on the other side of the line?

Do you think Kosh would have appeared in its encounter suit to Sheridan had he been there or would it have been more open like in the death dream sequence (or even in its true squid-like form)?

(In the Kingdom of the Blind)

The Centauri are ultra racist. That dude’s not even attempting discretion: he’s gonna talk shit about Narns right in front of a Narn with not even a hint of concern that G’Kar might understand what he’s saying or be capable of feeling hurt by it.

As much as I hate what Byron did after learning how telepaths came to be and what they were intended for, I also can’t imagine an equivalent shock that could so forcefully shake the very foundations of my world and thus how I would react to such knowledge...

Would the Drakh have worked better if they didn’t have visible sclera? I just can’t help but feel if their eyes were entirely black or red instead of looking human, if it would have increased their visual menace or just made them look goofy?

But that lighting on the Drakh’s reveal though...magnificent

Isn’t that a Brakiri warship? How could it have been unarmed? I’m not in any way justifying the attack on them but, like, of *all* the ships you could’ve used to illustrate an attack on a commercial transport...

(A Tragedy of Telepaths)

I’ll admit I’ve tried using the “There’s No Bomb” technique in my desperate attempts to quell my allergies. Trying to tell my itchy, runny nose that, despite its objections, there’s no need to sneeze. There’s. No need. To sneeze...

Can’t say it ever worked though...

Byron just dropping that some worlds developed telepaths naturally which seems strange because I thought I recalled JMS mentioning that if a species were to develop telepathy they’d never advance to civilization. Being a telepath would just be another technique a predator could use to snare prey and/or a technique a prey animal could use to avoid being eaten.

Still, if I’m going to grant him this, I wonder if the Soul Hunters were an example of natural telepaths? The behavior of the two we meet in the show’s second episode is reminiscent of telepath behavior we witness in later episodes (like Byron sensing that man’s impending death and the Soul Hunter being able to pick up on Delenn’s secrets as the machine she was hooked up to slowly killed her). Were Soul Hunters like vultures originally? Always feeling for the impending death of an animal so they could eat that night? But that particular ability wouldn’t necessarily have prevented the kind of generalization necessary for the development of language, tools, and technology so the ability served them rather than limited them and as they developed and went to the stars, the idea of preserving special souls became of paramount importance to their raison d’être. Comments? Concerns? Good idea? Poorly thought out idea?

G’KAR: Would you like some jala? It’s cold.

LONDO: Get that away from me. Jala needs to be hot. It takes heat to cultivate its flavor. To consume cold jala is to insult a Centauri. I don’t even know where you got it.

G’KAR: I saw it on a tray heading into the south end of the palace. I assumed no one would mind if I took it.

LONDO: That’s right. Only Narns can stomach it cold.

It would be interesting to have a culture which marks the peaces rather than the wars. I don’t even know if that would be so far-fetched to imagine such a people given the Incas made “constellations” out of the dark parts of the sky as well as its luminous parts.

Byron’s demand for compensation is SOOO much more reasonable than his threat of blackmail. It’s a shame he didn’t think of it first...

Is the Interstellar Alliance basically the Minbari Empire? Minbar’s going to be the home office of the ISA. After the White Star fleet (which really cannot be rebuilt), the Minbari military is the strongest in the known galaxy and I have to assume it is their fleet the ISA would lean on in the event of a major war between powers. I don’t know. I just think of it like if we were to form an EarthGov right now and it actually had real power, its power would almost certainly be heavily reliant on U.S. military might, making an EarthGov like a de facto U.S. empire, no? It’s outside the scope of Babylon 5, but I wonder if such a thing will come up in the ISA’s future?

Babylon 5 did for me with telepaths what Buffy the Vampire Slayer did for vampires. I can no longer accept any alternative :-)

(Phoenix Rising)

I wonder how this telepath colony plot would have unfolded differently had Byron had the foresight to have some non-human telepaths among them so they wouldn’t be wholly under Earth’s jurisdiction?

Do you think Bester spoke to his underlings at the briefing because he *had* to or was it solely for our, the viewer’s, benefit? I just think back to when Bester first met with Sinclair...

Regarding Bester’s “How stupid do you think I am?” speech: I’m so glad JMS didn’t pad the scene by going to commercial as the music climaxed with Garibaldi holding a PPG to him. That immediate release of dramatic tension because there never was any there to begin with; that subversion of expectations, was an effective choice.

I don’t drink but after that scene, I’d probably start drinking too...

Peter’s telekinesis seems underwhelming. I suppose I could blame it on the show’s ability to do that special effect (the ring Eilerson fires in that episode of Crusade was an effect done well). But how hard was he casting those objects? I feel like I could throw harder and more accurately; like his telekinesis was really an inefficient way to go about things, y’know?

I know from reading around that had Claudia Christian remained on the show, she would’ve been the one to fall for Byron and I have to admit it’s still hard imagining Ivanova in that role. I think I’m glad she didn’t not because it would be unbelievable but just that it would be yet another tragic love and broken trust story for her and it’s like, damn, give this woman a break already...hasn’t she suffered enough?

Did Byron program his followers with that hymn? The way they gather around him before he immolates them is practically instinctual. I suppose it’s not so far-fetched. Byron *is* a strong P12 and more than once he desperately tried to get back to his people in order to calm them down suggesting his hold over them may not have been charisma alone. I don’t know...

(The Ragged Edge)

The Drazi with the vomit bag on the shuttle, haha. I love those touches they put into the show :-)

Is it my imagination or is G’Kar’s room less red?

[killingmebtob]

It’s You All Along // Im Hyunsik

Author: @killingmebtob // Gen

Title: It’s You All Along

Character: Hyunsik and Reader

Summary: Don’t go searching high and low, for the person you’ve been looking for could be just right next to you.

Author’s Note: Eeps another Hyunsik fluff done! 

---

Your name: submit What is this?

---

I scrolled through my phone, trying to find a companion for the trip I decided to go for. As I hit the bottom for composing, Eden, my fellow composer friend, suggested to take a break somewhere far. Giving it a serious thought, I agreed. Finally a name appeared in my screen, which made me smile at the idea. I dialed the number and the line came alive after a few rings.

“Hello, Y/N speaking.” She said with a serious, business tone. I let out a laugh, not used to this side of her.

“Hello, Hyunsik speaking.” I replied, teasing her.

A moment of silent sat in, I could picture her taking the phone away from her ear to look at the caller ID. I heard her scoff after a while, “what do you want, Kermit?”

I winced at the nickname she gave me, for my love for the Kermit frog. I rolled my eyes before sitting up from my bed. “Are you free next week?”

“What? You’re treating me to dinner because I’m an awesome best friend?”

“I’m treating you to something better than dinner.”

~~

“You’re lucky the project we were working on finished and my boss was willing to let me off for a week.” She commented as we queued to board the plane.

After much researches, Australia was decided to be my final destination. I heard the beach there is extraordinary, and it’s summer now among the other winter. I could use some heat in this freezing world of Seoul.

“Guess it’s fate,” I replied playfully, throwing a teasing wink at her, earning an eye roll from her.

We’ve knew each other for years now, since secondary school. She was always the smarter one and I stuck around initially to dig notes from her. But as time went by, we started to enjoy each other’s company and here we are, today.

The ten over hours flight went by really slow. My butt hurt from the long hours, and my arm was numb thanks to Y/N falling asleep on my shoulder. I wanted to teasingly push her away but the sight of her peacefully asleep stopped me. We never talked about romantic emotions between us, though many mutual friends assumed so. We are too close like family to take a step ahead. We know each other too well to be on a higher status than friends.

“So, you’ve not exactly explain why am I here with you on this trip?” She questioned when we settled down in our hotel suite. This hotel had really good reviews, from the scenery available outside the window to the service provided. And since it has been years since the both of us travelled together, I went for the best among the best.

“I needed inspiration for my music, Quoted by Eden, basically I need a break.”

“He’s right, you do.” She hummed while strolling back to her room, leaving me in the living room between our bedrooms.

We took naps after the long, torturous flight to power charge ourselves. As we arrived in the late afternoon, we woke up in time for dinner. Remembering that there was a restaurant just downstairs the hotel, I suggested it and she was fine with the plan.

The night ended with nothing special, we finished dinner, took a stroll outside to feel in the night breeze. We decided to head back after a while, feeling exhausted despite the nap we had.

The trip went on really well, we went hiking, strolling into the forests, surfing. Damn I didn’t know she had such a figure until she showed up in her bikini at the beach.

“Done eye-molesting me?” She teased after catching me staring.

~~

We relaxed on the beach, admiring the beautiful painting the sunset left us with. I heard her sigh at it, as I grinned, agreeing with her silently.

“So, are your inspirations back?” She turned around to ask, as I was leaning backwards slightly with my hands at the back, supporting my weight, while she was hugging her knees, resting her chin on them.

“I guess so,” I did an one-shoulder shrug. “I do have some ideas now.” My eyes darted back to the orange sky. She turned back to continue admiring, silence sat among us.

“Hyunsik,” she called out. I arched an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “Nevermind.”

I let out a laugh, leaning forward to sit up. “What is it?”

She shook her head while waving a dismissive hand. “Nothing, I just hate the thought of returning back to reality.” It was our last day of the vacation, and she had to resume work once she touched down back to Seoul.

“Speaking of that, no advancement from the guy who was courting you?” I nudged her with my elbow, earning a scoff from her. “Don’t remind me about that.”

“What happened?”

“Dude tried to surprise me with roses but didn’t know I’m allergic to them.” I wrapped my arms around my stomach, laughing so hard it hurts. Y/N had always been allergic to flowers, making it difficult for guys, for they can no longer just simply get a bunch of flowers to cheer her up. She would sneeze so hard her nose turned red.

“Stop laughing, I had to be excused from work because I couldn’t stop sneezing.” She slapped my hand, as I forced myself to stop.

“He should’ve come to me for some advice,” I added, earning a death glare from her.

“Don’t you dare,” she gritted her teeth. I rose two hands to surrender, “ok I get it.”

“I don’t get why is he so persistent, even after I told him I have someone in mind.” She let out a heavy sigh as she stared into the sky that was gradually turning in the the color black.

“You do?” I questioned, surprised at the new piece of information. Like I said, we had never talked romance, not even about our own. Just that once she was annoyed at her suitor she rang me up to rant.

“Just a dumb crush, I’ll get over.” She added.

And why did my heart squeezed at the thought of her being with someone else? It has been quite some time she broke up with her ex, who cheated on her. It broke me to see her getting drunk for that douche. After that, she was afraid to enter into another relationship. I leaned back again, my fingers dug into the sand to hold my weight. As I admired the starry night sky, my eyes couldn’t help but drifted towards her side profile. Her lips were slightly lifted, enjoying the stars that hung up in the sky. I sighed in content at this sight I found myself staring at.

Could it be…

~~

Months later

“So, which one?” I stopped the music that was playing from my speakers as I eyed my members. We were all now squeezed in my studio as we met to choose our next title song. Everyone frowned into deep thoughts, I could see their wheels in their brain turning to figure what to say.

“Play the previous one,” Eunkwang instructed. I clicked it and played it again as their faces lighted up.

“This,” Ilhoon commented, and everyone seemed to agree.

I let out a laugh, realizing what inspired me to actually wrote this song. We then proceeded to submit this song and everything was approved, recordings took place and filming wrapped up our whole preparation along with jacket shooting.

“Hello, Hyunsik speaking,” I said as soon as the other side of the line came through. I heard her let out a sigh before chuckling. “You’ll never let me live, aren’t you?”

“Don’t even bet about it.” I found myself smiling as well.

“What do you want?”

“This is a reminder that our song is releasing in a few.” I could imagine her glancing at her desktop clock as I said.

“Right, ok I will.”

“You gotta message me right after.”

“Ok, dad, I get it.” Her annoyance could be heard through her voice.

“Anything else?” She questioned.

“Nope,” emphasizing the p harder. She let out a small laugh before bidding goodbye.

I sighed at the empty line, muttering to myself before putting the phone away from my ear, “I miss you.”

~~

The clock hit 6pm, fans flooded us with tags and compliments, while I waited for just that one message. I constantly checked my phone, we gathered in the company to anticipate the reaction by fans as we celebrated the start of our come back period.

My phone vibrated as we were in the midst of talking. I grabbed it and unlocked, the name appeared brought a smile on my face.

From: Y/N Damn genius composer, another job well done. Who could’ve know nature had so much effect on you.

To: Y/N I’ll take it as you liked it. Did you read the lyrics?

From: Y/N Yup, so who’s that new girl eh? Why am I not informed?

To: Y/N Just like how you kept your crush as a secret

From: Y/N Because it’s more than a crush! Ah nevermind, forget I asked.

To: Y/N Come on, I’m kidding. Mind if I drop by your place tonight? Just wanna hang out

From: Y/N I’ve got something on, will be home a little later.

I was interrupted by the guys calling for me to eat the cake they divided. I smiled and nodded before picking the plastic plate up, deciding to ignore the question I had.

~~

I was about to leave the building before someone called out my name. Frowning, I turned to face Y/N, in a black dress, looking stunning.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Answer me, Hyunsik. Was the song about me?”

Her question left me dumbfounded, was it too obvious? I visibly gulped, scratching the back of my head with my eyes on the ground. I heard her sigh, causing me to glance up at her.

“Darn it I should’ve just told you by getting drunk or something.” I arched an eyebrow at her statement, she continued before I could question. “The crush I mentioned was you.”

And that one sentence was enough to fly me to the moon. Before she could continue her blabbering, I pulled her into my embrace, hugging the air out of her. So silly of us to now realize that the person we had been looking for was just next to us the whole time.

“Yes, it is my unspoken words to you.” I whispered against her ear, she let out a chuckle and wrapped her arms around me.

Don’t go around looking for anyone else anymore For the person who loves you is just right next to you Why can’t you see

[siriusly-random]

Land Next to Me: Chapter 6

A/N: Yes this is still an ongoing fic somehow, I apologize for such a long wait. I’m terrible, I know. 

On another note, this is not edited in the slightest. Like man, it’s probably shit and I will be reuploading it, and I’m going to wait to post it to fanfic. net until I fix it, but I figure it’s been long enough.

Lowkey not putting translations in this chap because it’s more fun this way. If anyone is super curious though, this is what I use to help form sentences. 

Fandom: Fairy Tail/the 100

Rated: T

Words: 3427

Summary: Three hundred years since the human race has set foot on Earth, one hundred teen prisoners are sent down with nothing but their wits and each other. Even though she’s just as scared as everyone else, Lucy Heartfilia will do anything she can to make sure they survive.

<<prev                   next>>

Chapter 6:  Gray, Hainofa Kom Azgeda

Natsu wasn’t really sure what was so special about what Lucy and Jellal said, but he could tell it meant a lot to Jellal. In the few short days he had known them, he never saw Jellal smile so wide--only when Wendy was around. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t think he would really understand anyway. He didn’t understand them, just as he was sure they didn’t understand him or his people.

“How long should it take us to get there?” Lucy asked from beside him, her eyes bright in the darkness. They had only been walking for about half an hour and he could tell she was struggling to keep up with his pace.

“Three days or so, would quicker on horseback,” he replied, keeping his voice low and steps light. He couldn’t say the same for Lucy, her feet were heavy, breaking every branch and twig in her path.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned, causing Natsu’s eye to twitch in irritation.

“That’s just to the border, and luckily for us, their Capital isn’t any further than that. It could be much worse,” for their limited supplies and his sanity.

“Well, I’m sorry but I’m not used to walking long distances. The Ark was very limited in space,” Lucy let out a laugh, though he didn’t quite understand why. “In any case, why is the Capital so close to the border? That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”

“If they lived any further north they wouldn’t be able to survive. Too cold.” He glanced at her, taking in her thoughtful expression. He never thought much about it, so he wasn’t sure if that actually was the answer, but it made enough sense to him. She most likely thought the same way when she was explaining their technology to him. The things that they used every day to live seemed so obvious, but the more he thought about it the more he knew that was wrong.

“Do you think we could actually ride a horse at some point?” she asked sounding like a small child. He held back a smile, instead focusing on their immediate surroundings.

“You’re being too loud,” he stated, stopping in his tracks, “we’ll be noticed.” She stopped, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it? I’m being as quiet as I can.” He narrowed his eyes, thinking. He understood that this was hard for her. She didn’t grow up hunting and stalking prey like he did.

His eyes widened as an idea popped into his head, and while it wasn’t a permanent solution--and would slow them down--it would work for now. He turned his back to her and bent down, craning his neck to look at her with a gesture to get on.

“You want to give me a piggyback ride.” It was an accusation more than a question, and he only rolled his eyes in response.

“If scouts hear us they’ll shoot to kill, so it’s this or risk getting hit.” They didn’t have time to argue either and she knew it. With a sigh, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“If you drop me I’ll be the one doing the killing,” she threatened, but he could hear the smile in her voice. With a smirk, he stood up, pretending to topple over as he did.

“Ahh, Lucy! You’re so heavy!” he whined, grinning as she smacked his shoulder.

“Oh shut up and walk.” He grinned, for some reason feeling lighter than he should.

----

“We’ll know when we’re close to a large body of water. I’ve only seen it a handful of times after coming with my father to alliance meetings when I was young. I haven’t been back in years,” he spoke softly and Lucy could imagine what he was feeling. She missed her mom. It was like a deep hole was left in her chest, something she didn’t think would ever be filled.

“It’s quite beautiful, actually,” he continued, and Lucy stayed silent as she walked beside him, doing her best to keep her steps light. As much as she appreciated being carried every now and then, she didn’t want to burden him. He was obviously tired and in need of a good nap.

“I can’t wait to see it. I never imagined I’d get to Earth, you know. I could write a million stories about Earth and what I thought it would be like, but it was always just a dream.” None of the stories she made up could even begin to compare to reality. She wasn’t sure if reality was better, though. This Earth was scary and uncertain and she was wandering around trying to stop a war with someone who doesn’t know what basic technology is.

“So what changed? You never really told me why your people came down here.” He glanced over at her, eyes curious and unsure, bright green eyes, flecked with bits of gold, shining almost like a gem. There weren’t many people on the Ark with light coloured eyes. She found it fascinating.

“We were all prisoners on the Ark,” she began, noting the quick flicker of shock on his face. “Up there, every crime is punishable by death when you’re over eighteen. Luckily, my birthday isn’t for a few weeks.” She sighed, tugging on her sleeves as she tried to think of how to explain to him what had happened. “My mother discovered a flaw in the system of the Ark, one that should never have been there. One that we should have had the time to fix. We were running out of oxygen,” she took a deep breath, clutching the bracelet around her wrist as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. “My mother thought the people deserved to know. I found out about her plan--and I agreed. So they-” Deep breath. In, out. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to clear her mind. She hated talking about this. “They floated, err, executed her,” she clarified at the confused look on Natsu’s face, “and they locked me up so I wouldn’t tell anyone. And that’s why they sent us. We were good for nothing kids who were expendable. They didn’t actually believe that the ground was survivable, but they needed to make time for everyone else. We might have bought them another few months, at best.”

He stayed silent for a few minutes and the pair continued to walk, the sounds of nature never being so clear to Lucy. She always tried to fill the silence, her time in solitary were unpleasant memories she didn’t care to relive.

But the birds singing in the early hours of the morning made her mind relax, and the unease she had been feeling start to dissipate.

“You think our ways are violent,” Natsu started suddenly, causing her to jump a little, “but your people killed one of your own for trying to save everyone. Maybe we're not that different.”

He didn’t say anything else and neither did she. It was true, after all. Killing was killing, and who were they to say the end justifies the means?

“I am sorry, Lucy,” he stated, his voice unnaturally soft as he turned to stare at her, a sadness visible in his features. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent. Especially when it was an unfair death.”

“We’re here.” He stopped in his tracks, staring straight ahead. She followed his gaze, eyes widening at the site in front of her.

“Wow,” she breathed, at a loss for words--something that didn’t happen to her very often.

“In the winter this is frozen over, making it easier to get across. Unfortunately for us, we have to take a boat.” Natsu left her standing in awe for a few moments, and if she were honest she barely noticed he was gone. Before she knew it he was back, dragging along the most dangerous looking ‘boat’ she had ever seen. Granted, it was the only boat she ever saw, but she rests her case.

“You’re joking right?”

“If I’m joking you’re not loud and annoying.” He countered, canine teeth visible as he grinned at her. “Well come on then, we don’t have all day. Get in. I’ll push and jump in.”

With great resistance, she climbed in the front of what she assumed was a canoe, gripping the paddle he handed to her so hard her knuckles were white with strain.

“Relax, sky girl. I’ve travelled by boat many times. I know what I’m doing.” He was laughing at her--which she highly resented. As he pushed the canoe into the water she felt her heartbeat quicken and her fears mounted. She didn’t know how to swim or paddle or even hold her breath for very long. She was not okay with this.

“Well, I don't. I don’t at all. I don’t know how to swim Natsu. I can’t do this.” She was panicking, her throat felt like it was closing up and suddenly she was rocking forward as the canoe fully submerged, then back as Natsu jumped in and grabbed her shoulders, holding her steady.

“Trust me. I won’t let you drown. When this is all over, I’ll even teach you to swim.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze, then suddenly the pressure was gone. She still felt anxious, but she wasn’t scared for her life anymore.

Natsu would protect her. She would be fine.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she sighed, thrusting her paddle into the water.

----

“It’s not funny!” Lucy exclaimed, ringing her hair out as she shivered from the cold and wetness as Natsu laughed at her.

“You’re wrong--it’s hilarious. You should see yourself!” Lucy wished she could strangle him, but instead she settled for glaring.

“Need I remind you we’re on a serious mission?” She sneezed, groaning in defeat. She would have to take off her shirt, and probably her pants, to let them dry. Wearing them soaked would just make matters worse.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, here,” he laid his weapons on the ground so he could pull his long coat off, offering it to her.

“Thank you,” she grabbed the coat, reading herself to take off her damp clothes before she noticed he was staring. “Excuse me.” She said, staring right back at him. He didn’t seem to get the hint, however.

“Could you please turn around?” she asked politely, not wanting him to take his coat back. It was freezing out.

He just raised an eyebrow before turning his back, picking up his weapons from the ground. “I suppose I could have warned you that the boat would be unbalanced when you got out. I’m sorry for that.”

Surprised, Lucy didn’t say anything back and just wrapped the coat around, using his belt to tighten it so it worked more like a dress.

“No real harm done, I guess,” she offered, picking up her wet clothes and sighing as she rolled them into a ball to carry. “Where to now?”

The question seemed pointless, seeing as there was a huge structure smack in front of them; it was visible from the other end of the lake. But maybe they were heading to somewhere more conspicuous, so had no idea. Natsu didn’t offer up much information about anything.

“The Azgeda citadel. Straight ahead.” He didn’t even wait for her to respond before he started toward the towering structure. It was tall, insanely so. Straight, narrow, with a sphere near the top. It also looked like the top was broken, and she would have been surprised if it wasn’t. It almost looked familiar to her, probably from a picture in one of her history books.

“How are we supposed to get in?” she asked, hoping he had a plan that wouldn’t get them killed.

“Easy. We let them come to us. Azgeda soldiers are always patrolling this area. We just have to request an audience with the Prince.” He sounded so confident Lucy almost believed it would work.

“How do you know they won’t just kill us?” It was a reasonable question she thought. There was a lot that could kill a person on Earth, the most dangerous thing was simply not knowing. And she certainly didn’t know a lot of things.

“I don’t.”

“Hod op!” someone shouted from behind, and an arrow whisked past her head and shot into a tree. She held her breath, limbs frozen from fear.

“Chon yu bilaik?” A group of grounders appeared in front of them, arrows nocked and ready to shoot, others carrying swords and daggers.

“Ai laik Natsu Kom Trigeda. En ai gaf chich op Hainofa Gray kom Azgeda.”

They waited, holding their breath to see what the Ice Nation soldiers would do. While Lucy wasn’t positive on what Natsu said, she figured he asked to speak to Gray. And she hoped and prayed they let them.

“Chon dison bilaik?”

“Lucy kom Skaikru.”

The grounders looked uneasy at Natsu’s words, a few of them talking to each other and Lucy wished she understood what they were saying. She looked at Natsu and noticed how his shoulders tensed and his face stayed completely blank. She wondered how he did it and felt strangely sad that he did it so well.

“Mafta osir op!” The grounders shouted, gesturing for them to follow. She stayed still, waiting for Natsu to tell her what to do.

The grounders grabbed her by her arms, jerking her roughly forward. She saw Natsu move, almost in a blink of the eye, as he punched the grounder who grabbed her and replaced their hands with his own.

“Ai na goch em op,”  he growled, throwing his bow to the ground, “oso ou na kok au.”

Some of the grounders seemed to resist whatever Natsu said, but the one who seemed to be in charge stopped them from advancing on them, snapping a short, “en’s ku.Taim na bants.” And then they were off and Lucy could barely feel her legs, the only reason she was still standing was Natsu’s arm wrapped around her waist. He was practically dragging her around.

“You need to get a grip,” he whispered in her ear, his hand pressing in on her waist. “You can’t look weak. He won’t take you seriously.”

Nodding, she took a few breaths and steadied herself, the shock of their situation wearing off and the feeling in her legs coming back. His grip didn’t loosen on her, something she appreciated. She could make herself look brave as hell, but she was still terrified. And he knew it.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” he joked, distracting her from the grounders who kept staring at them and whispering things she didn’t understand.

“I guess we’ll find out,” she let a smile slip out, thinking about how she really shouldn’t be afraid of heights. But up on the Ark, there was no way to fall, no way to jump or be pushed off. She never had to be scared of falling.

“We’re here.” In front of them were a set of simple doors and strangely she was surprised. She expected something more overwhelming and grandiose. “Now to get to the throne room.”

Lucy did not like how he said that.

“And how do we do that?” She questioned, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.

“We climb.”

The inside was ice. Completely ice. As she looked up she saw that it was almost like an ice shaft, the dents clearly visible where people climb. She had a lot of doubts about this, mainly how this was all still here and functioning, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much longer it would last.

“Of course, that’s if we didn’t know about the actual way up.” Natsu went and talked to the leader grounder who nodded, and then they were following him outside of the building again and toward another door. It was hidden slightly behind a wall of ice and blended in so well she never would have guessed it was there. “The other entrance is toward those off who attempt to attack Ice Nation, but it wouldn’t hold if that was the only way in and out.”

There was what she thought was an old elevator with the door missing in the room, wire rope attached to it and extending so high into the building she couldn’t see the end. The rope was looped around multiple pulleys, with multiple grounders stationed in the room who she assumed operated the system.

She almost wanted to take her chances with the ice shaft.

“Are you sure this is safe?” She asked, cautiously following him into the elevator.

“Am I dead?” he retorted.

“I guess that’s a good point.” He was still breathing, and he said he came here a lot as a child.

“Besides, the ice shaft is actually used for executions. Wouldn’t want to risk someone falling on us on our way up.”

Before she could respond the elevator started to move and she wasn’t used to it so she started to fall forward before Natsu reached out and grabbed her.

“Careful, ai skaifaya. Can’t have you dying just yet.”

The elevator came to a rough stop after a few minutes of silence. She didn’t know what he called her, and she didn’t want to ask.

They strode forward, past a number of soldiers who were standing guard along the circular room, and Lucy forced herself to not look out the windows surrounding them. They finally approached what appeared to be the Ice Nation throne, with a man with dark black hair and a scar decorating the left side of his face. Needless to say, he gave her the chills.

“Natsu kom Trikru. This is a surprise.” He drawled with a gravelly with a hint of an accent. “And of course Lucy kom Skaikru. An honor.”

She felt it was anything but.

“Haihefa Silver, I apologize for the unannounced visit. However, we wish to speak to Hainofa Gray.” Lucy wanted to laugh at how polite Natsu was being, but she supposed he didn’t want his head cut off.

A glint caught her eye and she glanced down, and to her horror, the throne the king was sitting was situated over what appeared to be ice, frosting up the legs of the throne. She could clearly see the ground below them, and she realized in that moment that she was afraid of heights.

An ice floor, she thought, no believing that’s what it really was. It had to be glass. But still, how was it so durable?

“I thought as much. He’ll be right up. In the meantime, sky girl, why don’t you tell me why you’re here and why I shouldn’t have you killed?” She felt a lump in her throat, surprised by his bluntness. And then she got angry. This wasn’t her, their, fault that they were on Earth. The 100 while guilty in many ways, were victims in this scenario. And she was over people accusing them of something they had no control over.

“If you want to kill me, you would have already, so can we all just drop the pointless threats at this point,” she saw Natsu smirk out of the corner of her eyes, giving her more confidence to continue, even with Silver showing no change in his features. “Our home was dying. So, our leaders thought it was necessary to send me and my fellow ‘sky people’,” she mocked, hating the name, “down here, even though they didn’t think we would survive. They sent us to our death, we had no idea anyone was living on earth. So I’m sorry we’re an inconvenience to you. But I’m not dead yet, and I don’t plan on dying soon.” She let out a long breath and felt a strange kind of relief after her little outburst, followed by embarrassment. She didn’t realize she was holding so much in.

“Well, that certainly is quite the women you’ve got there, Natsu.”

A deep voice sounded from behind them, amusement clearly evident.

Lucy felt her face heat up, slowly turning around to face the newcomer.

Her eyes met dark blue, feeling a chill run down her spine.

His lip quirked, hand resting on the handle of a sword attached at his waist. She gulped, for some reason much more terrified of the man in front of her than of the King.

There was no doubt. This was Gray.

[ellanainthetardis]

Day 3: A Christmas Carol

This is the day for Christmas stories retelling and so I go classic with a classic ;) This got away from me and became nobel length. Usually, it’s the kind of story I would have published a chapter a day for a week but since it’s hayffismas, I go crazy and give you everything at once! Please do let me know what you think because I bled on this haha!

[FF] or [AO3]

A Christmas Carol

1. Humbug

Haymitch glared at the group of carol singers in the street, hauling the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. Fortunately, none of them even so much as tried to ask him for a coin. Only one was bold enough to wish him a merry Christmas, prompting him to glare harder and to mutter under his breath that the whole thing was little more than a sham and that they should be ashamed of themselves for behaving like privileged Capitols.

He was relieved to leave the unusually crowded streets of town behind to attack the slippery slope that led to the Village. There were still blinking lights ahead – Peeta had insisted on putting some on the Village’s gates as if it could actually make the place more cheerful – but it was nowhere near as bad as the main part of the District. The kids’ house was visible from afar, all twinkling lights and colorful – not Katniss’ doing by far but the girl seemed happy to go along with her boyfriend’s newfound passion for the winter holidays.

The Village hadn’t been spared. Garlands had been nailed to a few doors, red and green ribbons were everywhere and if he saw another branch of mistletoe…

Haymitch had always been very good at facing dangerous things head on.

There was no ignoring the facts: Christmas had invaded Twelve and it was almost as annoying as the thick snowflakes that had been steadily pouring all week.

Christmas had never been a big thing in the Districts, not like it was in the city with their bright lights, their huge colorful trees and their avalanche of gifts. In the Districts, before the war, you were lucky to have food on the table, never mind gifts or trees or anything as scandalously extravagant as fairy lights. Maybe you would go the extra-mile and try to have something special, mostly for the children, but it was all a very simple affair. Something he hadn’t cared to celebrate in a very, very long time.

Last year, Christmas had fallen not long after the surrender and Panem had still been in flames. He remembered Effie vaguely remarking that it had come and gone unnoticed while they were working on Katniss’ defense for her upcoming trial. He remembered the yearning in her eyes and the way she had snatched her hand back when he had tried to reach out…

He trudged down the path that led to the back of the Village where most of the houses were still empty and blissfully devoid of decorations. He tried to pretend the flashing colors irritated him first and foremost because it reminded him of his arena but the truth was, what it really made him think about was his escort’s face laughing next to a Christmas tree, her face bathed in the changing lights of red and green fairy lights.

He hated Christmas.

He hated it with passion.

Even the snowmen that randomly appeared here and there, sometimes oddly shaped, sometimes oddly dressed, annoyed him.

Finally, he spotted his house in the distance, sensibly desolate and dark against the surrounding coat of snow. He hadn’t bothered clearing the path that led to the front door, happy to let the knee-deep snow discourage carol singers from knocking on his door – because they did knock on doors, asking money for charities in exchange for a song or two and while he wasn’t against giving some money, he was against being assaulted by Christmas carols – so he walked around the house, following the narrow alley the kids had dug for themselves. He checked on the geese on the way, made sure the pen he had built for them was withholding the weather, and didn’t know why he felt so disappointed that the birds were all tucked away and barely greeted him with lazy honks.

Maybe Katniss was right. Maybe he needed a pet that would actually be happy to see him.

But a dog or a cat would be dependent and he didn’t want anyone depending on him. He was never better than when he was alone after all.

With the cold, the backdoor was acting up and he was forced to give it two hard shoves before it finally surrendered and opened. The wind was picking up and he was happy to get inside, immediately grumbling when he realized it was barely less freezing. The fire must have died down.

He tossed the messenger bag on the table in a clicking chorus of glass bottles knocking together and tore the woolen beanie off his head. He peeled the numerous layers off his skin, the coat was discarded on the bag of a chair, the gloves thrown on the kitchen counter and the scarf with its holes in it ended up hanging from the dresser’s drawer.

He was walking toward the living-room to tend to the fire when he caught something at the corner of his eyes heading for the door on the left. He immediately whirled around, his hand falling on the handle of his knife.

“Who’s there?” he asked loudly.

The… thing had been human-shaped. Maybe the kids had a point about him needing to lock the doors. The study’s door was ajar, which was odd because he hardly ever went in there, and he slowly pushed it completely open, certain that he would find the intruder trapped in there.

It could be a child. Since the Christmas season had begun, they seemed to have made it a game to see who would be brave enough to cross his path. He remembered being ten and doing stupid daring stunts to impress his friends. Sneaking in the old drunk’s house would have been right up his alley.

The room was empty.

He remained very still for a few seconds, trying to listen to heavy breathing or the small noises that would betray the hiding place of whoever it was, but aside for the wind hurling handfuls of snow against the window, there was nothing.

At long last he stepped inside, his fingers tightening on the handle of his knife. The dust made him sneeze twice when he disturbed it but ultimately it was what made him relax. There were no other tracks but his on the floor. Nobody had come in there in a very long time, probably since Hazelle had been working for him even.

He could have sworn he had caught a glimpse of blonde hair but it must have been a trick of the eyes. Or wishful thinking.

He didn’t let himself go there. There were fantasies that weren’t worth indulging on. They were too painful on waking up.

He walked around the room for a minute, moving a chair, passing his hand over the surface of the desk and then swiping it on the leg of his pants… He fished the key in the ugly vase on the small table in the corner and, after a moment of hesitation, he unlocked the desk’s drawer and took out the small metal box. It had become a little rusty.

He brushed his fingers against the lid, not sure he wanted to go there either. Not tonight of all nights because it was Christmas Eve and he hated Christmas and he didn’t need to feel any more miserable than he already did.

And yet…

He checked that the window was properly closed just in case and then retreated to the living-room, placing the box on the mantelpiece to be forgotten if he really wanted to. He was a bit low on wood and he made a mental note to go fetch more from the shed the next day if the blizzard didn’t stop. He didn’t fancy getting snowed in without proper combustible. Although there were a few pieces of furniture he wouldn’t have minded using as firewood.

There was a creaking upstairs, the kind of creaking that meant someone was stepping on that loose floorboard at the top of the stairs, and he froze once more, a frown on his face. Taking out his knife again, he meticulously toured every room in the house, downstairs and upstairs, attentive to the smallest noise…

He didn’t find any sign of an intruder.

And yet at some point, he could have sworn he had seen a flash of blond hair again. A very real shiver ran down his spine.

He must have drunk more than he had thought, he figured. That must have been it. His treacherous mind tended to conjure her when he was drunk. Sometimes the yearning was so strong he was tempted to call her, he actually stopped himself with his fingers clutching the phone receiver, the first three numbers already dialed.

She doesn’t want anything to do with you, a little voice reminded him at the back of his head, she’s living the dream in the city, she’s with someone, she’s happy… She’s better off without you.

At least that was what the kids had reported Effie had told them. And that was more or less what she had screamed at his head the last time he had seen her, in those difficult weeks following victory, when they had been trying to find some balance back to their relationship between his guilt for failing her and her resentment for having been left behind. The announcement that he would be leaving for Twelve with Katniss had been the last straw, the proverbial nail in the coffin of their complicated affair.

She had gotten so angry, that day…  

He had asked her to go with them and it had come out very wrong, like a Hail Mary rather than a genuine offer, like he was asking just because she was furious and not because he really couldn’t bear the thought of that much distance between them. He had been in peace with the idea of… moving forward with her at that point, to evolve from the two of them being a dirty secret to something more official – maybe not wedding bells official but living together… he would have been able to handle that. He had wanted that.

But as usual when it came to expressing feelings, he had put his foot in his mouth and had said the wrong thing or maybe it had been the right thing but he had said it wrongly and now there they were: he was back to being trapped in his loneliness and she was back to her usual antics in the city.

And when he was drunk, he tended to conjure her, to imagine she was around just to feel a little less lonely, to…

He shook his head, called himself an idiot and swore he would get a grip. There was no one in the house but him, it was the wind and the snowstorm acting up, nothing more.

He was back downstairs for only a few minutes when someone did enter the house uninvited but he would have known Peeta’s footsteps everywhere so he didn’t bother startling. The boy didn’t look impressed at what he found.

Haymitch had been avoiding the kids since the holiday season had started and the Christmas bug had bitten them. It had been a couple of days since he had seen them and, clearly, Peeta didn’t approve of the extra mess in his living-room.

“It wouldn’t kill you to clean a little.” the boy sighed.

Haymitch rolled his eyes and tugged on the hem of his woolen sweater, trying not to mind that the kid was right. He had lived in a dumpster practically since he had won his Games but when Hazelle had started working for him… Well, he had gotten used to a clean environment and he had worked a minimum to keep it that way. But when he had come back to Twelve… It hadn’t seemed worth it. Nothing had seemed worth it.

And Sae’s numerous hints that there were plenty of people in town looking for work and who would be happy to do the housework given how well he paid never convinced him to go the extra miles and actually hire someone else.

He couldn’t bother.

Sure, there was dust everywhere. Sure, the dishes were piling in the sink. Sure, there was rotten food in the fridge and the cupboards were otherwise empty of anything that wasn’t liquor. Sure, there were dirty plates, forks, mugs and glasses all around the living-room. Sure, you couldn’t go three steps without tripping on an empty bottle or clothes in his bedroom. Sure, he had been overdue for laundry day for a while. Sure, his clothes were old and shabby and it wouldn’t have hurt him to buy some new stuff.

Sure, sitting there on his stained couch with a sweater full of holes and a glass of moonshine in his hand, he felt like a loser.

Well… Everyone couldn’t be like the boy, all preppy and cheerful in a ridiculous Christmas sweater with reindeers on it.

“What do you want?” he mumbled, not in the mood to socialize.

“I want you to come over for dinner.” Peeta said. “It’s Christmas Eve… You shouldn’t be alone and…”

“Don’t fucking care about Christmas.” he scoffed for what must have been the hundredth time.

The worst time, by far, had been the one when the kids had tried to force a Christmas tree in his living-room and he had almost had a stroke about it. Truth be told, he thought Katniss had gone along with that plan just to see him turn a nice shade of purple. No way the girl was as invested as the boy was.

“Don’t think of it as a Christmas dinner then.” the boy shrugged. “Just dinner with us. It’s been at least a week since we all ate together. We miss you.”

He felt a twitch of guilt at that. He had been neglecting the kids.

But the thought of gorging himself on food – as delicious as it would be – in what now looked like Santa’s kitchen…

“Not tonight, boy.” he refused, not unkindly.

Peeta’s face fell. “Katniss stuffed a turkey, you know. It smells really good.”

“You mean to say my house smells bad, kid?”  he snorted, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m just gonna go to bed and wait for this nonsense to be over, yeah? No offense but Christmas’s really not my scene.”

Peeta’s gaze pointedly darted to the glass in his hand and the open bottle propped against the cushion of the couch. The boy didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to. They both knew there wouldn’t be any going to bed early that night, just a lot of drinking. There was a reason he had risked the Christmas cheer to hit the liquor store earlier after all.

“If you change your mind…” Peeta eventually offered.

“Yeah, I know.” he nodded. “Maybe tomorrow.” He might feel like making an effort the next day. But then there might be presents and… He made a face. “Or the day after that, yeah?”

Peeta sighed once more, wished him a quiet merry Christmas and left the way he had come. He wasn’t exactly surprised to hear the back door opening and closing about fifteen minutes after that or to smell the appetizing aroma of stuffed turkey.

That was Katniss.

There and gone without attempting to force him out of his comfort zone, more understanding of his issues than the boy.

He tried to resist but eventually he caved and fetched the plate. He ate with his fingers because he couldn’t locate a clean fork and tried not to imagine Effie’s shrill voice commenting on his table manners. The last part was harder and it spoiled his appetite. He put the plate on the coffee table, wondering how long it took to heal from a break-up that wasn’t really a break-up because they had never been committed in the first place. It had been a year now. A whole year. And he still stiffened when he caught a sniff of lavender because that was how her bed sheets always smelt like.

He had actually stopped to smell a girly fruity shampoo at the store the other day, just because it looked like the one she used to keep in the shower and…

Pathetic.

His eyes found the metal box on the mantelpiece. He retrieved it under the cover of poking the fire, trying not to mind his cracking joints. It had been ages since he had opened that particular Pandora box and he felt his throat close as soon as he glimpsed the first items he kept in there.

He fingered the tattered pink ribbon that had been his token once upon a time. He had worn it wrapped and knotted tight around his wrist like a badge of honor and he had kept it in his pocket for even longer afterwards. His girl’s ribbon. The only ribbon Mabel had owned, really. The Seam wasn’t known for its hair decorations.

There were pictures too. The only one he had of his family, yellowed by time and faded from the blaze of the fire that had swallowed his home. He wasn’t sure how it had survive, he was just thankful it had. The faces were grainy now, the features too blurry to make out perfectly and his memory wasn’t precise enough to compensate. Still, he brushed his thumb over his little brother’s face and tried to remember…

When he put that aside, it was to find magazine clippings or pictures, old enough that he barely recognized himself on them. He had been young then. Never carefree but young and handsome and ready to take over the Capitol with his friends. Mags still had black hair on those. Chaff’s shortened arm was around his neck as he lifted his glass in a toast to something long forgotten… Finnick’s little shit grin as he forced two equally grumpy Chaff and Haymitch to pose with them… And finally Effie. Effie snapping pictures of them, laughing as he obviously struggled to grab the camera. Effie naked and in bed, smiling back at him without a care in the world for the pictures he was taking. Effie offering herself to his gaze like…

He snapped the lid of the box shut and downed the rest of his glass.

It had been another time then.

She had been unmarked by the war still, by his failures.

He discarded the glass and grabbed the neck of the bottle.

It wasn’t a night to pace himself.

The phone rang at some point. Two or three times. But by that time, he was too far gone in moonshine to care. He wouldn’t have answered even if he hadn’t.

“Merry fucking Christmas to me.” he snorted.

2. The Messenger

Haymitch woke up with a start, not quite sure what had alarmed him but suddenly alert, heart racing and adrenaline flooding. At first he had troubles understanding what was going on. It was dark in the living-room but the lights should have been on – he never slept without at least one lamp on at night – and it was freezing. So freezing he could see his breath coming out in puffs in front of his face.

He stood up from the couch, studying the dead ashes in the fireplace with a frown. The fire he had built should have lasted the night or, at the very least, stretched until the very first hours of morning. It was dead now. Dead and cold. Not even smoking. Not one ember poking underneath. Odd. Really, odd.

Floorboards creaked upstairs but he refused to be tricked by his treacherous mind again. It was just the house acting up, nothing more.

It looked like the storm had really picked up outside. It was too dark for him to see but he could hear the wind roaring in the chimney, blasting snow against the windows… Maybe the electricity had given in. It didn’t explain the fire but it explained the lights.

Except when he hauled himself off the couch, he heard the distinctive humming of the fridge in the distance. His frown deepening, he walked to the switch and flicked it. Lights flooded the living-room.

Weird.

A door audibly slammed shut down the corridor and, this time, Haymitch didn’t let himself hesitate. He pulled his knife out of his belt and rushed ahead, very angry with whoever was playing pranks on him. It had to be a prank. The feeling that someone was in the house earlier, the fire, the lights, now slamming doors… He hoped the kids weren’t involved because he would skin them alive for this. He hoped even more it wasn’t Plutarch’s idea of a joke, a candid camera or whatever he was producing those days.

The study door was slamming close only to bounce back open.

Haymitch kicked it open, knife ready to be used right as he switched on the lights…

The study was empty but the window was wide open. It explained the cold, at least. And the slamming doors.

But he had closed that window earlier.

He had checked the latch twice.

With a suspicious glance around and careful not to keep his back to the door, he stomped on the heap of snow that had come in to force the window close, thinking it might be broken. It didn’t resist though and the latch was intact.

And there was no getting rid of the strange prickling at the back of  his neck, the distinctive feeling that someone was watching him.

The room was empty though so except if there were cameras…

The thought made his skin crawl.

He retreated to the living-room once more, attentive to the smallest sound. This time if something flashed in the corner of his eyes, he would catch it, he swore it.

He had been so busy watching the shadows that he almost jumped out of skin when he spotted the blond girl sitting on his couch, comfortable as you pleased, her feet propped on the coffee table and his box of memories on her lap. She was rummaging through his belongings and that infuriated him.

Her long hair was loose and hid her face but she was so skinny he didn’t think she was much older than Katniss and Peeta. She was wearing something entirely inappropriate for the weather too. A blank tank top and cargo pants with sturdy scrapped boots…

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.

He might have been less inclined to strangle a teenage girl with clearly too thin clothes sneaking in his house on Christmas Eve if she hadn’t been so obviously trying to terrify him for a while. Maybe the kid needed a warm place to stay, maybe she thought she could sneak around and steal food… Whatever. He would have given her money and tossed her out the door as soon as the storm had cleared…

… if she hadn’t been snooping.

The girl tossed her head back and looked up at him.

Haymitch gasped and stepped back right at the moment the lights turned off again. With the room once more in the dark, he was blind and all he could do was clutch his knife tight, heart racing…

“If this is a joke, it’s a very bad one.” he spat. “You…”

Laughter rang in the air. Familiar.

A fire appeared in the fireplace. It just popped into existence as if it had always been there.

It was a nightmare. It had to be. The whole Christmas thing had gotten to him and now he was having a nightmare. That was the only logical explanation.

But it felt so real…

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Maysilee’s ersatz declared and then laughed again like she used to do in school, long before her name had been called at the Reaping. He hadn’t heard her laugh after that. A few chuckles maybe but not that joyful carefree laughter he didn’t even know he could remember. “Well, yeah, I did. But it was too funny. You should have seen your face…”

Even the worst night terrors didn’t feel like this. Haymitch felt awake. Awake and awfully sober. There was none of the blurry quality of a dream. This felt…

The girl walked closer to the fireplace and outstretched her arms to warm her hands. In the glow of the fire, she looked exactly like she had on the last day in the Games, next to their campfire. The same light played in her honey blond hair, her blue eyes sparkled in the same determined fashion… Her face wasn’t as hard though. She looked relaxed right then, carefree like she used to be in school when she strutted around arm in arm with her twin, followed by her friends.

They had never really talked before they had been reaped. She had been from town and he had been from the Seam. They hadn’t had the same set of friends or the same kind of lives. He had honestly been surprised that, of the three others from Twelve, she had been the one to survive that long.

“If this is a joke…” he repeated, frantically searching for an explanation that made sense. Her niece had looked a lot like her but Madge Undersee had died during Twelve’s bombing. She didn’t have any other family. And maybe someone could have found a girl who looked exactly like her but at what end? What was the point of this cruel twisted prank?

“Oh, it’s not a joke, Haymitch.” she countered, crossing her arms in front of her chest and turning around to look at him. “I’m really here. It’s really me. And no, you’re not dreaming.”

He stared at her for a moment, daring to take a step closer. When she didn’t attack, he took another one. He remained at a safe distance though but close enough that he could see…

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to see.

“You’re dead.” he commented.

“As a door-nail.” she confirmed with a smug smile.

He blinked, licked his lips and eventually decided that the moonshine he had drunk earlier had been poisonous. It didn’t stop him from picking up the bottle and taking a good healthy gulp.

Maysilee was still standing there when he lowered it though.

And she looked amused. A little sad too but amused.

“You know, you can drink all the alcohol in your house, it won’t get you drunk tonight.” she remarked.

“What’s so special about tonight?” he snorted. “You’re just a bad dream, sweetheart. Got plenty of that before.”

She shook her head, simply looking sad now. “You couldn’t have saved me, Haymitch. I’ve been dead twenty-six years now and you’re still wondering. You should really let that go. I don’t blame you.”

“Well, it’s a nice change.” he mocked.

Usually, in his nightmares, Maysilee accused him of having let her down when not of downright having murdered her. And then, of course, she tried to kill him.

“This really isn’t a dream, Haymitch.” she sighed. “You don’t believe me?”

“We established you’re dead so unless…” he started to scoff only to pause. “Oh.” He looked at the bottle in his hand and then at the couch thoughtfully. He had been drinking a lot earlier. He didn’t remember how much but… “Am I dead too?”

There was something twisted to the hint of hope in that question.

“No.” Maysilee denied. “But you’re lost and tonight is a night for miracles.”

“Yeah, right.” he scowled. “More Christmas bullshit.”

Trust his mind to torture him with everything he hated.

“You’re wasting your life.” she accused and, this time, there was resentment and regret in her voice. “You’ve been wasting your life for twenty-six years. You could have had a happy evening tonight, you know, if you hadn’t been such a moron. Effie would have been here. You could have had dinner with Katniss and Peeta. You could have come home with her. Be happy with her. And instead you pushed everyone away and now you’re alone and miserable.”

“Okay.” he deadpanned, taking a swing of moonshine because that was his default defense mechanism. “Nice chat. See you next year.”

He turned around and tried to leave the living-room but there was a freezing draft that chilled him to the bones and suddenly there she was, blocking his path.

“Don’t you see?” she almost begged. “You can still fix it. But it’s now or never, Haymitch.”

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You come back to haunt me just to tell me how to live my life?”

“Clearly, someone needs to.” she retorted. “And who else will save your ass, Abernathy? We’d live longer with two of us. Right?”  

“Didn’t work that well for you.” he whispered. He felt tired all of a sudden. This… Whatever this was… Alcohol poisoning or a strange dream or… It was too much. “Look…”

“You’re not going to like it but hopefully by the end of the night you will get it together.” she cut him off. “I don’t think you will be seeing me again, I’m just the messenger. Watch out for the third one, he’s not… He gives me the creeps.”

“The third one?” he repeated. “What are you on about? You sound crazier than me.”

She shook her head. “You will be visited by three spirits tonight. They will show you.”

“What? More ghosts?” he chuckled bitterly. “All I wanted for Christmas. How did you know?”

“You can still fix everything.” she insisted. “Please, remember that.”

She outstretched a hand and, stupid as it was, he found himself reaching back.

The moment their skin touched, everything turned black.

3. The Ghost Of Christmas Past

One second he was standing in his living-room facing a dead girl, the next he was in the middle of a narrow street lined by houses that were little more than shacks. He could only gape for a moment because he knew that place. He knew that place like the back of his hand and it had been lost to flames long before the Capitol had decided to bomb Twelve into oblivion.

The Seam had grown back around it eventually – had grown back over it even – but that particular street with its shabby looking houses with tin roofs that leaked every time it rained a little too hard had been gone a long time. The uneven ground under his feet was frozen and slippery even though the snow had been more or less shoved to the side of the street, clearing a path for people to walk through.

Everything was so painfully familiar…

“Catch me!” a little boy laughed behind him and Haymitch turned just in time for the kid to race past him without any thought for how dangerous it could be to run at full speed on icy patches. Another boy, an older one, ran after him but Haymitch barely paid that one any attention because the little boy…

He would have known that green woolen hat anywhere. He had watched his mother knit it.

“Hayden…” he whispered, air blocked in his throat. “Hayden!” he repeated, louder, suddenly unable to stop himself from shouting his brother’s name at the top of his lungs. He thought he could count on one hand the number of times he had uttered it in the last twenty-six years and now… “Hayden!”

The older boy – who he now realized was no one else but him – caught up with the nine years old who was laughing without a care in the world despite their depressing surroundings. He had forgotten how loud his baby brother could laugh. Even when a fourteen year-old Haymitch shoved a handful of snow in his face, Hayden laughed, wriggling away to make a snowball of his own.

“He can’t hear you.”

Haymitch whirled around and stared at the woman who was now standing right behind him, in a spot that he was sure had been empty a second ago. She was wearing a black and white woolen dress under an open coat and a red scarf. He noticed the clothes first because they were very Twelve – at least before the war had changed things.

Her face was a stranger’s face until it wasn’t.

She just didn’t look sixteen anymore. She looked…

Her complexion was pale but it always used to be. He remembered she burned in summer, the bridge of her nose always reddened and freckles appeared on her cheeks and she used to rant and rant about that… He had found it cute – not the ranting, the ranting infuriated him, but the freckles and the sunburns. Her hair was as long and dark as he remembered it, mostly loose with only a few strands held back so it wouldn’t be a bother. She had always worn her hair like that as long as he could remember. Unless they were sneaking into the woods through the hole in the fence near the mines, in which case she would tie it up in a high ponytail and tell him to get a move on. And her eyes… Her grey eyes were full of mischief, as usual.

She looked like she should have looked had they been allowed their life together.

“I thought you would be more comfortable if I looked closer to your age.” Mabel grinned that smile that had had every boy in their grade falling in love with her. “You know… So you wouldn’t look like a creepy old man crushing on a kid.”

“Mabel.” he breathed out.

The name was almost as painful to utter as his brother’s was.

“Bitchy Mitchy.” she teased.

And the nickname was enough to make him chuckle, breaking through this strange stillness that seemed to have fallen on him. He reached for her face without really thinking about it, brushing his fingers against her cheekbones, touching her hair…

“You look so real…” he whispered. He hadn’t had that clear a dream in two decades.

“I am real.” she shrugged and, when he rolled his eyes, she rolled hers. “Yeah, I know. You don’t believe me. You’re too fucking stubborn, that’s always been your problem.”

He was vaguely aware that his brother and his younger self had started an epic snowball fight behind him but he couldn’t really care. Not when Mabel was standing right there, her skin warm under his fingertips.

“Fine.” he humored her, happier to play along with this hallucination. “You’re real. What does that make you?”

“The ghost of Christmas past.” Mabel said ominously. She gave it a second and then laughed it off. “Maysilee told you. Three spirits. I’m the first one. I’m here to remind you.”

“Of what?” he snorted. “That I lost everyone?”

She shook her head at him with obvious impatience. “You’re an ass, you know?”

“I’ve missed you.” he replied. It was an explanation in itself.

She softened and ran her fingers in her long dark hair, like she always used to do when she was nervous. “I’ve missed you too.”

The dream was so real…

He didn’t really let himself hesitate before cupping her cheek or leaning in. Their lips brushed together clumsily a few times until he pressed harder, desperate for a real kiss. It was… disappointing. It felt… wrong.

Something was missing and he had a good idea of what it was.

She stepped back with a sad smile. “It’s alright, Haymitch. You’re not sixteen anymore.”

“I really loved you.” he swore before she could say anything else. “I tried to…”

“Do you really think I expected you to remain alone your whole life? Do you really think that’s what I wanted for you?” she snapped. “You used me as an excuse. All your life your used me as an excuse not to take any chances.”

“I took chances.” he denied.

“Yeah? Name one.” she challenged.

Effie, he almost said. But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He had never given them a fair shot. He had used her and then pushed her away. He had denied her the right to have feelings for him and had mocked her when she had dared hint at them. Sure, he had showed her tenderness and affection sometimes but he had never really told her how he felt. Then the war had happened and she had been left behind to be tortured and… And it had taken losing her to realize just how deep he was in. And when he had asked her to move in with him, he had made a mess of the whole thing. A salvage operation, that was what that had been. He couldn’t really blame her for accusing him of never fighting for her.

“It should have been you and me.” he argued.

It would have been easy, then. If he hadn’t been reaped… Eventually, he would have started working at the mines and he would have married her. And they would have had a typical Seam life. He would probably have died in one of the numerous cave-ins and she would have given him more children than they would have been able to feed while taking as many laundry job as she could manage. They would have worried themselves sick over it and…

“You know better.” she accused.

And maybe he did.

Because if someone offered the choice to him now…

He wasn’t sure he would have exchanged whatever he didn’t have anymore with Effie for a domestic life with Mabel. It was like the kiss they had just shared. Somewhere down the line, he had outgrown that particular dream.

“I’m sorry.” he said. “It was my fault. They killed you because…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Haymitch.” she cut him off. “It was the Capitol.”

Deep down, he knew that. Very deep down. But he had never been able to let go of that guilt.

“Forgive me.” he insisted, tears burning his eyes. He blinked them away before they could freeze on his cheeks. He didn’t have a coat and it wasn’t a weather to be outside in a sweater full of holes.

“I forgive you.” She framed his face between her hands and tugged him down until he bowed enough that she could press her forehead against his. “Of course, I forgive you. I love you. But you have to forgive yourself.”

“Haymitch! Hayden!”

His head jerked up in the direction of the call, his heart hammering inside his chest at the sound of that voice. He had forgotten that voice. All that was left was a vague echo, like a footprint in the sand of his memory.

“We should go on.” Mabel said. “You have a long night ahead and we have a lot of stops to make before I hand you over to the next one.” He barely registered that. He simply held out his arm for her to take, his eyes locked in the distance to where he could guess at the old rusty painted house he used to call home. “Look at you being all gentlemanly.” she laughed. “What? Did you confuse me with one of those Capitol girls who can’t walk without help?” His heart squeezed but he didn’t think she meant anything mean by that. Not when she grabbed his hand and gave it a strong tug. “Come on.”

In a flash, they were inside his old house. It was obvious some time had passed because his mother, his fourteen year-old self and his brother were sitting at the old wooden table, sharing what appeared to be stew. Rich stew too, not the watered down version they used to eat for most meals.

He would have loved to ask how she had done this but he couldn’t speak. Not when his mother was right there, so much younger than he remembered… She had seemed old and fragile to him in his youth. But she wasn’t that old, as he had realized in retrospect, the year he had turned thirty-five. The age she had been when she had died. If she had lived, she might have found another man to share her old days with, have a brand new other life…

“Can we do presents now?” Hayden asked with that toothy grin that always got him out of trouble with most people.

His mother and his younger self shared an indulgent look and she eventually nodded her assent.

“Cool!” his brother exclaimed and rushed off to the only bedroom in the house, the one the two boys shared.

With a shake of her head, his mother went to fetch two small gifts from under the single bed tucked in a corner of the room.

Fourteen year-old Haymitch was slower in standing up, the frown on his face one of worry. “I told you not to get me anything, Mama. I don’t need…”

“I can still give my son a Christmas present, Haymitch, thank you very much.” his mother chided.

Both Haymitches winced at once.

“I remember this.” he whispered for Mabel. “I took a couple of tesseraes that year. We were really tight. I think she sold some of her jewelry to buy those.”

And she hadn’t had much to sell in the first place. Her wedding ring. He thought that it was what she had sold and he remembered thinking good riddance. His father had long been out of the picture by then.

“She adored you.” Mabel whispered, leaning against his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Presents!” Hayden came song-singing back, with two packages tucked under his armpits.

Haymitch smiled with fondness at the boy. He tried to reach out when he passed by him but his hand went straight through as if he was a ghost. The irony.

“He was always good at swapping things, yeah?” Mabel chuckled. “He could bargain with the best of them. I remember once he managed to convince Sae to exchange him a pot of soup against a bunch of flowers from the meadow…”

“Too cute for his own good.” he snorted.

Finnick had been like that too.

They watched the three of them exchange gifts. Wrapping paper was far too expensive for something like this so the gifts were wrapped in pieces of clothing. Hayden and Haymitch had teamed up to buy their mother a new shawl that year, a brand new one that had never been worn before from the shop in town. She had gotten him a new bag for school – or poaching, which he wasn’t allowed to do but already did anyway – and she had gotten Hayden a soccer ball which the boy was ecstatic about. Haymitch had carved animals into wood for his brother and received a new pair of gloves in exchange. They were nice gloves. He remembered that much.

“You look so happy.” Mabel commented.

Not quite carefree even then, he thought, but, yeah, he looked happy.

And it hurt.

It hurt because in a little more than two years, that perfect scene of family bliss would be reduced to ashes. Literal ashes. And suddenly it was only too easy to imagine the flames licking the wall. The roof would have collapsed in minutes. And Hayden and his mother, trapped in there, sentenced to…

In a blink, the scenery changed and they were at the lake, deep into the woods.

“What the fuck?” he spat, whirling around. “Take me back. I…”

He wanted to see them again, to stare at them forever, to commit everything to memory, to…

“I told you. We have a couple of things to see.” Mabel requested. “Look at us.”

That shut him up and he looked at the direction she pointed at, not really surprised to see their younger selves recklessly gliding on the lake with makeshift skates that were far from being safe. This Haymitch was older than the last one. Sixteen or soon to be. This was the winter before the Second Quell’s Reaping.  And if he wasn’t mistaken…

On the ice, the boy grabbed the girl by the waist as she was losing her balance but it wasn’t the dashing save he had expected and they both tumbled down. He could still remember the doomed sound of the ice cracking under them and he could only watch as the two teenagers scrambled to the shore, laughing their fear off once they were back to safety.

Then the boy cupped the girl’s cheek as if it was the most natural thing in the world and he just kissed her.

He thought back to earlier, the kiss they had shared and regretted it hadn’t feel like that one. Mabel’s kisses used to taste like freedom even in their fenced-in District.

“It was our first kiss.” she reminded him. Her smile was wistful but not unhappy.

“Yeah?” he frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Christmas day before the Quell. Yes, I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, slapping his arm. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been claiming to pine after my ghost for how long? And you don’t even remember our first kiss?”

He didn’t like to linger on firsts and lasts. It was too sad.

And honestly was it that important?

“You sound like…” He cut himself off and swallowed back the name at the last moment for the second time. He pursed his lips tight and reported his attention on the couple a few feet away. It didn’t seem like they would stop kissing any time soon.

“You can say her name, you know.” Mabel said quietly. “I told you. I never wanted you to be alone forever. It’s a good thing.”

“For what came out of it.” he scoffed, shaking his head.

The sixteen year-old Haymitch pulled something out of his pocket and offered it to the girl with an awkward shrug. It was a brooch, he remembered, a small one, flower-shaped that he had exchanged at the Hob against a rabbit. A folly because Mabel had been stringing him along for months and the rabbit would have been better employed cooking on their stove but… He had been crazy for that girl. Crazy. Hayden used to tease him at night, before bed, and even his mother smiled indulgently at him every time her name was mentioned.

Head over heels. Invincible. Intoxicated.

That what being with Mabel had felt like.

What being in love was supposed to feel like, maybe.

He remembered now.

It wasn’t supposed to make you feel scared your significant other would get killed because you got a little too affectionate in public.

And that threat was gone anyway, wasn’t it? He could have gone full out if he had wanted to. He could have done more. He could have…

“Let’s move on.” Mabel suggested.

“We could stay.” he argued. “In this memory forever. You and me. It could be good.”

She stared at him and it was sad and too knowing.

She outstretched her hand and he took it after a short moment of hesitation.

He had been expecting the change of scenery this time but their new surroundings took him aback. It took him a while to place Capitol Park in full winter mode. Well… winter was relative because with the controlled weather, it was actually pleasant. The frozen lake was huge and there were a lot of people strolling along the bank, pointing at the bright decorations that seemed to be everywhere, children running around, a lot of people on the ice…

“Why are we here?” he frowned.

He sure as hell had no Christmas memories in this place.

“Why do you do anything lately, Haymitch?” she mocked.

“Grandfather! Watch!” a little girl called out from the edge of the ice rink in a shrill excited voice.

She must have been ten or eleven and was clearly embracing the Christmas spirit. She was dressed all in red and green, from her coat to the dress poking out underneath, and she had a red puffy wig adorned with holly on.

“I’m watching, my little princess!” an old man promised from the edge.

He stuck out a little because he wasn’t wearing a wig and his white hair hadn’t been dyed a ridiculous color. His clothes were sensible ones to and that warmed him up to Haymitch. It was hard to find sensible people amongst the Capitols.

The man was leaning hard on a walking stick and he seemed to have known better days but there was something to him… He wasn’t sure what. The way he was watching his granddaughter maybe. Just unequivocal love and pride.

On the ice, the girl took some speed and then jumped, twirling on herself in a move that would have been more impressive if she hadn’t crashed hard on landing.

“Effie!” the man worried, taking a few steps toward the frozen lake.

And Haymitch did a double take.

The girl had already picked herself up, red in the face. She brushed the frost off her coat and politely assured she was fine when a couple skated to a stop next to her to make sure she was alright. She skated to the edge of the lake with her head held high, chin up in the air, in a defiant stance Haymitch was very familiar with.

“I think I am done skating, Grandfather.” she announced, very dignified. “I hope nobody saw me. If someone tells Mother…”

“I will deal with your mother.” her grandfather grumbled.

What was his name? Haymitch was certain he knew the guy’s name. It must have started with a T. There was a flowery T branded on the flask Effie had gifted him with many years ago and it had belonged to her grandfather. He was sure he had heard her say the name before.

“Still.” Effie insisted, clearing her throat pointedly. “It is rather childish, isn’t it? Ice skating. Not really befitting of a lady.”

“You love ice skating.” the old man pointed out, handing her small heeled boots he had obviously been keeping safe for her. “And you should never just quit something because you failed once. You should always reach for the stars, my little princess.”

The girl pouted but then a beaming smile stretched her lips. “Can we have some hot chocolate?”

“If you wish.” her grandfather humored her.

Haymitch was fascinated and he followed them close, listening to their conversation about a Christmas party her mother was throwing. Her grandfather was explaining why he didn’t want to attend and Effie was trying to convince him by sulking and declaring it would be a dreadful Christmas if he wasn’t around.

The lady behavior had already been ingrained into her, he could tell because it came out now and then, but her grandfather was very good at breaking her out of that code, at luring the child out… Effie laughed and beamed and talked a mile a minute…

She was so happy…

“Oh, I do love Christmas!” she exclaimed several times.

He was so enthralled in watching that innocent part of her that he startled when Mabel placed a hand on his shoulder.

Without transition they went from Capitol Park to the kind of interior design he had come to associate with wealthy uptight Capitols.

“Where are we?” he asked but it became obvious once he spotted the people.

They were in a parlor of sort – not a living-room because there was nothing living about the room, it was all white and cream as if the colors had washed out despite the bright decorations hanging everywhere – where a huge Christmas tree dominated the room.

He had crossed paths with Effie’s parents one time or two at parties but they never failed to rub him off the wrong way. Right then, they were sitting on the immaculate couch, backs straight as rods, face set in blank masks. Effie looked older than in the previous memory although it might have been the make-up she already had on. She was curled up on one of the armchairs, a sea of opened presents discarded at her feet, and she was obviously… Well… Not there.

Another girl was still passing presents around and even though her identity was obvious, it took him a few seconds to identify her sister.

“Why are you showing me this?” he insisted, ill-at-ease with how Effie looked. The last time he had seen her that upset… She had been lying half-dead in a hospital bed and he had been confessing everything from how he had failed to get her to safety to Thirteen being the ones who had really been bombing the children.

“Because you need to understand.” Mabel shrugged.

“Understand what?” he scowled.

“This one is for you, Effie.” Lyssandra said, almost hesitantly, carefully holding a square box wrapped in glittery gold paper. “It’s from grandfather.”

Effie’s blue eyes immediately filled with tears and she curled up a little more on the armchair as if her sister had literally punched her in the chest. Her mother pursed her lips with disapproval but uncharacteristically held her tongue and didn’t scold her for what Haymitch was sure wasn’t ladylike behavior. Her father placed a hand on the Capitol’s woman leg and awkwardly patted it a few times.  

“So, what’s going on?” he frowned. “She’s upset ‘cause her grandfather didn’t come this year?”

Her eleven year-old self had certainly seemed to think I would be the worst Christmas ever if he didn’t show up and she could be such a little spoiled brat… One look at the amount of expensive presents at her feet was enough to confirm that.

“Not exactly.” Mabel hummed sadly.

Effie reverently took the box from her sister without a word and carefully unwrapped it, making sure not to damage the paper or the ribbon. She placed both aside for safekeeping before opening what seemed to be a small music box. He was very familiar with that music box. It was always on her dresser in her apartment – or it used to be before the war, at least, he had no idea what had happened to it during the rebellion, her place had been ransacked and anything of value stolen so… – she kept mementoes in it. It wasn’t unlike his own metal box except he had made fun of her plenty of times for it, calling her a sentimental fool.

There were two rectangular golden tickets inside the music box, the kind that gave access to almost every Victory Tour events. They were branded with an ominous 50th that told him everything he needed to know. This was his year’s Games. And thus she was twelve.  

“I disapprove, naturally.” her mother said suddenly when Effie brushed her fingers on the golden tickets as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “But your grandfather insisted and bought them despite my wishes so… He intended to take you obviously but… Well.”

“I will go with you.” Lyssandra promised, kneeling next to Effie’s armchair, her face so earnest, so desperate to bring comfort…

Effie burst out in tears. Fat ugly sobs that wrecked her small body and tears that ran down her cheeks in an unending flow…

“Now, now, Euphemia…” her mother sighed. “Do not upset yourself so. It is not becoming of…”

She ran out of the room, clutching the music box to her chest. A door slammed upstairs a few seconds later.

Her mother’s lips were pursed so tight it looked like she almost didn’t have a mouth anymore. Her father’s hand was less hesitant when he reached for his wife this time.

As for Lyssandra, she simply gathered the golden wrapping paper and the ribbon and carefully put them aside – Haymitch assumed it was to give them to her sister later – looking sad but nowhere near as grief-stricken as Effie had been.

“You need to understand she knows great loss too.” Mabel whispered eventually.

He hadn’t needed Mabel to tell him that. He had sat next to her for too many Games, had watched her deal with too many dead kids. He knew she knew what loss felt like. They both did. Nobody who had been involved in the Games had escaped that.

But it wasn’t that personal… that annoying voice of reason whispered at the back of his head. How many times did you tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about when she tried to comfort you? How many times have you accused her of never having been unhappy a single day in her life?  

“Let’s get out of here.” he scowled. “Please.” He couldn’t take much more of Effie being heartbroken. He had been the one breaking her heart too many times before. He couldn’t deal with seeing her like that, twelve or not. He just wanted to see her happy, like in that first memory. More than that he wanted to make her happy. “I’ve had enough.”

“There is only one left.” she promised.

“No.” he snapped. “I want to wake up now. Enough of this bullshit. I’m done walking down memory lane. It’s…”

The parlor disappeared and the next thing he knew he was standing in a room he had never thought he would see again.

The bedroom he had been living in when he was at the Training Center’s penthouse. His home away from home, as he used to joke.

And wasn’t it just great already. His thirty-five year old self and Effie were naked in bed together. They were done with whatever they had been up to, thankfully, and the sheets kept them mostly decent but that wasn’t something he had ever wanted Mabel to see.

“Seriously?” he spat, barely covering the sound of Effie’s giggles.

He hadn’t been in the city that many times for Victory Tours and he placed that one instantly. It was during the 70th Tour, Annie’s Games, when numerous victors from every District had been dragged back to the city for the season because the Gamemakers badly needed a distraction from the disaster that was Annie’s public appearances.

“Hey, don’t blame me.” Mabel grumbled. “That’s what you needed to watch. It’s not like I really wanted to see that.”

In the bed, Effie was trying to wriggle free but thirty-five year old Haymitch – still reeling from his recent birthday and the knowledge that he was now older than his mother when she had died  and thus feeling a little out of sort and acting out even more than usual – was refusing to let her go. He had his arms locked tight around her waist and was keeping her there, his face pressed against her shoulder blade to hide the smile that threatened to burst forth so painfully…

Oh, he remembered this Christmas very well.    

“You think it’s the best Christmas you ever had.” Mabel told him.

He scoffed. “Wasn’t the best.”

“Why are you always so ready to deny everything when it comes to her?” she retorted, straight to the point.

Haymitch shut up and focused on what was happening in the bed. It was rather innocent. Effie was giggling and struggling to escape, he was very determined to keep her in bed.

“Come on, Haymitch!” the escort chuckled at last. “I cannot be late to my mother’s Christmas party.”

“Skip it.” his younger self demanded.

Effie’s laugh, this time, was more insecure than happy. “She will send a search party after me, you realize.”

“Just call her and tell her you’re feeling sick.” he grumbled. “Tell her you’re gonna spend the day in bed. Which you are.”

“Haymitch…” she sighed.

“Look. You’re gonna go. You’re gonna come back in a couple of hours all upset and miserable ‘cause your mother’s a bitch and you’re gonna ask me to fuck you into the new year. We’re gonna be back right here in this bed. See? I’m saving you some time.” he scoffed.

“Charming.” Effie scowled.

“You’ve got such a way with words, Haymitch…” Mabel teased.

The two Haymitch rolled their eyes at the same time.

“You can either go and be bored or you can stay with me all day and have fun.” his younger self shrugged. “The way I see it…”

“I wonder what sort of fun you could possibly be up to.” Effie mocked, watching him over her shoulder. “We already did it twice.”

“Can get you through a third and a fourth and then I’m gonna be up alright.” he replied in the same tone, wriggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, so you will make sure I have a very good time, is that right?” Effie asked, lifting her own eyebrows. “Why, it must really be Christmas.”

Haymitch snorted at his younger self’s pouting. It was mostly fake pouting because it had been a long time at that point since he had left her unsatisfied but… Fuck, he missed the easy sexy banter.  

“Christmas naked in bed together with champagne.” thirty-five year-old Haymitch insisted, making it sound more enticing than it probably was.

Effie clearly hesitated and then flopped back down on the bed with impossible grace, a long slender leg slipping out from under the sheets. She was barely decent now. If he moved to the left he would have had a fair view of her breasts.

Mabel had moved a little back. To give them privacy, he figured.

“Well, if there is champagne…” Effie grinned, her blue eyes sparkling in happiness.

Haymitch was shocked to realize his younger self was watching her the exact same way. He was watching her as if she was the only woman for him in the whole world. And it was so obvious he was starting to understand what Chaff and Finnick had been teasing him about all those years.

He hadn’t known he had already been in love with her at that point.

“You’re cheap.” thirty-five year-old Haymitch accused with a smirk.

Her only answer was to coil a hand at the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss that immediately got dirty.

Haymitch could see tongues from where he was and he shook his head at their antics, unable to ignore the pinching in his heart. He yearned for this. Kissing Effie, joking with her, teasing her… It wasn’t even the sex he missed the most although that had been exceptional, it was the… The partnership. How easy it had been to be together even when they were furious enough to try to strangle each other. He trusted her. And he didn’t trust many people. It was comfortable. Easy. Safe.  

“Can we go now or do you want the full show?” he grumbled because hands were in places now and the sheets wouldn’t cover the action much longer.

“In a second.” Mabel commented and, surely enough, Effie broke the kiss.

“I think I was promised champagne.” she giggled.

“Now?” thirty-five year-old Haymitch groaned.

“A small break would do us both good if you truly intend to keep that up all day.” she deadpanned. She must have squeezed something under the sheets because young Haymitch jumped and tossed her a look that was in between a glare and a tolerant gaze. “Bring me champagne, Haymitch.”

Haymitch could see the clogs turning in his younger self’s head. He had never liked being ordered around and tended to resist her demands at any given opportunity. Sometimes just because he didn’t want to appear as whipped as he truly was.

This time, he gave in though and pushed the sheets away to step out of bed in all the glory of his birthday suit. “So fucking bossy.”

“Now, that, I’m not sorry to see.” Mabel grinned and Haymitch awkwardly rubbed his neck, red in the face.

On the bed, Effie watched him go and, once she was alone, she stared at the ceiling, grinning like a fool and eventually pulled the sheet all the way over her head as if to hide from her own foolishness. It was such a girlish behavior… She looked so in love… Had she looked that in love all the time? Had he?

“Effie.” he whispered, taking a step toward the bed, suddenly feeling sick because he missed her so much…

But the Effie in the bed didn’t hear him. She eventually pushed the sheet off with a huff and a shake of her head at her behavior and snatched a white long-sleeve shirt off the floor. It didn’t exactly keep her decent. It was long enough but a bit see-through and if Haymitch remembered right they had never gotten around to drinking the champagne he had poured them in the living-room because the moment he had seen her wearing his shirt he had pounced. They had rolled under the giant Christmas tree for hours. He remembered watching the twinkling lights tossing red and green shadows on her face.

It had been his best Christmas.

It had been a rare good day.

“I like her.” Mabel said quietly and then rolled her eyes. “Sure, you could have found someone who wasn’t Capitol or an escort but… I like her. She’s good for you.”

“Too bad I’m not good for her.” he scowled.

“Aren’t you?” she asked sadly. “I think she needs you just as much as you need her.” He wasn’t exactly alarmed when she stepped closer but he tensed a little, only relaxing when she cupped his cheek and leaned in. The kiss was chaste, an innocent brush of her lips against his. “Goodbye, Bitchy Mitchy.”

He frowned at that, trying to wrap his arms around her, to hold her back…

He woke up with a start.

4. The Ghost Of Christmas Present

Haymitch sat up on his couch where he had obviously passed out, his grey eyes peering out in the darkness, trying to identify every shadow… His heart was hammering in his chest and he had a strange taste in his mouth. He brushed his fingers against his tingling lips…

He could still feel Mabel’s kiss.

He could…

He breathed out a long steady breath, glancing at the dying fire. What a fucking dream… He glared at the bottle of moonshine that was still propped against the couch’s cushion and kicked it to the corner of the room, swearing he would never buy his liquor at that store again. Whatever was in there, it couldn’t be only alcohol.

What a fucking dream…

The lights turned off abruptly. The lamp overhead, the fireplace… He was left in the dark again and his heart started racing once more… The icy draft of air made the hair at the back of his neck rise, he was sure his skin was covered in goosebump…

“Mabel?” he whispered, feeling stupid for doing so.

The draft of freezing air blew on the side of his face and Haymitch tensed…

“Boo!” someone shouted directly in his ear.

He jumped on his feet right as the lights came back up, clutching his heart and glaring hard at the intruder.

It was probably a testament to the rest of the night that he didn’t think twice about how impossible it was for that boy to be there. Finnick was laughing his ass off as if the joke was hilarious. He actually dropped on the couch, bent in two and holding his stomach.

“Seriously?” Haymitch asked for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“Sorry, sorry…” Finnick kept on laughing, looking up at him, his green eyes full of tears of mirth. “I couldn’t help myself.” The boy flashed him his trademark wolfish grin and Haymitch swallowed hard in hope the lump in his throat would disappear. “How are you doing, Haymitch?”

“I’m having a fucking acid trip.” he deadpanned. “Aside from that… You know… Same old. What about you, kid? Still dead?”

“Very dead.” Finnick grinned as if, this too, was the best joke.

“Just checking.” he shrugged. “So… What does that make you? Let me guess… You’re the ghost of Christmas Present.”

“Yep.” the kid confirmed, making the p pop. “Before I forget… Chaff and Mags say hi and stop being an idiot, please and thank you.”

“And what? They couldn’t make the trip?” he mocked. “Too bad. Could have been a party.”

Finnick’s face turned a little more serious. “I really wanted to be the one to come.” The boy clapped his hands once, the devilish grin bursting forth again, and stood up. “Shall we go?”

“Where?” Haymitch frowned. “’Cause I don’t really care for another trip down my depressing past.”

Finnick rolled his eyes and waved at himself. “Ghost of Christmas Present, here. Keyword: Present. Come on, let’s go.”

Did he have a choice? It hadn’t felt like it with Mabel so he simply followed the boy when he let himself out of the house, hoping it would be brief – and that he would wake up soon. The weather outside wasn’t as bad as the noises made it sound in his living-room. He was honestly surprised because he had fully expected to walk into a blizzard. Another proof that it was all a dream, he figured.

“The storm looks bad from your house because of us.” Finnick explained without him having to ask.

Haymitch studied him suspiciously. “Can you read my mind?”

The boy wriggled his eyebrows. “Do you really want to know?”

The answer to that was not really so Haymitch kept his peace, frowning a little when he realized where they were headed. “The kids’ house?”

“Yeah.” Finnick nodded. “You need to see.”

“Lots of stuff dead people think I need to see, seems like.” he sneered.  

Finnick tossed him a look but didn’t comment. Four’s victor let himself inside the kids’ house but if Katniss and Peeta heard anything, they didn’t let on.  Haymitch followed him to the living-room where the kids were huddled together in front of the fire, a fur blanket draped over their laps. Katniss was clutching a mug of what looked like hot chocolate between her hands and Peeta was lazily poking the fire. There was another mug next to him and a plate full of Christmas cookies.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asked when he glimpsed Katniss’ thoughtful face.

“Nothing.” the girl sighed. “Just… you know. Haymitch.”

The boy’s face grew somber, worried. “I tried, Katniss.”

“I know.” the girl shrugged. “It’s just… He’s getting worse.”

Haymitch’s jaw clenched and he looked down at his feet, feeling both guilty and ashamed for making them worry. It wasn’t the kids’ job to take care of him, it was his job to take care of them. And lately… He had been making a mess of that.

“He’s drinking a lot.” the boy agreed. “I mean… He’s always drunk a lot but this, lately…”

Katniss cleared her throat. “I think he’s lonely. Christmas can make that worse.”

That was more insightful than he would have given the girl credit for.

“I’m not sure it’s just Christmas.” Peeta countered. “Since we’ve been back… I don’t know. Something’s off with him, real or not real?”

“Real. I think.” she scowled, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “I don’t think he wanted to come back here. When we were in Thirteen… He couldn’t even look at pictures from Twelve.”

“You think he feels guilty about the bombing?” the boy asked.

Katniss shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you?” Finnick asked, placing a hand on Haymitch’s shoulder. His shrug echoed the girl’s. Yeah, he did. Of course, he did. He should have thought of that. He should have planned better, insisted that Thirteen got ready to defend the civilian or… something. Four’s victor looked at him with sympathy. “You can’t control everything, Haymitch. You did the best you could.”

“Wasn’t enough to save you, was it?” he hissed.

“That’s not on you either.” Finnick shook his head. “You weren’t even there.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” he muttered.

“Haymitch…” his friend sighed.

“Maybe it’s more complicated than that.” Peeta frowned. “I just… I caught him staring at the bangle the other day…”

Haymitch made a face and automatically covered the battered token he still wore on his left wrist with his other hand. It wasn’t exactly conspicuous as far as jewelry went.

“I don’t get why he’s still carrying that thing around.” Katniss scowled, reaching for a cookie shaped like a Christmas tree and covered in green frosting. “It’s damn ugly.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.” the boy mused and, when Katniss looked at him with incomprehension, he clarified. “Maybe it’s all about Effie?”

“Oh, come on!” Haymitch sputtered, feeling his face reddening. “They don’t have anything else to do than gossip about my sex life?”

Finnick buried his hands in the pockets of his pants and gave him an innocent shrug. “Maybe you’re not as subtle about that as you think you are.”

“Effie?” Katniss repeated. “He hates her. I mean… I know he and Plutarch had to do some sort of bargaining with the rebels to keep her safe because… You know. The Purge.”

“Does he hate her though?” the boy insisted thoughtfully.

“He doesn’t want her dead.” she replied. “That’s as good as it gets with them.”

Peeta’s gaze was lost in the distance and he had a faraway look on his face. Haymitch tensed because that was a dead giveaway that an episode was around the corner but the boy eventually shook his head and flashed Katniss a small smile. The signs hadn’t escaped her either and she looked ready to bolt.

“When I was in the Capitol…” the boy started slowly. “Everything is very blurry before they… Before they reprogrammed me. I don’t remember much. Flashes and bits and pieces… I can’t tell if it’s real or not.”

“Okay.” Katniss said slowly, grabbing his hand. “You don’t have to think about this.”

“No, I’m fine. What I meant is… I think they kept bringing Haymitch up with Effie.” he hesitated. “They said…” He frowned, clearly trying hard to remember, and then winced and shook his head again. “It’s gone.”

“It’s okay.” she repeated.

Peeta flashed her a small smile. “I think there was something between them.”

“Fucking meddling kids…” Haymitch mumbled under his breath.

“Haymitch and Effie?” Katniss scoffed. “No way.”

“Right.” Finnick mocked. “It’s good to know she hasn’t changed.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Peeta sighed. “But I think so. Maybe that’s why he’s so miserable.”

“It’s Haymitch.” Katniss argued. “He doesn’t need an excuse to be miserable.”

“He drinks too much though.” the boy insisted. “I agree with you there. Maybe we should have an intervention.”

“Sure, that’ll go well.” she deadpanned.

They reached for the same cookie at the same time and Peeta snatched it away with a teasing grin, their old mentor clearly forgotten for now.

Haymitch watched them behave like normal kids their age for a few seconds but turned away when they started kissing. He had a good idea of where the kissing would lead. The fireplace’s glow, the blankets in front of it, the picnic dessert… He knew a romantic setting when he saw one.

“I’ve seen enough. I get it. They’re right. I’ve been slipping too deep down the bottle again. I’m gonna get it under control. Lesson learned.” he told Finnick. “Can I go home now?”

“Not yet.” Four’s victor refused. “We have two more stops to make.”

“No offense but they’re the only people I have now so… Ghost of Christmas Present? Probably the easiest job.” he snorted.

Finnick lifted mocking eyebrows and, just like that, the kids’ house vanished and they were in another living-room, where there was no fireplace and where the windows were open wide to let the fresh night air come in. It was always hot in Four. Summer or winter.

Finnick let go of his arm and made a beeline for the couch on which Annie was sitting, her baby on her lap. She was laughing hard, waving a small Christmas star above little Finn’s face to keep her son occupied, while she watched Johanna try and fail to wrap a toy box in glittery paper. There was tape and ribbon everywhere and the few gifts already wrapped and wedged under the Christmas tree in the corner looked like they had been wrapped by a two years old.

Johanna was sitting on the floor, scowling, tape in her hair.

“It’s not fucking funny! Stop laughing!” Seven’s victor snapped. “What’s the fucking point of wrapping  gifts anyway? Ain’t like he will know fucking better!”

“It’s tradition.” Annie argued.

Haymitch’s eyebrows shot up because he would never have imagined Johanna living in a house full-on decorated for Christmas. He had called Four a few times but he hadn’t really kept properly in touch.

“Are we here for me or for you?” he asked the boy who had perched himself on the couch’s armrest and was staring at his son with wide eyes as if he couldn’t take enough of the baby.

“It was one of the perks.” Finnick whispered. “It was supposed to be Chaff. He means more to you. But…”

“You mean a fucking lot to me, kid.” Haymitch protested and then closed his eyes. “Meant.”

“Heard from Twelve?” Jo mumbled once she had managed to make the glittery red paper stick around the box. She pushed the gift under the tree and moved on to the next one.

Finn was clearly spoiled.

“I called Katniss to thank them for the gift.” Annie hummed, drumming her fingers against the baby’s tummy. Oh. So the kids had sent a gift. Maybe he should have thought about that too. After all, the baby was only a few months old and he had promised himself he would keep an eye out for Finnick and… “I didn’t hear from Haymitch.”

Jo snorted bitterly. “Might have broken his phone again. Or he doesn’t care much about us.”

“That’s not true.” he protested, forgetting they couldn’t hear him.

“I’ll tell you who else he doesn’t care much about.” Jo continued, harsh. “Trinket. She hasn’t heard from him either.”

“Oh, did you call her already?” Annie asked, looking up at Jo. “Did you remember to thank her? That Christmas romper she sent is so cute…”  

“Yeah, yeah…” Johanna dismissed. “Not the point. Point is… I told her to get her ass over here again. She won’t come. Stubborn bitch.”

Haymitch frowned and looked at Finnick for an explanation but the young man was lost to his own world, making his fingers dance over Annie’s shoulder, making faces at his son… The baby’s attention was on him too and Haymitch wondered if babies could see ghosts. Or whatever they were.

Not that he was beginning to think this was more than a dream. ‘Cause…

Annie looked concerned by Johanna’s words. “Do you think she’s alright? She won’t do… something stupid, right? Because last time I spoke to her…”

“I think it’s fucking good she can’t afford sleeping pills.” Jo sneered. “She used to pop them like candies. You think… Maybe I should just go up there and drag her back with me.”

Annie actually considered it, which made Haymitch very wary. What were they talking about? According to the kids, Effie was living the dream. A new huge apartment, a new boyfriend, a new awesome job in the television industry…

“I think it has to come from her.” Annie finally sighed. “But if she doesn’t get better… Then, yes, we should visit her. Maybe stage an intervention. We could ask Katniss and Peeta.”

“Don’t think they know how bad it is.” Jo shook her head. “Stubborn bitch.” she spat again. “I fucking hate her.”

“No, you don’t.” Annie countered.

Finn started fussing a little and she hummed him a cheerful Christmas song. And the conversation about Effie was dropped.

The mood was joyful in the living-room, more joyful than Haymitch had ever thought a cohabitation between Annie and Jo could be.

“What’s wrong with Effie?” he asked after several minutes, respectful of Finnick’s wish to watch them but also a little worried.

“Give me a moment.” Four’s victor requested. He hovered behind Jo for a moment and reached for her shoulder but his hand went straight through, just like when Haymitch had tried to grab his brother earlier. A small dejected smile stretched the boy’s lips. “Thanks for taking care of them, Jo.” Johanna gave no indication that she had felt anything at all. She kept on bitching about the presents Annie was forcing her to wrap. Finnick moved back to the couch and crouched in front of Annie. He brushed a kiss against the baby’s forehead. “I love you, Finn. So much.” He cleared his throat, licked his lips and finally looked at his wife. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

“Merry Christmas.” Annie answered, staring back at him, her eyes full of tears.

“Yeah, no shit it’s fucking merry for you.” Jo scowled, oblivious to what was going on. “You get to watch me do all the work.”

Finnick and Annie stared at each other for the longest time. It looked physically painful when the boy finally stood up and tore himself away from his wife and child to walk toward Haymitch.

Haymitch had a lump in his throat again.

It wasn’t fair.

So not fucking fair.

“They’re happy.” Finnick said firmly. “The three of them, they’re happy and safe. That’s all that matters to me. That’s why I fought. That’s why I died. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Kid, you’ve got to stop the mind reading.” Haymitch winced. “That’s fucking creepy.”

“I’m not reading your mind. It’s all over your face.” the boy accused, tossing a last look at them over his shoulder. “They’re happy. That’s good. I’m good.” He reached for Haymitch’s arm again but let his hand hover. “You should check on them more, you know.”

“Yeah.” he admitted. He would call them. It was the first thing he would do when he would finally wake up from this weird trip. He would call Four and he would make more of an effort to keep in touch.

Finnick nodded. “Good. You’re ready for what comes next? Last stop with me, then I’m handing you over. What came before… That was the easy part.”

“Fucking great.” he deadpanned. “Don’t suppose we can just skip the rest and go have a drink, yeah?”

Finnick’s only answer was to grab his arm.    

Haymitch sighed when Four’s living-room faded away to morph into… He was pretty sure it was another living-room but it looked… Well, truthfully it looked like a shithole. The brown paint was peeling off the walls, the furniture was clearly secondhand and sparse, sirens and noises kept filtering through the closed window… The only light in the room came from a small lamp in the corner and the glow of the TV. The living-room was separated from the tiny kitchen by a counter next to which a lone frayed stool waited. The kitchen didn’t look much better and he dreaded to think what the rest of the place was like.

It was still better than the shack he had grown up in but it wasn’t ranking a lot higher in places he would have liked to live in.

There was no hint of Christmas in the room except for a ridiculously tiny plastic Christmas tree on the scratched coffee table. The tree wasn’t higher than the bottle of vodka next to it.

“Where are we?” he asked slowly.

But he already knew.

Because next to the bottle of vodka and the half-full glass, there was a battered cigarette packet on top of which rested a silver lighter with E.T. branded on it. And that lighter he would have recognized anywhere.

He felt his stomach churn.

“Take me back home.” he ordered, turning to Finnick. The boy was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, and was apparently waiting, face grim. “Take me back, Finnick.”

“You need to see.” the kid countered.

“I’ve seen enough, alright?” he snapped. “I get it. I’ll call Plutarch so he can find out what’s going on. I’ll…”

He shut up abruptly when he spotted her. How he had missed her before, he wasn’t sure. She was toying with the telephone in the corner, lifting the receiver only to place it back down, nervously bringing a cigarette to her lips with shaky fingers.

She was wearing a pink nightgown, her blond hair was loose but shorter than he remembered, it curled a little past her chin, she was far too thin. She had been skinny after her rescue, starved, but she had been supposed to be gaining back weight – he knew that for sure because he had stood there enough times, listening to the nurses rebuking her for not finishing her tray in the hospital. She had been putting on some weight when he had left the Capitol with Katniss.

Right then she looked… Not healthy.

With a sigh, she dropped the phone one last time and went to the kitchen. The apartment was so small it only took her a couple of seconds. She opened a cupboard that was alarmingly empty and fished out a packet of cheap Christmas cookies, the kind of brand of pastries she would never have touched before because they weren’t fresh and were full of calories and what not. She opened it and fished a cookie before placing the packet back in the cupboard.

There were no traces of dirty plates or anything remotely hinting at the fact she had had an actual meal that night. She didn’t seem like she was planning on eating. He wondered how much of it had to do with leftovers from starvation and how much was because of how financially tight she was.

That was obvious.

The place she lived in, the state of the furniture, the cheap brand of vodka on the table, the cookies that came from a grocery store instead of a bakery…

“What happened to her?” he whispered, horrified.

Had this been going on since he had left? She had lied to the kids.

Of course, she had lied to the kids. Who was he kidding? He should have known better. He should have…

“The government seized her bank accounts as compensation for her crimes.” Finnick explained. “She’s pretty much ruined. And… other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” he insisted, studying her.

She was tipsy. That much was clear. But then again, given the way she downed what was left of vodka in her glass and with only half a cookie in her stomach, he was surprised she wasn’t completely drunk yet. She took another shaky drag of her cigarette.

“It’s not a good night for her tonight.” Finnick defended her. “She’s holding on better usually. But Christmas… She used to love it too much.”

“What other stuff?” he repeated in a growl.

“She’s alone.” the boy shrugged. “And you can send Plutarch all you want, that’s not who she wants to see. What do you think he’s going to do anyway? He can find her a job and a better place to live but he won’t help her fix what’s broken inside. It’s her family she needs, Haymitch, don’t you get it? She needs Peeta and Katniss. She needs you. She needs to find a place to heal.”

“I tried.” he snapped. “She wouldn’t…”

“She was angry and hurt.” Finnick cut him off. “It’s been a year. You didn’t try again.”

“Maybe I wasn’t brave enough to get rejected again.” he sneered bitterly but it sounded cowardly anyway.

“She was always braver than you when it came to feelings.” the boy acknowledged, nodding at her.

Haymitch’s eyes darted from him to her a couple of times but when she marched toward the phone again, chin proudly jutted high in the air like the little girl who had just crashed on the ice pond, he couldn’t look away. That was the Effie Trinket he knew. Proud to the point of arrogance.

She picked up the phone and typed the numbers very fast, as if she was afraid of losing her nerves.

The hand that was holding the cigarette was shaking so badly now that she almost burned herself.

Clearly whoever she was calling wasn’t answering because she hung up and licked her lips before trying again.

“Come on…” she whispered. “Please… Pick up. Pick up.”

With a sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach, Haymitch remembered the phone ringing earlier that night. The calls that had gone on forever and that he hadn’t bothered to answer.

“Please, Haymitch…” she insisted, her lips wobbling a little. “I need you. Please.”

“I’m here.” he said, stepping as close as he could, reaching for her face… His hand went straight through. “Fuck this. Fuck this. You got to Annie. Why…”

“’Cause Annie’s special.” Finnick shrugged. “She’s not entirely sane. And I’m dead. That helps.”

“But…” he argued, watching, helpless, as Effie collapsed on the floor, sobbing her heart out. He crouched next to her. “Sweetheart, I’m right here. I’m coming for you. I swear. You hear me? I’m coming for you. I’ve got you. Sweetheart…”

She cried and cried, ugly sobs that looked painful…

“We need to go now.” Finnick said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he snarled. “You can be sorry. Fucking look at her! She’s your friend too. Just let me…”

“I don’t make the rules.” the boy replied. “We need to go. He’s coming.”

“Who?” he frowned.

“Death.” Finnick declared and it chilled Haymitch to the bones. He wanted to ask what the boy meant but before he could  say anything the kid smiled. “Merry Christmas, Haymitch.”

Haymitch woke up in his living-room.

5. The Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come

 He didn’t bother trying to figure out if everything was real or not this time around. He bolted off the couch, barely noticing the fuming ashes in the fireplace, the lack of lights or how cold it was in the house. He dashed to the kitchen and the phone, pressing it against his ear while he wrecked his brain for Effie’s number and realized with a start that he didn’t know her new one.

It didn’t matter.

The kids would know.

The wind sounded so strong the whole house seemed to be shaking with the strength of the blizzard but Haymitch didn’t let that stop him, remembering only too well that it hadn’t been that bad with Finnick at his side. He didn’t think to grab a coat or anything, he just ran out, letting the door slam shut behind him…

And he walked straight into the fucking snow storm of the century…

He couldn’t see anything. Waves of snow hit him in the face, the wind pushed him one way and then the other… He tried to walk back but he couldn’t even guess at the shape of his house.

With chattering teeth, he hugged himself and pushed in the vague direction he thought the kids’ house to be, cursing his own stupidity. He had let those weird dreams get to him and now he would die in a snow storm and the kids would find him frozen stiff and blue in the morning.

Merry Christmas indeed.

A human shape flashed ahead and Haymitch’s hopes rose up.

“Hey!” he called out but his voice was lost to the storm. “Wait! Help! Hey!”

He trudged forward, sometimes stumbling and falling to his knees but always pushing himself back up. The mysterious figure seemed to mock him. It hovered out of reach, waiting for him to catch up only to disappear again, leading him on a merry chase.

He was so cold…

He didn’t really notice the smell was weird until the storm abruptly stopped, leaving him standing in front of Twelve’s new graveyard, the pale winter sun making the glint of the snow on the ground almost blinding. It had been night a second ago. Hadn’t it?

But the smell…

Oh, the smell…

He almost gagged with the strength of it.

It reeked of roses. White roses to be specific.

“No.” he muttered. “That’s fucking enough. I don’t…”

He turned around and almost shouted in fear at finding Coriolanus Snow just an inch behind him. In his haste to scramble back, he slipped and fell hard on his ass.

The dead President was all in black, which only made the white rose on his lapel more striking. There wasn’t a hair on Haymitch’s body that didn’t rise when the man’s gaze lowered on him.

Watch out for the third one… He gives me the creeps Maysilee had said.

Death, Finnick had claimed.

Oh, Haymitch was so fucked.

Rationally speaking, he knew he could probably take Snow. The man was ancient – not to mention dead – but the fear… The fear was primitive and brutal and he wasn’t entirely sure it was truly Snow standing right there.

He crawled back when the President took a step forward, he twisted his body and got to his feet.

He ran into the graveyard because it was the only close possible escape way. He sidestepped tombstones, leaped over graves with an agility he hadn’t possessed since he had been sixteen and running for his life…

There were people ahead and he headed there, thinking to alert them to whatever it was that was calmly but surely walking after him in an odd distorted chase.

He froze when he realized who they were.

Johanna and Annie were walking away, both holding the hands of a little boy who couldn’t be more than two years old.

The Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come, then.

After a moment, Katniss followed behind them, angrily wiping at her cheeks.

“Don’t go that way!” he shouted after them even though he knew they wouldn’t be able to hear him. They walked past Snow who was still heading toward him, unhurried, and apparently uncaring for anyone who wasn’t him.

“I am sorry it had to be today.” Peeta said and Haymitch turned back to see what the hell was going on. The boy and Effie were standing next to a freshly dug grave. “Funerals on Christmas Eve… It’s not the best timing.”

“Well, that was Haymitch for you.” Effie chuckled and it would have sounded cheerful if it hadn’t been so damn hollow. “He never had any respect for schedules.”

Peeta snorted without any amusement.

Haymitch felt sick. The name engraved on the tombstone at the mouth of the open grave… It was his.

And he jumped out of his skin again when Snow finally caught up with him, standing far too close for comfort. The dead president didn’t attack him though. He simply watched the boy and Effie.

“You always were a creepy asshole.” Haymitch accused.

If Snow heard, he didn’t let on.

“I understand you are the one who found him.” Effie said slowly. “I am sorry.”

“The number of times I joked I would find him dead in a puddle of his own sick…” Peeta scoffed and then passed a hand over his face, blue eyes suspiciously shiny. “I always tried to be the first one in the house lately, you know. It just… It was getting very bad. I didn’t want Katniss… Seeing him like that, it would have destroyed her.”

Effie’s features remained schooled into something resembling detachment but Haymitch saw the cracks in the mask. He knew her too well.

“That was thoughtful of you.” she observed and then licked her lips. “I wish… I wish you had called me when it started getting out of hand.”

It wasn’t a reproach, not really. At least it wasn’t voiced as such but…

“You have your boyfriend and your job…” Peeta said defensively. “It wasn’t your place to take care of him anymore.”

“My boyfriend and my job. Yes.” she repeated in a broken whisper. Because it was a lie. Nothing but a lie. She looked close to death herself and he didn’t understand how the boy could stand there and not call her out on it. She was far too thin, she had dark bags under her eyes the cheap make-up wasn’t covering and her coat actually looked threadbare – that should have been a dead giveaway even if she had pretended it was all the latest chic. “Do you know… He has always been a compulsive drinker, of course, but… He used to be good at toying with the limits. Drinking himself into alcohol poisoning… It came close a couple of times, to be truthful, but…”

“I think he had been looking for an out for a while, you know.” Peeta shrugged. “He just gave up, Effie. Ever since he came back to Twelve after the war… He didn’t want to live anymore, that’s as simple as that. We weren’t enough. The only thing he cared about at the end was where he would find his next bottle. We tried to help. We weren’t enough.”

“Oh, you are not responsible, dear.” Effie countered firmly, squeezing his shoulder.

“He was a selfish asshole.” the boy spat. Guilt flashed on Peeta’s face when he looked back at her. “Sorry.”  

Haymitch wasn’t sure if the kid was apologizing for the language or the sentiment.

“He truly was.” she simply agreed with a smile. “Would you mind giving me a minute? I will join you back at the house.”

Peeta hugged her tight, gave a last glance at the grave and then left. Effie waited until he was well away to fully turn toward the open grave. Haymitch didn’t dare look. He didn’t want to see his own coffin. The undertakers were waiting a polite distance away, shuffling on their feet to keep warm, clearly impatient to be done.

“You are the only man I ever truly loved.” Effie whispered slowly, swallowing hard to keep the tears at bay. It didn’t really work and she bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “You had a lot of flaws. And I really do mean that, Haymitch. And I am so angry with you, so angry… I would have overlooked them all, you know. I would have overlooked everything if only you had loved me a little. If only…” A sob escaped her and she hastily rummaged in her purse for a handkerchief. It took her a few seconds to collect herself and Haymitch could do nothing but stare at her, feeling stupid and in pain because… It was all such a waste. “I only wanted you to love me back. Everything else… Everything else would have fallen into place if you had just loved me back. I know it.” She shook her head and awkwardly reached for the tombstone, patting it twice. “I hope you are with your girlfriend now. I hope you are finally happy and at peace. I suspect I will join you before long. This Panem… I do not think it is really made for me. I love you. Still.” She chuckled bitterly. “Always.”

She licked her lips and carefully wiped her cheeks, nodding at the undertakers before hurrying away as if she couldn’t bear to see them close the grave.

“Effie!” he called after her, finally breaking out of the strange spell that had fallen on him.

He tried to follow her but Snow grabbed his arm and everything turned icy. Suddenly he could see a cloud in front of his mouth with every breath and the chill in the air was bad. His extremities were numb and no matter how many times he tried to shrug the hand off he couldn’t get him to let go.

It was night once more.

The undertakers were gone but the grave was still gaping open.

“What the fuck do you want?” he shouted, trying to struggle free…

The storm was picking up again and Haymitch couldn’t bear the cold.

Snow’s gaze was dead, absolutely dead, and Haymitch had looked at death in the eyes enough times to recognize it. He needed to get out if he wanted to survive. He needed…

With the hand that wasn’t gripping him, Snow slowly lifted his arm and imperiously pointed at the gaping grave.

The message was clear and Haymitch swallowed hard, terror and dread making his stomach churn.

“I look in there and then I’m done, you hear?” he snapped. “I’m done with this fuckery! I want to wake up! I want to…”

The grip on his arm tightened to the point Haymitch was sure he was going to lose the limb. The cold was so brutal it was burning.

Slowly, he took a few deep breaths and inched toward the grave. Snow let him go then, of course.

He peered inside the hole and found an open coffin. He frowned and looked a little closer… It was empty.

“What..” he started to ask.

He was pushed from behind.

So violently he didn’t have time to grab around for any kind of purchase.

He fell.

He fell and it lasted forever.

A lifetime of a fall.

And then he was inside the coffin and the lid slammed shut and he was trapped, trapped, trapped…

He hammered his fists on the wood, screamed himself hoarse…

He wasn’t dead.

He could still fix it.

He could still fix everything.

He wasn’t dead yet. 

6. The Best Christmas

Haymitch woke up with a start.

At least he thought he did wake up this time.

The pale light of dawn was trickling through the windows and the fire was slowly dying in the fireplace. The house was warm, there was no suspicious creaking or banging…

He gave it a few minutes. Just to be sure.

But when no more ghost appeared out of nowhere to scare him half to death, he let out a long breath.

“Holy shit.” he muttered, rubbing his face. His eyes fell on the open metal box with the pictures he had never put away and he licked his lips. “Right.” He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was haul his ass up the stairs and crash on his bed. “Right.”

He wasn’t dead yet.

The first thing he did was go into the kitchen and pick up the phone. His first call was to Four. It rang and rang…

“What the actual fuck?” Jo’s voice grumbled at the other end of the line.

“Hey, Jo.” he mumbled.

“Haymitch?” she growled. “It’s fucking three a.m.”

Time difference. Right.

He glanced at the clock on the wall that had long since stopped working and then took a peek at the backyard through the window over the sink, stretching the phone’s cord as far as it would go. Snow glistened in the light but it had stopped pouring down. It actually looked pretty. The sun was very low still, he supposed it couldn’t be much later than six in the morning.

“Yeah, sorry.” he snorted. “I was just calling to say… You know… I haven’t been keeping in touch…”

“Can you keep in touch in daylight?” Jo snapped. There was another muffled voice on the other end and then Jo scoffed. “Just Haymitch calling in the middle of the night like it’s normal behavior. What do I know? He woke up the kid?”

“Say hi to Annie.” he requested and then winced. “Look, sorry, I can’t stay long. I’ve got lot of stuff to do today…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jo snarled.

He preferred to ignore that. “I was thinking… Maybe me and Effie could visit soon, yeah? Check on you, Annie and the boy.”

“You and Effie.” Jo repeated, dumbfounded. “How fucking drunk are you right now? That train left the station long ago, Haymitch.”

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged self-consciously. “I’ll call back tomorrow, alright? Okay. Merry Christmas!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  Johanna screeched. “You can’t call people at three a.m. and then just…”

He hung up before she could really get into it and dialed up another number he hadn’t used in a really long time. It took almost ten minutes before someone picked up.

“You work for the government.” he started when someone actually answered the phone, without waiting for a proper greeting. “Ain’t you supposed to be available at all times? What if this was an emergency?”

“Haymitch?” Plutarch asked sleepily.

Plutarch had never been an early riser and if it was three in Four… Well, then it was four in the city.

“Yeah.” he confirmed. “Merry Christmas! I need a favor.”

It was almost fifteen minutes before he had managed to extort what he wanted from the Secretary of Communications – and it did have its perks to know people in high places. He rushed to the kids’ house next, barely remembering to grab his coat.

He hammered on their locked door until Peeta opened it, rubbing sleep out of his eyes like a small boy. Haymitch hugged him without giving him time to pause or think.

“What the…” the boy exclaimed, taken aback. “What’s going on?”

“Merry Christmas!” Haymitch retorted, enjoying the look of total confusion on Peeta’s face. It was good not to be the one being confused for once. He had been confused enough in the last… How long had that night lasted? He spotted the girl hanging by the living-room threshold, warily watching him, and he let go of the boy to hug her. “And merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart.”

“How wasted did you get last night?” she grumbled, hugging him back for a second and then shoving him away. “It’s barely six.”

“And you hate Christmas.” Peeta reminded him, closing the front door. “I need coffee. You need coffee too. A whole pot of it.”

“Don’t have time.” He shook his head, following them into their kitchen nonetheless. “There’s a hovercraft coming from Thirteen to pick me up  in thirty minutes and I need a shower.”

“Finally, he washes.” Katniss muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes only to frown. “What do you mean a hovercraft is coming to pick you up? What the hell did you drink this time? You’re completely drunk.”

“I’m sober.” he argued. At least, he felt sober. A bit hyper, yeah, but sober. He waved his hand in the air. He didn’t have time for that. “Look, kids, I need a huge favor.”

Peeta and Katniss exchanged a look.

“Let’s hear it.” the boy said, not without reserve.

Haymitch winced. “I need you to get rid of my booze. And this time, don’t forget the stash in the garden ‘cause that’s where I kept everything before the Quell and you never noticed so… Yeah. Throw it all away.”

“Are you joking?” Peeta frowned. “Is this a joke?”

“Haymitch… You want to stop drinking?” Katniss asked, completely stunned.

“It’s not the important thing.” he dismissed.

“Sorry but that sounds huge to me.” the boy retorted.

“Look, I’m gonna go get Effie and I’m gonna bring her back.” he replied. “We need to have a Christmas dinner tonight, okay?”

“Christmas dinner was last night and you missed it.” Katniss grumbled.

“What do you mean you’re going to go get Effie?” Peeta objected. “You can’t just show up and… Abduct her. And what is this about a hovercraft? You sound…”

“Don’t worry about how I sound, just do what I say.” he cut him off and then made a face. “Please. If you can clean a little around the house, I wouldn’t say no either… Add some Christmas thingy… Make it look nice for her, you know.”

“Oh, sure.” Katniss sulked, pouring herself some of the coffee Peeta had just set to brew. “We’re gonna spend Christmas cleaning your house while you go have hovercrafts hallucinations in the meadow.”

“Haymitch.” the boy squeezed his shoulder. “Sit down. Have some coffee. Sober up a little.”

“I am fucking sober.” he snapped. “I swear. I’m fucking sober, Plutarch’s sending a fucking hovercraft and I’m gonna go and get my girl back no matter what so… Would you please help me? For fuck’s sake! Fucking ghosts are more helpful than the two of you.”

The kids exchanged another look.

Haymitch was ready to bet they were silently debating having him committed.

“Does Effie know you’re coming?” Peeta asked tentatively.

“No.” he admitted. “Look, she deserves a nice Christmas, alright? So I’m gonna go get her and we’re gonna have a nice Christmas, the four of us.”

“How do you know she’s not having a nice Christmas already?” Katniss frowned. “We talked to her last night and she was raving about that party she was going to…”

“I just know.” he scowled. “Could you two fucking trust me for a second?”

“Did you really talk to Plutarch?” Peeta insisted.

“Yes.” he sighed. “Look, I don’t have time for this… I need a shower. If I show up like this… Well, she’s gonna rant about how I don’t have proper hygiene and, let’s face it, she’s kinda right about that but that’s no way to get a woman back so… I’m gonna go shower. Help me, don’t help me. Whatever.”

“You’re going to do the trip to the Capitol and back in one day?” Katniss asked, pushing a mewling Buttercup aside. Peeta wordlessly fixed the cat a plate.

“It’s a three hours ride by hovercraft.” he shrugged, on his way out through the back door. “We’ll be back late afternoon.”

“Very confident about that we.” the girl muttered dubiously. “She’s gonna kick him out the door.”

Haymitch didn’t let them rain on his parade. He was on a roll.

It felt a little like the rush of alcohol right before a very good binge and it was only once he was finally sitting in that hovercraft, in the nicest unstained pressed pants and clean navy blue woolen sweater he owned, well on his way to the Capitol, that he felt the first doubts creeping in.

What the fuck was he doing deciding on sobriety and crossing Panem on a whim just because he had the weirdest nightmare ever? He had had nightmares before. He had had bad dreams…

What if she had rebuilt her life? What if she was having parties every night and had found a new boyfriend?

He didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t believe in prophetic dreams or whatever it was supposed to have been. He didn’t believe in fate. He really didn’t believe in Christmas miracles…

It had just been a dream.

It had to be.

But if it had been a dream why did he felt so much lighter? The guilt that he had been carrying around ever since his Games, the knowledge that he was responsible for his family’s and his girl’s death… It was gone. And when he probed at that particular dark corner of his mind, he didn’t feel as bad because… That was gone. Over. The kiss with Mabel had proved that well and truly. There were no more feelings there. Tenderness, yeah. Fond recollections. But no love.

So maybe it was his unconscious playing tricks on him with the help of a particularly vicious batch of moonshine…

Or maybe it had been real.

The whole thing.

Maybe…

The only thing he knew for sure was that he never wanted to see Effie upset again, never like in that vision Finnick had showed him and he certainly didn’t want her crying on his grave about the life they never had together.

What he wanted…

What he really wanted was to go back to that Christmas they had spent in bed six years earlier.

Mabel had been right. It had been his best Christmas.

And he was done denying.

He was done.

The hovercraft landed in the Capitol and he didn’t let himself hesitate or second-guess when he stepped out. As Plutarch had sleepily promised, there was a car and a driver waiting for him on the tarmac – and, even better, the driver knew her new address thanks to the former Gamemaker’s presence of mind.

He felt the urge for a drink. Several times. But he was so committed to his present goals that it wasn’t difficult to ignore it for now. The temptation to stop at a bar on the way just for a liquid dose of courage was fleeting. He didn’t want to risk it.

The Capitol had changed a lot since the war, rebuilding had completely reshaped the city, but it was still wearing its best Christmas outfit. Everywhere he looked, there were decorations and trees and what not… The day before it would have irritated him, now it simply made him smirk.

He was so impatient, he could hardly sit still.

And when the car left the nice districts behind to venture in a neighborhood that looked slightly dangerous, he knew whatever that dream was, it hadn’t lied. There were no decorations here. Just new grey squared buildings and unsmiling people. He didn’t like the thought of her walking around alone in that place. It looked like the kind of place a woman like her would get mugged because she would be an easy prey.

It was so drab.

She didn’t belong there.

Finally, the car parked in front of one of the grey buildings and Haymitch climbed out, looking around with uncertainty. Her name wasn’t on the buzzer but the hall door was broken and he only had to push to let himself inside. He found the right floor thanks to the mailboxes and just went straight for the stairs – he didn’t trust the elevator and it allowed him to burn some of that restlessness.

Once he was standing in front of her door, he nervously wiped his sweaty palms on his coat and knocked. And when it didn’t get him any answer, he knocked again, checking his watch. With the time difference, it was a little past nine in the morning. Not early at all for her.

He heard a small noise inside and he knocked again. Still, there was no answer.

“Effie?” he called, finally understanding what the problem might be. “It’s me, sweetheart. Can you open up?”

There was a long moment of complete stillness on the other side of the door and then bolts were audibly turned. He counted three until the jingle of keys signaled the door was unlocked. There was another second of immobility before she actually opened it though.

And then he saw her and he stopped doubting. The same confidence he had woken up with rose up. This was the right decision. He had been right to come.

Because she looked like hell.

Just like she had last night in Finnick’s vision. Too thin – albeit not yet as skeletal as she would be two years from then if he messed this up – upset and hangovered as opposed to tipsy. On that front, he could sympathize. She was floating in her long-sleeved green dress.

She didn’t say anything. She just stared.

“Can I come in?” he asked because he wasn’t doing this in the hallway.

She blinked and suddenly it was like she had come back to herself. “Oh. Of course. My apologies. Come in. I was not… I was not expecting visitors, you will have to excuse the mess. It is…”  She had stepped back during her little speech and he took the opportunity to let himself in and close the door behind him. If he needed any more proof… The place was the same as in his dream. The ridiculously tiny Christmas tree was still on the coffee table with the now very empty bottle of vodka… He didn’t need to check the cupboard to know he would find a packet of cookies. Effie cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed both by the apartment and…Well… He wasn’t entirely at ease either. Last time they had been together in the same room it had become nasty. She patted her chin-long hair self-consciously. “I did not know you were in town. I talked to the children last night and I must have misunderstood because I could have sworn they said you were…”

“Getting myself wasted?” he snorted. “Yeah. I was.”

“I see.” she nodded, even though she clearly didn’t see anything because she looked completely lost. “I am not quite sure I understand…”

“I came to take you home.” he announced.

She looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Home.” she repeated.

“Yeah.” he confirmed firmly. “It’s Christmas and we’re gonna spend it at home. With the kids. I have a hovercraft waiting for us. Guess we’re gonna need to send something nice to Plutarch ‘cause I did wake him at four in the morning so…”

He shrugged.

She stared.

“Are you drunk?” she asked after a few seconds.

“Why is everybody asking that?” he sighed.

“I wonder.” she deadpanned and there was a hint of amusement in there but she covered the slip by turning away from him and snatching a cigarette and her lighter from the coffee table. She didn’t sit down and didn’t invite him to make himself at home so he remained standing, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. “What do you want, Haymitch?”

“Told you.” he grumbled.

“It did not make much sense so you will forgive me for not understanding it.” she retorted. “I do not see what…”

“Are you still mad at me?” he cut her off.

She wedged the cigarette between her lips and flicked the lighter a few times before it finally worked. She was irritated, that was plain to see at her jerky movements. She used to hide it better.

“You still have deplorable manners.” she remarked.

“Not what I asked.” he pointed out.

“Does it matter?” she challenged. “You cannot wake up one day and decide that you suddenly want me to come to Twelve…”

“Yeah, I can. It’s Christmas.” he snapped, automatically eying the bottle of vodka.

“You hate Christmas.” she shot right back.

“Well, now I love it. What do you know. Things change.” he spat. “Except for one fucking thing, yeah? We can’t go one fucking minute without jumping at each other’s throat.”

“Language.” she rebuked. “This whole thing is crazy. You cannot seriously think that…

“I’m done. That’s what I came to tell you. I’m done.” he interrupted her again, shocking her into silence.  

“Done with what?” she whispered after a second, jutting her chin in the air. But it looked more defeated than defiant. As if she was trying to pretend she was fine when she so obviously wasn’t.

“You called me last night.” he stated.

She was all poker face but he saw the surprise flash in her eyes. “You did not answer.”

“I’m here now.” he said, lifting his arms and letting them fall down in a helpless gesture. “And I’m fucking done, Effie. It’s gone on long enough. I’m done. So be done too and let’s move on, yeah?”

“I do not understand what you are talking about.” she retorted, taking a frantic drag of her cigarette. “What are you done with? Us ? Haven’t we been done for a whole year now? Have we even ever begun? This…”

“I’m done with this stupid war between us, alright?” he growled. “I’m done with… I’m done failing the kids ‘cause I’m too busy getting myself shit-faced so it stops hurting. I’m done fucking hating on Christmas just ‘cause you love it so much it’s impossible not to think about you every second and the pain’s unbearable. I’m done drinking full point ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t forcing Peeta to pick up my dead corpse from the floor in two years. I’m done watching you get so upset you do that little wheezy sound when you cry. I’m really done with that.” The place wasn’t that big. He only had to take one step forward to be able to grab her hand and he squeezed her fingers hard. “I’m done being without you, you hear? I’m done.”

“What are you talking about? What is this about dying in two years? Are you sick? Is this what it is about? Are you…” she worried, looking around for a place to put down her cigarette. When she found none she simply rolled her eyes and crushed it on an already badly damaged wooden storage unit. Then she cupped his cheek and studied him with wide eyes, as if she was trying to see through him. “Haymitch, is it your liver? Are you dying?”

“I ain’t fucking dying. Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” he grumbled but leaned into her hand. “Alright, you ain’t gonna believe me, sweetheart, but I’ve had those visions last night… There were those ghosts…”

“Ghosts.” she repeated with a frown. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Doesn’t matter.” he dismissed. “Point is… They showed me things, okay? And the bottom line is… It’s not how I want my life to go. You’re here crying and drinking yourself to sleep… I’m over there drinking myself to death…” He shook his head. “I saw where that leads, Effie. We’re not going down that road. We’re not. You’re coming home with me, yeah? We put the past behind us. We try to make a future. A good one. You and me and the kids. What do you say?”

She was searching his gaze, biting down on her bottom lip, so tempted … He could see it. How tempted she was. What did she have to tie her up here after all?

But what he was offering wasn’t enough.

She was going to pull away. He saw it in her eyes.

“It is obvious that dream upset you…” she began slowly. She dropped her hand from his cheek to his shoulder.

“I love you.” he said quickly, without even really thinking about it.

In that last vision she had said that if he had just loved her back everything would have fallen into place. And the truth was… He had loved her for a long time. He had just been too stubborn to admit it, too quick to deny it. He had thought those words were impossible but they were actually almost easy now. The weight was gone. He had seen everything he needed to see. He understood. He did. He remembered. That was what being in love should have always felt like: being invincible, ready to take on the world, not weak and so terrified of losing her he hurt her at every possible opportunity before others had the chance.

“I love you.” he repeated for good measure and then shrugged with a slightly self-depreciating smirk. “Still. Always.”

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. More talking, maybe. Yeah, definitely more talking. Some arguing. Maybe even full out screaming.

Not the violent way she grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him in a brutal kiss.

Not that he protested.

He was only too happy to wrap his arms around her waist and tug  her closer.

He couldn’t help but compare it to the kiss he had shared with Mabel the previous night. It had felt so wrong but this… This was oh so very right…

Suddenly she drew back, pulling on his bottom lip with her teeth. She was glaring and he wasn’t sure what he had done to piss her off in the last couple of minutes aside from kissing her senseless. “If this is some kind of joke… If you think this is a funny prank to pull for Christmas or…”

He shut her up by kissing her again and she couldn’t have been very concerned with it being a prank because she kissed him back, locking her arms around his neck and hopping… He stumbled back a little, not used to it anymore, but he caught her anyway, locking his hands under her ass to support her weight…

“This looks fun but I’ve got a car and a hovercraft waiting and I kind of forced the kids to cook another Christmas dinner so maybe…” he hesitated between two kisses. There was a door on the right he was pretty sure led to the bedroom and…

“Later?” she finished for him.

“Yeah.” he mumbled against her lips.

They didn’t stop kissing. Or touching each other.

“You can stop anytime now.” she hummed right before pushing her tongue in his mouth again.

“You’re the one kissing me.” he grumbled, rocking his hips a little because the whole thing was making him feel very tight in his pants and… “Oh, fuck it.”  he spat when she licked that spot under his ear only to bite down on it.

He dropped them on the couch, not understanding her cry of warning.

At least not before the thing gave out under them and they ended up on the floor.

They remained very still for a second, assessing injuries. Haymitch’s back was going to be bruised black and blue but he didn’t think anything was broken. He was about to ask her if she was alright when she started laughing.

A real laugh.

It rang loud and clear in the room, prompting him to chuckle too because… As ridiculous as the situation was, it was so typical of them. Breaking furniture everywhere they tried to fuck.

She sat up and then used his shoulder to push herself up to her feet. “I think that it is fate’s way of telling us I need to pack.”

“Don’t believe in fate.” he commented, grabbing the hand she outstretched to pull him off the floor.

“You do not believe in fate but you believe in strange visions enough to risk coming here.” she teased. “Who were those ghosts anyway?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” he bargained.

She accepted that and went to fill her old pink suitcase.

“What should I bring?” She frowned at the meager collection of clothes in her closet.

“Everything.” he declared, grabbing an armful of dresses and tossing them in her suitcase to her utter horror.

“Haymitch! There is a proper way to fill a suitcase and this is not it!” she gasped.

They bickered all the time it took her to properly pack everything but when they were done, he had had his way and there was nothing important left in the apartment. She never acknowledged she was moving for good but she was not denying it either.

He would take what he could get.

He recounted the whole weird night for her during the flight, watching her change color when he told her about the parts where she had been a kid. By the end, she was even more convinced than he was about the whole ghost thing.

“I am not moving into that house.” she declared. “I will stay at the children’s. And you can stay with us too. Your house is haunted.”

“They said they were Christmas spirits.” he shrugged. “And I guess they made their point. It’s all fine.”

“How can you say that?” she exclaimed. “I can hardly wrap my head around the whole thing.”

“Then, don’t.” he dismissed. “Maybe I was just high. Maybe the parts about you were things I knew but I didn’t know I knew, right? You talk all the time. Maybe you told me all that stuff years ago and I just hallucinated about it.”

She pouted. “Perhaps.”

“Not the important thing anyway.” he insisted.

“The important thing is that you love me.” she replied.

“Right.” he smirked.

She beamed when he didn’t deny it or evaded and it was so simple to make her happy he wondered why it had taken him so fucking long to get his head out of his ass. They spent the rest of the trip aggressively kissing and making the attendants uncomfortable with their far too demonstrative displays of affection.

Haymitch couldn’t even bring himself to care.

Not about that and not about the fact that he was seen dragging pink luggage throughout the District. He wasn’t sure what shocked people more: how hard he was smiling or the merry Christmas he kept tossing at them just to see them stare back, obviously scared by his cheerfulness. That part was fun.

“You are acting entirely too smug.” Effie chided, grinning like a fool too. She slipped her hand in his and he let her, squeezing her fingers. “It is rude. Lower it down a notch.”

“You first.” he challenged.

She huffed but didn’t stop grinning and he didn’t stop with his childish antics until they reached the Village. All the windows in his house were opened wide and he wondered if the kids wanted him to catch pneumonia. The reason for that became clear once they were inside though. He had asked them to clean around a little and they had certainly done that.

The house didn’t smell like a dumpster anymore.

It actually smelt fresh.

Even if it was freezing.

They must have made some noise because Katniss’ head poked out of the living-room. “You’re back. Good. The cleaning’s your Christmas present, by the way. And I hope you were serious about getting rid of the booze because Peeta took that to heart.” Then she spotted Effie and her eyes widened. “You came!”

Effie smiled, suddenly a little hesitant. “Hello, dear.”

She only relaxed once the girl hugged her, so obviously pleased to see her that she forgot to be nervous. The kids had really done a good job with the place. Not only was it tolerably clean, they had hung on some Christmas decorations around.

“No tree.” Effie pouted.

“Next year.” Haymitch promised quietly, pressing a discrete kiss against her head. “You can even put fairy lights outside and I won’t complain. Much.”

She shook her head and took advantage of Katniss leaving the room to steal a real kiss. “I love you when you are in a good mood, you know.”

“Only when I’m in a good mood?” he snorted.

She pushed him back a little only to steal another kiss right after that.

“Mistletoe.” she explained vaguely before kissing him again.

If the noise Katniss made was to be believed, she hadn’t really planned on that mistletoe seeing any tongue action. She made a face and then declared loudly that they should all go over to her house while his got warm again so they could have dinner.

Peeta looked absolutely shocked when he saw Effie but it soon turned into delight. Once she had hugged the boy tight, Haymitch rolled his eyes for her benefit. “They had no faith in me.”

“They should know better.” she teased. “You can be very persuasive when you want something.”

“Right?” he triumphed.

He was ignored by everyone.

Dinner was a joyful affair and even though Haymitch felt the urge for a drink, he managed to hide his shaking hands and keep his anxiety to himself. It would start getting really bad the next day, he figured. He knew what was waiting ahead and it wouldn’t be pretty… But for now, right then, sitting at that table and bumping legs with Effie under the table every two seconds, sharing secret smiles with her and joking with the kids, it didn’t seem that important.

There would be time to fix that tomorrow. For now…

“To the best Christmas.” he toasted over dessert, with a glass of water.

“To the best Christmas.” they all echoed, clearly amused by his newfound enthusiasm.

He didn’t care if they mocked him.

Effie’s hand rested on his thigh and all was right in the world.

Finally, everything was fixed.

The End

AN: I hope you enjoyed this! Please doooo let me know, this was a loooot of work!      

[lafaiette]

Warm Heart

Sequel to Warm Home. This time Scarlet catches a cold and Solas, still not used to sickness and diseases, panics and hates himself even more, because he’s the reason elves (and consequently Scarlet, too) can fall sick, now. Fluffy and a little bit angsty ; v ;

Her throat aches and her head feels light when she opens her eyes. Her sleep and dreams have been pleasant and beautiful as always, but something felt weird as she wandered through the Fade hand in hand with Solas. An odd feeling at the edge of the mind, like an annoying sting or light burn.

She probably caught a cold in Emprise du Lion, when she fell into a freezing river and drenched herself with its icy, uncomfortable water, which seemed to reach her very bones and whose touch left her only much later, despite Solas’ warming magic and the comfort of a bowl of boiling stew.

Her nose is running, she can feel it. It’s stuffed, too, and she scrunches it miserably, trying to find some comfort and let more air into her lungs, but that sends a great pang of pain run through her head and she whines pitifully.

She hates getting sick. Being sick meant not being useful back in her clan, and even though nobody ever let someone feel bad for it, the best huntress couldn’t afford to stay in bed. Also, despite the Keeper’s healing magic, the harsh Dalish life could worsen one’s conditions and she remembers one particular hard night when her fever refused to go down and her parents stayed by her pallet for the whole time.

She touches her forehead, then her neck and armpits and she knows she has got a high fever just like that time. She wonders if Solas knows any old elven magic to help her, but then she remembers the time when he got sick and he had no idea what to do and what a cold actually was.

He’s still sleeping soundly next to her and her next thought goes to his wellbeing. He risks to catch her same illness, if they stay so close to each other, sharing the same air. Keeper Deshanna never allowed the other members of the clan to visit a sick friend for that very reason.

She softly groans, both because her throat hurts immensely and because Solas will inevitably worry about her and believe he is the one who caused her to fall sick in the first place. He recovered from his cold just a few days ago and he will surely come to the conclusion that he was contagious enough to spread it to her. And that will lead him to feel terribly bad, guilty, something she noticed he does a lot, and she doesn’t want that. She wants him to be happy, not feel bad about himself!

She holds her breath and tries to crawl out of bed without waking him up. It shouldn’t be difficult, since he sleeps pretty heavily, but today of all days he does not or maybe he was already half-awake in the first place, because his hand immediately touches her waist and his husky, tender voice says, making heat fill her belly despite her miserable condition:

“Good morning, ma vhenan.”

“Ah.” She desperately tries to think of a way to avoid replying. He will hear her stuffed voice and understand what’s happening. But if she doesn’t reply, he will understand something is wrong all the same and then he will look at her face and see her shiny eyes and red, running nose.

Mumbling a quick prayer to the Creators inwardly, she turns to him, trying to show her best, healthiest smile, hoping her fever can’t be seen that easily. But just then, just as Solas’ lips curl into a bigger smile and her heart thumps faster, happily, in her chest, she sneezes.

Right on his face, with no way for her to hold it back, so sudden it was.

She gasps, ashamed and shocked, and she’s about to apologize when another sneeze comes and then another one. She whines, pressing a hand on her mouth and keeping her eyes shut, to avoid seeing Solas’ expression. She is definitely as red as the tomatoes her clan used to steal from the rich Free Marcher farmers, now.

“I’m sorry!” she babbles and her panic grows, because her nose is running more, now, and she has nothing to dry or blow it with. She needs to get up and take her handkerchief, but she feels too weak and feverish and her head feels lighter than ever.

“My love!” Solas’ voice sounds concerned and as panicked as hers and she tentatively opens one eye to look at him. There are still some droplets on his face and she groans, falling back onto her pillow and refusing to look at him again.

“Scarlet.” Solas’ worry is reaching infinite levels and she feels even worse. “Scarlet, are you sick?” He touches her forehead and gasps, then he makes a soft noise that sounds like a choked sob. “Yes, you are! Scarlet, look at me!”

She does and he’s giving her such a sweet, loving look that she can’t help but cuddle a bit into his arms.

“I’m sorry.” she repeats lamely, but he shakes his head, his long, calloused fingers touching her cheeks and hair in the most beautiful way.

“For what, my light?” he says and his voice is still slightly high with panic, the same panic visible in his eyes, too. “This is my fault! I should have…”

“No, it’s not.” she firmly says, glaring at him. “Solas, I’m sick because I fell into freezing water in the middle of a snowstorm. Not because you caught a cold.”

He sniffles and frowns, ready to berate himself, ready to bear the fault, but she hushes him with a finger pressed on his soft lips and continues, smiling sweetly, albeit a bit weakly due to the fever: “Solas, ma vhenan. It’s not your fault. Alright?”

He hesitates for a long while, then he begrudgingly nods and asks timidly: “What do you need? Tell me and I will bring it to you, even if it is in the Black City itself.”

She giggles, touched by his melodramatic concern, which is endearing and adorable, but then a coughing fit shakes her body and the panic in Solas’ eyes turn into full despair, as if he never heard anyone cough before, despite all the sick refugees they saw during their travels.

“Scarlet!” he exclaims, grasping her right hand and squeezing it tightly, so much it almost hurts. “I will go call the healer!” He jumps out of the bed, without even glancing at his clothes neatly folded on the couch next to hers, ready to dash out of the room with his night shirt and pants, the comfortable ones she sewed for him.

“Wait!” she manages to croak out and he immediately goes back to her, cupping her cheek and taking her hand again. She nods at the pitcher of water on the small table near the couch and asks timidly: “Could you get me some water, please? I’m parched.”

“Of course.”

He runs to the table and comes back to the bed in less than five seconds, filling a cup with water and handing it gently to her. He caresses her hair as she drinks it and when she’s finished, she smiles at him and says: “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else?” He kisses her and she makes an alarmed sound, looking at him with outrage.

“Solas! I don’t want you to get sick again!”

“Hush.” He smiles and brushes back her hair from her sweaty forehead. “Can I bring you something else? Food, more pillows?” His eyes widen and he quickly gets up, heading to the small storeroom where they keep their spare sheets, a broom, and the mannequin Scarlet uses to sew.

He comes back with a pile of blanket in his arms and he sets them all around her in what looks like a strategic plan, all in different points of the bed, ensuring no draft can touch her, that all her feverish skin is adequately protected.

“Oh, Solas.” she sighs fondly, looking at him with a sweet, patient smile. He also brought some furs and their bed looks like the den of a wolf, now. She can’t deny it’s marvelously cozy and warm, but her fever is making her sweat a lot and she longs for some kind of comforting cold.

“You must sweat to lower your fever as quickly as possible.” Solas says with a stern look before she can protest, already recognizing the pout on her face. He reminds her of Keeper Deshanna for a second. “I know how this works, now!”

“Fine. I’ll stay among the hot furs.” she gives in, smiling at him again, and he smiles, too, a bit relieved. Then he shows her something else he retrieved, a clean, large handkerchief, and he presses it against her nose, saying gently: “Blow, vhenan.”

She does so and he taps her nose with the handkerchief after she’s done. Then he kisses her again, making her groan in defeat, and looks for another cloth to put on her forehead.

“It will lower your fever.” he says, trying to sound sure and confident, even though his panic obviously hasn’t left him yet. “Here, found it! Where’s the water?”

“Right there.” she reminds him, giggling, pointing at the pitcher he left on the dresser near the bed. “Solas, calm down. It’s just a cold.”

“You need rest. You need good, nutritious food!” he insists, wetting the cloth he found with shaky hands. “You need… You need…” He takes a deep breath and turns to her, watching her feverish, shivering form, her red-rimmed eyes, her crimson nose and pale cheeks. His lips quiver for a second, his fear and sorrow shine through his eyes, then he attempts to regain his composure and says quietly: “You shouldn’t feel like this. You don’t deserve to feel like this.”

“Oh, vhenan.” She motions him to join her in bed again. “Everyone gets sick. It’s perfectly normal, especially after falling into icy water.”

“No, it is not.” He sits on the bed again, laying the wet cloth on her forehead. It feels wonderfully cold on her skin and she sighs with relief. “There was a time when the elves knew no sickness, no disease, except for those caused by wrong, corrupted magic. They didn’t fall ill.”

“That was a long time ago.” she reminds him and he brushes his thumb across her kind, warm smile. “Things are different, now.” Something akin to longing flashes in her golden eyes, like it does every time he speaks of ancient Elvhenan. “I know we lost much. It would be wonderful if no more Dalish and city elves could ever fall sick again.”

He makes a low sound that sounds like a whine, a lament, and he rests his forehead against her warm chest, listening to her beating heart. His hands are on her hips, stroking the hot skin he feels through the embroidered nightgown, and his next words are almost inaudible: “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not. But we can do nothing about it.” she comforts him, caressing his bald head, and when he raises his head again, there are tears in his eyes.

“The elves deserve more than this.” he says. “You deserve more than this.”

“Solas…” She’s getting worried, now. She knows he hides a deep pain into his heart - Cole confirmed this multiple times with his cryptic comments -, but today he looks and sounds particularly sorrowful. Is it because he saw her being sick? Now that she thinks about it, she’s been badly hurt before and he always reacted this way, panicked, almost desperate, as if suddenly aware of her mortality, and sad, gloomy.

“I’m sorry. Ignore this old man’s words, vhenan.” He smiles, a small, weak thing that barely lightens his eyes up and shifts the muscles of his face. “I will go call the healer.” He kisses her chest and her lips, then he gets up, covers her better with the blankets and furs, and quickly leaves the room, not caring about the night clothes he’s wearing.

He’s back just a few minutes later, basically dragging the healer by the arm and speaking quickly, repeating all the symptoms Scarlet has. Cole is with him, a silent shadow that sits next to her and takes her hand, patting it gently, like a brother would do with his sick sister.

The healer touches her throat and forehead, looks into her mouth, checks her pulse and breathing, and then candidly says: “It’s just a cold, your Worship. With the right potions and food, you’ll be up in no time.”

“What about the fever?” Solas asks, glaring at the human woman. “The ache in her throat!”

The healer arches an eyebrow, eyeing him with amusement, and replies: “Those are the most common symptoms. Her Worship will have to bear with them for a short while.”

“But magic…! A spell might help her, let me try!”

“Like it helped you when you were sick, Messere Solas?” The woman shakes her head, her dry amusement moving from her eyes to her lips, too. “Magic can heal many things, but certain sicknesses are beyond a mage’s abilities. Otherwise, the poor and miserable of Thedas wouldn’t suffer like they do.”

Solas bites his lips and looks at Scarlet, who’s half-asleep, drifting between the waking world and the Fade, with its dreams and visions which will be probably stranger than ever, now that she’s affected by the high fever.

“My magic is strong.” he murmurs, a final protest against the healer’s words, but she doesn’t even listen to him and proceeds to list all the things Scarlet must eat to get better faster, food to be requested to the cooks, potions she will personally prepare and send later.

“Thank you.” Solas quietly says as she passes next to him and leaves. He’s been watching Scarlet for the whole time and once he’s alone with her and Cole, he quickly joins them. She briefly wakes up, then, and looks up at him with a drowsy smile.

“Hello, vhenan.”

“Hello, my heart.” He smiles, too, and caresses her hair. “Rest. You need to sleep.”

She makes a low sound and cuddles into his embrace. He helps her rest her head on his chest and she fights a little, at first, not wanting him to fall sick again, but he assures he will be fine and she’s too weak and sleepy to insist.

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she murmurs, slowly closing her eyes, and Solas presses a kiss on her brow, replying tenderly: “Always, ma sa’lath. Wait for me there.”

Only when he’s sure she is deeply asleep, Cole speaks.

“You’re scared.”

Solas nods, swallowing, his eyes fixated on Scarlet’s serene sleeping face.

“I am.”

“Wounds and cuts and burns can be healed. They are outside and just a little bit inside, visible, and magic can reach them. But fever and labored breaths are hidden, you can feel them and hear them, but the spells don’t always affect them.”

Solas nods and he rests his cheek on top of Scarlet’s head, taking a deep, shaky breath that sounds like the prelude to tears. He keeps caressing her hair, his other hand stroking her right one.

The spirit boy waits a moment, then softly continues: “It reminds you of the Blight. It’s not the same thing, but you are not used to sickness. The only one you ever saw in the old, singing world was that red, mad one found in the wounded Earth.”

“Yes.” Solas swallows again and slightly moves his head to look at Scarlet. Tears are shining in his eyes, now, and Cole repeats, softer than before: “It’s not the same thing.”

“I know.”

“She won’t die, just like you didn’t die.”

“I know.” Solas looks at him, a tear running down his cheek. “But I can’t do anything to help her. I can’t help her, I am useless. My magic is useless.”

“You can stay with her.” Cole reminds him, smiling. “That will help her.”

He nods at her, adding: “Warm, he’s so warm. A strong scent, of trees and soil, of paper and old books. She feels safe and loved. She’s dreaming the wolves.”

Solas chokes on a sob, but he’s also smiling, now, and he presses light, delicate kisses on Scarlet’s happy face.

She wakes up much later. Cole left the room when Solas fell asleep, but her vhenan is awake, now, and he’s stirring the hot soup a servant brought straight from the kitchens, prepared using the healer’s instructions.

There are flowers and various gifts on the couch, “all gifts from the others”, Solas says with a smile. Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra came to visit, but left immediately after realizing she was sleeping and they promised they would come back later.

“How do you feel?” he asks, sitting next to the bed on a chair, the bowl of soup and a spoon in his hands.

“Better. I think the fever went down a little and my throat doesn’t hurt as much as before.” She sniffs the air and looks down at her body, groaning. “Creators, I’m sweating like a sinner in a chantry!”

Solas laughs boyishly and leans down to press a loud kiss on her lips, making her blush, babble happily, but also complain: “Solas, stop it, or you will get sick again!”

“No, I won’t.” he promises, smiling lovingly and moving the spoon near her mouth. “Here, vhenan. This will make you feel better.”

He feeds her – and it makes both of them blush and smile timidly at each other -, then he helps her lie more comfortably in bed, adjusting the blankets and furs around her. He brings her all the handkerchiefs he can find in their room, then he massages her feet while narrating a short story that makes both of them laugh.

She tugs at his night clothes – which he hasn’t taken off yet – and he’s soon back at her side in bed, an open book on his lap, her head on his chest like before, listening to him read and watching his fingers turn the thin, yellow pages with care. Those same long fingers also caress her hair and cheek and he often stops reading to kiss her lips.

After half an hour, the book lies closed on the dresser and they are holding each other under the heavy blankets and pelts. Scarlet’s fever is indeed lower than before and Solas’ panic subsides, as he sees her smile and talk.

“You’re so warm, vhenan.” she suddenly says, nuzzling the space where his heart beats. “You always are, but especially here, where your heart is.”

“It’s because you are my heart.” he says, kissing her face. “As long as you are with me, I will keep living.”

She laughs and giggles – and this time that glorious sound doesn’t end with a coughing fit -, but then she looks at him with love, because he was serious and he’s looking at her in the same way, and they are both smiling.

“Let us sleep some more.” he softly says, fixing the blankets on her shoulders. “I am sure the others will make sure to let us know they are here.”

“Will you visit me in the Fade?” she asks again, their ritual, while kissing the warm space where his heart is beating fast. And he replies, holding her safe in his arms:

“Always, vhenan.”

[ivazotrova]

Galina Zotrova’s eyes scanned the list of activities idly, a frown on her face. She was fairly displeased. She had intended to enroll all of her daughters in a very prestigious camp for the summer- one for the children of the upper class where they would spend their days touring museums and historic sites. However she had just gotten a call informing her that the minimum age they accepted was eight. Meaning little Iva- who was only five- wouldn’t be able to attend. It was understandable, yet annoying. She couldn’t have her being underfoot at the estate all day, and she hardly intended to let her waste her time at some camp that would have her doing arts and crafts- or whatever it was low class children did with their summers.

Sighing in resignation, her pen hovered between a camp for sports or one for ballet. She liked the idea of ballet- it was a waste of time surely but it was cultured at least. She tapped her pen against the table in agitation, and at the last minute circled the number for the sports camp. At least Iva would learn the value of teamwork. 

(Iva’s summer spent at sports camp was the worst of her life. She was half the size of most of the other children, barely spoke the country’s language, and thoroughly hated getting dirty.)

“Ms. Zotrova! Ms. Zotrova! Over here! Yes, thank you. I’m Maddie Rowling with The Washington Times. First off, congratulations! I understand you recently graduated from Magna Cum Laude from Stanford Law?”

Iva’s smile, which had pasted itself on the minute she’d stepped out of her townhouse, widened. “Summa Cum Laude actually.” 

The reporter- who was as unremarkable as any other she’d spoken to throughout her life, chuckled. “Oh, well my apologies. I understand other congratulations are in order as well?”

Iva’s smile froze for half a millisecond before she made her smile warmer, flashing the camera the excessively large diamond on her finger with a delighted laugh. “Oh no! The word is out!”

She’d wanted to love Viktor- it would have made things easier. He was handsome, well spoken, as smart as she was. Her father hadn’t blatantly told her she had to marry him, but he had made it apparent that this was the path he wanted for her, and that to defy his expectations would have consequences. She’d tried her hardest to have some kind of connection- a fond partnership if not passion- but Viktor had made it apparent through a polite coolness and the smell of his secretary Charlotte’s perfume on their sheets that he wasn’t interested in anything but a beautiful wife with a political background who was used to smiling in the background while cameras flashed. 

The woman snapped a quick picture before continuing. “However did you find time to graduate with honors, help your sister Tatianya with her recent mayoral campaign, attend press functions with your family, and maintain a relationship with a busy campaign manager?”

Adderall, Starbucks, and no social life to speak of. Iva thought sarcastically, though her smile never wavered. She’d long ago mastered the art of not letting her thoughts show on her face. “Well it does sound impressive when you word it like that, doesn’t it? I think the real secret is-” 

She spun the same drabble she’d concocted for everyone who had bothered to ask, some slop about finding balance, dedication, devotion, and scheduled skype calls, blah blah fucking blah. When was the wedding? Did her father approve? Was she planning on quitting her job? It was practically identical to dozens of other interviews. She her brain stray to the stack of case files in her briefcase. She’d been accepted to one of the largest law firms in Washington- of course- and the work load was nothing to sneeze at. She was working mostly pro-bono cases at her own request- it made her feel like she actually liked her career- sometimes. Her father and Viktor didn’t care- it was good PR. 

“One final question; I know your sister Sabyne has made it clear that she has no interest in politics, but what about you? Can we expect to see you running for office anytime soon?”

“Me? Oh goodness no! I hate to be in the spotlight, I’ll stick to supporting Tatiayna and my father in their political aspirations.” Besides, I don’t have the mentality for politics- just ask my father.

“Mr. Ambassador! Washington Journal- I understand you recently added another lawyer to the family?”

Nikoli Zotrov had a jovial laugh that made one think of a fond grandfather. It hid a cunning mind and a man who didn’t find himself honestly laughing at much of anything. “Oh yes, my Iva. We’ve been teasing her a bit lately- when she was younger she always copied my eldest Tatianya at everything, as little sisters tend to do, and it seems she’s still at it. So if she runs for mayor anytime soon, we will all know what is happening, yes?” 

A polite laugh from the gathered reporters. Iva furiously hit the power button for her television, resisting the urge to throw her remote. Nothing she had ever done was ever good enough. She could ask her parents’ permission to breathe and they still wouldn’t appreciate it. What else can I possibly do to make you proud of me?

“Hyphenating?” Iva’s mother repeated disdainfully during a wedding gown fitting that Iva desperately didn’t want her at. “Oh absolutely not. You will take his last name.”

“Why?” Iva demanded, pulling on another dress she absolutely hated. “Sabyne did it.”

“Sabyne's husband isn’t in politics. Honestly Iva, you’d think after all these years you’d have picked up a thing or two about this life and what it entails.”

But I never wanted any of this. Iva fumed silently, though she didn’t need anyone else to tell her it was far too late for that.

“Iva, sestra.” Tatianya’s voice was syrupy sweet enough to hide her venomous smile as she kissed Iva’s cheek. They were surrounded by men and women in formal attire. It was some kind of charity event- Iva had stopped paying attention awhile ago and started subtly pounding champagne. She wasn’t stupid enough to get visibly drunk, but God she wanted to. Especially considering her entire family was in attendance. “How are you? I saw that dear secretary of Viktor’s- Charlotte is it?- darting away earlier. And where is your lovely fiance? Off to find her maybe?”

She’d long since past the point of letting her sister’s subtle barbs wound her. It just was what it was. Smiling warmly, she linked her arm with her sister’s inclining her head as if sharing a secret. “You know, you truly are the most heinous, hateful bitches I’ve ever met, and given that we live in Washington D.C, I believe that’s quite the statement.”

Tatianya laughed, playing along and nudging Iva playfully. Her voice was warm conspiratorial as she murmured. “Oh baby sister, we all know this ends with you crawling away with your tail between your legs, do you really want to start with me?”

“Oh why not?” Iva laughed, raising her champagne to her lips so she didn’t actually snarl in challenge. “This party was boring anyway.”

Viktor glanced up from the book he was reading, watching Iva as she dabbed a bit of perfume under each ear and smoothed her dress. “The ballet again?” He asked dryly, rolling his eyes.

“Da.” Iva replied in the same sort of tone, not even bothering to look over from where she was gathering her coat and phone. She hadn’t told Viktor for the simple reason that she knew he didn’t care. He certainly wouldn’t want to accompany her.

“I’ll never understand your fascination.” He murmured idly, shaking his head.

“No. You won’t.” Iva sighed, checking her reflection one last time before looking over to where Viktor lounged on their bed. “But never you mind. I’ll be back around midnight. Make sure Charlotte is gone by then.”

Her fiance froze mid page turn, mind clearly racing. She allowed herself to feel smug. So he had thought he was being subtle. 

“Wash the sheets as well. If you’re going to fuck another woman in my bed, at least have the courtesy to hide it better.”

The ballet was excellent. 

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 23

-----

It was a miserable weekend for Abby, who spent most of it in bed under a pile of blankets and the humidifier running pretty much non-stop. 

By Sunday, she no longer had a fever, but it felt like an army had set up camp in her head and they were continuously marching. She was glad she was no longer going from hot and cold at least. It would hopefully stop Holtz from blasting that one Katy Perry song just to annoy her.

It was Abby’s loud coughing fit that Erin heard when she came upstairs on Monday. She had texted with Abby the day before. Holtz said on Saturday that all she had done was pull the covers up to only her hairline was visible and slept most of the day. She knocked on the door of the bedroom and peeked her head in.

“Morning,” she said. Erin saw Abby lift her head up and acknowledged her.

“You look like hell,” she said, bouncing down on the end of the bed.

“Thanks,” said Abby, sounding very stuffy as she sat up. “Love you too Erin.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better than what I was,” sniffed Abby. “Not the worst flu I’ve ever had, but definitely the squirmy-est.”

“Squirm--” began Erin, but when she realized Abby was referring to the baby, she grinned, biting her lip. “Someone keeps moving huh?”

“They do not like for me to cough or sneeze.”

“I’d imagine it’d be like earthquakes in there,” chuckled Erin. “Are they moving now? I heard you coughing when I came in.”

“No, thankfully I think they are asleep and not kicking me during the aftershocks,” said Abby, her voice a little rough.

“It still amazes me that you can tell that,” said Erin.

“It’s the absence of movement,” Abby said. Erin loved how whenever they started talking about the baby, Abby’s hand automatically rubbed her abdomen. She was always instinctively protective. “Now that I can actually feel them, it’s almost non-stop. Do you want to know the weirdest thing? Hiccups.”

“Do they kick you during them or something?” asked Erin.

“No, they’re having them,” said Abby, smiling down. “It’s like a twitching for a few seconds. I read it helps stimulate lung development.”

“Aww, baby hiccups,” said Erin. “Is this a regular thing?”

“Almost daily I can feel them.”

“Bit busy down there,” laughed Erin.

“No kidding,” said Abby with a sigh. “I knew there was movement, but the average is ten times an hour I think when they’re not sleeping and someone sometimes can be quite above average.”

Erin didn’t realize it was that much. She shrugged at her friend.

“Better than forty.”

“Don’t say that, they might hear you,” said Abby as she reached over to get a tissue from the box and held it to her nose to blow it.

“I’m surprised Holtz isn’t hovering,” Erin said.

“I sent her to work,” said Abby. “I needed her out of my hair for a while.” She paused. “Did David make it home?”

“He’s made it back fine,” said Erin. “Still thawing. He said the wind coming across the lake was like knives on his skin even though he was wearing four layers. They took a lot of pictures. I think they had fun fishing.”

“Good,” said Abby. “I’m sure his dad appreciated spending time with his kids.”

There was a knock on the door, and Patty peeked her head in.

“Really? Congregating with the unwell person Erin? You trying to make us all sick?”

“I’m checking in on Abby,” said Erin. “You just get here?”

“Yeah, and Kevin hit me up just as soon as I came in the door,” said Patty. “Apparently there are some extra penguins at the Central Park Zoo and they don’t want the new additions to scare off the guests.”

“Bring me back a cute penguin ghost to study!” yelled Abby as Erin jumped up and started to follow Patty out the door. They both waved goodbye. Abby sighed.

“Not only am I pregnant and not going on all the calls to avoid too much radiation exposure, I am sick and can’t go on any of them.” She got up quietly, carrying one of their thicker blankets into the living room. She started to sit down when Holtz ran up the stairs and through the door. She kissed Abby quickly on the cheek.

“I came to see if you were awake. Gotta go.”

“Be careful,” said Abby.

“Bed or couch,” Holtz said before planting a kiss on Abby’s lips. “Nowhere else. You’re still sick.”

“I’m going to go hunt down that ghost librarian in the New York City Public Library,” yawned Abby. “All by myself.”

“As long as you’re back by lunch,” said Holtz breezily. “I’m bringing back ooey, gooey grease in your veins forever cheeseburgers.”

“Mint Oreos.”

“Okay, seriously. Again?”

“Mmhmm,” nodded Abby.

“Seriously waste of a good cookie,” grumbled Holtz, heading for the stairs. Holtzmann hated anything mint and would make faces when Abby would eat mint anything and try to kiss her.

“Don’t tell your other mother that those are for me, not you,” chuckled Abby. “I need something to annoy her with while I get better.” She put a hand on her abdomen with a sigh.

“At least you’ll come out with some decent antibodies to this strain of flu.” She coughed and grabbed for some tissues off the coffee table. Abby got comfortable on her side, flipping on the TV to see if she could catch any of the morning news. She shivered a little, feeling cold. The next thing she saw made her sigh and go get her phone out of the bedroom, dialing Erin as she watched some of the breaking news piece.

“Abby?” said Erin on the phone. Abby could hear the sound of the siren and realized she had been put on speakerphone. “Something the matter?”

“Not for me, no,” she said, looking at the TV screen. “But uh... as much I know you all would like to go play with the ghost penguins, I think you have bigger fish to fry.”

“Bigger fish?” repeated Erin.

“There is a ghost in Grand Central creating a little havoc there that should look rather familiar.” Abby grimaced as she looked over the prisoner ghost on the screen, scaring people out of the station. “You remember that prisoner ghost we first saw in Seward Station?” Abby could hear Patty groaning in the front seat as she watched two more ghosts go across the TV screen. “And it looks like he’s got some friends to help him out.” Abby could hear the tires squeal as Holtz made some sort of turnabout. She really hoped they were in a parking lot and not out on the street.

“Tell Kevin if the Mayor’s office calls, we’re on our way,” said Erin. She hung up the phone. Abby sighed. One good thing was that Kevin was at least proficient with his cell phone. She texted him the message, preferring not to go downstairs at the moment.

“Hope you gals have a plan,” she said to the air. Although she’d rather be with them, being sick and pregnant was a bonus as to not having to having to leave the firehouse on a cold day like today. But she was never going to tell them that. Erin and Patty would never let her live it down. So instead of being out chasing ghosts, she was going to take a nap. She bundled up on the couch, putting one arm under one of their fluffy couch throw pillows and closed her eyes. Maybe their little one wouldn’t be too fussy while she tried to sleep.

----- Abby woke up to a kiss being planted on her forehead.

“We came, we saw, we kicked their asses,” teased Holtzmann once she saw Abby open her eyes. “And I brought back that late lunch.”

Abby was wide awake as she sat up. She had slept well, better than she thought she would have for the couch. Erin and Patty were gathered around their kitchen table and munching on a mountain of fries. Holtz was pulling out the ketchup from the fridge and plopping down a bunch on her plate before she had even sat down.

“You’ll have to forgive us, we’re starving,” said Erin.

“Ghost penguins are damn hard to catch,” muttered Patty.

“We needed more traps,” said Erin. “I thought we were going to have to call Kevin to bring a few more, but we managed.”

“So many damn penguins,” Patty said.

“Sounds like you’ve had a busy morning,” said Abby. Holtz groaned at that.

“I didn’t think we were going to get that prisoner ghost,” said Patty. “He might not have been ionized like before, but he was not benign by any means. And neither was his buddies.”

“They slammed Erin into the wall,” grinned Holtz. “It was awesome.”

“Don’t worry, we had her checked out before we went to the zoo,” said Patty. “No concussions or broken bones.”

“Good. We don’t need any of you injured before we start training the others,” Abby said, stealing a fry off Holtzmann’s plate and dipping it in ketchup. “You need anything?”

“Is it too early for alcohol?” asked Patty.

“Think you might want to wait for after hours,” said Abby. “It’s only...” She looked at the clock on the microwave. “Jesus, two already?”

“You slept a little too well, sweetheart,” said Holtz. She handed Abby a burger. “Come sit. We want to tell you about ghost penguins.”

“Did you get all the ghosts at Grand Central?” asked Abby.

“All three yes,” said Erin. Patty and Holtz didn’t say anything.

“So penguins?” asked Abby. Apparently, no one wanted to talk about the scary stuff just yet.

“They were so cute Abby. I hate you missed it,” said Patty. “And all they were doing was playing with the other penguins. They even were trying to eat the fish.”

“Except that the fish went straight through and they were glowing green, you could hardly tell the difference between them and the real penguins,” Erin added. “But Patty was right, there was a lot of them.” She gestured to the amount of fries in Holtz’s hand.

“About that many.”

Abby took a fry out of Holtz’s hand.

“Don’t eat Francisco!” cried Holtz, trying to get back her french fry. “He was so tiny.”

“So there were baby penguins?” asked Abby, nibbling on Francisco the fry.

“We talked to one of the handlers,” said Erin. “They seem to think the ghosts may have been from when a virus strain killed a bunch of the penguins in the 80’s. They recently have been renovating old parts of the exhibit area and we think they may have disturbed something.”

“Probably the penguins’ resting place,” said Abby, opening her cheeseburger. For some reason, the smell of grilled onions made her want to sneeze and she grabbed a takeout napkin off the table.

“We thought so too,” said Erin, nodding. “We took samples of everything we could. You don’t usually see animal apparitions, so this could be worth documentation and further study.”

“Almost thought Holtz was going to jump in one of the tanks,” said Patty.

“I could have waddled them out of there quietly,” Holtz said, holding a hand over her head. “I would have been their Penguin Queen, and I would have led them to the promised land.”

“Wet and probably having hypothermia,” said Abby. “You do not need to get sick Holtz.”

“I know, we’ve got the meeting with the Mayor,” frowned Holtzmann. “Like you need me anyways.”

“And dinner with the new recruits,” said Erin. “We definitely need you for that next week.”

“Like we could have used Abby today,” said Patty.

“If the penguins were so benign, why not leave them?” Abby asked, thinking. Erin grimaced.

“Zoo didn’t want them around.” Holtz shrugged when Abby looked at her.

“It’s what they wanted.” She started working on her second cheeseburger. “Oh, that reminds me,” she said, smirking. She took a card out of her pocket and handed it to Abby.

“We all now have lifetime passes. Their gift for dealing with the problem.”

Abby looked at it before laying it on the table. “Which basically means they’ll want us back at some point and this will be easier than having to give us clearance each time.”

“Yup,” said Holtz, biting into her burger. “Can I let the penguins out and let them waddle around? They won’t cause trouble.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m too sick and pregnant for that question,” said Abby when Erin glanced at her. “Right now those blue eyes could ask anything and I’d probably say yes.”

“Ooh, I need to start asking for things,” said Holtz. She fished a notepad out of her back pocket. “I must make out a list.” Erin groaned and got up to throw away her trash.

“Do we really need to leave her with Abby?” asked Patty, wiping her hands on a napkin. “This could be trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d actually like to see what all Holtz comes out with,” grinned Erin. “I’m thinking ball pit.”

“Good one,” answered Holtz, pointing at Erin before writing it down. “A swimming pool. And a library. Oh! A swimming pool in the library.” Holtzmann ducked from the fry that came flying in her direction from Patty.

“There will be no books going anywhere near water, I mean it Holtzy.”

“Patty, when she finishes her lunch, take her and her list downstairs to the lab and away from me?” said Abby. Patty started laughing but nodded.

“Erin would you mind staying?” asked Abby, looking at her best friend. “We need to discuss the new recruits dinner.”

“Sure,” said Erin, sitting back down at the table. “I could use a break.” <– Prev | Next –>

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Shirt Quotes

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• A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory. • A Mexican guy named Sam pushes Gary Frankel next to Isabel. “This guy can break your arm with one snap, asshole. Get out of my sight before I sic him on you,” Sam says. Gary, who’s wearing a coral shirt and white pants, growls to look tough. It doesn’t work. – Simone Elkeles • A thump thump thump noise that was so unfamiliar, and yet I couldn’t quite place it. But I knew it. It was – “Mmm-hmmm,” Monica murmured, just as Wes came view into the path. He was running, his pace quick and steady. He was in shorts, his shirt off, staring ahead as he passed. His back was tan and gleaming with sweat. – Sarah Dessen • A typical ‘Larry King Live’ is a pastiche whose absurdism defies parody. Wearing his trademark suspenders and purple shirts, he looks as if he’s strapped to the chair with vertical seat belts, unable to eject. – James Wolcott • After graduating from flares and platforms in the early 1970s, I started drama school wearing a pair of khaki dungarees with one of my Dad’s Army shirts, accessorised by a cat’s basket doubling as a handbag. Very Lady Gaga. – Jenny Eclair • After that, all the while Millie was eating the pudding… we both tore Christopher’s character to shreds. It was wonderful fun…. He drove everyone mad in Chrestomanci Castle by insisting on silk shirts and exactly the right kind of pajamas. ‘And he could get them right anyway by magic,’ Millie told me, ‘if he wasn’t too lazy to learn how…. But the thing that really annoys me is the way he never bothers to learn a person’s name. If a person isn’t important to him, he always forgets their name.’ When Millie said this, I realized that Christopher had never once forgotten my name. – Diana Wynne Jones • Ah! how annoying that the law doesn’t allow a woman to change husbands just as one does shirts. – Moliere • Alec watched them through the half-open door, Jace leaned against the sink as his adoptive sister sponged his wrists and wrapped them in a white gauze. “Okay, now take off your shirt.” (Isabelle) “I knew there was something in this for you.” (Jace) ~pg. 329~ – Cassandra Clare • Alice was scrutinizing my boring jeans-and-a-T-shirt outfit in a way that made me self-conscious. Probably plotting another makeover. I sighed. My indifferent attitude to fashion was a constant thorn in her side. If I’d allow it, she’d love to dress me everyday―perhaps several times a day―like some oversized three-dimensional paper doll. – Stephenie Meyer • All right. Tell me what I’m looking at.” From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, “A giant pair of cartoon lips.” I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull’s glowing orange eye sockets was visible. A big goofy magic nerd!” Bob said. – Jim Butcher • Also, I used to think that one day I might get someone to iron my shirts, but the truth is I really like doing them myself. – David Sedaris • Amos clapped his hands. “Khufu!” I thought he’d sneezed, because Khufu is a weird name, but then a little dude about three feet tall with gold fur and a purple shirt came clambering down the stairs. It took me a second to realize it was a baboon wearing an L.A. Lakers jersey. – Rick Riordan • Amy, listen to me. What I do. The choices I make. They’re mine. Only mine. The consequences of those decisions—mine. “Mine,” he repeated when she sighed heavily. “No one else’s.” Silence. Only the warm wetness of her tears dampening his shirt. It broke his heart.- Cindy Gerard • An old market had stood there until I’d been about six years old, when the authorities had renamed it the Olde Market, destroyed it, and built a new market devoted to selling T-shirts and other objects with pictures of the old market. Meanwhile, the people who had operated the little stalls in the old market had gone elsewhere and set up a thing on the edge of town that was now called the New Market even though it was actually the old market. – Neal Stephenson • And also, there are so many times when you need to make a quick escape, but humans don’t have their own wings, or not yet, anyway, so what about a birdseed shirt? – Jonathan Safran Foer • And drinking neat liquor from the bottle, with all my long hair and my shirt undone and my beads, not so much the lizard king, more a gecko duchess, I fitted in nicely with their idea of what a creative person should be.- Russell Brand • And I was victim to that very early in my career, where I would go into auditions, and I’d be wearing a big T shirt, a big baggy T shirt and loose jeans. You know, to try and show people that there was more to me than just that. – Charlize Theron • And speaking of on board, she’d moved into John’s room properly. In his closet, her leathers and her muscles shirts were hanging next to his, and their shitkickers were lined up together, and all her knives and her guns and her little toys were now locked up in his fire proof cabinet. Their ammo was even stacked together. How frickin’ romantic. – J.R. Ward • And speaking of scary things, I need to leave. My guides are fading even as we speak. (Talon) I hate when you commune with the dead in front of me. (Kyrian) Are you the asshole who sent the ‘I See Dead People’ T-shirt to me? (Talon) That would be Wulf. (Kyrian) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • And sure enough,the youth in question was not his usual dapper self. His face was puffy, his eyes red and wild; his shirt(distressingly unbuttoned)hung over his trousers in sloppy fashion. All very out of charactar: Mandrake was normally defined by his rigid self-control. Somthing seemed to have stripped all that away. Well, the poor lad was emotionally brittle.He needed sympathetic handling. “You’re a mess,” I sneered “You’ve lost it big time. What’s happened? All the guilt and self-loathing suddenly get to you? It can’t just be that someone else called me, surly?- Jonathan Stroud • Aren’t you a little old for your mom to be picking out your clothes for you? Really? Shopping at the Children’s Place at your age? I’m sure there’s some third-grader dying to know who bought the last navy I-sore shirt. (Nekoda) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • As astute followers of ‘Life in Hell’ will notice, Akbar and Jeff wear the same striped T-shirt as Charlie Brown. ‘Peanuts’ was very important to me. – Matt Groening • As I moved deeper into the room, his gaze dropped to my feet, and worked its way back to my face. I was wearing faded jeans, boots, and a snug pink Juicy T-shirt I got on sale at TJ Maxx last summer that said I’m a Juicy girl. “I bet you are,” he murmured. – Karen Marie Moning • As she turned to concentrate on the portal, Eve tugged on Claire’s shirt. “What?” “Ask him where he got the boots.” “You ask.” Personally, Claire wanted the vampire bunny slippers. • At the beginning of my career I was going through a really weird phase of dressing in boys clothes. I would only wear one American Apparel T-shirt and shorts and brogues the whole year round. Not the same T-shirt, obviously, but one style of American Apparel T-shirt. I think I was going through a tomboy stage. – Florence Welch

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Shirt', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_shirt').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_shirt img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Basically the sort of guy who looks entirely at home in sockless white loafers and a mint-green knit shirt from lacoste. – David Foster Wallace • Basically, I’m in a kilt and a white shirt every day. So, you know, I don’t have a lot of scope, and I’m really picky about what I wear. Even if it’s weird, it’s very particular to me. And you can’t make a business out of what I would wear. We’d be out of business. – Marc Jacobs • Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Steig Larsson • Ben Starling, you better not have bought your token black friend a racist shirt- John Green • Besides, Southerners are hospitable. They’ll probably offer me lemonade.” Excuse me? You’re going to sit on a porch and drink lemonade while I plow a swamp with a goat’s horn?” Yes, ma’am. And I aim to wear my seamless shirt while you do it. – Nancy Werlin • But even as she told herself that, she remembered the way Cal had looked today with his shirt off while he’d stood on the ladder and scraped the side of Annie’s house. Watching those muscles bunch and flex every time he moved had made her crazy and she’d finally grabbed his shirt, thrown it at him, and delivered a stern lecture on the depletion of the ozone layer and skin cancer. – Susan Elizabeth Phillips • By no means do I want to be a piece of meat for the rest of my career. It’s funny when you get asked to do a talk show, and then they follow it up with requesting you take your shirt off. – Kellan Lutz • Christian stretched out beside her and pulled her close. ʺBut for what itʹs worth, I think youʹd be a great queen too, Princess Dragomir.ʺ ʺYouʹre going to get dirty,ʺ she warned. ʺAlready am. Oh, you mean from your clothes?ʺ He wrapped his arms around her, heedless of her damp and muddy state. ʺI spent most of my childhood hiding in a dusty attic and own exactly one dress shirt. You really think I care about this T-shirt?ʺ – Richelle Mead • Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, asking please, for God’s sake, stop sending him signals that they were right for each other. He’d read that book, seen the movie, bought the soundtrack, the DVD, the T-shirt, the mug, the bobble-head, and the insider’s guide. He knew every reason they could have been lock and key. But just as he was aware of all that aligned them, he was even clearer on how they were damned to be ever apart. – J.R. Ward • Corrigan told me once that Christ was quite easy to understand. He went where He was supposed to go. He stayed where He was needed. He took little or nothing along, a pair of sandals, a bit of a shirt, a few odds and ends to stave off the loneliness. He never rejected the world. If He had rejected it, He would have been rejecting mystery. And if He rejected mystery, He would have been rejecting faith. – Colum McCann • Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge out your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only silence. Indifference. But merely stand looking at the playbills, sighing because your name is not on them, and the devil himself appears at your elbow full of sympathy and suggestions. And that’s why I did it….Because God loves us, but the devil takes an interest. – Jennifer Donnelly • Dammit, Michael, get out of my room, you pervert!” Could you even be a pervert if you were dead? She supposed you could, if you had a working body half the time. “I swear, I’m going to start taking my clothes off!” The cold spot stayed resolutely put until she got the hem of her T-shirt all the way up to her bra line, and then faded away. “Chicken,” she said, and paced the room, back and forth. Rachel Caine • Derek looked around, like he was searching for something to use. Then he stripped off his shirt. I tried not to look away. Not that he looked bad without his shirt. The opposite, actually, which is why…Let’s just say friends are really better when they’re fully clothed. – Kelley Armstrong • Did she just-” “Yes.” “But I don’t-” “Yes you do. We both stink.” “Well, I’m not-” “Yes. You are.” He huffed. “You wont let-” “No. No complaining. Let’s go.” I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags. “Well, she could have handled it better,” he grumped. “No. She couldn’t.” He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse. – Maria V. Snyder • Different elevator music was playing since my last visit-that old disco song “Stayin’ Alive.” A terrifying image flashed through my mind of Apollo in bell-bottom pants and a slinky silk shirt. – Rick Riordan • Don’t cry.” “How can I not?” I asked him. “You just said you loved me.” “Well, why else did you think all of this was happening?” He set the book aside to wrap his arms around me. “The Furies wouldn’t be trying to kill you if I didn’t love you.” “I didn’t know,” I said. Tears were trickling down my cheeks, but I did nothing to try to stop them. His shirt was absorving most of them. “You never said anything about it. Every time I saw you, you just acted so… wild.” “How was I supposed to act?” he asked. “You kept doing things like throwing tea in my face. – Meg Cabot • Doubts are like stains on a shirt. I like shirts with stains, because when I’m given a shirt that’s too clean, one that’s completely white, I immediately start having doubts. – Antonio Tabucchi • Elegance is always in style for men. There are all different kinds of elegance. It can be silk, it can be a T-shirt. – Donatella Versace • Even now if I see someone working out, in great shape, like a 40-year-old guy with his shirt off jogging I always think, “Look at that idiot.” That’s why everyone in my movie is kind of goofy because I’m a champion of the goofball. What sucks is I have to work out now not to die. I was always happy not working out because I never wanted to be someone who worked out to look good, but now I have to try to not die, which is such a drag. – Judd Apatow • Every time we give a musician the advice to give away the music and sell the T-shirt, we’re saying, “Don’t make your living in this more elevated way. Instead, reverse this social progress, and choose a more physical way to make a living.” We’re sending them to peasanthood, very much like the Maoists have. – Jaron Lanier • Every woman should have a daughter to tell her stories to. Otherwise, the lessons learned are as useless as spare buttons from a discarded shirt. And all that is left is a fading name and the shape of a nose or the color of hair. The men who write the history books will tell you the stories of battles and conquests. But the women will tell you the stories of people’s hearts. – Karen White • Everywhere I go I buy new music shirts. – Shaun White • First, she wanted to taste the sweat that shone on his throat and fragile clavicle; then he chose to undo the tails of her shirt, that she had tied up beneath her breasts; then, but then impatient they forgot about taking turns and quarreled silently, eagerly over each other, like pirates dividing treasure long sought, long imagined, long withheld. – John Crowley • For a split second longer she stood motionless. Then, somehow, she had caught at the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her. His arms went around her, lifting her almost out of her sandals, and then he was kissing her—or she was kissing him, she wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. The feel of his mouth on hers was electric; her hands gripped his arms, pulling him hard against her. The feel of his heart pounding through his shirt made her dizzy with joy. No one else’s heart beat like Jace’s did, or ever could. – Cassandra Clare • For as long as I could remember, he had never worn a single piece of clothing that could be considered casual. Khaki shorts and golf shirts, to Umberto, were the garments of men who have no virtues left, not even shame. – Anne Fortier • For me, it’s important that a fan can buy something that is related to me. Like in soccer, you buy a shirt and it’s got somebody’s name on the back. That’s kind of a cool thing. – Roger Federer • For my prom, I was so fancy, I got t a suit tailored. I wanted a three-piece suit. I thought it would be cool to wear all black – black shirt, black tie, I figured it would be the coolest thing I’ve ever done. That was my first suit. I put the suit on two years later and it was so big on me and absurd and didn’t fit. I still have it. I won’t throw it out. It’s too fun. It reminds me where I come from. Actually, I have an evolution of suits in my closet. It starts with that one and goes up to the suits that I get to have now. – Gabriel Macht • Fortunes made in no time are like shirts made in no time; it’s ten to one if they hang long together. – Douglas William Jerrold • Foul!” yelled Jamie, who seemed extremely happy not to be the one facing a blade. “Distracting technique! Put your shirt back on right now. Sarah Rees Brennan • From working with Ralph Lauren, I started to understand what it meant to build a brand. There were times when I was working there that it seemed so repetitive. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. But when I stepped out of it, I realized what he was doing was achieving a signature look and reiterating that. That’s why when you think about a polo shirt you think about Ralph – he owns that garment. – – Simon Spurr Girlfriend, Lilies, Abby • Girls can wear jeans and cut their hair short and wear shirts and boots because it’s okay to be a boy; for girls it’s like promotion. But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading, according to you, because secretly you believe that being a girl is degrading. – Ian Mcewan • Girls can wear jeans, cut their hair short, wear shirts and boots, ’cause it’s okay to be a boy, but for a boy to look like a girl is degrading. – Charlotte Gainsbourg • Got to say, dying would really wreck my best day. Been there, done that, and now that I think about it, Artemis forgot to give me the t-shirt. – Sherrilyn Kenyon • Grunge was so self-consciously lowbrow and nonaspirational that it seemed, at first, impervious to the hype and glamour normally applied swiftly to any emerging trend. But sure enough, grunge anthems found their way onto the soundtracks of television commercials, and Dodge Neons were hawked by kids in flannel shirts saying, ‘Whatever.’ – Douglas Rushkoff • Guys are lucky: We can wear a suit over and over, just with different shirts and ties. – Ryan Reynolds • Having stuff that fits you perfectly makes the craziest difference. I remember the first times that I was introduced to that – having a shirt that’s actually tailored to your body and not just made for your average American. It just changes your life. – Mayer Hawthorne • He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he’d get his eyes open again. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn’t seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities. She might be blushing. He couldn’t tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn’t be scarred forever by the sight of his chest. – Julia Quinn • He does this on purpose,” Stephanie’s mother said as they sat in the car, seat belts on and ready to go. They watched him appear at the front door, shrug into his jacket, tuck in his shirt, go to step out, and then pause. “He looks like he’s about to sneeze,” Stephanie remarked. – Derek Landy • He knew her now. She was the weird girl in the class above him, who dyed her hair pink and always wore a lot of pentragrams and crystals. Right now she was also wearing giant chandelier earings and a violent pink T-Shirt that bore the words ROMEO AND JULIET WOULDN’T HAVE LASTED. • He leaned back for a moment to tug her shirt down her arms, with the same wicked, lovley smile that had first stolen her breath years ago. – Melissa Marr • He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he’s on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. “Who am I?” “Jericho” “Who are you?” He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He’s commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: “Whogivesafuck? – Karen Marie Moning • He told me this while ripping through his duffel bag, throwing clothes into drawers with reckless abandon. Chip did not believe in having a sock drawer or a T-shirt drawer. He believed that all drawers were created equal and filled each with whatever fit. My mother would have died. – John Green • He was dressed just like on TV, with lots of silver chains and bracelets, ripped jeans, and a black muscle shirt (Which was kind of stupid, since he didn’t have any muscles). – Rick Riordan • He was going to take a dive into this lake. He just didn’t know it. Cerise rose, finding footing in the soft mud. The water came up to just below her breasts and her wet shirt stuck to her body. William’s gaze snagged on her chest. Yep, keep looking, Lord Bill. Keeeeeep looking. – Ilona Andrews • He was in blue jeans and a work shirt, which is another weird quirk of Rich Old Men. Just one of the guys here. Blue jeans and a work shirt, salt of the earth, working man like yourself. Like they’re somehow uncomfortable about being rich enough to sleep in a bed made of vaginas being pulled around the town at night by a fleet of gold-covered midgets. – Warren Ellis • He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt and had stopped in the middle of the hall, furiously scratching one bare forearm. “Fleas?” I said. – Kelley Armstrong • Headbangers’ are people who like heavy-metal music, which is performed by skinny men with huge hair who stomp around the stage, striking their instruments and shrieking angrily, apparently because somebody has stolen all their shirts. – Dave Barry • He’d changed since the last summer. Instead of Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt, he wore a button-down shirt, khaki pants, and leather loafers. His sandy hair, which used to be so unruly, was now clipped short. He look like an evil male model, showing off what the fashionable college-age villain was wearing to Harvard this year. – Rick Riordan • Here’s a newsflash from the only High Preistess you have left at this dang school: Zoey isn’t dead. And believe me, I know dead. I’ve been there, done that, and got the frickin’ T-shirt.” – Stevie Rae – P. C. Cast • His face set in grim determination, Richard slogged ahead, his fingers reaching up to touch the tooth under his shirt. Loneliness, deeper than he had never known, sagged his shoulders. All his friends were lost to him. He knew now that his life was not his own. It belonged to his duty, to his task. He was the Seeker. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not his own man, but a pawn to be used by others. A tool, same as his sword, to help others, that they might have the life he had only glimpsed for a twinkling. He was no different from the dark things in the boundary. A bringer of death. • How had I managed to tie my boots? I didn’t even remember getting dressed. I was out here in public at the mall. What was I wearing? Jeans. I could feel socks. I had my boots on. I plucked at the edge of my t-shirt and saw it was red. I was wearing Dad’s spare Army jacket, and there was a heavy weight in the right pocket that had to be something deadly. – Lilith Saintcrow • I am always looking for a cool tee shirt; maybe one with a rock band or an old advertisement. – Bridget Hall • I am one who is very meridione – Southern Italian. I am proud of this. I design everything with my team, which is fantastic and small. I design by look. For example, people always comment to me, “When you do men’s shirts, you always keep them closed on the catwalk.” That’s my thing. – Riccardo Tisci • I borrowed this from Kyle. My other shirt was pretty filthy.” “Wow, you’re wearing each other’s clothes now. That’s, like, best friend stuff.” “Feeling left out?” said Kyle. “I suppose you want to borrow a black T-shirt too.” “As long as everyone’s wearing their own pants.” “I see have come in on a fascinating moment in the conversation.” Eric poked his head through the curtain. – Cassandra Clare • I can’t even tell you how good it felt to see him. It felt even better when he reached through the metal grate, wrapped his fingers around the front of my shirt, dragged me forward, and kissed me through the bars. “Sorry” he said-only not looking to sorry, if you know what I mean. – Meg Cabot • I could have grabbed his shirt collar. I could have pulled him close to me, so close he could feel my breath on his skin, and I could have said to him, “This is just a crisis. A flash! A single match struck against the implacable darkness of time! You are the one who taught me to never give up. You taught me that new possibilities emerge for those who are prepared, for those who are ready. You have to believe! • I couldn’t meet his gaze. I stared at the table just behind him–the mess of cards on it, the lantern giving off its quiet glow. “When you gave me your shirt to wear that night, I could feel you. I could feel your essence.” The world went still. We were standing only inches from each other, not touching. Outside, I could hear the faint murmur of the wind blowing through the trees. “What did it feel like?” he asked in a low voice. “Like…coming home,” I admitted. – L.A. Weatherly • I do feel that film and TV are often behind when it comes to the way women look, they often dress them in khakis and denim shirts, but women and mothers these days look great and films need to reflect that. Real people look very fashionable, moms are at the forefront of the style. But things are getting better in that way. – Kristin Davis • I don’t have any elaborate uniforms; I come to the ring in a T-shirt, a pair of sneakers and some shorts. – John Cena • I don’t know, but I always loved that image of a girl putting toenail polish on a guy – her boyfriend, or something like that. Or a guy waking up in the morning and reaching over and putting on his girlfriend’s shirt. Like Keith Richards putting on one of Anita Pallenberg’s blouses, or Courtney Love putting nail polish on Kurt Cobain. – Marc Jacobs • I empathize with women in their high heels so I’ll be there in my kilt and T-shirt and I’ll walk around all day just to prove that if I can wear the shoes for 36 hours then certainly our customer can wear them. – Marc Jacobs • I felt that I ostracized myself by my behavior, by the past, by living with all the regrets of my mistakes, that I sort of wore a hair shirt and beat myself up most of the day thinking and regretting why did I make such a mistake? Why have I made so many mistakes? – Sarah Ferguson • I first heard Personville called Poisonville by a red-haired mucker named Hickey Dewey in the Big Ship in Butte. He also called his shirt a shoit. – Dashiell Hammett • I go outside, and I’m wearing a funky T-shirt and my hair is dirty, and people say, ‘What’s wrong with her? She needs to invest in a hairbrush.’ – Kristen Stewart • I got live tweeted once by someone who was opposite my home in some rented accommodation. He was actually describing on twitter what I was doing. ‘I took a shirt off, I went to the window, I put a shirt back on… ‘ And I’ve got blinds in my flat! – Benedict Cumberbatch • I had never ironed anything in my life. The proper pressing of a shirt was a mystery of the universe akin to black holes and dark matter. – Lisa Kleypas • I hate formal stuff. I love looking like a doll and all that stuff and playing dress up, but when I’m home, sweat pants, t-shirt. When I’m in the studio, sweat pants, t-shirt. – Nicki Minaj • I hate watching me. I hate watching me. It just makes me feel awful. I think, ‘I look stupid from that angle. I wish I didn’t let them put that shirt on me.’ – Jesse Eisenberg • I know dead. I’ve been there, done that and got the freakin’ T-shirt. – P. C. Cast • I know that’s an endorsement I’ve been waiting for,” Skye added. “Perfectly adequate in bed. They should make that into a T-shirt – Susan Mallery • I like having the vinyl, but it’s not like we’re going to sell an umbrella or something. I don’t like the idea of selling something that’s not music – I mean, I like going to shows and buying the shirt, but beyond that, I don’t know. There’s a lot of crap in the world. – Robin Pecknold • I love my work with a frenetic and perverse love, as an ascetic loves the hair shirt which scratches his belly. – Gustave Flaubert • I love to meet my fans, and after every show I usually hang out for a few hours, talking to my fans, signing autographs, and selling T-shirts. – Tommy Chong • I never cared about buying things for myself, like clothes. And then all of a sudden I realized how great it is to be very precise about the shirts that I wear and all the things that are a part of my closet. So the ritual of fashion and shopping became very personal to me. – Marc Jacobs • I once had a boyfriend who couldn’t write unless he was wearing a necktie and a dress shirt, which I thought was really weird, because this was a long time ago, and no one I knew ever wore dress shirts, let alone neckties; it was like he was a grown-up reenacter or something. – Susan Orlean • I owned a Ferrari, a Range Rover, a Mercedes 560SL convertible, a Jeep Cherokee and a Nissan 300ZX. I can’t remember the intricate decision tree I had to climb in order to determine which one to drive to work on any given day – it probably had something to do with the weather, or which car had more gas in the tank, or upholstery that best matched whatever shirt I happened to throw on that morning. – Michael J. Fox • I put on the Hank Williams and the Patsy Cline and the Rosemary Clooney on vinyl – I’m not trying to be some cool indie-rock person, I just love the way it sounds – and throw on a T-shirt and jeans. In Texas, we practically come out of the womb in jeans. – Kelly Clarkson • I remember at 16 years old, growing up in Queens, we were punks, but hey, when we went to the theater, we wore a shirt and tie! Similarly, I believe that to keep movie theaters in existence, they’re gonna have to make ’em an event, have a couch, a table and drinks or something. Otherwise, there’s no reason to get out of your bed! – James Caan • I rose to my knees, mouth dry and heart pounding, and paused to finger a rip in my beautiful Dacron bowling shirt. I pushed my fingertip through the hole and wiggled it at myself. Hello, Dexter, where are you going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I don’t know, but I’m almost there. I hear my friends calling. – Jeff Lindsay • I sat up in bed. My T-shirt was soaking wet. My pillow was wet. My hair was wet. And my room was sticky and humid. – Kami Garcia • I saw a transvestite wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Guess’. – Demetri Martin • I see no reason to have my shirts ironed. It’s irrational. – Barry Commoner • I simply adore ‘The Simpsons.’ I go to bed in a ‘Simpsons’ T-shirt.- Steven Spielberg • I still have the shirt I wore my first time on Johnny Carson’s show. Only now I use it as a tablecloth at dinner parties. It was very blousy. – Ellen DeGeneres • I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling. – Pablo Neruda • I think a fragrance is more of a signature than even what you wear – something you’ll remember more down the road than a shirt. – Ryan Reynolds • I think certainly after every show I headline, I will be available to the fans. When I’m headlining a show, I don’t walk off stage. I’ll walk to the front of the stage and sign hats and shirts and tickets for 15 to 30 minutes, until everyone has everything signed. – Luke Bryan • I think good-looking people seldom make good television. And American television studios almost concede before they start: ‘Well, it won’t be good, but at least it’ll be good-looking. We’ll have nice-looking girls in tight shirts with F.B.I. badges and fit-looking guys with lots of hair gel vaulting over things.’ – Hugh Laurie • I tore open the closet door and began feverishly sorting through the shirts piled on the floor in the vain hope that inside that pile there might be some wondrously perfect shirt down there, a nice and tough but I’m also a surprisingly good listener with a true and abiding passion for cheers and those who lead them.- John Green • I used to wear sleeveless T-shirts all the time on court, but now I’ve got a brand new look – I’ve moved on to polo shirts. Sleeveless T-shirts give you real freedom of movement and they keep you cooler in matches, but I just thought it was time for a change. – Rafael Nadal • I used to wear sweats and a T-shirt to auditions, but my agent would yell at me and tell me I had to look nice and presentable. So I had to drop that habit. – Kellan Lutz • I was a tough kid with the jeans, the concert shirt with the flannel over it, the comb in the back pocket and the feathered hair. – Cameron Diaz • I wear jeans and a T-shirt sometimes. I just like clothes – since the first time I can remember, like age ten or eleven; I was just obsessed with music and clothes. Just like a lot of people in England from my generation. – Paul Weller • I went to an all-boys Catholic school, and not only were we not allowed to wear pajamas, we had to wear dress shirts, dress pants, a tie, dress shoes… they stopped making us wear blazers, like, two years before I started there, so pajamas… you wouldn’t even get in the front door wearing pajamas at my school. – John C. Reilly • I will put on my shoes and shirt and get out of here – it’ll be better for all of us. – Charles Bukowski • I would go with my husband to the tailors where he gets his shirts made, and I would watch the bespoke process. I would ask them, “Would you be able to make that for me?” And they would always say, “Well, yes, but no.” They were very French about it. I decided I would just do it for myself. And I started doing that. Then other people would notice, and want it. So I started doing things for friends, little pieces, and my own line grew that way. – Minnie Mortimer • I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it. – Jerry Spinelli • If I was left to my own devices, you would see about ten T-shirts in rotation with maybe a few nice pairs of jeans – but I also like to look good. I like feeling really well put together, I just don’t have the aptitude and the knowledge to do that. – Daniel Radcliffe • If you are late for work in Mumbai and reach the station just as the train is leaving the platform, don’t despair. You can run up to the packed compartments and find many hands unfolding like petals to pull you on board. And while you will probably have to hang on to the door frame with your fingertips, you are still grateful for the empathy of your fellow passengers, already packed tighter than cattle, their shirts drenched with sweat in the badly ventilated compartment. They know that your boss might yell at you or cut your pay if you miss this train. – Suketu Mehta • If you leave here, War can find you again. What are you going to do if that happens? (Tory) Leave bloodstains on his best shirt. (Acheron) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • If you two were going to be that obvious about it, why didn’t you guys come down in your Team Daniel and Team Miles T-shirts?” “We should order those,” Shelby said. “Mine’s in the laundry,” Arriane said. – Lauren Kate • If you were a woman, all I’d have to say is ‘Colin Firth in a wet shirt’ and you’d say ‘Ah. – Shannon Hale • I’ll look through ‘Us Weekly’ and I’ll see a picture of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston. And I’m like, ‘Wow, they just… they look so good. Even if they’re like just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, they still look great.’ – Moby • I’m a jacket man. And if I’m without one, I am kind of seriously disabled. I don’t know how to operate in shirt sleeves. – Bill Nighy • I’m an athlete, so I can dress down with the best of them. I can throw on t-shirts and sweats with the best of them. – Dwyane Wade • I’m not big on flak jackets and tie-dyed shirts. You know, that’s not me. 0 Joe Biden • I’m pretty low-key; you’ll often find me in jeans, a T-shirt and sweatshirt. – Olivia Wilde • I’m really not a fascist. Everyone wears what they feel great in, or comfortable with. It’s a beautiful day, you have an armless shirt: it goes with flip-flops. – Christian Louboutin • In a big Bollywood romantic film, taking my shirt off and spreading the hand towards the mountain with dancers behind me are not my cup of tea. – Vir Das • In high school I spent most of my time in jeans and T-shirts or Juicy sweats. We’re such a laid-back town. I mean, people wore bikinis under their clothes half the time, so you didn’t really get dressed up to go to school. – Lauren Conrad • In junior high P.E., I was way too shy to take a shower in front of the other kids. It was a horribly awkward time – body hair, odors… So I’d go from my sweaty shirt back into my regular clothes and have to continue the day. – Will Ferrell • In my everyday life, I just wear jeans, t-shirts and trainers – if I can go barefoot, that’s even better. But for the events I have a stylist, and in two hours we have selected a whole outfit. – Penelope Cruz • Is not the most erotic portion of a body where the garment gapes? In perversion (which is the realm of textual pleasure) there are no “erogenous zones” (a foolish expression, besides); it is intermittence, as psychoanalysis has so rightly stated, which is erotic: the intermittence of skin flashing between two articles of clothing (trousers and sweater), between two edges (the open-necked shirt, the glove and the sleeve); it is this flash itself which seduces, or rather: the staging of an appearance-as-disappearance. – Roland Barthes • Is this the part where you start tearing off strips of your shirt to bind my wounds?” “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked. – Cassandra Clare • It doesn’t hurt.” “But my eyes do,” said a coolly amused voice from the doorway. Jace. He had come in so quietly that even Simon hadn’t heard him; closing the door behind him, he grinned as Isabelle pulled Simon’s shirt down. “Molesting the vampire while he’s too weak to fight back, Iz?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure that violates at least one of the Accords.” “I’m just showing him where he got stabbed,” Isabelle protested, but she scooted back to her chair with a certain amount of haste. – Cassandra Clare • It finally happened, he thought as he burrowed under his shirt and took hold of his heavy cross. All his life he’d wondered why he’d never fallen in love, and now he knew: He’d been waiting for this moment, this woman, this time. The female is mine, he thought. – Manny – J.R. Ward • It’s just an ice bucket with a bottle in it. The two flute glasses are little tray. I got to shut the curtains. I’m in my boxer shorts and shirt. I’m going to take a bath and go to bed. But I want to shut the blinds so it’s really dark in the room. – Danny DeVito • It’s like how on certain days some people wear sweaters when other people can wear t-shirts and still feel comfortable – different reactions to the same temperature. – Maggie Stiefvater • I’ve always loved wearing a suit. When you have on a crisp shirt and a tie you always feel like you’re going somewhere. It feels like a bit of an occasion. – Jamie Redknapp Jamie Redknapp • Juliet shook her head. The thought of eating anything made her feel nauseous. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” “Oh yeah, the heartbreak diet,” nodded Trudy sagely. “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. – Alexandra Potter • Jump into an open grave? What kind of idiot are you?” Butters replied. “I might as well put on a red shirt and volunteer for the away team. There’s snow and ice and slippery mud down there. That’s like asking for an ironically broken neck. – Jim Butcher • Keep your shirt on,” she said with a laugh at her bad joke. “Your clothes are at the laundry. They’ll deliver them as soon as they’re ready.” “And in the meantime?” “Looks like you’re naked.” His jaw worked as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I beg your pardon?” “Beg all you want, you’re still going to be naked.” Tabitha paused at the wicked image in her mind. “Come to think of it, a gorgeous, begging, naked man… that’s the stuff of fantasies. Begging won’t get you your clothes, but it could get you something else.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.- Sherrilyn Kenyon • Kizzy wanted it all so bad her soul leaned half out of her body hungering after it, and that was what drove the goblins wild, her soul hanging out there like an untucked shirt. – Laini Taylor • Many of the male faeries had their shirts unbuttoned and chests bare. (How’s this for freaky: no nipples or belly buttons.) – Kiersten White • Many years ago, I concluded that a few hair shirts were part of the mental wardrobe of every man. The president differs from other men in that he has a more extensive wardrobe. – Herbert Hoover Mari Mancusi • Michael held me when I got inside, because I was shaking all over. That felt so good. Warm all the way down. Did I mention Michael’s feet? They’re all the way sexy, and he’s always barefoot – he hates shoes. I wish he hated pants and shirts, too. – Rachel Caine • Morelli grabbed the front of my shirt, pulled me to him, and kissed me. It was a great kiss, but I didn’t know what the heck it meant. It seemed to me a breaking up kiss would have had less tongue. – Janet Evanovich • Most little children’s obsessions are robots and Barbie dolls. My obsession as a kid was the Versace house. I used to save up my pocket money to buy Versus shirts. I was that obsessed! – Riccardo Tisci • Most of the time, I’m in khakis and a white T-shirt. I’m a total Gap girl. Super casual, hair in a pony tail and no makeup. – Jennifer Love Hewitt • My father had put these things on the table. I looked at him standing by the sink. He was washing his hands, splashing water on his face. My mamma left us. My brother, too. And now my feckless, reckless uncle had as well. My pa stayed, though. My pa always stayed. I looked at him. And saw the sweat stains on his shirt. And his big, scarred hands. And his dirty, weary face. I remembered how, lying in my bed a few nights before, I had looked forward to showing him my uncle’s money. To telling him I was leaving. And I was so ashamed. – Jennifer Donnelly • My heart was a little bit broken, but I still had to go to school. I buttoned my dress shirt over it and my winter coat, too. I hoped it didn’t show too much. – Gabrielle Zevin • My Papa’s Waltz: The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother’s countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt. – Theodore Roethke • NASA has to approve whatever we wear, so there are clothes to choose from, like space shorts – we wear those a lot – and NASA T-shirts. – Sally Ride • Never knock on death’s door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that. – T-shirt – Darynda Jones • No offense but I don’t relish being someone’s science experiment. Been there, done that, and sold the T-shirt for profit. (Sebastian) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • Oh, I can never get enough,” he said. “Which, incidentally, is what your sister said to me when – ” The carriage door flew open. A hand shot out, grabbed Will by the back of the shirt, and hauled him inside. The door banged shut after him, and Thomas, sitting bolt upright, seized reins of the horses. A moment later the carriage had lurched forth into the night, leaving Gabriel staring, infuriated, after it. – Cassandra Clare • Okay, I’ll wear the Bite Me shirt,[…]It’ll be my standard response to any-one who tries to hit on me.” I giggle. “Someone can come up and be like ‘Hey babe, what’s your sign?’ and I’ll just point to my shirt.” Rayne laughs appreciatively and tosses me the tank top. “Of course they might think you’re pointing to your boobs in a ‘have at ’em, big boy’ kind of way. • On the other hand it was bad manners to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if you’re getting it from an overweight cracker in a fringe shirt. – Ilona Andrews • One day she told me that they’d decided that my gender was divvied into two neat piles-Men and Guys. Basically, all the saints of the world: Men. The jerks, the players, the wet T-shirt contest aficionados? They were Guys. – Gayle Forman • Only Jace, Clary thought, could look cool in pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, but he pulled it off, probably through sheer force of will. -pg. 329- – Cassandra Clare • Or why you are wearing a picture of Santa Clause on you shirts, but-” “It’s Herman Melville. – Daniel Handler • Overdone lipstick is a deterrent to men. It rubs off easily onto their skin and the edges of their shirts, so it discourages them from kissing, touching, and coming closer to you, which is what they really want to do! – Helen Fisher • Paris answered for him. “Last time he spread the flashing love, Reyes threw up all over his shirt. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lucien, though, has no sense of humor and vowed never to take us again.” “I’m surprised you didn’t mention the part where you fainted,” Lucien said wryly. Strider chortled. “Oh, man. You fainted? What a baby!” “Hey,” Paris said, frowning at Lucien. “I told you I hit my head midflash.” Lucien Gena Showalter • Patch stood over me, and a drop of rain slid from his hair, landing like ice on my collarbone. I felt it slide along my skin, disappearing beneath the neckline of my shirt. His eyes followed the raindrop, and I began to quiver on the inside. – Becca Fitzpatrick • Patch was dressed in the usual: black shirt, black jeans and a thin silver necklace that flashed against his dark complexion. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, and I could see his muscles working as he punched buttons. He was tall and lean and hard, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if under his clothes he bore several scars, souvenirs from street fights and other reckless behavior. Not that I wanted a look under his clothes. – Becca Fitzpatrick • People always expect Hulk Hogan to be standing up straight, or to have the bandanna on, or to not have my arms covered up. If I have an extra large shirt on people go ‘oh yeah you look small.’ It kind of ruins the mystique. – Hulk Hogan • People care about my personal life. But really I’m dorky! I drink beer and go to football games. And ya know, sit in my house in a t-shirt on the weekends and play with my dog! – Sophia Bush • Place unopened pouch in warm water for 5-10 minutes. Unopened pouch may be laid on a warm surface. Lay unopened pouch in direct sunlight. Not much chance of that down here. Place unopened pouch inside you shirt, allow you body temperature to warm your MRE. I was surprised they left out: Place unopened pouch on ground and pee on it. – S.A. Bodeen • Producers and studios know what sells. It’s nice to be one of the guys that can help sell a movie by taking his shirt off. – Kellan Lutz • Pulling on your country’s shirt is the greatest honour a footballer can have. It’s what I always dreamed of as a kid and I get a buzz every time. – Wayne Rooney • Rae burned me. She has matches or something. Look, look…” Tori pulled down the collar of her T-shirt. “Leave your cloths on, Tori,” Simon said, raising his hands to his eyes. “Please. – Kelley Armstrong Rain, Eye, Hair • Ramil met Tashi’s eyes with a mischievous look. “Now Wife we have a long voyage ahead of us with no interruptions, no affairs of state to sidetrack us.” He brushed his fingers againist the lacings of her neck. “Isn’t it time you returned that shirt to its owner? – Julia Golding • Remember the first time you went to a show and saw your favorite band. You wore their shirt, and sang every word. You didn’t know anything about scene politics, haircuts, or what was cool. All you knew was that this music made you feel different from anyone you shared a locker with. Someone finally understood you. This is what music is about. – Gerard Way • Rowdy, hopped-up college kids pass us in an endless, noisy blur like they’re being mass produced or squeezed out of a tube – guys skulking in their T-shirts and cargo shorts, girls in low-slung jeans and flip-flops, pimples and breasts and tattoos and lipstick and legs and bra straps, and cigarettes; a colorful, sexy melange. I feel old and tired and I just want to be them again, want to be young and stupid, filled with angst and attitude and unbridled lust. Can I have a do-over, please? I swear to God I’ll make a real go of it this time. – Jonathan Tropper • Rule number one of anime,” Simon said. He sat propped up against a pile of pillows at the foot of his bed, a bag of potato chips in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He was wearing a black T-shirt that said I BLOGGED YOUR MOM and a pair of jeans that were ripped in one knee. “Never screw with a blind monk. – Cassandra Clare • Sailing is the closest I can get to nature – it’s adrenaline, fear, a constant challenge and learning experience, an adventure into the unknown. And of course there is nothing better than wearing the same T-shirt for days and not brushing my hair for weeks. – Daria Werbowy • Sejal had not thought of her home, or of India as a whole, as cool. She was dimly aware, however, of a white Westerner habit of wearing other cultures like T-shirts—the sticker bindis on club kids, sindoor in the hair of an unmarried pop star, Hindi characters inked carelessly on tight tank tops and pale flesh. She knew Americans liked to flash a little Indian or Japanese or African. They were always looking for a little pepper to put in their dish. – Adam Rex • Sharks are as tough as those football fans who take their shirts off during games in Chicago in January, only more intelligent. – Dave Barry • she glanced down and saw that a glove of blood covered her lower arm from the elbow to the wrist. The arm was throbbing, stiff, and painful. “Is this when you start tearing strips off your T-shirt to bind up my wound?” she joked. She hated the sight of blood, especially her own. “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.” He dug into his pocket and brought out his stele. “It would have been a lot less painful.- Cassandra Clare • She glanced up at him, and in that moment he pulled his wet shirt over his head. She forced her mind blank. Blank as a new sheet of paper, blank as a starless sky. He came to the fire and crouched before it. He rubbed the water from his bare arms and flicked it in the flames. She stared at the goose and sliced his drumstick carefully and thought of the blankest expression on the blankest face she could possibly imagine. It was a chilly evening; she thought about that. The goose would be delicious, they must eat as much of it as possible, they must not waste it; she thought about that. – Kristin Cashore • She heard Adrian say to Christian, ʺYou know, your shirtʹs kind of grungy-looking. Seems like you could put in a little more effort since youʹre dating a princess.ʺ – Richelle Mead • She sighed. Loudly. “Physical appearance is not what is important.” Yeah right. Tell that to any girl who hasn’t bothered to put on a presentable shirt or fix her hair because she’s only running into the grocery store to get a quart of milk for her grandmother, and who does she see tending the 7-ITEMS-OR-LESS cash register but the guy of her dreams, except she can’t even say hi—much less try to develop a meaningful relationship—since she looks like the poster child for the terminally geeky. – Vivian Vande Velde • She slid out from under his arm, and picked up his shirt from the floor. When she put it on, it failed to meet in the middle over her chest. that always worked in the movies, she thought, disgusted, and dropped it on the floor. – Jennifer Crusie • She was wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed black boots that made you forget. – Kami Garcia • She’s really gone, then. The little girl with the back of her shirt sticking out like a duck tail. – Suzanne Collins • Shrugging out of the damaged shirt, Jake said roughly, “I still dream about you.” “I have nightmares about you.” I dragged my T-shirt over my head, threw it aside.- Josh Lanyon • Sin met Mae and Alan coming into the flat. Mae frowned. “Is it no-shirts festival day?” “Every day with Nick is no-shirts festival day,” Alan said absently, but he was frowning too. – Sarah Rees Brennan • Since I was a child, I hated having to deal with my hair. I hated having to change my clothes. As a kid, I had a sailor shirt and the same old corduroy pants, and that’s what I wanted to wear everyday. – Patti Smith • Slippery slope. I carry a spare shirt, pretty soon I’m carrying spare pants. Then I’d need a suitcase. Next thing I know, I’ve got a house and a car and a savings plan and I’m filling out all kinds of forms. – Lee Child • So what about that key?” I asked. “I knew you’d be asking me about it sooner or later.” He pulled the cord out from underneath his shirt and dangled the key in front of me. “What do you want for it?” I sneered. “Five dollars?” “I don’t want money,” he said with a wicked grin. “What does it go to?” “A kiss will unlock more than this key will,” he whispered in my ear. – Ellen Schreiber • So, ah, I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re not wearing a shirt.” “Distracting, isn’t it? – Lisa McMann • So, what did you get for me?” Angeline paused for a beat. “Jeans.” “What?” croaked Artemis. “And a T-shirt. – Eoin Colfer • Some people have the meat-market mentality, so you’ve got to take your shirt off because it will bring girls into the theater. When that comes up on set, I challenge it. – Josh Hartnett • Sometimes I’m so tired, I look down at what I’m wearing, and if it’s comfortable enough to sleep in, I don’t even make it into my pajamas. I’m looking down, and I’m like, ‘T-shirt and stretchy pants? Yup, that’s fine. It’s pajama-y, good night.’ – Rebecca Romijn • Summer is a Latvian chicken. We make foolish choices. We think we’re young again. We run with outstretched arms toward an object of love and it pecks us and pecks us until we’re standing there snot-nosed and teary in the middle of Astor Place and the sun sets fire to our Penguin shirts and all that is left to do is go to our air-conditioned homes and ponder the cruelty of our finest season. – Gary Shteyngart • Sweet Jesus. It was The Delicious in the dark shirt and jeans. – Julie James • Taro came into the room, strands of hair flying free of the tie at the back of his skull, sweat plastering his cream-colored shirt against his chest and back. I wished I had an artist’s skill, that I could make renderings of him in all his states of beauty. He would never want to look at them, or even know about them. I would just like them for myself. Maybe he would want to see them when he was much older, and beautiful in a different way. – Moira J. Moore • The American dream is a crock. Stop wanting everything. Everyone should wear jeans and have three T-shirts, eat rice and beans. – Bill Hicks • The boys and girls in the clique. The awful names that they stick. You’re never gonna fit in much kid, but it you’re troubled and hurt, what you’ve got under your shirt will make them pay for the things that they did! – Gerard Way • The door banged open and Eve rushed out, flushed and mussed and still buttoning her shirt. “It’s not what you think.” She said. “It was just – oh OK, whatever, it was exactly what you think. Now WHAT? – Rachel Caine • the juniors were acting different because they are now the seniors. They even had T-shirts made. I don’t know who plans these things. – Stephen Chbosky • The man walked past me and stopped, observing the blood running down my neck. “Your injury. Let us tend to it.” He looked out through the open doorway and silently gestured to someone out there. “Our world,” he said, “is far more advanced than yours. For reasons you’ll understand shortly.” A thin, bony, naked woman entered the room, carrying two small, white kittens. She sat one of the fluffy cats in my lap and stuffed the other down my shirt. She turned and left. “There,” said the large man. “The kittens will make your sad go away. – David Wong • The reason I want you to put a shirt on is, well, because, um…” “You’ve never seen a guy with his shirt off?” “Ha, ha. Very funny. Believe me, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” “Wanna bet?” he says, then moves his hands to the button on his jeans and pops it open. Isabel walks in at that exact moment. “Whoa, Alex. Please keep your pants on.- Simone Elkeles • The three biggest fashion mistakes are cheap suits, shoes, and shirts. Spend your money on something good. – Donatella Versace • The way I see it, life is a jelly doughnut. You don’t really know what it’s about until you bite into it. And then, just when you decided it’s good, you drop a big glob of jelly on your best T-shirt.- Janet Evanovich • The woman who opens the door has a blue stain on her shirt and dark hair wound into a messy knot and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They’re pale, like a lioness’s, nearly golden, but they also look like they’ve done their fair share of crying, and we all know that a sky with clouds in it is much more interesting than one that doesn’t have any. – Jodi Picoult • Then he looked at my T-shirt and saw Byron’s picture on it and he quoted “She Walks in Beauty,” which is like my favorite poem next to the one by Baudelaire about his girlfriend being nothing but worm food, except that Lily called that one first because Baudelaire is her fave poet and so she got the shirt with him on it, even though Byron is way more scrumptious and I would do him on sharp gravel if I had the chance. –from The Chronicles of Abby Normal – Christopher Moore • There are other measures of self-respect for a man, than the number of clean shirts he puts on every day. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • There is a preppy wabi-sabi to soft, faded khakis and cotton shirts, but it’s not nice to be surrounded by things that are worn out or stained or used up. – Gretchen Rubin • There was a courtroom scene where my son is convicted of killing Kevin Spacey’s character. I find the bloody T-shirt and realize my husband did it. I get up the courage to take the shirt and send it to the police as evidence. I go out of the house for the first time. There was all this stuff I had to do that became quite truncated, because they slimmed down the movie. I understand the American Beauty is brilliant without all that stuff, but for me, personally, it was hard to see all that go. – Allison Janney • There was nowhere to go, but I turned to go and met Atticus’s vest front. I buried my head in it and listened to the small internal noises that went on behind the light blue cloth: his watch ticking, the faint crackle of his starched shirt, the soft sound of his breathing. ‘Your stomach’s growling,’ I said. ‘I know it,’ he said. – Harper Lee • They walked to school, talking about how much they were longing for the summer holidays. “Oh, I am planning things,” said Jamie. “Great, great things. I could join a band.” “You gave up the guitar after two lessons.” “Well,” he said, “I could be a backup dancer.” “Backup dancers have to wear belly shirts and glitter,” said Mae. “So obviously, I support this plan. Sarah Rees Brennan • This is a team of gay dudes, isn’t it?” What gave it away? The pink shirts, or half our team drooling over you? – Simone Elkeles • This is going to sound crazy, but the first thing I do when I get home is take off all my clothes – at home, just around the house. I take everything off. I can’t stand clothes! I take everything off – my shoes, my socks, my watch, shirt, everything. I am completely naked. – Tom Ford • Thomas Pynchon looks exactly like Thomas Pynchon should look. He is tall, he wears lumberjack shirts and blue jeans. He has Albert Einstein white hair and Bugs Bunny front teeth. – Salman Rushdie • To be the name on somebody’s shirt that they’ve made themselves in preparation for one of your shows – it doesn’t get much cooler than that.Hunter Hayes • T-shirts for ten dollars are even more fashion today than expensive fashion. – Karl Lagerfeld • Um, Faythe?” Marc reached for my arm, and a small grin turned up one corner of his beautiful mouth. “As my first official piece of advice to the new Alpha, let me suggest that you put on some pants. And maybe a shirt.” His grin grew and pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, while Jace watched us stiffly from across the room. “While the look definitely works for me, I’m thinking the other Alphas might take you more seriously if you dress the part. – Rachel Vincent • Walking over to Iggy, he poked him with his shoe. “Does anysing on you vork properly?” Iggy rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Well, I have a highly developed sense of irony.” Ter Borcht tsked. “You are a liability to your group. I assume you alvays hold onto someone’s shirt, yes? Following dem closely?” “Only when I’m trying to steal their dessert,” Iggy said truthfully. – James Patterson • Was I wearing my ‘I’m done with my virginity, please get rid of it for me’ T-shirt? – Rachel Vincent • We are not going to die.” Butters stared up at me, pale, his eyes terrified. “We’re not?” No. And do you know why?” He shook his head. “Because Thomas is too pretty to die. And because I’m too stubborn to die.” I hauled on the shirt even harder. “And most of all because tomorrow is Oktoberfest, Butters, and polka will never die. – Jim Butcher • Welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: if someone yells “stop!”, goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: the fights are bare knuckle. No shirt, no shoes, no weapons. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight. – Chuck Palahniuk • Well, he was wearing those really bad pants ant that awful shirt. Clearly he did need some things explained to him bya teenager, but i didn’t think it was the right time to mention his unforunate and obvious fashion impairment. – P. C. Cast • What was Dionysus going to go? Send him back to his hellish isolation? He’d been there, done that, and had the Ozzy T-shirt to prove it.’ (Styxx) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • What’s goin’ on?” I ask as I take a seat. “Obviously not this.” He tosses me my shirt from last night. “I found it on the floor of the den. It’s obvious there was some hanky-panky going on.” Okay, so he knows we fooled around. But at least he didn’t find Kiara’s bra on top of my shirt. “Yeah . . . things kinda got a little heated after you and Mrs. W. left the den last night,” I tell him. – Simone Elkeles • What’s it like to envision the ten-thousand-year environmental impact of tossing a plastic bottle into the trash bin, all in the single second it takes to actually toss it? Or the ten-thousand-year history of the fossil fuel being burned to drive to work or iron a shirt? It may be environmentally progressive, but it’s not altogether pleasant. – Douglas Rushkoff • When I revealed the campaign, some lady in the front row, a photographer, asked “is that airbrushed?” So I just lifted my shirt up and my stomach was the exact same thing as in the ads. It was actually kinda nice that she said that, because I’m sure plenty of people probably thought that. That’s one of the reasons I did it – especially when you work so hard to get your body to look like that – it’s frustrating. – Dara Torres When I was fourteen and first started going out, I always wanted to be the opposite of everyone else. So I would go to the club in a polo T-shirt and pants and sneakers and a hat on backward, just so I would not be dressed like other girls. – Rihanna • When I wear the national team shirt, its sole contact with my skin makes it stand on an end. – Diego Maradona • When my parents were liberated, four years before I was born, they found that the ordinary world outside the camp had been eradicated. There was no more simple meal, no thing was less than extraordinary: a fork, a mattress, a clean shirt, a book. Not to mention such things that can make one weep: an orange, meat and vegetables, hot water. There was no ordinariness to return to, no refuge from the blinding potency of things, an apple screaming its sweet juice. – Anne Michaels • When Rae got back, she spread her empty hands wide and said “Okay, guess where I hid it.” She even turned around for me, but I couldn’t see a bulge big enough to hide a flashlight. With a grin, she reached down the front of her shirt into the middle of her bra, and pulled out a flashlight with flourish. I laughed. “Cleavage is great,” she said. “Like an extra pocket. – Kelley Armstrong • Why are we, as a nation so obsessed with foreign things? Is it a legacy of our colonial years? We want foreign television sets. We want foreign shirts. We want foreign technology. Why this obsession with everything imported? – Abdul Kalam • Willow nestled against him. He smoothed her long hair down the back of her T-shirt, feeling its softness. In a few moments she fell asleep again, her breathing warm and regular against his chest. Alex kissed her head, his arms tightening around her. As he drifted back to sleep himself, he saw a brief flash of the thousands of angels streaming in, but right then it seemed distant, almost unimportant. The only thing that mattered was that he was lying in a bed holding Willow, their bare legs entwined. It was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. – L.A. Weatherly • With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know. – Hunter S. Thompson • You can put a new shirt on your back, slide a fresh chain around your neck, and accumulate all the money and power in the world, but at the end of the day those are just layers. Money and power don’t change you, they just further expose your true self. – Jay-Z • You could have the best suit in the world, but if you haven’t got the right shirt and tie with it you could look like a bag of rubbish. I think the shirt is the most important thing – you need a nice collar with it so that you can make it look good. • You don’t annoy me.” Carefully he rebuttoned the placket of her shirt. “I thought you did, at first. But now I realize it was more like the feeling you get when your foot’s been asleep. And when you start moving, the blood coming back into it is uncomfortable . . . but also good. Do you understand what I mean?” “Yes. I make your feet tingle.” A smile came to his lips. “Among other things. – Lisa Kleypas • You know how people love to glamorize poverty? There’s nothing glamorous about it. But it did make me really creative. Those days, I was literally taking t-shirts in the day and sewing them back together to make dresses for the night. – Beth Ditto • Your shoes have to match your belt. That’s rule number one for guys. You can’t put the brown shoes with the black belt. Or a brown belt with a black wristwatch. Just don’t do it! Also, I don’t like boots with suits. And when you wear sneakers, make sure they go with your shirt. – Ashton Kutcher • You’re barely even wearing a shirt! What are you going to do if a mugger jumps out at you, flash them? – Sarah Rees Brennan • Zach had rushed down to rescue me without remembering to put a shirt on…Maybe I had died and gone to heaven. – Meg Cabot • Zane brought her hand to his chest, over his heart and she felt the strong rapid beat through his shirt. “Feel that?” His throat worked as he swallowed. “It would break if I fell for you and anything happened that would take you away from me.” –Zane to Willow in ‘The Edge of Sin’ in the Real Men Last all Night anthology – Cheyenne McCray [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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Shirt Quotes

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• A book, a book full of human touches, of shirts, a book without loneliness, with men and tools, a book is victory. • A Mexican guy named Sam pushes Gary Frankel next to Isabel. “This guy can break your arm with one snap, asshole. Get out of my sight before I sic him on you,” Sam says. Gary, who’s wearing a coral shirt and white pants, growls to look tough. It doesn’t work. – Simone Elkeles • A thump thump thump noise that was so unfamiliar, and yet I couldn’t quite place it. But I knew it. It was – “Mmm-hmmm,” Monica murmured, just as Wes came view into the path. He was running, his pace quick and steady. He was in shorts, his shirt off, staring ahead as he passed. His back was tan and gleaming with sweat. – Sarah Dessen • A typical ‘Larry King Live’ is a pastiche whose absurdism defies parody. Wearing his trademark suspenders and purple shirts, he looks as if he’s strapped to the chair with vertical seat belts, unable to eject. – James Wolcott • After graduating from flares and platforms in the early 1970s, I started drama school wearing a pair of khaki dungarees with one of my Dad’s Army shirts, accessorised by a cat’s basket doubling as a handbag. Very Lady Gaga. – Jenny Eclair • After that, all the while Millie was eating the pudding… we both tore Christopher’s character to shreds. It was wonderful fun…. He drove everyone mad in Chrestomanci Castle by insisting on silk shirts and exactly the right kind of pajamas. ‘And he could get them right anyway by magic,’ Millie told me, ‘if he wasn’t too lazy to learn how…. But the thing that really annoys me is the way he never bothers to learn a person’s name. If a person isn’t important to him, he always forgets their name.’ When Millie said this, I realized that Christopher had never once forgotten my name. – Diana Wynne Jones • Ah! how annoying that the law doesn’t allow a woman to change husbands just as one does shirts. – Moliere • Alec watched them through the half-open door, Jace leaned against the sink as his adoptive sister sponged his wrists and wrapped them in a white gauze. “Okay, now take off your shirt.” (Isabelle) “I knew there was something in this for you.” (Jace) ~pg. 329~ – Cassandra Clare • Alice was scrutinizing my boring jeans-and-a-T-shirt outfit in a way that made me self-conscious. Probably plotting another makeover. I sighed. My indifferent attitude to fashion was a constant thorn in her side. If I’d allow it, she’d love to dress me everyday―perhaps several times a day―like some oversized three-dimensional paper doll. – Stephenie Meyer • All right. Tell me what I’m looking at.” From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, “A giant pair of cartoon lips.” I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull’s glowing orange eye sockets was visible. A big goofy magic nerd!” Bob said. – Jim Butcher • Also, I used to think that one day I might get someone to iron my shirts, but the truth is I really like doing them myself. – David Sedaris • Amos clapped his hands. “Khufu!” I thought he’d sneezed, because Khufu is a weird name, but then a little dude about three feet tall with gold fur and a purple shirt came clambering down the stairs. It took me a second to realize it was a baboon wearing an L.A. Lakers jersey. – Rick Riordan • Amy, listen to me. What I do. The choices I make. They’re mine. Only mine. The consequences of those decisions—mine. “Mine,” he repeated when she sighed heavily. “No one else’s.” Silence. Only the warm wetness of her tears dampening his shirt. It broke his heart.- Cindy Gerard • An old market had stood there until I’d been about six years old, when the authorities had renamed it the Olde Market, destroyed it, and built a new market devoted to selling T-shirts and other objects with pictures of the old market. Meanwhile, the people who had operated the little stalls in the old market had gone elsewhere and set up a thing on the edge of town that was now called the New Market even though it was actually the old market. – Neal Stephenson • And also, there are so many times when you need to make a quick escape, but humans don’t have their own wings, or not yet, anyway, so what about a birdseed shirt? – Jonathan Safran Foer • And drinking neat liquor from the bottle, with all my long hair and my shirt undone and my beads, not so much the lizard king, more a gecko duchess, I fitted in nicely with their idea of what a creative person should be.- Russell Brand • And I was victim to that very early in my career, where I would go into auditions, and I’d be wearing a big T shirt, a big baggy T shirt and loose jeans. You know, to try and show people that there was more to me than just that. – Charlize Theron • And speaking of on board, she’d moved into John’s room properly. In his closet, her leathers and her muscles shirts were hanging next to his, and their shitkickers were lined up together, and all her knives and her guns and her little toys were now locked up in his fire proof cabinet. Their ammo was even stacked together. How frickin’ romantic. – J.R. Ward • And speaking of scary things, I need to leave. My guides are fading even as we speak. (Talon) I hate when you commune with the dead in front of me. (Kyrian) Are you the asshole who sent the ‘I See Dead People’ T-shirt to me? (Talon) That would be Wulf. (Kyrian) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • And sure enough,the youth in question was not his usual dapper self. His face was puffy, his eyes red and wild; his shirt(distressingly unbuttoned)hung over his trousers in sloppy fashion. All very out of charactar: Mandrake was normally defined by his rigid self-control. Somthing seemed to have stripped all that away. Well, the poor lad was emotionally brittle.He needed sympathetic handling. “You’re a mess,” I sneered “You’ve lost it big time. What’s happened? All the guilt and self-loathing suddenly get to you? It can��t just be that someone else called me, surly?- Jonathan Stroud • Aren’t you a little old for your mom to be picking out your clothes for you? Really? Shopping at the Children’s Place at your age? I’m sure there’s some third-grader dying to know who bought the last navy I-sore shirt. (Nekoda) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • As astute followers of ‘Life in Hell’ will notice, Akbar and Jeff wear the same striped T-shirt as Charlie Brown. ‘Peanuts’ was very important to me. – Matt Groening • As I moved deeper into the room, his gaze dropped to my feet, and worked its way back to my face. I was wearing faded jeans, boots, and a snug pink Juicy T-shirt I got on sale at TJ Maxx last summer that said I’m a Juicy girl. “I bet you are,” he murmured. – Karen Marie Moning • As she turned to concentrate on the portal, Eve tugged on Claire’s shirt. “What?” “Ask him where he got the boots.” “You ask.” Personally, Claire wanted the vampire bunny slippers. • At the beginning of my career I was going through a really weird phase of dressing in boys clothes. I would only wear one American Apparel T-shirt and shorts and brogues the whole year round. Not the same T-shirt, obviously, but one style of American Apparel T-shirt. I think I was going through a tomboy stage. – Florence Welch

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Shirt', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_shirt').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_shirt img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Basically the sort of guy who looks entirely at home in sockless white loafers and a mint-green knit shirt from lacoste. – David Foster Wallace • Basically, I’m in a kilt and a white shirt every day. So, you know, I don’t have a lot of scope, and I’m really picky about what I wear. Even if it’s weird, it’s very particular to me. And you can’t make a business out of what I would wear. We’d be out of business. – Marc Jacobs • Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Steig Larsson • Ben Starling, you better not have bought your token black friend a racist shirt- John Green • Besides, Southerners are hospitable. They’ll probably offer me lemonade.” Excuse me? You’re going to sit on a porch and drink lemonade while I plow a swamp with a goat’s horn?” Yes, ma’am. And I aim to wear my seamless shirt while you do it. – Nancy Werlin • But even as she told herself that, she remembered the way Cal had looked today with his shirt off while he’d stood on the ladder and scraped the side of Annie’s house. Watching those muscles bunch and flex every time he moved had made her crazy and she’d finally grabbed his shirt, thrown it at him, and delivered a stern lecture on the depletion of the ozone layer and skin cancer. – Susan Elizabeth Phillips • By no means do I want to be a piece of meat for the rest of my career. It’s funny when you get asked to do a talk show, and then they follow it up with requesting you take your shirt off. – Kellan Lutz • Christian stretched out beside her and pulled her close. ʺBut for what itʹs worth, I think youʹd be a great queen too, Princess Dragomir.ʺ ʺYouʹre going to get dirty,ʺ she warned. ʺAlready am. Oh, you mean from your clothes?ʺ He wrapped his arms around her, heedless of her damp and muddy state. ʺI spent most of my childhood hiding in a dusty attic and own exactly one dress shirt. You really think I care about this T-shirt?ʺ – Richelle Mead • Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening, asking please, for God’s sake, stop sending him signals that they were right for each other. He’d read that book, seen the movie, bought the soundtrack, the DVD, the T-shirt, the mug, the bobble-head, and the insider’s guide. He knew every reason they could have been lock and key. But just as he was aware of all that aligned them, he was even clearer on how they were damned to be ever apart. – J.R. Ward • Corrigan told me once that Christ was quite easy to understand. He went where He was supposed to go. He stayed where He was needed. He took little or nothing along, a pair of sandals, a bit of a shirt, a few odds and ends to stave off the loneliness. He never rejected the world. If He had rejected it, He would have been rejecting mystery. And if He rejected mystery, He would have been rejecting faith. – Colum McCann • Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge out your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only silence. Indifference. But merely stand looking at the playbills, sighing because your name is not on them, and the devil himself appears at your elbow full of sympathy and suggestions. And that’s why I did it….Because God loves us, but the devil takes an interest. – Jennifer Donnelly • Dammit, Michael, get out of my room, you pervert!” Could you even be a pervert if you were dead? She supposed you could, if you had a working body half the time. “I swear, I’m going to start taking my clothes off!” The cold spot stayed resolutely put until she got the hem of her T-shirt all the way up to her bra line, and then faded away. “Chicken,” she said, and paced the room, back and forth. Rachel Caine • Derek looked around, like he was searching for something to use. Then he stripped off his shirt. I tried not to look away. Not that he looked bad without his shirt. The opposite, actually, which is why…Let’s just say friends are really better when they’re fully clothed. – Kelley Armstrong • Did she just-” “Yes.” “But I don’t-” “Yes you do. We both stink.” “Well, I’m not-” “Yes. You are.” He huffed. “You wont let-” “No. No complaining. Let’s go.” I grabbed a clean shirt and pants from my saddlebags. “Well, she could have handled it better,” he grumped. “No. She couldn’t.” He settled into a sulky silence as we visited the bathhouse. – Maria V. Snyder • Different elevator music was playing since my last visit-that old disco song “Stayin’ Alive.” A terrifying image flashed through my mind of Apollo in bell-bottom pants and a slinky silk shirt. – Rick Riordan • Don’t cry.” “How can I not?” I asked him. “You just said you loved me.” “Well, why else did you think all of this was happening?” He set the book aside to wrap his arms around me. “The Furies wouldn’t be trying to kill you if I didn’t love you.” “I didn’t know,” I said. Tears were trickling down my cheeks, but I did nothing to try to stop them. His shirt was absorving most of them. “You never said anything about it. Every time I saw you, you just acted so… wild.” “How was I supposed to act?” he asked. “You kept doing things like throwing tea in my face. – Meg Cabot • Doubts are like stains on a shirt. I like shirts with stains, because when I’m given a shirt that’s too clean, one that’s completely white, I immediately start having doubts. – Antonio Tabucchi • Elegance is always in style for men. There are all different kinds of elegance. It can be silk, it can be a T-shirt. – Donatella Versace • Even now if I see someone working out, in great shape, like a 40-year-old guy with his shirt off jogging I always think, “Look at that idiot.” That’s why everyone in my movie is kind of goofy because I’m a champion of the goofball. What sucks is I have to work out now not to die. I was always happy not working out because I never wanted to be someone who worked out to look good, but now I have to try to not die, which is such a drag. – Judd Apatow • Every time we give a musician the advice to give away the music and sell the T-shirt, we’re saying, “Don’t make your living in this more elevated way. Instead, reverse this social progress, and choose a more physical way to make a living.” We’re sending them to peasanthood, very much like the Maoists have. – Jaron Lanier • Every woman should have a daughter to tell her stories to. Otherwise, the lessons learned are as useless as spare buttons from a discarded shirt. And all that is left is a fading name and the shape of a nose or the color of hair. The men who write the history books will tell you the stories of battles and conquests. But the women will tell you the stories of people’s hearts. – Karen White • Everywhere I go I buy new music shirts. – Shaun White • First, she wanted to taste the sweat that shone on his throat and fragile clavicle; then he chose to undo the tails of her shirt, that she had tied up beneath her breasts; then, but then impatient they forgot about taking turns and quarreled silently, eagerly over each other, like pirates dividing treasure long sought, long imagined, long withheld. – John Crowley • For a split second longer she stood motionless. Then, somehow, she had caught at the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her. His arms went around her, lifting her almost out of her sandals, and then he was kissing her—or she was kissing him, she wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. The feel of his mouth on hers was electric; her hands gripped his arms, pulling him hard against her. The feel of his heart pounding through his shirt made her dizzy with joy. No one else’s heart beat like Jace’s did, or ever could. – Cassandra Clare • For as long as I could remember, he had never worn a single piece of clothing that could be considered casual. Khaki shorts and golf shirts, to Umberto, were the garments of men who have no virtues left, not even shame. – Anne Fortier • For me, it’s important that a fan can buy something that is related to me. Like in soccer, you buy a shirt and it’s got somebody’s name on the back. That’s kind of a cool thing. – Roger Federer • For my prom, I was so fancy, I got t a suit tailored. I wanted a three-piece suit. I thought it would be cool to wear all black – black shirt, black tie, I figured it would be the coolest thing I’ve ever done. That was my first suit. I put the suit on two years later and it was so big on me and absurd and didn’t fit. I still have it. I won’t throw it out. It’s too fun. It reminds me where I come from. Actually, I have an evolution of suits in my closet. It starts with that one and goes up to the suits that I get to have now. – Gabriel Macht • Fortunes made in no time are like shirts made in no time; it’s ten to one if they hang long together. – Douglas William Jerrold • Foul!” yelled Jamie, who seemed extremely happy not to be the one facing a blade. “Distracting technique! Put your shirt back on right now. Sarah Rees Brennan • From working with Ralph Lauren, I started to understand what it meant to build a brand. There were times when I was working there that it seemed so repetitive. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. But when I stepped out of it, I realized what he was doing was achieving a signature look and reiterating that. That’s why when you think about a polo shirt you think about Ralph – he owns that garment. – – Simon Spurr Girlfriend, Lilies, Abby • Girls can wear jeans and cut their hair short and wear shirts and boots because it’s okay to be a boy; for girls it’s like promotion. But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading, according to you, because secretly you believe that being a girl is degrading. – Ian Mcewan • Girls can wear jeans, cut their hair short, wear shirts and boots, ’cause it’s okay to be a boy, but for a boy to look like a girl is degrading. – Charlotte Gainsbourg • Got to say, dying would really wreck my best day. Been there, done that, and now that I think about it, Artemis forgot to give me the t-shirt. – Sherrilyn Kenyon • Grunge was so self-consciously lowbrow and nonaspirational that it seemed, at first, impervious to the hype and glamour normally applied swiftly to any emerging trend. But sure enough, grunge anthems found their way onto the soundtracks of television commercials, and Dodge Neons were hawked by kids in flannel shirts saying, ‘Whatever.’ – Douglas Rushkoff • Guys are lucky: We can wear a suit over and over, just with different shirts and ties. – Ryan Reynolds • Having stuff that fits you perfectly makes the craziest difference. I remember the first times that I was introduced to that – having a shirt that’s actually tailored to your body and not just made for your average American. It just changes your life. – Mayer Hawthorne • He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he’d get his eyes open again. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn’t seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities. She might be blushing. He couldn’t tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn’t be scarred forever by the sight of his chest. – Julia Quinn • He does this on purpose,” Stephanie’s mother said as they sat in the car, seat belts on and ready to go. They watched him appear at the front door, shrug into his jacket, tuck in his shirt, go to step out, and then pause. “He looks like he’s about to sneeze,” Stephanie remarked. – Derek Landy • He knew her now. She was the weird girl in the class above him, who dyed her hair pink and always wore a lot of pentragrams and crystals. Right now she was also wearing giant chandelier earings and a violent pink T-Shirt that bore the words ROMEO AND JULIET WOULDN’T HAVE LASTED. • He leaned back for a moment to tug her shirt down her arms, with the same wicked, lovley smile that had first stolen her breath years ago. – Melissa Marr • He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he’s on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. “Who am I?” “Jericho” “Who are you?” He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He’s commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: “Whogivesafuck? – Karen Marie Moning • He told me this while ripping through his duffel bag, throwing clothes into drawers with reckless abandon. Chip did not believe in having a sock drawer or a T-shirt drawer. He believed that all drawers were created equal and filled each with whatever fit. My mother would have died. – John Green • He was dressed just like on TV, with lots of silver chains and bracelets, ripped jeans, and a black muscle shirt (Which was kind of stupid, since he didn’t have any muscles). – Rick Riordan • He was going to take a dive into this lake. He just didn’t know it. Cerise rose, finding footing in the soft mud. The water came up to just below her breasts and her wet shirt stuck to her body. William’s gaze snagged on her chest. Yep, keep looking, Lord Bill. Keeeeeep looking. – Ilona Andrews • He was in blue jeans and a work shirt, which is another weird quirk of Rich Old Men. Just one of the guys here. Blue jeans and a work shirt, salt of the earth, working man like yourself. Like they’re somehow uncomfortable about being rich enough to sleep in a bed made of vaginas being pulled around the town at night by a fleet of gold-covered midgets. – Warren Ellis • He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt and had stopped in the middle of the hall, furiously scratching one bare forearm. “Fleas?” I said. – Kelley Armstrong • Headbangers’ are people who like heavy-metal music, which is performed by skinny men with huge hair who stomp around the stage, striking their instruments and shrieking angrily, apparently because somebody has stolen all their shirts. – Dave Barry • He’d changed since the last summer. Instead of Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt, he wore a button-down shirt, khaki pants, and leather loafers. His sandy hair, which used to be so unruly, was now clipped short. He look like an evil male model, showing off what the fashionable college-age villain was wearing to Harvard this year. – Rick Riordan • Here’s a newsflash from the only High Preistess you have left at this dang school: Zoey isn’t dead. And believe me, I know dead. I’ve been there, done that, and got the frickin’ T-shirt.” – Stevie Rae – P. C. Cast • His face set in grim determination, Richard slogged ahead, his fingers reaching up to touch the tooth under his shirt. Loneliness, deeper than he had never known, sagged his shoulders. All his friends were lost to him. He knew now that his life was not his own. It belonged to his duty, to his task. He was the Seeker. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not his own man, but a pawn to be used by others. A tool, same as his sword, to help others, that they might have the life he had only glimpsed for a twinkling. He was no different from the dark things in the boundary. A bringer of death. • How had I managed to tie my boots? I didn’t even remember getting dressed. I was out here in public at the mall. What was I wearing? Jeans. I could feel socks. I had my boots on. I plucked at the edge of my t-shirt and saw it was red. I was wearing Dad’s spare Army jacket, and there was a heavy weight in the right pocket that had to be something deadly. – Lilith Saintcrow • I am always looking for a cool tee shirt; maybe one with a rock band or an old advertisement. – Bridget Hall • I am one who is very meridione – Southern Italian. I am proud of this. I design everything with my team, which is fantastic and small. I design by look. For example, people always comment to me, “When you do men’s shirts, you always keep them closed on the catwalk.” That’s my thing. – Riccardo Tisci • I borrowed this from Kyle. My other shirt was pretty filthy.” “Wow, you’re wearing each other’s clothes now. That’s, like, best friend stuff.” “Feeling left out?” said Kyle. “I suppose you want to borrow a black T-shirt too.” “As long as everyone’s wearing their own pants.” “I see have come in on a fascinating moment in the conversation.” Eric poked his head through the curtain. – Cassandra Clare • I can’t even tell you how good it felt to see him. It felt even better when he reached through the metal grate, wrapped his fingers around the front of my shirt, dragged me forward, and kissed me through the bars. “Sorry” he said-only not looking to sorry, if you know what I mean. – Meg Cabot • I could have grabbed his shirt collar. I could have pulled him close to me, so close he could feel my breath on his skin, and I could have said to him, “This is just a crisis. A flash! A single match struck against the implacable darkness of time! You are the one who taught me to never give up. You taught me that new possibilities emerge for those who are prepared, for those who are ready. You have to believe! • I couldn’t meet his gaze. I stared at the table just behind him–the mess of cards on it, the lantern giving off its quiet glow. “When you gave me your shirt to wear that night, I could feel you. I could feel your essence.” The world went still. We were standing only inches from each other, not touching. Outside, I could hear the faint murmur of the wind blowing through the trees. “What did it feel like?” he asked in a low voice. “Like…coming home,” I admitted. – L.A. Weatherly • I do feel that film and TV are often behind when it comes to the way women look, they often dress them in khakis and denim shirts, but women and mothers these days look great and films need to reflect that. Real people look very fashionable, moms are at the forefront of the style. But things are getting better in that way. – Kristin Davis • I don’t have any elaborate uniforms; I come to the ring in a T-shirt, a pair of sneakers and some shorts. – John Cena • I don’t know, but I always loved that image of a girl putting toenail polish on a guy – her boyfriend, or something like that. Or a guy waking up in the morning and reaching over and putting on his girlfriend’s shirt. Like Keith Richards putting on one of Anita Pallenberg’s blouses, or Courtney Love putting nail polish on Kurt Cobain. – Marc Jacobs • I empathize with women in their high heels so I’ll be there in my kilt and T-shirt and I’ll walk around all day just to prove that if I can wear the shoes for 36 hours then certainly our customer can wear them. – Marc Jacobs • I felt that I ostracized myself by my behavior, by the past, by living with all the regrets of my mistakes, that I sort of wore a hair shirt and beat myself up most of the day thinking and regretting why did I make such a mistake? Why have I made so many mistakes? – Sarah Ferguson • I first heard Personville called Poisonville by a red-haired mucker named Hickey Dewey in the Big Ship in Butte. He also called his shirt a shoit. – Dashiell Hammett • I go outside, and I’m wearing a funky T-shirt and my hair is dirty, and people say, ‘What’s wrong with her? She needs to invest in a hairbrush.’ – Kristen Stewart • I got live tweeted once by someone who was opposite my home in some rented accommodation. He was actually describing on twitter what I was doing. ‘I took a shirt off, I went to the window, I put a shirt back on… ‘ And I’ve got blinds in my flat! – Benedict Cumberbatch • I had never ironed anything in my life. The proper pressing of a shirt was a mystery of the universe akin to black holes and dark matter. – Lisa Kleypas • I hate formal stuff. I love looking like a doll and all that stuff and playing dress up, but when I’m home, sweat pants, t-shirt. When I’m in the studio, sweat pants, t-shirt. – Nicki Minaj • I hate watching me. I hate watching me. It just makes me feel awful. I think, ‘I look stupid from that angle. I wish I didn’t let them put that shirt on me.’ – Jesse Eisenberg • I know dead. I’ve been there, done that and got the freakin’ T-shirt. – P. C. Cast • I know that’s an endorsement I’ve been waiting for,” Skye added. “Perfectly adequate in bed. They should make that into a T-shirt – Susan Mallery • I like having the vinyl, but it’s not like we’re going to sell an umbrella or something. I don’t like the idea of selling something that’s not music – I mean, I like going to shows and buying the shirt, but beyond that, I don’t know. There’s a lot of crap in the world. – Robin Pecknold • I love my work with a frenetic and perverse love, as an ascetic loves the hair shirt which scratches his belly. – Gustave Flaubert • I love to meet my fans, and after every show I usually hang out for a few hours, talking to my fans, signing autographs, and selling T-shirts. – Tommy Chong • I never cared about buying things for myself, like clothes. And then all of a sudden I realized how great it is to be very precise about the shirts that I wear and all the things that are a part of my closet. So the ritual of fashion and shopping became very personal to me. – Marc Jacobs • I once had a boyfriend who couldn’t write unless he was wearing a necktie and a dress shirt, which I thought was really weird, because this was a long time ago, and no one I knew ever wore dress shirts, let alone neckties; it was like he was a grown-up reenacter or something. – Susan Orlean • I owned a Ferrari, a Range Rover, a Mercedes 560SL convertible, a Jeep Cherokee and a Nissan 300ZX. I can’t remember the intricate decision tree I had to climb in order to determine which one to drive to work on any given day – it probably had something to do with the weather, or which car had more gas in the tank, or upholstery that best matched whatever shirt I happened to throw on that morning. – Michael J. Fox • I put on the Hank Williams and the Patsy Cline and the Rosemary Clooney on vinyl – I’m not trying to be some cool indie-rock person, I just love the way it sounds – and throw on a T-shirt and jeans. In Texas, we practically come out of the womb in jeans. – Kelly Clarkson • I remember at 16 years old, growing up in Queens, we were punks, but hey, when we went to the theater, we wore a shirt and tie! Similarly, I believe that to keep movie theaters in existence, they’re gonna have to make ’em an event, have a couch, a table and drinks or something. Otherwise, there’s no reason to get out of your bed! – James Caan • I rose to my knees, mouth dry and heart pounding, and paused to finger a rip in my beautiful Dacron bowling shirt. I pushed my fingertip through the hole and wiggled it at myself. Hello, Dexter, where are you going? Hello, Mr. Finger. I don’t know, but I’m almost there. I hear my friends calling. – Jeff Lindsay • I sat up in bed. My T-shirt was soaking wet. My pillow was wet. My hair was wet. And my room was sticky and humid. – Kami Garcia • I saw a transvestite wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Guess’. – Demetri Martin • I see no reason to have my shirts ironed. It’s irrational. – Barry Commoner • I simply adore ‘The Simpsons.’ I go to bed in a ‘Simpsons’ T-shirt.- Steven Spielberg • I still have the shirt I wore my first time on Johnny Carson’s show. Only now I use it as a tablecloth at dinner parties. It was very blousy. – Ellen DeGeneres • I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes, my rage, forgetting everything, I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops, and courtyards with washing hanging from the line: underwear, towels and shirts from which slow dirty tears are falling. – Pablo Neruda • I think a fragrance is more of a signature than even what you wear – something you’ll remember more down the road than a shirt. – Ryan Reynolds • I think certainly after every show I headline, I will be available to the fans. When I’m headlining a show, I don’t walk off stage. I’ll walk to the front of the stage and sign hats and shirts and tickets for 15 to 30 minutes, until everyone has everything signed. – Luke Bryan • I think good-looking people seldom make good television. And American television studios almost concede before they start: ‘Well, it won’t be good, but at least it’ll be good-looking. We’ll have nice-looking girls in tight shirts with F.B.I. badges and fit-looking guys with lots of hair gel vaulting over things.’ – Hugh Laurie • I tore open the closet door and began feverishly sorting through the shirts piled on the floor in the vain hope that inside that pile there might be some wondrously perfect shirt down there, a nice and tough but I’m also a surprisingly good listener with a true and abiding passion for cheers and those who lead them.- John Green • I used to wear sleeveless T-shirts all the time on court, but now I’ve got a brand new look – I’ve moved on to polo shirts. Sleeveless T-shirts give you real freedom of movement and they keep you cooler in matches, but I just thought it was time for a change. – Rafael Nadal • I used to wear sweats and a T-shirt to auditions, but my agent would yell at me and tell me I had to look nice and presentable. So I had to drop that habit. – Kellan Lutz • I was a tough kid with the jeans, the concert shirt with the flannel over it, the comb in the back pocket and the feathered hair. – Cameron Diaz • I wear jeans and a T-shirt sometimes. I just like clothes – since the first time I can remember, like age ten or eleven; I was just obsessed with music and clothes. Just like a lot of people in England from my generation. – Paul Weller • I went to an all-boys Catholic school, and not only were we not allowed to wear pajamas, we had to wear dress shirts, dress pants, a tie, dress shoes… they stopped making us wear blazers, like, two years before I started there, so pajamas… you wouldn’t even get in the front door wearing pajamas at my school. – John C. Reilly • I will put on my shoes and shirt and get out of here – it’ll be better for all of us. – Charles Bukowski • I would go with my husband to the tailors where he gets his shirts made, and I would watch the bespoke process. I would ask them, “Would you be able to make that for me?” And they would always say, “Well, yes, but no.” They were very French about it. I decided I would just do it for myself. And I started doing that. Then other people would notice, and want it. So I started doing things for friends, little pieces, and my own line grew that way. – Minnie Mortimer • I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it. – Jerry Spinelli • If I was left to my own devices, you would see about ten T-shirts in rotation with maybe a few nice pairs of jeans – but I also like to look good. I like feeling really well put together, I just don’t have the aptitude and the knowledge to do that. – Daniel Radcliffe • If you are late for work in Mumbai and reach the station just as the train is leaving the platform, don’t despair. You can run up to the packed compartments and find many hands unfolding like petals to pull you on board. And while you will probably have to hang on to the door frame with your fingertips, you are still grateful for the empathy of your fellow passengers, already packed tighter than cattle, their shirts drenched with sweat in the badly ventilated compartment. They know that your boss might yell at you or cut your pay if you miss this train. – Suketu Mehta • If you leave here, War can find you again. What are you going to do if that happens? (Tory) Leave bloodstains on his best shirt. (Acheron) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • If you two were going to be that obvious about it, why didn’t you guys come down in your Team Daniel and Team Miles T-shirts?” “We should order those,” Shelby said. “Mine’s in the laundry,” Arriane said. – Lauren Kate • If you were a woman, all I’d have to say is ‘Colin Firth in a wet shirt’ and you’d say ‘Ah. – Shannon Hale • I’ll look through ‘Us Weekly’ and I’ll see a picture of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston. And I’m like, ‘Wow, they just… they look so good. Even if they’re like just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, they still look great.’ – Moby • I’m a jacket man. And if I’m without one, I am kind of seriously disabled. I don’t know how to operate in shirt sleeves. – Bill Nighy • I’m an athlete, so I can dress down with the best of them. I can throw on t-shirts and sweats with the best of them. – Dwyane Wade • I’m not big on flak jackets and tie-dyed shirts. You know, that’s not me. 0 Joe Biden • I’m pretty low-key; you’ll often find me in jeans, a T-shirt and sweatshirt. – Olivia Wilde • I’m really not a fascist. Everyone wears what they feel great in, or comfortable with. It’s a beautiful day, you have an armless shirt: it goes with flip-flops. – Christian Louboutin • In a big Bollywood romantic film, taking my shirt off and spreading the hand towards the mountain with dancers behind me are not my cup of tea. – Vir Das • In high school I spent most of my time in jeans and T-shirts or Juicy sweats. We’re such a laid-back town. I mean, people wore bikinis under their clothes half the time, so you didn’t really get dressed up to go to school. – Lauren Conrad • In junior high P.E., I was way too shy to take a shower in front of the other kids. It was a horribly awkward time – body hair, odors… So I’d go from my sweaty shirt back into my regular clothes and have to continue the day. – Will Ferrell • In my everyday life, I just wear jeans, t-shirts and trainers – if I can go barefoot, that’s even better. But for the events I have a stylist, and in two hours we have selected a whole outfit. – Penelope Cruz • Is not the most erotic portion of a body where the garment gapes? In perversion (which is the realm of textual pleasure) there are no “erogenous zones” (a foolish expression, besides); it is intermittence, as psychoanalysis has so rightly stated, which is erotic: the intermittence of skin flashing between two articles of clothing (trousers and sweater), between two edges (the open-necked shirt, the glove and the sleeve); it is this flash itself which seduces, or rather: the staging of an appearance-as-disappearance. – Roland Barthes • Is this the part where you start tearing off strips of your shirt to bind my wounds?” “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked. – Cassandra Clare • It doesn’t hurt.” “But my eyes do,” said a coolly amused voice from the doorway. Jace. He had come in so quietly that even Simon hadn’t heard him; closing the door behind him, he grinned as Isabelle pulled Simon’s shirt down. “Molesting the vampire while he’s too weak to fight back, Iz?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure that violates at least one of the Accords.” “I’m just showing him where he got stabbed,” Isabelle protested, but she scooted back to her chair with a certain amount of haste. – Cassandra Clare • It finally happened, he thought as he burrowed under his shirt and took hold of his heavy cross. All his life he’d wondered why he’d never fallen in love, and now he knew: He’d been waiting for this moment, this woman, this time. The female is mine, he thought. – Manny – J.R. Ward • It’s just an ice bucket with a bottle in it. The two flute glasses are little tray. I got to shut the curtains. I’m in my boxer shorts and shirt. I’m going to take a bath and go to bed. But I want to shut the blinds so it’s really dark in the room. – Danny DeVito • It’s like how on certain days some people wear sweaters when other people can wear t-shirts and still feel comfortable – different reactions to the same temperature. – Maggie Stiefvater • I’ve always loved wearing a suit. When you have on a crisp shirt and a tie you always feel like you’re going somewhere. It feels like a bit of an occasion. – Jamie Redknapp Jamie Redknapp • Juliet shook her head. The thought of eating anything made her feel nauseous. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” “Oh yeah, the heartbreak diet,” nodded Trudy sagely. “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. – Alexandra Potter • Jump into an open grave? What kind of idiot are you?” Butters replied. “I might as well put on a red shirt and volunteer for the away team. There’s snow and ice and slippery mud down there. That’s like asking for an ironically broken neck. – Jim Butcher • Keep your shirt on,” she said with a laugh at her bad joke. “Your clothes are at the laundry. They’ll deliver them as soon as they’re ready.” “And in the meantime?” “Looks like you’re naked.” His jaw worked as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I beg your pardon?” “Beg all you want, you’re still going to be naked.” Tabitha paused at the wicked image in her mind. “Come to think of it, a gorgeous, begging, naked man… that’s the stuff of fantasies. Begging won’t get you your clothes, but it could get you something else.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.- Sherrilyn Kenyon • Kizzy wanted it all so bad her soul leaned half out of her body hungering after it, and that was what drove the goblins wild, her soul hanging out there like an untucked shirt. – Laini Taylor • Many of the male faeries had their shirts unbuttoned and chests bare. (How’s this for freaky: no nipples or belly buttons.) – Kiersten White • Many years ago, I concluded that a few hair shirts were part of the mental wardrobe of every man. The president differs from other men in that he has a more extensive wardrobe. – Herbert Hoover Mari Mancusi • Michael held me when I got inside, because I was shaking all over. That felt so good. Warm all the way down. Did I mention Michael’s feet? They’re all the way sexy, and he’s always barefoot – he hates shoes. I wish he hated pants and shirts, too. – Rachel Caine • Morelli grabbed the front of my shirt, pulled me to him, and kissed me. It was a great kiss, but I didn’t know what the heck it meant. It seemed to me a breaking up kiss would have had less tongue. – Janet Evanovich • Most little children’s obsessions are robots and Barbie dolls. My obsession as a kid was the Versace house. I used to save up my pocket money to buy Versus shirts. I was that obsessed! – Riccardo Tisci • Most of the time, I’m in khakis and a white T-shirt. I’m a total Gap girl. Super casual, hair in a pony tail and no makeup. – Jennifer Love Hewitt • My father had put these things on the table. I looked at him standing by the sink. He was washing his hands, splashing water on his face. My mamma left us. My brother, too. And now my feckless, reckless uncle had as well. My pa stayed, though. My pa always stayed. I looked at him. And saw the sweat stains on his shirt. And his big, scarred hands. And his dirty, weary face. I remembered how, lying in my bed a few nights before, I had looked forward to showing him my uncle’s money. To telling him I was leaving. And I was so ashamed. – Jennifer Donnelly • My heart was a little bit broken, but I still had to go to school. I buttoned my dress shirt over it and my winter coat, too. I hoped it didn’t show too much. – Gabrielle Zevin • My Papa’s Waltz: The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother’s countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt. – Theodore Roethke • NASA has to approve whatever we wear, so there are clothes to choose from, like space shorts – we wear those a lot – and NASA T-shirts. – Sally Ride • Never knock on death’s door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that. – T-shirt – Darynda Jones • No offense but I don’t relish being someone’s science experiment. Been there, done that, and sold the T-shirt for profit. (Sebastian) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • Oh, I can never get enough,” he said. “Which, incidentally, is what your sister said to me when – ” The carriage door flew open. A hand shot out, grabbed Will by the back of the shirt, and hauled him inside. The door banged shut after him, and Thomas, sitting bolt upright, seized reins of the horses. A moment later the carriage had lurched forth into the night, leaving Gabriel staring, infuriated, after it. – Cassandra Clare • Okay, I’ll wear the Bite Me shirt,[…]It’ll be my standard response to any-one who tries to hit on me.” I giggle. “Someone can come up and be like ‘Hey babe, what’s your sign?’ and I’ll just point to my shirt.” Rayne laughs appreciatively and tosses me the tank top. “Of course they might think you’re pointing to your boobs in a ‘have at ’em, big boy’ kind of way. • On the other hand it was bad manners to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if you’re getting it from an overweight cracker in a fringe shirt. – Ilona Andrews • One day she told me that they’d decided that my gender was divvied into two neat piles-Men and Guys. Basically, all the saints of the world: Men. The jerks, the players, the wet T-shirt contest aficionados? They were Guys. – Gayle Forman • Only Jace, Clary thought, could look cool in pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, but he pulled it off, probably through sheer force of will. -pg. 329- – Cassandra Clare • Or why you are wearing a picture of Santa Clause on you shirts, but-” “It’s Herman Melville. – Daniel Handler • Overdone lipstick is a deterrent to men. It rubs off easily onto their skin and the edges of their shirts, so it discourages them from kissing, touching, and coming closer to you, which is what they really want to do! – Helen Fisher • Paris answered for him. “Last time he spread the flashing love, Reyes threw up all over his shirt. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lucien, though, has no sense of humor and vowed never to take us again.” “I’m surprised you didn’t mention the part where you fainted,” Lucien said wryly. Strider chortled. “Oh, man. You fainted? What a baby!” “Hey,” Paris said, frowning at Lucien. “I told you I hit my head midflash.” Lucien Gena Showalter • Patch stood over me, and a drop of rain slid from his hair, landing like ice on my collarbone. I felt it slide along my skin, disappearing beneath the neckline of my shirt. His eyes followed the raindrop, and I began to quiver on the inside. – Becca Fitzpatrick • Patch was dressed in the usual: black shirt, black jeans and a thin silver necklace that flashed against his dark complexion. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, and I could see his muscles working as he punched buttons. He was tall and lean and hard, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if under his clothes he bore several scars, souvenirs from street fights and other reckless behavior. Not that I wanted a look under his clothes. – Becca Fitzpatrick • People always expect Hulk Hogan to be standing up straight, or to have the bandanna on, or to not have my arms covered up. If I have an extra large shirt on people go ‘oh yeah you look small.’ It kind of ruins the mystique. – Hulk Hogan • People care about my personal life. But really I’m dorky! I drink beer and go to football games. And ya know, sit in my house in a t-shirt on the weekends and play with my dog! – Sophia Bush • Place unopened pouch in warm water for 5-10 minutes. Unopened pouch may be laid on a warm surface. Lay unopened pouch in direct sunlight. Not much chance of that down here. Place unopened pouch inside you shirt, allow you body temperature to warm your MRE. I was surprised they left out: Place unopened pouch on ground and pee on it. – S.A. Bodeen • Producers and studios know what sells. It’s nice to be one of the guys that can help sell a movie by taking his shirt off. – Kellan Lutz • Pulling on your country’s shirt is the greatest honour a footballer can have. It’s what I always dreamed of as a kid and I get a buzz every time. – Wayne Rooney • Rae burned me. She has matches or something. Look, look…” Tori pulled down the collar of her T-shirt. “Leave your cloths on, Tori,” Simon said, raising his hands to his eyes. “Please. – Kelley Armstrong Rain, Eye, Hair • Ramil met Tashi’s eyes with a mischievous look. “Now Wife we have a long voyage ahead of us with no interruptions, no affairs of state to sidetrack us.” He brushed his fingers againist the lacings of her neck. “Isn’t it time you returned that shirt to its owner? – Julia Golding • Remember the first time you went to a show and saw your favorite band. You wore their shirt, and sang every word. You didn’t know anything about scene politics, haircuts, or what was cool. All you knew was that this music made you feel different from anyone you shared a locker with. Someone finally understood you. This is what music is about. – Gerard Way • Rowdy, hopped-up college kids pass us in an endless, noisy blur like they’re being mass produced or squeezed out of a tube – guys skulking in their T-shirts and cargo shorts, girls in low-slung jeans and flip-flops, pimples and breasts and tattoos and lipstick and legs and bra straps, and cigarettes; a colorful, sexy melange. I feel old and tired and I just want to be them again, want to be young and stupid, filled with angst and attitude and unbridled lust. Can I have a do-over, please? I swear to God I’ll make a real go of it this time. – Jonathan Tropper • Rule number one of anime,” Simon said. He sat propped up against a pile of pillows at the foot of his bed, a bag of potato chips in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He was wearing a black T-shirt that said I BLOGGED YOUR MOM and a pair of jeans that were ripped in one knee. “Never screw with a blind monk. – Cassandra Clare • Sailing is the closest I can get to nature – it’s adrenaline, fear, a constant challenge and learning experience, an adventure into the unknown. And of course there is nothing better than wearing the same T-shirt for days and not brushing my hair for weeks. – Daria Werbowy • Sejal had not thought of her home, or of India as a whole, as cool. She was dimly aware, however, of a white Westerner habit of wearing other cultures like T-shirts—the sticker bindis on club kids, sindoor in the hair of an unmarried pop star, Hindi characters inked carelessly on tight tank tops and pale flesh. She knew Americans liked to flash a little Indian or Japanese or African. They were always looking for a little pepper to put in their dish. – Adam Rex • Sharks are as tough as those football fans who take their shirts off during games in Chicago in January, only more intelligent. – Dave Barry • she glanced down and saw that a glove of blood covered her lower arm from the elbow to the wrist. The arm was throbbing, stiff, and painful. “Is this when you start tearing strips off your T-shirt to bind up my wound?” she joked. She hated the sight of blood, especially her own. “If you wanted me to rip my clothes off, you should have just asked.” He dug into his pocket and brought out his stele. “It would have been a lot less painful.- Cassandra Clare • She glanced up at him, and in that moment he pulled his wet shirt over his head. She forced her mind blank. Blank as a new sheet of paper, blank as a starless sky. He came to the fire and crouched before it. He rubbed the water from his bare arms and flicked it in the flames. She stared at the goose and sliced his drumstick carefully and thought of the blankest expression on the blankest face she could possibly imagine. It was a chilly evening; she thought about that. The goose would be delicious, they must eat as much of it as possible, they must not waste it; she thought about that. – Kristin Cashore • She heard Adrian say to Christian, ʺYou know, your shirtʹs kind of grungy-looking. Seems like you could put in a little more effort since youʹre dating a princess.ʺ – Richelle Mead • She sighed. Loudly. “Physical appearance is not what is important.” Yeah right. Tell that to any girl who hasn’t bothered to put on a presentable shirt or fix her hair because she’s only running into the grocery store to get a quart of milk for her grandmother, and who does she see tending the 7-ITEMS-OR-LESS cash register but the guy of her dreams, except she can’t even say hi—much less try to develop a meaningful relationship—since she looks like the poster child for the terminally geeky. – Vivian Vande Velde • She slid out from under his arm, and picked up his shirt from the floor. When she put it on, it failed to meet in the middle over her chest. that always worked in the movies, she thought, disgusted, and dropped it on the floor. – Jennifer Crusie • She was wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed black boots that made you forget. – Kami Garcia • She’s really gone, then. The little girl with the back of her shirt sticking out like a duck tail. – Suzanne Collins • Shrugging out of the damaged shirt, Jake said roughly, “I still dream about you.” “I have nightmares about you.” I dragged my T-shirt over my head, threw it aside.- Josh Lanyon • Sin met Mae and Alan coming into the flat. Mae frowned. “Is it no-shirts festival day?” “Every day with Nick is no-shirts festival day,” Alan said absently, but he was frowning too. – Sarah Rees Brennan • Since I was a child, I hated having to deal with my hair. I hated having to change my clothes. As a kid, I had a sailor shirt and the same old corduroy pants, and that’s what I wanted to wear everyday. – Patti Smith • Slippery slope. I carry a spare shirt, pretty soon I’m carrying spare pants. Then I’d need a suitcase. Next thing I know, I’ve got a house and a car and a savings plan and I’m filling out all kinds of forms. – Lee Child • So what about that key?” I asked. “I knew you’d be asking me about it sooner or later.” He pulled the cord out from underneath his shirt and dangled the key in front of me. “What do you want for it?” I sneered. “Five dollars?” “I don’t want money,” he said with a wicked grin. “What does it go to?” “A kiss will unlock more than this key will,” he whispered in my ear. – Ellen Schreiber • So, ah, I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re not wearing a shirt.” “Distracting, isn’t it? – Lisa McMann • So, what did you get for me?” Angeline paused for a beat. “Jeans.” “What?” croaked Artemis. “And a T-shirt. – Eoin Colfer • Some people have the meat-market mentality, so you’ve got to take your shirt off because it will bring girls into the theater. When that comes up on set, I challenge it. – Josh Hartnett • Sometimes I’m so tired, I look down at what I’m wearing, and if it’s comfortable enough to sleep in, I don’t even make it into my pajamas. I’m looking down, and I’m like, ‘T-shirt and stretchy pants? Yup, that’s fine. It’s pajama-y, good night.’ – Rebecca Romijn • Summer is a Latvian chicken. We make foolish choices. We think we’re young again. We run with outstretched arms toward an object of love and it pecks us and pecks us until we’re standing there snot-nosed and teary in the middle of Astor Place and the sun sets fire to our Penguin shirts and all that is left to do is go to our air-conditioned homes and ponder the cruelty of our finest season. – Gary Shteyngart • Sweet Jesus. It was The Delicious in the dark shirt and jeans. – Julie James • Taro came into the room, strands of hair flying free of the tie at the back of his skull, sweat plastering his cream-colored shirt against his chest and back. I wished I had an artist’s skill, that I could make renderings of him in all his states of beauty. He would never want to look at them, or even know about them. I would just like them for myself. Maybe he would want to see them when he was much older, and beautiful in a different way. – Moira J. Moore • The American dream is a crock. Stop wanting everything. Everyone should wear jeans and have three T-shirts, eat rice and beans. – Bill Hicks • The boys and girls in the clique. The awful names that they stick. You’re never gonna fit in much kid, but it you’re troubled and hurt, what you’ve got under your shirt will make them pay for the things that they did! – Gerard Way • The door banged open and Eve rushed out, flushed and mussed and still buttoning her shirt. “It’s not what you think.” She said. “It was just – oh OK, whatever, it was exactly what you think. Now WHAT? – Rachel Caine • the juniors were acting different because they are now the seniors. They even had T-shirts made. I don’t know who plans these things. – Stephen Chbosky • The man walked past me and stopped, observing the blood running down my neck. “Your injury. Let us tend to it.” He looked out through the open doorway and silently gestured to someone out there. “Our world,” he said, “is far more advanced than yours. For reasons you’ll understand shortly.” A thin, bony, naked woman entered the room, carrying two small, white kittens. She sat one of the fluffy cats in my lap and stuffed the other down my shirt. She turned and left. “There,” said the large man. “The kittens will make your sad go away. – David Wong • The reason I want you to put a shirt on is, well, because, um…” “You’ve never seen a guy with his shirt off?” “Ha, ha. Very funny. Believe me, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” “Wanna bet?” he says, then moves his hands to the button on his jeans and pops it open. Isabel walks in at that exact moment. “Whoa, Alex. Please keep your pants on.- Simone Elkeles • The three biggest fashion mistakes are cheap suits, shoes, and shirts. Spend your money on something good. – Donatella Versace • The way I see it, life is a jelly doughnut. You don’t really know what it’s about until you bite into it. And then, just when you decided it’s good, you drop a big glob of jelly on your best T-shirt.- Janet Evanovich • The woman who opens the door has a blue stain on her shirt and dark hair wound into a messy knot and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They’re pale, like a lioness’s, nearly golden, but they also look like they’ve done their fair share of crying, and we all know that a sky with clouds in it is much more interesting than one that doesn’t have any. – Jodi Picoult • Then he looked at my T-shirt and saw Byron’s picture on it and he quoted “She Walks in Beauty,” which is like my favorite poem next to the one by Baudelaire about his girlfriend being nothing but worm food, except that Lily called that one first because Baudelaire is her fave poet and so she got the shirt with him on it, even though Byron is way more scrumptious and I would do him on sharp gravel if I had the chance. –from The Chronicles of Abby Normal – Christopher Moore • There are other measures of self-respect for a man, than the number of clean shirts he puts on every day. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • There is a preppy wabi-sabi to soft, faded khakis and cotton shirts, but it’s not nice to be surrounded by things that are worn out or stained or used up. – Gretchen Rubin • There was a courtroom scene where my son is convicted of killing Kevin Spacey’s character. I find the bloody T-shirt and realize my husband did it. I get up the courage to take the shirt and send it to the police as evidence. I go out of the house for the first time. There was all this stuff I had to do that became quite truncated, because they slimmed down the movie. I understand the American Beauty is brilliant without all that stuff, but for me, personally, it was hard to see all that go. – Allison Janney • There was nowhere to go, but I turned to go and met Atticus’s vest front. I buried my head in it and listened to the small internal noises that went on behind the light blue cloth: his watch ticking, the faint crackle of his starched shirt, the soft sound of his breathing. ‘Your stomach’s growling,’ I said. ‘I know it,’ he said. – Harper Lee • They walked to school, talking about how much they were longing for the summer holidays. “Oh, I am planning things,” said Jamie. “Great, great things. I could join a band.” “You gave up the guitar after two lessons.” “Well,” he said, “I could be a backup dancer.” “Backup dancers have to wear belly shirts and glitter,” said Mae. “So obviously, I support this plan. Sarah Rees Brennan • This is a team of gay dudes, isn’t it?” What gave it away? The pink shirts, or half our team drooling over you? – Simone Elkeles • This is going to sound crazy, but the first thing I do when I get home is take off all my clothes – at home, just around the house. I take everything off. I can’t stand clothes! I take everything off – my shoes, my socks, my watch, shirt, everything. I am completely naked. – Tom Ford • Thomas Pynchon looks exactly like Thomas Pynchon should look. He is tall, he wears lumberjack shirts and blue jeans. He has Albert Einstein white hair and Bugs Bunny front teeth. – Salman Rushdie • To be the name on somebody’s shirt that they’ve made themselves in preparation for one of your shows – it doesn’t get much cooler than that.Hunter Hayes • T-shirts for ten dollars are even more fashion today than expensive fashion. – Karl Lagerfeld • Um, Faythe?” Marc reached for my arm, and a small grin turned up one corner of his beautiful mouth. “As my first official piece of advice to the new Alpha, let me suggest that you put on some pants. And maybe a shirt.” His grin grew and pulled me closer to whisper in my ear, while Jace watched us stiffly from across the room. “While the look definitely works for me, I’m thinking the other Alphas might take you more seriously if you dress the part. – Rachel Vincent • Walking over to Iggy, he poked him with his shoe. “Does anysing on you vork properly?” Iggy rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Well, I have a highly developed sense of irony.” Ter Borcht tsked. “You are a liability to your group. I assume you alvays hold onto someone’s shirt, yes? Following dem closely?” “Only when I’m trying to steal their dessert,” Iggy said truthfully. – James Patterson • Was I wearing my ‘I’m done with my virginity, please get rid of it for me’ T-shirt? – Rachel Vincent • We are not going to die.” Butters stared up at me, pale, his eyes terrified. “We’re not?” No. And do you know why?” He shook his head. “Because Thomas is too pretty to die. And because I’m too stubborn to die.” I hauled on the shirt even harder. “And most of all because tomorrow is Oktoberfest, Butters, and polka will never die. – Jim Butcher • Welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: if someone yells “stop!”, goes limp, or taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: the fights are bare knuckle. No shirt, no shoes, no weapons. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight. – Chuck Palahniuk • Well, he was wearing those really bad pants ant that awful shirt. Clearly he did need some things explained to him bya teenager, but i didn’t think it was the right time to mention his unforunate and obvious fashion impairment. – P. C. Cast • What was Dionysus going to go? Send him back to his hellish isolation? He’d been there, done that, and had the Ozzy T-shirt to prove it.’ (Styxx) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • What’s goin’ on?” I ask as I take a seat. “Obviously not this.” He tosses me my shirt from last night. “I found it on the floor of the den. It’s obvious there was some hanky-panky going on.” Okay, so he knows we fooled around. But at least he didn’t find Kiara’s bra on top of my shirt. “Yeah . . . things kinda got a little heated after you and Mrs. W. left the den last night,” I tell him. – Simone Elkeles • What’s it like to envision the ten-thousand-year environmental impact of tossing a plastic bottle into the trash bin, all in the single second it takes to actually toss it? Or the ten-thousand-year history of the fossil fuel being burned to drive to work or iron a shirt? It may be environmentally progressive, but it’s not altogether pleasant. – Douglas Rushkoff • When I revealed the campaign, some lady in the front row, a photographer, asked “is that airbrushed?” So I just lifted my shirt up and my stomach was the exact same thing as in the ads. It was actually kinda nice that she said that, because I’m sure plenty of people probably thought that. That’s one of the reasons I did it – especially when you work so hard to get your body to look like that – it’s frustrating. – Dara Torres When I was fourteen and first started going out, I always wanted to be the opposite of everyone else. So I would go to the club in a polo T-shirt and pants and sneakers and a hat on backward, just so I would not be dressed like other girls. – Rihanna • When I wear the national team shirt, its sole contact with my skin makes it stand on an end. – Diego Maradona • When my parents were liberated, four years before I was born, they found that the ordinary world outside the camp had been eradicated. There was no more simple meal, no thing was less than extraordinary: a fork, a mattress, a clean shirt, a book. Not to mention such things that can make one weep: an orange, meat and vegetables, hot water. There was no ordinariness to return to, no refuge from the blinding potency of things, an apple screaming its sweet juice. – Anne Michaels • When Rae got back, she spread her empty hands wide and said “Okay, guess where I hid it.” She even turned around for me, but I couldn’t see a bulge big enough to hide a flashlight. With a grin, she reached down the front of her shirt into the middle of her bra, and pulled out a flashlight with flourish. I laughed. “Cleavage is great,” she said. “Like an extra pocket. – Kelley Armstrong • Why are we, as a nation so obsessed with foreign things? Is it a legacy of our colonial years? We want foreign television sets. We want foreign shirts. We want foreign technology. Why this obsession with everything imported? – Abdul Kalam • Willow nestled against him. He smoothed her long hair down the back of her T-shirt, feeling its softness. In a few moments she fell asleep again, her breathing warm and regular against his chest. Alex kissed her head, his arms tightening around her. As he drifted back to sleep himself, he saw a brief flash of the thousands of angels streaming in, but right then it seemed distant, almost unimportant. The only thing that mattered was that he was lying in a bed holding Willow, their bare legs entwined. It was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. – L.A. Weatherly • With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know. – Hunter S. Thompson • You can put a new shirt on your back, slide a fresh chain around your neck, and accumulate all the money and power in the world, but at the end of the day those are just layers. Money and power don’t change you, they just further expose your true self. – Jay-Z • You could have the best suit in the world, but if you haven’t got the right shirt and tie with it you could look like a bag of rubbish. I think the shirt is the most important thing – you need a nice collar with it so that you can make it look good. • You don’t annoy me.” Carefully he rebuttoned the placket of her shirt. “I thought you did, at first. But now I realize it was more like the feeling you get when your foot’s been asleep. And when you start moving, the blood coming back into it is uncomfortable . . . but also good. Do you understand what I mean?” “Yes. I make your feet tingle.” A smile came to his lips. “Among other things. – Lisa Kleypas • You know how people love to glamorize poverty? There’s nothing glamorous about it. But it did make me really creative. Those days, I was literally taking t-shirts in the day and sewing them back together to make dresses for the night. – Beth Ditto • Your shoes have to match your belt. That’s rule number one for guys. You can’t put the brown shoes with the black belt. Or a brown belt with a black wristwatch. Just don’t do it! Also, I don’t like boots with suits. And when you wear sneakers, make sure they go with your shirt. – Ashton Kutcher • You’re barely even wearing a shirt! What are you going to do if a mugger jumps out at you, flash them? – Sarah Rees Brennan • Zach had rushed down to rescue me without remembering to put a shirt on…Maybe I had died and gone to heaven. – Meg Cabot • Zane brought her hand to his chest, over his heart and she felt the strong rapid beat through his shirt. “Feel that?” His throat worked as he swallowed. “It would break if I fell for you and anything happened that would take you away from me.” –Zane to Willow in ‘The Edge of Sin’ in the Real Men Last all Night anthology – Cheyenne McCray [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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