#City Park ​The things were close. Now and then a pet dog might give chase but deer had little reason

[aminiatureworld]

An Unexpected Rival

Characters: Childe, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,556

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: When thinking about fighting for the affections of someone, one normally imagines great declarations of love and promises of loyalty. But sometimes that’s not it. Sometimes it’s simply living with a being that hates you more than anything.

In which the reader’s pet hates their s/o

Author’s Note: I did give the pets names because I felt I couldn’t really refer to them as “your pet” the whole time. I also am not a pet owner. Still I hope you enjoy! 

Going to try non bullet pointed for a bit. We’ll see how it goes!

Childe

Honestly you didn’t know what to do.

Here you were, standing in the middle of the living room of your apartment, trying desperately not to laugh at the sight of your dog sitting directly on the chest of your much beleaguered partner.

You hadn’t really considered the consequences of introducing Childe to Lacey. I mean, how badly could the interactions be between the man you were convinced was your soulmate and the nicest golden retriever that had ever existed? If there was going to be issues you’d reasoned it would be on Childe’s side. So when your partner lit up at the mention of your fluffy child, you’d assumed all would be well.

Evidently that was not the case. You knew that Lacey could be clingy on occasion, but she’d really been making an effort these past few weeks. Knocking your partner out of the way when you two walked through the door together, refusing to stop walking when you two met up at a park or on the street, refusing to answer to Childe’s attempts at affection. It was almost impressive, the lengths Lacey was willing to go to establish her position as Number One Childe Hater – especially impressive considered the well-attested competition, including but not limited to a Fatui Harbinger.

Now you sprung into action as best you could, bottling up the giggles that threatened to erupt at any moment.

“Childe!” You exclaimed, walking closer. Lacey still refused to stand up, but her tail thumped excitedly against the floor, and she let out a short whine of appreciation. Unfazed by this cry for praise you sighed. “Lacey! Get up! Honestly, you’re not being a very good testament to your intelligence right now.”

Nudging her slightly you sighed with relief as the golden retriever sprang up, attacking your hands and face with kisses as you dragged Childe up to a sitting position. Childe at least seemed unfazed by the sudden attack, letting out a mere “oof”, and smiling a slightly embarrassed smile.

“I’m really sorry about this Childe.” You said, hands still batting away Lacey’s frantic activity as she attempted to get you to focus on her.

“It’s alright. Just, wow she’s a heavier girl than I expected.”

“Hopefully no squished organs?”

“Archons no! It’ll take more than this girl to fell me, don’t you worry.” Childe attempted to give Lacey a pet, but the dog that had just before been laying all over him now scampered out of the way, instead pawing at your back.

“Lacey! Stop being so rude! Urgh, and here I was hoping that you two would be somewhat settled before I went on my trip.”

You sighed, letting your head drop into the palms of your hand, not wanting to think about what might happen during the week and a half that Childe would be required to take care of Lacey. Would she even let him in the apartment to feed her? What about walks and the like? Were you going to come home to all our warfare? Childe seemed to understand your quickly dropping mood, placing a hand on your shoulder and rubbing small circles with his thumb, even as Lacey whined and began pawing at his arm.

“I promise it’ll be alright my dear. We’ll manage while you’re gone and who knows? Maybe by the time you get back we’ll be thick as thieves, and then you’ll be the one getting sat on.”

“Who knows.” You let out a burst of laughter. But even as you two shared this moment of levity your mind continued to spin its threads, dreading the days to come and what you’d be presented with the day you got back.

 “Alright, what’re we going to do.”

Childe stood in the foyer, hands on his hip, irritation in his heart. Lacey seemed to be mimicking the gesture, chest puffed out proudly as she stared the Harbinger down. They must’ve been standing like that for at least ten minutes, Childe thought to himself, ten minutes of staring and nothing yet done. It was beginning to grate on him, and were it not for the fact that you’d have to pay for damages, he was quite tempted to vault over the nearby furniture, if only so he could get to the kitchen and have this miserable showdown be over.

He didn’t dislike Lacey, no Childe didn’t think he could truly dislike any dog if he tried. He used to dream of owning a wolf pup, of flopping around in the snow with his companion, running as fast as he could and still being chased down with a crash, before being bombarded by affectionate pawing and kisses. These memories seemed quite silly when faced with the reality of caring for a dog however, and now he wanted only to bang his head against the wall, and maybe pass out from the exertion.

“I get that you love your owner.” He spoke again, how long had he been talking to this dog? “But I don’t think this is the way to win their heart.”

Lacey said nothing, simply narrowing her eyes and letting out a slightly hiss. Still Childe continued on.

“And like it or not you are going to have to eat eventually. So I suggest if you’re going to misbehave, that you should at least do it on a day when I’m not your primary caretaker.”

When there was still no movement from Lacey Childe sighed. That evening when he returned to his own apartment it was with the unfortunate knowledge that golden retriever bites hurt a lot more than he’d expected them too.

 It was storming, and the city of Liyue had transformed from a glistening city to one of mud and rusted iron. Childe swore under his breath as he pulled his coat closer around him, desperately trying to keep as dry as possible. Who knew if he’d be able to make it to your bedroom and grab one of his spare shirts with Lacey acting like he was a burglar instead of well known acquaintance? The song and dance between the two of them was grating. Feeding your golden retriever being nearly impossible, not to mention the times when Childe half dragged Lacey through the most half assed of walks. Really how could such a gentle spirit turn so stubborn so quickly? Childe didn’t know, all he knew was that the sooner you came home the sooner he could stop worry about being nipped at the heels.

The sight that met Childe at the entrance to your apartment was jarring. Instead of the usual irritated dog Childe was met with utter silence, and a stillness that betrayed the fact that not only was Lacey not in the hall, but she was also avoiding the kitchen and the living room.

“Lacey?” Childe called out, getting no answer but the whipping of wind and the rumble of thunder. “I swear if you managed to run off – Lacey!”

Going further down the hall Childe finally heard the sound of muffled whimpering. Walking into your bedroom he spied Lacey under the bed, eyes filled not with disdain, but with anxiety.

“Lacey, why in Teyvat are you here?”

There was no reply, until suddenly another clap of thunder shook the walls. Lacey let out a yelp and crawled under the bed a little more, flattening her head against the floor, although there was not much room left in that department. Childe stared at this for a second letting the pieces fall into place. He just couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that this was the same Lacey who so fearlessly guarded the apartment against his entrance every day.

This slight smugness was extinguished rather quickly though, instead replaced with a sense of pity, and the need to make this poor girl feel the least bit better.

“Hey, hey it’ll be alright.” Childe spoke softly. For a moment he left the room, but quickly he returned, towels and blankets in hand, praying that you wouldn’t mind that he messed up your closet a little bit.

“Let’s make a fort, shall we?”

Not waiting for any sort of acknowledgment Childe began to pile up the covers on your bed, making sure to lay down towels in case you were worried of shedding. At first Lacey did nothing much than scooch out enough to watch him, but within the next flash of lightning she was up and moving, diving under the makeshift fort and clambering around Childe, as if trying to find out if she could burrow through the Harbinger.

“I know, I know, it’s pretty scary out there, huh?” Childe ruffled Lacey’s head slightly. “But you’ll see, it’ll pass soon enough. And then we can go back to fighting, alright.”

Lacey let out a whine, but nevertheless began to settle down, lying down and once more resting her head on her paws.

“There’s a good girl.” Childe smiled softly. “You aren’t that bad you know. At least you aren’t that bad when you’re not trying to bite my leg off.”

Your surprise at the improvement in Childe-Lacey relations was somewhat immense when you returned. Though Childe refused to say what had managed to form such a bond between your disgruntled pet and him, only that he hoped you didn’t mind dog hair on your bed. Lacey, for her part, no longer tried to sit on your partner.

Even if she still pushed him out of the way when you came home.

 Scaramouche

Scaramouche could deal with a lot of things. He could deal with the fact that your parrot wouldn’t let the man within three feet of the parrot’s cage without attempting to bite his hands off. He could deal with the obnoxiously loud clicking whenever he got too close to you, and he could deal with fact that your parrot was fond of yelling random phrases at him in the most aggressive tone Scaramouche had ever heard. Scaramouche could deal with all of that. What he couldn’t deal with is what your parrot insisted on calling him, no matter how much time was spent saying: “Scaramouche. I am Scaramouche!”

“Electro boy? Really?”

“I’m sorry Scara,” you let out a giggle, “I didn’t know what your name was when I first saw you.”

Oh Scaramouche was sure of that, but did that really mean that Oliver had to call him solely by that title? It didn’t help that you must’ve referred to Scaramouche an awful lot as “Electro Boy” for it to be the name that stuck in Oliver’s mind. And regardless of how many times you used the title, it was one thing for you to use the nickname. It was quite another thing for Oliver to, since, unlike in your case, Oliver’s use of “Electro Boy” could be nothing but derogatory.

Scaramouche had long given up in wooing the errant parrot over. If they were to be mortal enemies, so be it. He’d dealt with that before.

“Oh Scaramouche, you must be joking!” You’d exclaimed when he’d revealed this train of thought, cupping his face in your hand and pressing affectionate kisses to his face. He’d let you do so, let you imagine that one day there might be a reconciliation. But in his heart he knew. Unless Oliver learned to stop with the name calling, Scaramouche would never forgive him for the insult.

“I wish you would write.” You whispered.

Pain skirted through Scaramouche’s face, but still he refused the promise that you needed. You knew that Scaramouche would never be able to have a normal relationship with you, that these trips were necessary, were a part of him that you’d never be able to wrench away. Still, the least he could do was promise to write. Without his writings, well how could you even be sure he was alive?

“I’m sorry.” Scaramouche whispered. Leaning in so your foreheads were touching he let out a sigh, warming your lips with his breath. “I cannot promise I will write. I wouldn’t like to break a promise to you.”

“I know.” You whispered back, shaking your head as much as you could. “Still, I’d almost rather a broken promise.”

“You wouldn’t. I know it would drive you mad.”

“Perhaps, but better than nothing?”

You two stood there, basking in silence. A familiar cry broke the reverie.

“Electro Boy! Electro Boy!” A series of clicks accompanied the sudden shriek. There was no better way to break the spell. Almost immediately Scaramouche pulled away. Walking towards the door he paused, turning around one more time.

“I’ll miss you.”

Those words washed over you, their owner having been carried away with the wind.

 Scaramouche hurried up the steps, anticipation keep his pace quick and his thoughts a jumble of fragments. The long mission he’d been sent on was finally over, and now he could think not of noisy soldiers, nor of the people who continually disappointed him, but of you. He couldn’t wait, every step on the staircase felt like an obstacle, something he must triumph against to reach you. Finally arriving at your door he barely paused, stepping this way and that as he opened the door before striding into the hallway as fast as he could.

“I’m home.” He called into the afternoon light. Almost immediately two things happened. One was that you leapt off your position on the couch, practically barreling yourself into his arms. The second was that Oliver began to screech, hopping from one foot to the other in an indecipherable dance.

“Scara, you’re home!” You cried, exclamation by the way you buried your face into his shoulder.

“Scara! Scara! Scaramouche!” Oliver echoed. The words made Scaramouche freeze up, taken aback as he was by their usage.

“What was that Oliver?” He called out, not altogether sure if the parrot would even reply to him. Scaramouche had really only referred to Oliver by name the first time he met him. After that you had to settle with “the bird” or “the noisemaker”. This time, however Scaramouche couldn’t help but use it. This was, after all, a matter of great importance.

“Scaramouche, Scaramouche, who’s a pretty bird?” Oliver tittered irreverently.

His tone was still somewhat sharp, Scaramouche never heard Oliver snap at you the way he did him, but nevertheless the words had struck a chord. Finding himself at a loss for words Scaramouche stared at you, trying to figure out what was going on.

“That’s probably my fault,” you laughed hesitantly, “I guess I was talking about you more than I thought. It’s only that, well I missed you an awful lot. And Oliver is my confidante, he always has been. So I guess I’ve just been talking a lot to him about you. I’ve really missed you…”

Scaramouche felt his heart soften. Leaning over he pressed a kiss to your forehead, much to the indignation of Oliver, who twittered away as normal. Still, it was better than it had been before. And, if Scaramouche could admit it to himself, he didn’t mind the idea of you pouring out to Oliver how much you missed him. It made him feel important, feel whole. And if your rude bird had helped at all, then Scaramouche could find it in him to respect Oliver, though only a little.

“I’m glad you thought of me.” He whispered to you. “And I’m glad you still had a confidante to talk to.”

And if the result was a parrot who no longer called him “Electro Boy”, then all the better.

 Xiao

Honestly Xiao couldn’t really see the appeal of pets. Something that was only cemented when he met your cat.

“And this is Honey.” You’d said softly, picking up the orange feline and cradling her in your arms. The cat made no sounds, instead it stared straight at Xiao, eyes narrow, gaze untrusting. Xiao was equally out of depths in this matter. What was he supposed to do? Pet it, presumably. Reaching out with hesitant fingers Xiao almost immediately pulled away, dodging an onslaught of clawing.

Ever since then there seemed to have been an odd hierarchy established, at least in Honey’s mind. She never let Xiao sit next to you, oh no, that would’ve been too generous. Instead Honey squeezed into the space between you two, no matter how small and wow was it small sometimes, meowing angrily as Xiao passed his arm over her head to hold your hand. Sometimes she’d try the tactic of walking all over you, lying on your lap, wrapping herself around your shoulders, and all the time glaring at Xiao as if he’d brought some sort of catastrophe on her for daring to try and get close to you.

“Your cat hates me.”

“She does not!” You exclaimed. “Honey doesn’t hate anyone! She just needs to get used to you.”

“She hates me. She thinks I’m beneath her.”

Xiao glared up at Honey, who was looming over the conversation via the bookshelf in your bedroom. Honey’s eyes narrowed and for a moment Xiao felt as if he’d somehow spilled the cat’s secrets. It wasn’t his fault that he knew what she was thinking. After all, hadn’t Xiao been like that for a time? An ornery soul who found most interactions beneath him? Who knew he’d be on the receiving end of that relationship someday. He certainly didn’t appreciate it now.

“You just need to get used to one another.” You continued to assure Xiao. “Honey’s a little bit possessive. It’s nothing personal. She’ll get over it.”

Well it’d been four weeks since that conversation and unfortunately Honey showed exactly zero signs of “getting over it”. Though perhaps she wasn’t clawing at him anymore, maybe because you’d actually scolded her for it, the gaze never left her eyes. The fact that she meowed loudly whenever Xiao made more contact than hand holding also didn’t help her case.

 Xiao sighed, staring at the sky as the sun began its descent beyond the peaks of Liyue. A cluster of trees ringed the back part of your house – trees apparently planted by your grandparents – and Xiao enjoyed perching in them to watch the sunset.

“At least here the cat will leave me alone.” He muttered.

It’d been a tiring day. Honey had been in a particularly bad mood – probably the result of Xiao staying the night – and the atmosphere in the house had become somehow so tense that Xiao figured taking a hike wouldn’t be a bad idea. Even if he found the whole exercise a bit demeaning.

“I’m losing to a cat.” Xiao called flatly out into the air. There was no reply of course, but he didn’t mind that. Imagine what his fellow adepti would think of him now, flailing around, trying to win the affections of a furball whose favorite pastime was being as irritating as possible.

Now Xiao heard a familiar yowl. Glancing down he spied Honey, hair standing on end, gripping a branch as if her life belonged to it. An old conversation rose to the front of his mind. Something about cats being able to go up trees very easily, but not so much down. What an idiotic creature, he thought to himself.

Still it’d be ill form to leave the poor idiot clutching onto the branch, so fighting his smugness as beset he could Xiao leaned over and attempted to wrench the cat from the branches. Honey let out a series of shrieks, claws digging into the bark, but eventually she relinquished and Xiao pulled her up onto his lap. Almost immediately she began pawing at his chest, meowing her indignancy.

“I know.” Xiao glared at the cat. “But they wouldn’t be very happy if you got stuck.”

As if to reply Honey narrowed her eyes, turning around to look at the skyline, rather than acknowledge the adeptus she was now laying on. Xiao hummed in response.

“You know things would be easier if you weren’t so aggressive.”

A meow in response.

“I don’t understand you. I don’t understand why you’re so territorial.”

Another meow.

“I suppose I’m like that. I also want them to myself. Things would be easier without you clawing at me. But they love you, and that’s what matters. I don’t know why but they do.”

Silence, perhaps Honey was insulted by the way Xiao spoke.

“I can’t say I’ll love you. But I’ll try to like you. As long as you try to like me.”

Silence again, but this time Xiao took it as an assent. Letting out a sigh he turned back towards the horizon, gaze drifting towards the peaks that Honey too was watching with interest. The night was alive with the soft chirps of insects, and a faint breeze ruffled Xiao hair, dancing through Honey’s fur. Xiao let out a sigh and, nemesis on his stomach, allowed himself a little rest.

You stared at the mismatched pair, a smile playing on your lips. How funny they looked, curled up together. Like two cats, one a panther, the other a tabby. And yet somehow the tabby was running the shots.

They look so peaceful, you mused to yourself, who knows what they might be like in the morning.

At the very least, you’d be sure to enquire about the nature of your partner’s conversation with your cat, something which had seemed very important to him.

[artmakerproductions]

“The Borrowers” (#2) 

Been itching to give my own spin on the Borrowers story for a while. Now, how would I go about adapting the actual story? Same way Ray Harryhausen adapted Jules Vern's "Mysterious Island". By adding new dangers for the hero to face of course! As being so small in such a big world, almost anything and everything is out to get you. 

...

1) Out in the forest Arrietty would face the rattlesnake once again in a brief chase that’d be cut short as out of nowhere a massive yellow python would be the first to strike. Getting the rattler in a chokehold w/ his haws as it begins wrapping itself around the smaller snake as it starts squeezing the life out of the poor rattler (unable to bite the larger reptile in defence). All the while Arrietty is caught in the middle of the fight between the two serpents. Earlier it’d be established by a one-off character, a kid/teen perhaps, that their pet python is missing. 

2) Among the two pets in the household, the other being a dog, there lives a black cat.

3) Got a more cleaned up sketch of the pet cat now. Merely a few years old. This cat is relatively friendly and playful. Seeing her pursuit of Arrietty as a game. Though the borrower girl is unaware of this. Having had many run ins w/ the cat many times prior w/ equally as many close calls. Until one day she let her guard down and was caught by the feline who immediately brought to her owner, the boy, as a gift.

4) A quick conceptual sketch of Arrietty's parents. 

5) A concept sketch of the Borrower's home. It being a large vase. 

6) Having developed up the Borrower side of the story thus far, I go into detail on the human "bean" side of things. This is the Doris, the caretaker. A sly one she is. She's been around w/ the family she serves for the last several years. Embezzling money here and there and selling their valuables. Believing she's deserving of more. For now, she takes "care" of the boy who lives in the old house. He stems from a modestly wealthy background and is to inherite the family fortune once he's of proper age. His parents having died in a car crash, him being the only one who survived the ordeal. The boy suffers from a respiratory problems and is brought to the countryside to clear out his lungs from the polluted city air. Doris has taken full advantage of this and has been keeping him up in his room a majority of the time. After some digging she finds in the will that she may inherit the wealth if the boy were to unexpectedly perish before he is of age. Arrietty gets involved once she realizes the boy's life is in danger. Once Doris discovers about the existence of borrowers, that being Arrietty, and that she might spoil her plans she goes out of her way to dispose of the pests by any means necessary...

7) Now we’re entering sequel territory w/ my reimagining. Since I have a lot of ideas for scenes/sequences most would have to be sprinkled through the later instalments. This being among those ideas. One of the human "beans" they meet is a reclusive scientist who discovers them. At first, she's genuinely nice and offers food and shelter for Arrietty and her family, but soon it becomes prevalent that she's rather obsessive of her work and is rather... kooky, to put it lightly. That's around when they'd make their getaway via a borrower scaled hot air balloon. A chase ensues w/ the scientist lady (maybe Cecilia?) going after her family. Arrietty would end up going an alternate route through a park (the bridge being loosely based on the one in Beacon Hill Park over here) to lead Cecilia away while her parents make it to the balloon. Having essentially lost her mind and no longer caring for her research (as it was all erased as to keep the secrecy of borrowers as she planned to reveal it tot the scientific community; something that they told her many times prior to not do) she starts firing at them w/ a 2 barrel shotgun. Along the way she loses her glasses, but she presses on after them as to not fall behind. It ends w/ her chasing the young borrower up a tree (an arbutus tree to be exact; we have that here on the island) and right as she is about to snatch her she steps on a bad branch and falls, nearly taking out Arrietty w/ her had she not taken the daring leap to the balloon.  ... 

Be sure to reblog, and feedback is appreciated. 👍

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BTHB: Working Through the Cold

I’m not entirely happy with this, but some advice from everyone here has me thinking I will post it anyway! Let me know what you think! (and thanks to @slaintetowhump​, @moose-teeth​, @wildfaewhump​, @robins-whump​, Anons, @that-one-thespian​, and others who were so nice about me being a schmoop yesterday)

TIMELINE: About a year before things get better for Killan

@badthingshappenbingo​ request: Working Through the Cold by Anon

CW: Extremely dehumanized whumpee, noncon touching (nonsexual), wing whump, muzzling, conditioning/training a whumpee, careless/casual/distant whumper, a kind of pet whump, referenced piercings, restraints, display whump

From inside the little shop, located on a busy street close to the central square, passing people might have heard the sounds of chirping birds, chittering small rodents (a southern delicacy, you know, when fed just the right mixture of seeds, nuts, and berries), two long, lean spotted cats built for the hunt and the chase, and one very old dog whose bark was much worse than his bite.

At least, he was missing enough teeth by now to undermine the threat. 

A long-treasured travel companion, the old dog was fed rice cooked in a rich chicken stock with vegetables and chicken shredded so finely it didn’t require chewing. He’d had the dog for so long, now, and perhaps the old boy didn’t move much these days, but the merchant would rather rent a shop to help his dog keep warm over the harsh northern winters than be richer - and lonely without the old boy by his side.

The dog, of course, was not of much interest to his customers. No, they came to look at the rarities - to buy quill pens made from feathers saturated with a brilliant teal, or perhaps take home a pair of lovebirds cooing to each other, beaks just touching. An aristocrat or two with a taste for the meals in the far-off lands they’d traveled to might by the Sunning Hens for the soup pot, along with the packet of heady spices and tikla flour the merchant offered to recreate the spicy, thick stews from the south, where the people fought heat with heat. 

They could come and see, while the weather continued to cool day by day, these reminders that there were lands, far away, who did not grow cold enough to bring out the painted lights in the sky at night, there were places that did not see the Longest Night at all.

They could see these things, for an easy, small price. In the large bay window of the shop, that angles outward and then in again, the people often paused to see something else entirely. No a reminder of the south’s bright colors and warmer clime, but… something new.

The summer’s warm air had been blown away by the oncoming winter chill, and autumn was in full swing. The trees in the small park in the town square were a riot of reds, oranges, and yellows, drifting down to create pools of color against the browning grass. 

This far north, autumn felt like a luxury, a few weeks of middle-chill before the deeper freeze set in. 

The people made the most of the time, and some of those people - when out their walks, or taking their children to and fro - stopped to look at the creature in the rarity-merchant’s window. 

You couldn’t say anyone had ever seen anything like this before. In this part of the world, the fae were a whispered rumor of mountain folk more like birds than men, who swooped down to carry off lambs and calves and children alike. They were known to sour the milk and spoil the harvest using magic no human could quite master. 

Here in this bustling city, the people had never so much as seen a feather that could be proven to be of fae origin - although many large hawk and eagle feathers were sold to excited children as fae feathers, the same way they might bring home a plush centaur or unicorn to line up in their beds. 

No, nearly none of these people would ever see a fae in person, in their lifetime. But when looking at the creature strung up in the merchant’s window, they came as close as ever they would. 

The creature shivered - the window did not hold out the chilly autumn breeze, and even through the slightly scratched glass the people could see the tiny bumps that rose on its skin, the minute tremors, the way its body fought to warm it. 

It wore only a loose pair of pants - scandalous, if it had been a man. It looked a bit like one, of course, except… well. 

Except for all the ways it didn’t.

In the window, they came to stand, one or two at a time - whole families on occasion - to look at the strange half-open blue eyes with tiny slit-pupils that stared back at them above a heavy leather muzzle dotted with little brass circles where it took in air to keep breathing. Wavy brownish-blond hair was chopped roughly, curling over rounded ears and against the nape of its neck, and only drew attention to the inhumanity written in the flatness of its eyes. 

For all the roundness of its ears - and didn’t everyone know the faes’ ears were pointed and moved forward and back like a cat’s - and the gentle rather than pointed curve of its chin, you couldn’t ignore those eyes, or the blunted, pitch-dipped talons that twitched on its right hand. 

A thick chain ran from the buckle at the back of its muzzle, keeping its head pulled slightly back, exposing a wickedly curved scar that ran down its throat from pulse point to collarbone. Affixed to the window at even level with it was a small piece of paper that read TWO VOICES, TWO WORLDS: 10 Marks to Hear a Song! 

Iron cuffs around its wrists were chained to the wall, keeping its arms outstretched, giving an easy view of the other large scar down its left side, traveling down over its ribcage, fading out only just above the hips. Another sign here read FLIGHTS OF FANCY: Could this scar have to do with the power of flight? Come inside to see more!

It knelt - or sat, as the day went on and on - on a small cushion, and the people came each day to drop a coin or two in the box outside the shop and drink in their fill of the visual of the strange creature, neither man nor fae. Afforded the respect given to neither - not terrifying enough to fear like the fae, and so clearly not human.

The old dog by the fireplace was given more dignity than this.

But it wasn’t like the creature understood that, right?

Near its talons, one more sign in the window read: Razor-sharp talons slice a rabbit to shreds in seconds! These are dipped in pitch for your safety. Feel free to inquire inside for a closer look!

Mostly, they stay outside. It was worth a coin, or two, perhaps - to look at the winding, stitched-in threads that adorned its pelvis in a series of constellations that directly echoed the shape of the stars on clear winter nights all the way up to its chest, where a spiral had been sewn directly over its heart. 

Assuming, of course, it had a heart in the same place a human would. No one seemed to know, and there really was only one way to find out for sure. The merchant wasn’t ready to sell the thing off for parts, not yet.

Some of the people, curiosity and the chill air driving them inside, couldn’t resist the pull. They meandered into the little store feigning disinterest. They looked over the areas where the merchant sold the rarities he kept in cages - brightly plumed birds, the little rodents, those two great hunting cats - and pretended to be more interested in those. Maybe they even bought a bird or two.

In the end, though, they gave the merchant more money for a chance at the creature’s wings.

They were huge, to the eyes of humans who had never seen fae - spread to their full wingspan by chains hooked into the joints that ran straight up to the ceiling. The creature’s display took up an entire side of the room, really, the side farthest from the warmth of the fireplace.

The southern-bred birds and rodents needed the heat, after all. The creature in the window seemed largely dulled to the cold.

This close, a paying customer could see the creature’s ankles were chained down, too, to keep it from trying to stand or move away. The occasional man or woman might flick at one of the thin but solid chains hooked to its wings and listen to the creature’s answering whimper as it forced the joints, even for just a second, to stretch farther.

While the creature kept its eyes on the people outside, it was the ones within the store who touched it. Their curious, questing hands ran over its spine, pushing and prodding at the scar tissue there, murmuring with scandalized whispers about the way the ropey, knotted skin seemed unnaturally thick. 

There were more stitched threads, new constellations humans had never thought of and never named, that twined and twirled around its hips at the back and skimmed up the center of its spine. Galaxies were marked, and no one in this city knew what those galaxies might be called, but the fae knew.

And the creature - the boy, who had been named Killan once, and who now was only monster or creature or stop that, it’s not so bad - had been taught each and every name to scream into the spinning void as the magic was sewn in. Not that he told the merchant that.

Even now, abandoned and sold and then bought and sold and bought and sold again, there had to be some things he could hold inside, secret and safe from even the deepest violations. They had taken nearly everything, but they did not - they could not, they didn’t know to - take this.

Everyone thought the galaxies on his back were some fanciful nothingness sewn there. Only the boy - and the fae who had made him, and the other fae who had turned away from the horror of his appearance and had been the first to call him monster - knew the names of the stars on his back.

But the hands never stopped on the galaxies, and when they moved to his shoulder blades, the creature drifted uneasily back into the haze, colored with nothing, that let him exist as an it, day after day after day.

If there was still a spark, it was so hidden that none of the customers could ever, ever find it to take it away from him.

No. That he was still him was his own private secret. To the gaze and the hands and the curiosity and the endless need to know to see to feel to own of the people who came, there was no boy.

Only the creature.

It continued to shiver as the cold air drifted through the imperfect seals on the glass window and ghosted over its front. Even in the haze, the thing would tremble more and more through the day. Stomach hollow and empty, it held as still as it could under the overhot, clammy hands of the paying customers behind it, but still there was a slowly growing coating of grime and dirt and grit from their fingernails scratching at a thread to see if it would pull up, or rubbing at the base of its wings in a violation so complete it pulled an unwilling keen from the creature’s throat.

Every other day or so, the creature at least knew there would be a bucket of water over its head in the stables, a harsh brush meant for cleaning the dust from the horses, its own skin nearly torn open and reddened from how it would clench the wood handle in its hand and desperately try to clean away the memory of their touch…

Well.

The buckets of water were something, at least. And if it could not be interesting enough to be sold, it could be interesting enough to see. 

The merchant was a clever man. He’d begun to understand that no one wanted to pay a good price for the creature, not here, but they wanted to pay a smaller price to see it. Give the people what they want, he always said, and you’ll make your fortune. 

So he gave them what they wanted.

He gave them something new, at an affordable price.

The days passed, and autumn turned to winter, and still the merchant led the quiet, unprotesting creature with dulled blue eyes from the stable where it slept with the horses to the window every day, fastening its chains, stretching its wings to an agonizing width.

At some point, to amuse himself, he began to make up little whistles to train it to respond to. A certain number of notes meant stand, a second meant lift your hands, a third spread your wings. The winters were long, and the nights stretched on and on to a nearly-constant twilit near-dark, and he began to keep the creature in his rooms at the back of his store for longer and longer each evening after its daily meal. 

The creature proved eager and willing to learn, when offered an extra helping of porridge or stew or whatever he fed it that day. 

Enrichment, the merchant thought, quite pleased with himself. Like the small wooden clickers he left in the bird cages, like the tiny wheel he’d fastened together for the smallest rodents. Something to do, to put in the creature’s mind. A way to please him.

Even the old guard dog’s tail thumped, now and then, when he brought the creature in and it stopped to give the dog a scritch behind its ears. 

Funny, how the creature seemed to have quite the way with the animals.

Still, even learning to move by whistle, to answer his unspoken commands, something was… missing, from the eyes of the monster. Listless, unsettled. The monster began to remind the merchant of silt - a swirl of useless dirt covering up the depth of a lake, or  river. Making it look shallow and unsafe to drink, and beneath the silt, in the depths… what?

Empty darkness? Or a raging torrent?

 To make up for the loss of shine and the heavy shadows under the creature’s eyes, he began to paint a bit of kohl and shimmery gold, not quite transparent, over its eyelids. 

He couldn’t completely hide the way its spirit had dulled nearly to dying, but he could disguise it.

The winter passed this way. There were always new customers, and returning visitors, and one by one the birds, the rodents, and the hunting cats sold to interested parties.

Until only a few cages of birds remained… and the creature in the window.

In the winter, the shivers started faster, but the warm hands of the paying customers inside the store were far more welcomed than they had once been. 

The creature stopped pulling away from them, or trying, and began to lean back, pressing its spine into a questing touch, tilting its head back even further to seek out the palm and fingers that had run so kindly through its hair. It would trill and chirp on command for the children who came by, and there was a slight wrinkling of the nose, a hint of a crinkle to the eyes, that made the merchant think absently, on occasion, that the creature might be smiling behind the muzzle at their delight.

From the window came a bitter cold. The merchant rarely ventured to that part of the store, and kept his own fireplace stocked high and crackling, to keep the remaining merchandise and the dog as warm as he could. 

The creature, though… well, fae did not get cold so easily as people did. Its shivering was a show it put on, he thought, to try and make him feel guilt. He was unmoved. He ignored the whines and keens of pain when he finally unhooked it at the end of each day and its wings were finally able to curl back against its back. Instead, he whistled, and watched it drop to its knees on the wooden floor instantly in the back room, eyes closed to soak up the relative warmth compared to its usual proximity to the window. 

After its daily meal, the merchant watched it curl up near the fireplace by the old guard dog, wings tightly wrapped around itself. He had grown a little fond of the thing, and so often allowed it to go without its muzzle for a couple of hours and warm itself before he led it to the stables to be chained down to sleep.

Usually, when he came in the morning to feed the horses and pick it up to lead it to the store window, he found it sleeping curled against one of his horses. And he never stopped feeling the prickling worry that the look in the liquid eyes of his long-time wagon team was not knickering interest any longer, but a simmering hate that grew each time the creature required its pitch to be replaced over the talons, or they saw the muzzle remove and replaced.

Surely that wasn’t possible.

Horses didn’t hate.

The merchant put the thought from his mind.

Through the winter, each day was the same in the little store the merchant rented. Wake the creature at the stable, allow it to stretch and bend its muscles in preparation, allow it to drink its fill of water, and then get it set for the daily display. Each day the winter stretched onward, the creature seemed less present than the day before.

Instead, the creature began to watch the twisting northern lights in the sky that stayed vibrantly visible late in the morning as the days without sun continued on. Instead, the merchant found its eyes were tilted upward, not on the customers, but up at the grayish-purple eternal twilight.

One night, the merchant paused on his way leading the creature to the stables, and caught its eyes turned upwards. He’d left the muzzle off, for a bit, and with so much of its face visible, he saw a very sentient look of awe written across its expression.

Intelligence was in that face, however dulled and deeply repressed. Humanity was in that face. 

“What are you doing, creature?” The merchant asked, to cover his own unease.

It turned to look at him, and for a moment darkness covered the inhuman eyes and concealed its tightly curved wings against its back and he was looking at a young man, nothing more. A young man in chains, and with the red marks of the muzzle pressed so deeply against the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones that starlight left them in plain sight for hours.

The creature had not spoken in so long that its voice came out hoarsely hesitant, struggling to form the words. The monster had a soft, slight accent, as though it had grown up far to the south.

“Listening,” It said. One word only, and even that was reluctant.

The muzzle in the merchant’s hand twitched, suddenly wondering if he should replace it before he let the thing say a single word more. Still, he couldn’t stop himself. “Listening to what?”

The creature, who looked like nothing more than a boy, turned its gaze back upwards. Above their heads, a brilliantly painted blue and green light snakes along the sky like a snake, the trace of some great dragon. 

The boy was silent, for a second, and then clicked deep in his secondary fae throat.

“Stars,” He said, plaintive. Soft and sad. “Wish they could hear me. I hear them. Try to sing back. Don’t think I’m heard.” Reddish tears welled at the corners of its eyes and caught the starlight, and it was that that broke the spell the merchant had been under, transfixed by the sound of its very human voice.

All at once, he remembered.

Fae magic.

The merchant’s jaw set in a shiver of repulsion, and he yanked on the chain that went to the ring around the boy’s - the creature’s - neck. It stumbled forward, and he replaced the muzzle, fastening the buckles with a touch more cruelty than necessary, until the thing whined at the pain. 

The animal sound the creature made soothed the uncertainty that had so briefly flashed inside the merchant’s mind.

It bedded down obediently enough with the horses in the stables. In the morning, it was back in the window, on display for the stragglers who might come by in the crowd.

The merchant did not ask it questions again.

---

Tagging Killan’s crew:  @astrobly​​​​​ @burtlederp​​​ , @finder-of-rings​​​ , @slaintetowhump​​​ , @quirkykayleetam​​​ , @whumpallday​​​ , @whumppsychology​​​, @doveotions​​​, @broken-horn​​​, @moose-teeth​​​, @whumpfigure​​​, @oceanthesarcasamfox​​​,  @whump-only​​​, @just-strawberry-jam​​​, @loopylunacy​​​ (if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 12: On His Tail

((Abe finds that following the doctor home is a lot more difficult than he expected it to be.

Link to Part 11: First Moon.))

One week.

Seven days now, since Abe came back to the city and found Google waiting outside his office door. And, after he recovered from that storm the other night, each of the following nights had been spent sitting across the street from a clinic and watching one vampire doctor go about his business and learning next to nothing about the guy.

Sure, Abe had pretty much nailed down the guy’s routine at this point, from the time he would show up to how long before the first patients would start to arrive, and he knew when the doctor would leave each morning down to the minute. The problem was, he had no idea where the hell this Dr. Schneeplestein went after that.

For one thing, it seemed like he was going in a different direction every morning. One day he’d head to the left after he locked the door behind him, the next he’d go right, and at the next intersection Abe might as well flip a coin and guess to try and figure out which way he’d go that day. In the evenings the direction of his arrival seemed just as random, and more than once Abe had been startled to find the doctor approaching from behind his vantage point, only to walk right by the car as if he hadn’t noticed its occupant.

Except for the night of the storm, the doctor always arrived and left on foot, and with the limited number of public transport options at those hours, Abe was sticking to his suspicion that the vampire must live somewhere within walking distance of the clinic. In theory, it should have been easy to tail him long enough to figure out where he was going each day.

In practice though, it wasn’t quite as simple.

The first morning Abe planned to tail him, he left his car early and ducked into an alley, ready to follow the doctor on foot while keeping enough distance to not arouse any suspicion. Except that was the first time that Abe discovered Schneeplestein wasn’t taking the same route every day, after the sun had risen with no sign of the doctor.

The next day, Abe waited in his car, ducking down when the doctor left his clinic and waiting until Schneeplestein had reached the corner before slipping out and shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him. Hurrying but trying not to make a sound, Abe rounded the same corner and found an empty street waiting for him. The hunter slowed, eyes scanning the dark sidewalks and each side street he passed, but there was no sign of the doctor to be found even though he couldn’t have had more than a few seconds head start.

Yesterday morning, Abe decided to throw caution to the wind and just follow the doctor in his car, reasoning that if he played it right, he could at least narrow down which direction Schneeplestein was going before he was noticed and try to go from there. He made it two turns before the doctor decided today was the day to cut through a nearby park, where of course Abe couldn’t follow in his car. The hunter made the split decision to park his car and go in after him, but the trails split under the trees and there was nothing close to a hint to tell him which way he had gone.

Dr. Schneeplestein had to know someone was trying to follow him, and Abe thought he might know who tipped him off. He had been taking pictures of everyone entering and leaving the clinic, a practice he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with, but it allowed him to notice a couple of returning faces besides the doctor. One of which was the kid in the cap Abe ran into at the other doctor’s place, the one who called himself Chase Brody.

Abe still couldn’t shake the feeling he should know the guy from somewhere else, but while he hadn’t been able to figure that one out yet, he had seen Chase return to the clinic two more times, once with a bag and another time with what looked suspiciously like Schneeplestein’s forgotten white coat. That first time he stayed half the night, while the second his run in and out was quick enough to tell Abe that he was just there to drop the coat off. Add in that Abe suspected he had been there at Dr. Iplier’s office that day to pick up the vampire’s weekly ration of blood, and it made perfect sense to the hunter to pull out of his parking spot and follow after Chase’s car.

He had a little more success there, managing to tail Chase all the way to a pet store, where the guy spent about half an hour before coming out with a couple of bags that he tossed into the front seat of his car before taking off again, Abe once again right behind him. Well, until a red light changed far too fast, leaving Abe to sit and stew as the car got farther and farther ahead of him. He was able to keep an eye on the taillights though, and he might have bent a few speeding limits after that to catch up, but he thought he had pulled it off for a solid ten minutes. That is, until the car pulled into a gas station, where the overhead lights revealed the driver was in fact an elderly woman who probably needed some help to see over the top of her steering wheel. Abe calmly kept driving, until he found a safe place to pull over and scream muffled obscenities into his hands.

Which brought him to now, about half an hour before the doctor was due to leave. While Abe thought most of the stuff in Ed Edgar’s shop was a scam he wouldn’t waste a buck on, the salesman was ready and willing to act as a middleman to help the hunter get his hands on some of the more genuine items. Shame a good chunk of Google’s down payment for the case was going toward it, but Abe figured he could write that off as an expense to bill the magitek man with later. That, and all of the coffee he was using to help get himself through these all night watches.

Assuming this stuff worked like it was supposed to, which even as Abe dabbed a bit of the colorless potion on the corner of his left eye like he was told to, didn’t seem like a guarantee.

The rest of the bottle was poured out on the small bit of ground between the clinic door and the main sidewalk where the doctor was guaranteed to step at least once on his way out. Once that was done, Abe took his car and parked it around the corner, just to have one less thing to give away his presence.

The longer he could keep the vampire thinking he had once again failed to keep up, the better.

The hunter took up a position leaning against a wall several buildings down from the clinic, in the darkness where the light from the two streetlights on either side didn’t quite reach. Just as he was fighting off the temptation to check his pockets for a spare cigarette, the door to the clinic opened and Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein himself stepped outside and, as usual, turned and locked the door behind him.

As Abe watched, the doctor pocketed his keys and, surprise, surprise, just happened to turn and start walking in the opposite direction. But more importantly, there was no sign he had noticed the potion that Abe had spilled out on the ground or, when the hunter closed his right eye, the glowing footsteps that he left behind.

Abe waited a few seconds, watching the doctor turn the corner before he stopped leaning against the wall and began following. Just like the doctor, he turned left, only to once again find himself staring down an empty street. He closed his right eye again, expecting to see a trail of glowing footsteps in front of him, but there was nothing there.

Just as Abe was ready to start swearing and vow to get his money back from that crook Edgar, he caught a glimmer of light out of the corner of his left eye. Despite seeing with his own eyes which way the doctor went, the footsteps actually went across the street and through a small one-way drive that would be easy to miss even in the daylight.

It was vaguely disorienting, walking with one eye closed, but the footsteps led Abe on what felt like a surprisingly direct path across several blocks to a residential area. Sensing he was near the end of the trail, Abe started to speed up, his eagerness almost making him forget his usual caution.

Almost.

“There is a shadow following you.”

The words came unbidden to Abe’s mind, the sudden remembering of something he never should have forgotten hitting him almost as hard as if not more than the Host’s actual warning. The hunter slowed, both eyes open and all senses on high alert like they should have been this entire time.

He didn’t hear anything, there was nothing out of the corner of his eye, nothing to give it away except for the sudden prickle of hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He turned down the next street, abruptly and quick enough to catch a look behind him and spot it.

Not on the sidewalk, not out in the open, but there was something there in the well of darkness between two streetlights, a presence that would have been so easy to dismiss as paranoia for anyone else who didn’t regularly have various human and not human-shaped beings trying to kill him. And, as another look two streets later proved, it was following him.

Living with that kind of threat day in and day out for longer than Abe cared to recall tended to form some instincts to make sure he could keep on living, and without thinking Abe’s hand was inside his jacket, already on the grip of his concealed gun as he spun around, ready to face his stalker head on.

He saw them, just long enough to get a brief, indistinct glimpse of someone there.

And then they were gone.

Abe waited, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears as his eyes scoured the street, searching for any sign of movement, anything off at all, but as the seconds passed and his heart rate slowed, he gradually accepted that whoever it was that had been following him was gone now.

Despite his reluctance to do so, Abe slowly closed his right eye, but there was no sign of the marked footprints anywhere around him. So probably not the doctor catching on to him, then. Maybe a friend of his?

Or, maybe, someone just as interested as Abe in figuring out where exactly was the place that the doctor called home.

The third alternative was that whoever it was had been more interested in Abe himself, and it was a possibility he kept in mind as he made his way back to his car, but there was no more sign of them. Whatever the reason they had been following him, he had either managed to scare them off for now, or made them that much more careful and harder to spot.

Not a pleasant thought, which is why Abe took a roundabout drive through the city, constantly checking the rear view mirror until he decided to give it up for now and return to his office.

He wanted a chance to gather his thoughts, to try and work out what had just happened there, but Abe realized that wasn’t going to happen the second he stepped out of the stairwell and saw a familiar, red-shirted figure standing outside of his door again.

“Greetings,” Google said, suddenly moving from his “at-rest” stance to a more alert and somehow vaguely threatening posture. “I have been waiting for you, hunter.”

“I can see that,” Abe said, approaching slowly.  “Care to tell me why?”

“Perhaps we could have this conversation inside of your office,” Google suggested, his eyes roaming towards the other doorways in the hall. “If you would be willing to grant me access past your wards, I could—”

“No,” Abe interrupted with zero hesitation. “Office is for clients only.”

“I am here on behalf of a client.”

“Doesn’t count. Now tell me what you’re here about, or get lost.”

Google scowled, but the expression quickly shifted back into a more neutral one even though it seemed to require a bit of effort on his part. “I have been sent to assess your progress on your half of the arrangement. It has been one week now, and my employer wishes for an update on your status.”

Abe had been expecting that, but it wasn’t something he’d been looking forward to. Still, he knew how to leverage what he did have, and maybe bluff a little.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking into your doc. Interesting guy, been registered with the city what, over a year now? But not much of a social life, considering how much of his nights he spends in that clinic of his. Makes me wonder just what his connection is to…what was it you said? ‘Someone of value to the city’?”

“Someone of value to significant persons within the city,” Google answered, the answer rapid-pace and no doubt the exact same words he had used before.

“Interesting phrase to use,” Abe said, but this time the magitek unit’s face gave nothing away. “Any chance you’d tell me who that someone is?”

“That is not within the parameters of the information I am allowed to give you,” Google answered.

“And if I figure it out for myself?” Abe asked.

“Then you would be very close to doing what you have been hired to do,” Google answered, and Abe tried to tell if there was a shift in his tone or if he was just imagining it. “Do you have any more information to offer at this time?”

“It would help if I know what I’m supposed to be looking for here,” Abe said. “More than just some half-assed ‘look for anything suspicious.’ You look at it the right way, and the entire idea of a vampire working as a doctor at a night clinic is suspicious as hell, but that doesn’t mean there’s something going on.”

“You are saying that you have yet to find anything that could be considered suspicious?” Google asked.

Immediately, Abe’s mind went to the used silver bullet he found in the doctor’s office, as it had multiple times over the past few days and nights. Not that it found anything new to go on there, besides half-baked suspicions that only seemed to get worse the more time he gave them.

“Like I said, anything can be suspicious depending on the context. Which you and your client have given me none of, by the way.”

“Was the promise of information leading you to Wilford Warfstache an insufficient incentive?”

“…What?”

Google tilted his head slightly and repeated the question again, each word given a special emphasis that seemed designed to make Abe want to punch his stupid face in.

Abe resisted the temptation, barely, and eventually managed to struggle out the words, “What do you want?”

“As clearly stated before, information. My employer believed that obtaining sufficient information about the doctor’s personal and professional contacts would be enough to steer your investigation from there. Considering that hasn’t happened yet, I must come to the conclusion that you have missed an area.”

If he had said that any other day before today, Abe wouldn’t have given it more than a passing thought. He already knew he was missing something here, both with the doctor and with this mysterious client Google was working for. But after what happened earlier?

“Why didn’t you give me a home address for the doctor?” Abe asked.

“Because there was not one on file,” Google answered. “The only confirmed address of Dr. Schneeplestein is at his clinic.”

“…Do you have any unconfirmed addresses then?” Abe asked, only to get a blank stare in return. “How can he not have a home address in his registration record?”

“I am not allowed to comment on any obvious oversights that may or may not have occurred under the care of others,” Google answered, with the tone of someone who had quite a few comments on that particular matter. “Have you found his place of residence?”

Abe had been thinking about that. The potion could only last so long, but even if he hadn’t been able to pin down a place this morning, he wasn’t running completely blind. Considering the time that it took to walk to that neighborhood, plus the ticking clock to get somewhere safe before the sun rose, and he was willing to bet he had gotten close to the doctor’s place. If he was careful and patient, he could probably narrow it down without Schneeplestein being any the wiser.

“No, not a clue yet,” is what Abe said. “Guy’s hard to track for some reason, but I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

“That is why my employer chose you, Abe Lincoln. He has high expectations for you.”

Abe felt a sudden chill in his chest as the second time today the Host’s words came back to him.

“Take care, hunter. Someone is expecting much of you.”

“I will return for another update when it is deemed appropriate,” Google said, although Abe barely heard him. “Should you have something of substance to share then, I can offer some information on the man that you are searching for. Until then, hunter.”

The magitek unit walked by Abe and down the stairs without another word, and by the time Abe snapped out of it he was already gone. The hunter cursed to himself in the parking lot when he realized there was no catching up to him, getting a few stares in the process that he could not care less about, before running back up to his office to grab some things. Because suddenly his plan for the day revolved entirely around learning a little more about Carla’s other regular customer, like how a blind man noticed that Abe was being followed before he did.

Or just how the Host managed to make him forget that little warning until this morning, and why.

((End of Part 12. Thanks for reading!

Link to Part 13: Communication Issues.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox ))

[businesschicstyle]

City Park via /r/Horror_stories https://ift.tt/2XjTcQJ

[danaan13]

Today is my birthday. It's also been one week since a very hard decision had to be made, that changed my life very suddenly, and very painfully. The following is going under a cut. It’s also really long. My apologies to any mobile users that might get the full post anyway. Scroll really fast. I'm going to be talking about the loss of my dog. Some of it is traumatic. So warnings for injury, death, cars, insurance shit, and lots of feelings.

This post is 85% for me and 15% for anyone who's had questions since my vague posts a week ago. I have no blame or ill feelings for anyone that needs to keep scrolling. This post is going to be a lot. And I understand if one doesn't have the energy or the headspace for it. But a lot of of this is writing for my personal mourning.

One other thing: I go over events with the vet we saw. I'm not looking for different diagnoses, or different opinons, or debate, about what the vet said, or the decision we made. As I said, this post is for me to mourn. For me to record what happened. Maybe someone else would've done something differently. I don't know. We made the decision we thought was best.

And with that:

One week ago, my spouse took our dog for a walk in the evening. This was our normal routine. Newton, our dog, loved it. She was an australian shepherd mix, and naturally had all kinds of energy to work out. Even at eleven years old. It's 6 in the evening. It's pitch black out. My spouse has a bright orange, relfective rain jacket on. Newton is wearing a bright orange doggie vest, a collar that had a glowy blue led strip all the way around, and a leash with a reflective string. By our thoughts, safety was accounted for.

Their normal route took them past the shopping center that's a block and a half from our home. My spouse sees a truck sitting at a restaurant parking lot exit, as if waiting on traffic, before attempting to turn. Spouse believes they're going to continue to wait, and starts to cross the front of the exit, along the part marked as a sidewalk. Spouse is directly in front of truck, when it starts up and hits them. And pins Newton under the wheel.

The driver rolled down the passenger window to yell at my spouse. My spouse was yelling at him to move off our dog. A witness, who heard our dog screaming, from inside the restaurant, comes out and bangs on the man's driver window till he rolls it down. He finally backs off of Newton. They move her aside. My spouse was in that kind of shock where emotions shut off. They start giving orders. You call 911. You get that man's insurace. Someone get pictures. Etc.

And then the man suddenly drives away. Doesn't say a word. Doesn't leave insurance. Doesn't stay for the police. He ran.

By this point, one of the witnesses already has clear pictures of his vehicle and license plate. He's reported to the police, and they put out a call to find him.

Spouse calls me shortly after this. Call our vet. We got hit. We need to get Newton to a vet. So I call our vet. It's 6:30. They're closed for the night. But they were there for accounting stuff. They give me the number for the emergency vet. I call ahead. Tell them we'll be coming, but that I don't know what the injuries are. Just that a car was involved.

I go hop in our car. Drive a block and a half to the scene. There's two fire trucks. There's police cars. Traffic's doing that bottlenecking thing. I park and run over. Instantly get hugged by the witness who'd gotten involved. My spouse is sitting on the sidewalk. One piece. Looks okay. My dog's wrapped in sheets. She's awake. Looking around. What I could understand of her body language was a mixture of pain, but excitement because there's people paying attention to her. And oh how Newton adored every ounce of attention she could beg for.

The witness, we'll call her S now. S volunteers to come with my spouse and I to the emergency animal clinic. She sits in the back of my car while the firemen load poor newton in. Spouse comes with me, even though the firemen wanted them to go to the ER. We agree to go to the ER once we got Newton settled. S's family, two men who I presume to be husband and father, possibly, follow in their car behind us.

We get there. The vet techs wisk Newton off to the back. They need to do xrays. They need someone to stay and talk out costs. S volunteers to take Spouse to the ER. Spouse agrees to go. So I stay at the vet by myself. They settle me in a room, where I text friends updates about all this. I'm scared. And all I wanted was to hug my dog.

The vet shows up after a bit. She's very calm, very kind, and amazingly empathetic. She explains that Newton wasn't succumbing to the medicine as quickly as they'd like. She's too excited. Too many new people to meet. Gets excited every time someone comes into the room. Classic Newton. So, they only got the xrays from the one side at that time.

Her spine is fine. But a hip is shattered. There's shards. One hip is also dislocated. My heart's in my stomach. Vet explains that if it's just the one leg shattered, they can amputate. But if it's both, then it's not good. She explains that the dislocation would have to be fixed via surgery. It can't just be popped back in. She explains that our town doesn't have an orthopedic surgeon for dogs. We'd have to go to one of two major cities, two hours away. The vet then explains that she'll get better xrays, once the meds kick in and they can roll Newton over without causing her more pain. So, she draws up the treatment plan for the next twenty four hours. I leave the deposit for the cost of the care. She says she'll call me when she's got more data. And when she's talked to surgeons offices.

And then I go to the ER, trying to not cry because my dog will probably never run or jump, ever again. She's an aussie. They run. They jump. They're energetic. Newton would bounce all over the place in front of our patio door, to greet our neighbors as they walked past. She was constantly knocking down blinds from our hanging blinds there. She loved to play fetch. We've got a long hallway we'd throw tennis balls down, and she'd go chase them and run back. She'd never do any of that again.

I get to the ER. I tell my spouse. They're heartbroken. I call our auto insurance, at the nurse's request, to start that process, while we wait for the doctor to come back from the xrays. When the doctor comes, he says Spouse is fine. No breaks, fractures, or internal injuries. Might have bruising show up in a day or two. So, we're given pain medication to handle that. To note, no bruises have yet appeared, a week later. Spouse physically feels fine. Emotionally is another matter.

So, we go home. We cry. We try to settle down. It's been two and a half hours since my spouse left the house to go on that walk. I make my posts here. We make posts on Facebook. We get an outpouring of concern, love, and prayers, from friends and family alike.

By midnight, I get a call from the vet. They have the rest of the xrays. Both hips are injured. One shattered, one fractured. And then there's the dislocation. There does not appear to be any internal injury though. She'd gotten ahold of both surgical centers in the two nearby cities. Both hospitals can do surgery. But they both would require about ten thousand dollars to do it. And, they both note that Newton is eleven. She's classified as a senior dog, despite her energy and good health. She'd never be the same. Therapy after surgery might not be enough. The neat wheels some dogs get, might not be enough. There's no guarantee that her quality of life would be enough, that she wouldn't suffer.

So, I talk to my spouse. And we're breaking. She's been our family for eleven years. We call back. Make the decision, get ready, and go to the clinic. We get to hug her and pet her. We get to give her a few last good treats. We cry. And we get to hold her as she goes to sleep for the last time.

And then we go home again. We still don't know if they've arrested the driver. There isn't a report on the police website yet. We manage, somehow, to sleep. Not very well on my part. By the next morning, there's a police report. The man was arrested and charged with a hit and run.

I try to call our auto insurance back. The adjuster we were assigned to the nigh before, is out of the office for the weekend. So, I wait and then call back on Monday. We start that whole process. She starts contacting the driver's insurance. We talk to the police department and get told we can get ahold of the city prosecutor in a week. We start the process to get a lawyer.

We celebrate Christmas with our son. He doesn't live at home now. Got his own place. And a dog of his own there. He brings her over when he comes. And for a few hours, we're able to cuddle and play with a sweet dog again. It's not the same. It hurts a little. But it heals a little too.

Today is my birthday. And today I get to go pay the company that handled Newton's cremation. And pick up the clay pawprint that they made for me. Happy birthday to me. I know my Newton is no longer in pain. And that she was her beautiful smiley self, right to the last moment. I will miss her forever. But I know that we'll be okay. Eventually.

If you've read this far, and you feel the need to do something, or say something, then feel free to tag me in posts of cute dogs or cats, or other animals. Or, if you're wanting to do a more monetary action, maybe donate to organizations like the Old Friends Senior Dog Sanctuary. That's what I'm doing for my Facebook Birthday Fundraiser. You don't have to give through mine specifically. You don't even have to give to them in particular. Heck, you don't even have to tell me about it. I just appreciate that there are groups like theirs, that can provide good quality of life, to senior dogs, who have that chance.

And for anyone wondering if we're going to get another dog, we are. We put in an application at our local humane society. It might feel fast. But it's so quiet in here now. We need someone to carry Newton's torch onwards. We've looked at a few dogs already. We've not found our one, yet. But we're looking.

Thank you for reading all this. I'm sorry if this post was difficult for you in anyway. I've got a lot of mourning left to do. So for now:

Goodbye my sweet, silly girl.

Newton 2008-2019

[artificialqueens]

Overpowered Part 1 (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: It’s here! Thank you to everyone that read and gave feedback on Powerless, you really inspired me to keep this story going. Thank you for continuing on this journey with me! I really hope you enjoy this first chapter, and I would appreciate any comments or feedback you have!

“It’s good to be back, baby!” Vanjie roars, and Frost smiles in agreement. Her smiles come easier now. She doesn’t have to force them like she used to, when spreading a grin across her face was like trying to cut through stone.

The October-orange leaves blur as Vanjie speeds by in the black car she’s named Bertha, and Frost wishes she had about three more seat belts.

“First night back on patrol, let’s do this!” Vanjie continues. “That song should be playing. You know, the one that plays in the movies when people walk all bad-ass like?”

“You mean ‘Back in Black’?”

“That’s the one! That should follow us wherever we go.” Vanjie cackles out the window and Frost grins even as her leg bounces with nerves.

Vanjie puts a steady hand on her thigh. It calms her somewhat, but at this point she thinks she’d be calmer if that hand was on the wheel. “You’re gonna be fine, baby. Just follow my lead,” Vanjie promises.

She parks the car in an alley with a ladder that leads to the roof a Mexican restaurant. “So, we just kinda hang here for now,” Vanjie dangles her legs over the edge of the roof. “It’s nice up here, and Silk calls if she gets any hits on her satellite.”

The view is nice. The city vibrates with life, lights twinkling in the streets below, people humming in the distance, but they’re 30 feet up and there’s no way Frost is sticking her legs off the roof. She crosses them instead, dropping her hands into her lap.

It’s cool outside, and maybe it’s the soft breeze, caressing her gently, or the moon shining off Vanjie’s waves, making her face glow, but Frost doesn’t think she’s ever felt more whole, more in love with Vanjie and the world. Maybe even with herself.

“I used to look for you, you know,” she confesses, high on moonlight. “Once I finished my missions for the night, I’d walk around, hoping I’d find you. It’s like I could think a little clearer when you were there.”

She remembers those nights, when talking to Vanjie was the only thing that felt real in her hazy mind. The only thing reminding her she was still alive.

“Really?” Vanjie smiles at her, eyes kind and warm. “I used to do the same thing, I ain’t gonna lie. When Silk said she spotted you, I used to run, girl. At first I wanted to catch you. Then I kinda just wanted to see you. It was nice, you know? Having someone who understood, I guess.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” She leans in, a hand on Vanjie’s shoulder. She closes the gap between them, lips craving Vanjie’s–

“Bank robbery on 19th,” Silk crackles in their ear comms.

“Great timing, Silk,” Vanjie grumbles.

They race to the bank and Frost keeps her focus on Vanjie. I’m a good person. I deserve to be forgiven. Nina’s words swirl in her brain, but she struggles to make them stick as Frost reminds herself that Vanjie would have been driving to stop her just months ago.

Vanjie hops out and begins teasing the robber, and Frost stands against the car like a magnet is holding her there. She knows Vanjie doesn’t need her help, but she should be offering instead of standing around like an idiot. Vanjie punches him in the jaw and it’s like she’s punched Frost, her mind rattling. Vanjie should be punching me. I’m bad like him. She takes a breath. No, that wasn’t me.

Vanjie pulls handcuffs off her belt and attaches the bank robber to a pole before having Silk call the cops. She leads Frost into an alleyway.

“Brooke,” Vanjie says quietly, and Frost listens. “I know where your mind is going, but try not to let it, okay? Self-blame won’t get you anywhere. Believe me, I know.” She puts her hand on Frost’s cheek, fingers smoothing over her temple. Vanjie is probably the only other person who does know how it feels, and she listens.

She nods.

Vanjie grins. “Come on then. We got more assholes to stop.” —

It’s the day before Vanessa’s birthday and Brooke makes a solo trip to the animal shelter while Vanessa is at the base. It’s the first time she’s gone anywhere alone, really, and her neck is damp with sweat despite the cool air.

She tries to unclench her fists, to stop jumping at every noise. She knows everyone from the lab is gone, but last night she dreamt that they caught her and woke up screaming so loud her throat is still scratchy and every door slam and footstep is the General here to take her away.

Her ears fill with the barks and howls of the shelter and she relaxes. She knows just the dog she wants, a tiny brown and white puppy named Riley whose yips are almost too loud for such a small body to contain.

She keeps looking at the dog and grinning the whole way home, never in her life thinking she’d have someone to give a dog to.

Vanessa is going to love him.  —

Even though Vanessa’s birthday isn’t until tomorrow, Brooke just can’t wait.

The second Vanessa gets home, Brooke runs into their spare bedroom, where she’d hidden Riley. “Be good for your mommy,” she whispers, scooping the dog into her arms.

Vanessa’s jaw drops open, but all that comes out are sputtering gasps when Brooke puts the dog in her hands.

“Is it okay?” she asks frantically, chewing her lip. “I know how much you liked the dog you had as a kid and I thought you might want one now…”

“Oh, Brooke,” Vanessa breathes. “He’s perfect.” She kisses his nose and strokes his fur. “I love him.”

They spend the night sprawled on the living room carpet, introducing Riley to the cats and letting the animals crawl all over them.

“We got a regular Noah’s ark in here,” Vanessa laughs, nudging Henry’s paw out of the way to plant a kiss on Brooke’s cheek.  —

Vanessa wears a long white gown, ring sparkling on her finger. The sun is a halo behind her but her smile is even brighter, and the “I do” flies out of her mouth before the minister (Nina, for some strange reason) even finishes talking. Brooke leans down and kisses those warm lips–

Brooke opens her eyes. Vanessa’s sleeping, in her pajamas rather than a wedding dress, and the only sun strains to be seen. It’s just past 6, and she should sleep longer but knows she won’t be able to, her body buzzing and her mind wide-awake in anticipation of the party and what she wants to do after.

She pads into the kitchen, feeding the pets and starting on the cake for tonight. She’s slowly becoming more comfortable in the apartment, slowly losing her fear that someone will take her away from it. She doesn’t hesitate as she reaches for the flour and replaces the butter in the butter dish, which she would have never done without asking before. It feels like home, and Brooke allows herself to feel it.

The chocolate cake is in the oven, buttercream is chilling in the fridge, and she’s finishing up the birthday pancakes when Vanessa shuffles in, her pajama pants decorated with ghosts and bats.

Vanessa takes in the mountain of bowls, measuring cups, and spoons piled on the drying rack and her eyes widen in alarm. “You didn’t have another nightmare, did you? I should’ve heard-”

“No, it was a good dream this time.” She steers Vanessa to the table.

“Happy birthday, Ness,” she tests it out, burying her lips in the waves at the top of Vanessa’s head.

“Thank you, baby,” Vanessa tips her head back and cranes her neck up for a kiss.

“This is real maple syrup. I saw it in the store and I really wanted it. It feels like…like a memory? Like I know I’ve had it before?” she attempts to explain, passing the bottle to Vanessa.

Vanessa nods, taking in the colorful plate of fruit she’s laid out on the kitchen table. “You went all out on this, huh?” she asks, piling strawberries on her plate.

Brooke blushes. “Anything for you.”

They both have the day off and Vanessa helps Brooke with the cooking. She pulls out a battered recipe box that she holds with deep reverence, the cards written in neat, looping cursive, and Brooke knows without Vanessa telling her that it belonged to her mother.

They spend the day in the kitchen making all of Vanessa’s favorites, rice and beans, and enchiladas, and macaroni and cheese, and they move around each other with such grace it’s like a dance, with such ease it’s like breathing.

Like they were each an extension of the other’s body, and maybe even of their soul. —

A’Keria and Silk barge in promptly at 7, and Brooke is calm. She is calm through dinner as they regale her with stories from their early days fighting crime, including the night Vanjie got chased by a wild boar that escaped from the zoo.

She is calm as she brings the cake out to oohs and aahs, calm at the absolute butchering of “Happy Birthday”. She is calm as she plucks the candles out, wax soft and warm, as she slides the knife through the chocolate frosting–

A little blonde girl with green eyes beams at her gigantic chocolate cake, seven candles glowing in the thick frosting. A kind woman with similar eyes smiles at her, tells her to make a wish–

Her fingers remain stiff as the knife is pried out of her hand, a glass of water pushed into it seconds later. She lifts it to her mouth numbly, letting out a relieved sigh as her surroundings refocus and she sees Vanessa has brought her to the kitchen.

“My mom,” she explains hoarsely. “I think I saw my mom.”

“Oh, Brooke,” Vanessa soothes, rubbing her back. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. I-I just never saw her before, and she’s…well, you know…” she trails off, choking back a sob.

“But it was nice,” she continues. “I think I look like her a little.”

Vanessa smiles, sadness clouding her eyes. “I’m happy you got to see her. I just wish the flashbacks didn’t take so much out of you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I hate when they happen in front of everyone, they must think I’m-”

“Brooke, they know what an amazing person you are. This doesn’t change anything. And I better not hear any apologies from you on my birthday,” she warns, face stretching into a grin.

Brooke laughs and lets Vanessa lead her back to the dining room.

Silk and A’Keria look concerned, but there’s nothing unkind in their expressions. This doesn’t change what they think of me, she reminds herself.

“Vanessa’s been talking about this cake all week. She makes you sound like damn Martha Stewart. We gonna try it or what?” A’Keria demands, and Brooke cuts the cake.  —

Vanessa marches into the living room with a slim box under her arm and the grin of a tiger stalking prey on her face.

“Don’t think I forgot, hoe,” Vanjie thrusts the Monopoly box at Silk.

“Oh, shit,” A’Keria mutters. “Brooke, you got more wine? Hell, I’ll take the whole bottle.”

“Is this a thing?” Brooke asks, giving A’Keria the wine while Silk and Vanessa set up the board and pick pieces like military generals planning a battle.

“This is kind of our birthday tradition. Oh, my child. You have no idea what you’re about to witness. If you got anything valuable in this living room, you might want to put it away.”

Brooke’s not sure if A’Keria is serious, but she grabs the vase that was Vanessa’s mother’s and stashes it in their bedroom just in case. She settles on the rug as A’Keria drains another glass.

The next two hours are a war like Brooke has never seen. She’s pretty sure actual war is tamer than this. The board is held together with duct tape and covered in suspicious red stains; some of the cards are singed around the edges and the shoe piece has been replaced with a hot pink Barbie heel. Brooke’s been enlisted to hand out money, as the most trustworthy of the group, and has two paper cuts on her fingers from Silk snatching it out of her hands. A’Keria sports a dime-sized bruise on her arm after Vanessa pelted her with dice. Silk uses her wad of cash as a fan and a weapon when she owes someone money. A’Keria hides her money beneath her ass (Vanessa yells that she can fit the entire Federal Reserve under there). Brooke feebly sticks hers in her back pocket and Vanessa stuffs her shares down her shirt, ruthlessly collecting payments from the others. Brooke wonders if they’ll be here until Christmas when Silk and Vanessa both launch the board a little after midnight, propelling money and game pieces across the apartment and prompting a 10-minute argument over who actually flipped it first. A’Keria is blissfully drunk (she’s already spilled some on the board, another battle scar) and helps Brooke pick up the game pieces, some of which have scattered all the way to the bathroom.

Vanessa is still insisting Silk cheated when she heads into the bedroom. She pulls off her sweater and tosses it to the floor, and Brooke knows now is the time.

Brooke stands nervously in the doorway. She unbuttons her shirt with shaky fingers, reminds herself that Vanessa has seen her scars before and doesn’t care, doesn’t think any less of her for them. Nina’s told her several times that the scars from the bad things the lab did don’t make her bad, don’t make her any less deserving of love. But the fear still remains that Vanessa won’t want her.

“Um, there’s one more thing I want to give you.”

Vanessa’s eyes go wide as she realizes.

“Brooke, you’re sure? We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, or because you think you have to.”

“I’m sure.”

She’s never been more sure of anything.  —

Brooke collapses onto the pillow breathlessly, Vanessa doing the same.

“Was it okay? I don’t know if I’ve ever…I don’t remember, anyway-”

“Relax, Mary! Brooke, it was amazing. It was everything. You’re everything.” She presses a kiss to Brooke’s cheek before wrapping her in a warm, sleepy embrace.  —

“Ow! What the hell?”

“What is it?”

“I stepped on a fucking Monopoly racecar!”

“I knew we were missing a piece!” —

There’s only days until the new recruits arrive and Brooke’s whole body is tense, like she’s expecting some blow to come. It’s that second when your chair tips too far back, and you’re desperately clawing at the air, trying to regain your balance before you fall backwards.

Only she’s stuck there.

In three days she brings cookies, brownies, and donuts for everyone to eat at the base because she just can’t sleep, not even when Vanessa holds her. What little sleep she does get is plagued with nightmares of being back at the lab, needles piercing her arm and the General laughing in her face.

“Why do you think you’ve been anxious, Brooke?” Nina’s voice is kind across the desk.

She looks down at her lap, like a kid called on in class when they haven’t been paying attention.

“There’s no right or wrong answer,” Nina says gently, like she’s read Brooke’s mind.

“P-probably…probably because the new recruits are coming Wednesday?”

“Why do you think you’re anxious about that?”

Now that she’s admitted the fear out loud, the floodgates are open and the worries come rushing out. “Because I don’t know them! How do I know I can trust them? What if they find out about me and think I’m bad? What if they don’t like me, or they think I’m crazy or weak or something? And then they’ll tell Silk, and she’ll realize how bad I am too.”

She chews on her nails and Nina passes her the squeeze ball she keeps on her desk for when Brooke gets fidgety.

“You’re none of those things, Brooke, and I’m sure these new recruits will see that. I do think your fears are valid, but keep in mind that Silk wouldn’t have picked anyone she didn’t think was trustworthy.”

Brooke nods, the ball compressing under her grip. It makes sense when Nina puts it that way.

“They also don’t know anything about your past. Your information is your information. They won’t know anything unless you want them to, and it’s fine if you don’t want them to, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, now that you’ve gotten the worries out of the way, I want you to imagine this going well. What are some good things that could happen?”

Nina’s asked her to do this before. It’s supposed to help her stop catastrophizing and focus on good outcomes. “Um, they might like me?”

“Good! What else?”

“Maybe I’ll like them?” Her voice grows steadier. “And maybe we’ll be friends, and if I did decide to tell them about me, they wouldn’t care.”

“That’s great, Brooke! I want you to think of those when you start to worry, okay?”

Brooke nods. Maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so bad.  —

Nina’s advice gets her through the next day, but Wednesday comes and Vanessa grips Brooke’s sweaty hand in her own as A’Keria leads them to the conference room to meet the new girls.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Vanessa assures her as they walk in.

“This is Scarlet and Yvie,” A’Keria gestures to the two women talking to Silk in the corner. There’s a certain intimacy between them, the same intimacy Brooke sees between her and Vanessa.

Scarlet’s bright red hair glimmers like copper. She seems confident and unbothered, and it’s a little unnerving to Brooke, the way she stands there like she owns the place. But her smile is wide and warm, and her eyes are kind as she shakes Brooke’s hand.

Yvie is nearly as tall as Brooke, with long, lanky limbs that Brooke thinks would contort like a Slinky. “You can just call me Yvie, you don’t have to use the code name,” she says quickly. “Silk told me I had to have one, but I don’t really give a shit about the secret identity. Then you got this one here-” she throws an arm around Scarlet fondly “-who puts her own damn name in the superhero name.”

“So what are you hoes’ powers?” Vanessa demands.

“I scream like a bitch,” Scarlet deadpans before bursting into laughter. “No, seriously, my voice has sonic vibrations that knock people out.”

“I see shit,” Yvie adds. “I’m like, lowkey psychic, I guess? I see visions of stuff that happens, and I try to save people who are in trouble. But it’s not always super-specific or anything.”

“And we know all about you two!” Yvie continues and Brooke’s heart beats like a drum in her ears. They know.

“Fire and ice, how fucking metal is that?” She turns to Vanessa. “Does your head catch on fire like Hades in Hercules? Also, y’all should totally give me your birth information so I can do your astrological charts,” she crows excitedly.

Brooke breathes a sigh of relief. Then it hits her that the only information she has on herself and her birth is in an untouched folder stuffed in her dresser, because as much as she wants to know she just can’t bring herself to open it.

“Don’t mind this one. She loves to talk.” Scarlet rolls her eyes, but the love in them is clear.

“So, I think we’ll start the meeting now-” Silk starts.

“Anyone else hot in here?” Vanessa interrupts, gathering her hair into a ponytail.

“You’re always hot, girl,” A’Keria says.

“Damn right I am,” Vanessa shoots back, and Brooke snorts, feels some tension crest out of her shoulders. Vanessa slips an arm around her waist and just the weight of it is an anchor.

“Your hair,” Yvie breathes, leaning in and getting a good look at Vanessa’s face, like she’s suddenly seeing her for the first time. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“Um, there’s no easy way to say this, but I had a vision last night of this girl, and you’re her. And in the vision, you, well…”

“Spit it out, Mary.”

“You were dead.”

[rookieinbflat]

New Territory, 2

Open Heart - Ethan x MC (Levin Stern)

Summary: Ethan navigates a day of activities with an difficult yet endearing eight-year-old.

@writerapprentice

WC: ~2500

Thank God they had showered and gotten dressed before going to bed last night. Ethan had stayed true to his promise, and they had sex on almost every flat surface in the apartment last night, but now in the morning light, when he rolled over to gather Levin in his arms, where he would normally find her shoulders he instead found a small set of feet. Furrowing his eyebrows, he pushes himself up onto his elbows and gently pulls back the comforter, sunlight is streaming through the half-opened blinds and he can make out the small form of an annoyingly endearing eight-year-old lying between him and Levin, upside down.

He rubs his eyes before softly rustling her, “Isa, what are you doing sleeping upside down?” Ethan asks softly, and she almost robotically sits up before lying back down with her head on the pillow this time, she’s sucking her thumb and her eyes are still closed, Ethan gently pulls her hand away from her face, he’s determined for her to kick the thumb sucking habit by the end of this weekend.

“I had a bad dream, that room is scary cause it’s so big,” Isa mumbles and pulls Ethan’s arm back down so she can use his arm as a pillow and nestle into his side, like Levin, she’s a cuddler.

Ethan lies back down and pets her hair, he looks over to see that it’s only six thirty, they can sleep for a couple more hours before they get started for the day. Neither Ethan nor Levin could remember the last time they had a sleep in, or a whole weekend to themselves, well, almost to themselves. Between the two of them on the diagnostics team, Levin taking every professional development opportunity available to her and Ethan researching for his next book, the time between them had been stretched quite thin. Levin couldn’t even remember the last weekend they were both in the same city, she had been travelling so much she keeps an already packed bag in the wardrobe for convenience. They had spoken to Naveen and gotten the whole weekend off to look after Isa and they planned to make the most of it. The agenda is breakfast at Short Street, a morning spent at the aquarium, lunch in the park and then a movie. If Isa is anything like Levin at the aquarium, he’s in for a big day.

Levin turns over and reaches across Isa to squeeze Ethan’s arm, “She crawled in at around midnight,” she chuckles softly, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief, “though I’m not exactly sure when she decided to sleep upside down,”

Ethan stretches the arm that Isa is lying across to reach out and brushes Levin’s cheek softly, “I put the nightlight on for her,” Ethan says softly, “I bought that nightlight from the planetarium, she loved it,” Levin smiled fondly when he came home complaining of the prices at the museum gift store, he was so worked up about the blatant monetisation in science she thought a vein was going to burst.

“Nuh uh,” Isa pipes up from between them, “the constellations aren’t even right,” Levin purses her lips and tries to hold in a laugh as Ethan looks shocked, being told off by an eight-year-old is surely a first for him. Levin can't remember the last time she saw Ethan at a loss for words, he always knew what to say to his bosses, interns, patients, but this little three-foot-nothing mess had completely stumped him.

“Isa,” Levin pushes some hair from the over her eyes, “how about you take Jenner and Pascale to your room and get a bit more sleep before we head to the aquarium? I need to take a shower so I’m not all smelly and scare the fish off,” Take the bait kiddo, she thinks to herself, go and watch cartoons in bed. Isa happily agrees, she loves having the dogs sleep in the spare bed with her, and she’s already figured out how to operate Nick Jnr on the television in the spare room. She plants a big kiss on Levin’s cheek before walking out of the room, dragging a stuffed seal toy she always took with her on trips.

Levin quickly got up and locked the door, this babysitting was really bringing out some primal instinct in the two of them, they couldn’t wait to jump each other’s bones at any given chance. She jumps back on the bed and straddles Ethan, holding his hands over his head, “We’ve got about forty minutes before she gets bored,” Levin leans down and starts to lay kisses on his neck, nipping at the skin there as he runs his hands up the back of her thighs and rests them on her rear.

She rolls her hips against his own and she can feel him hardening against her, “I only need twenty for what I’m planning to do you,” he growls and squeezes her bum before moving his hands up to remove her top, leaving her in just boxer shorts. He aptly rolls them over and pins her beneath him, pushing down her shorts before returning to kiss her, running his tongue along the inside of her lip.

—————

“No, no, no, its nine am, you’re not getting chicken fingers,” Ethan slams the menu down on the table in front of him, Isa is sitting across from him and looks up in a treacherous stare, her brows furrowing, they’ve been going at this for five minutes. They stare at each other for a long time, Ethan’s face is deadpan serious, his fists are clenched and Isa looks like she’s about to set the whole place on fire.

“Chicken is healthy, its got good stuff,” she retorts, she’s stopped colouring now, engaged in this stare off.

Levin is sitting next to Isa, reading a book propped up against the centrepiece while sipping on a smoothie, she’s aware of the situation but doesn’t want to get involved, they’re both as stubborn as each other. Ethan breaks first, looking away from Isa and over to Levin, his icy blue eyes pleading. Help me, Levin, they say, this kid is crazy, he wants to say. Levin sits her book down on the table and picks up the menu, looking over options that Isa might be interested in, but once she’s made her mind up, it pretty hard to change it.

“How about some pancakes?” Levin suggests and points the option out on the menu, Isa shrugs indifferently, looking back down to her colouring, Levin pushes and picks up a purple pencil to draw a small butterfly on the corner of the page, “It says that it comes with whipped cream and strawberries,” take the bait kiddo.

“Okay, I’ll have the pancakes,”

Levin, 1. Ethan, 0. Levin smirks as Ethan’s jaw drops, he’s not used to being shown up by anyone, but this child is giving him a run for his money.

“Those pancakes will have ridiculous amounts of fructose in them, not to mention, how do we know the fruit is sustainable and non-GMO?” Ethan leans over the table and whispers to Levin, but she’s not paying any attention.

Levin reaches across the table and squeezes his hand, “Ethan, turn doctor mode off for a little bit,” she tells him gently, “just enjoy the weekend, I’m sure Isa won't die from a few irresponsibly farmed fruits,”

She says this to him a lot, Ethan, let go. Ethan, chill out. Ethan, wind down. It used to infuriate him to no end, it always seemed that she was condescending him when she said that. She said it like it's so simple like his brain is just a switch he can flick from an overbearing, over-ambitious doctor, to wild, reckless, hooligan. Then, Ethan realised, she knows it’s not easy, its a battle she struggles with every day, work mode, friend mode, home mode. All the different aspects of Levin’s personality that she tries to keep in a perfectly calibrated economy, but now, she was learning to embrace the unknown, to relax and stop worrying about the things she can't control. It was never easy, she knew that, but Levin also knew that Ethan wouldn’t try if he wasn’t pushed. Levin studied psychology in her undergrad degree, a discipline she’d been interested in since she was young. One night when they had first started dating, they were laid in bed and she opened up to him and Ethan realised why, she told stories about her mothers’ struggle with post-partum depression, her brothers bi-polar, and her own diagnosis with anxiety and borderline personality disorder. She was not looking for pity, nor did she say anything to suggest she was complaining. Levin looked back at her past with the idea that everything that happened made her the person she was today, and Ethan wouldn’t want his gorgeous Rookie any other way.

The waitress comes over to take their orders, Levin orders goats cheese and truffle mushrooms on toast, Ethan orders a vegetable chilli scramble and a double shot of espresso - he’s going to need it today. Ethan talks to Isa about his theories for his new book on diagnostic medicine, Isa pretends like she can understand a word he’s saying. They’re sharing a colouring page, two dogs chasing after a ball. Working on activities together always forces children to get along, Levin thinks to herself before returning to her book. Ethan looks up from the collar he’s colouring red and finds Levin looking at him with a small smile and he wonders what his Rookie is thinking about, he’s thinking about how much he loves her.

Just when Levin thinks she’s in the clear, there’s a three minute argument over Isa pouring more than a tablespoon of syrup over her pancakes, “It’s the syrup or the cream, Isa, I’m not playing games here - you can’t have both,” Ethan has his brows furrowed once again and Isa holds the bottle of syrup over her stack of pancakes almost threateningly.

Levin kicks him under the table and he lets out a quiet yelp, shooting a pointed glance across the table.

‘What was that for?’ He mouths silently, Levin raises her eyebrows and gestures towards Isa and her threat of syrup.

“Alright, I’ll strike a deal with you here,” Ethan turns back to Isa calmly and she gives him a confused look, “you can have more syrup on your pancakes, but you’re not allowed to have any soda at the aquarium,”

Isa thinks about it and puts the syrup down, “Nah, I want a big frozen drink when we go to the movies,” the word comes out sounding like moobies, she’s still struggling with her ‘v’ sounds.

Levin sighs, another crisis averted... for now.

—————

Levin and Ethan had survived the trip to the aquarium, well, maybe more Ethan had survived the trip to the aquarium. Levin and Isa had dragged him through every inch of the place, they could name every fish, every species of coral, every spec of dust in the tanks in front of them. Ethan had watched on in awe at Levin’s childlike wonder, they’d been there plenty of times before but each time was just as special as the last. He loved his beautiful fiancé with every cell in his body, he loved watching her love of the sea come to life when they were at the aquarium when she rattled off random facts in his ear, he thought his life couldn’t get any better.

For lunch, they sat under the warm sun, it was too cold in the shade and Boston had blessed them with a cloudless weekend in the bay. Levin laid with her head in Ethan’s lap, reading a novel about a conversation between a scientist and a monk about the meaning of life, Ethan flicked through a medical journal on his phone, Isa laid on her stomach, colouring in a super-duper-top-secret drawing that no one was allowed to see.

Now, Levin was getting Isa ready for bed, she had just had a bubble bath in their ridiculously oversized tub that could probably fit five people. Levin sat at the foot of their bed braiding Isa’s hair, trying to be gentle as Isa bounced around like a chihuahua on crack. “When I get old, I wanna have a big farm and I’m gonna have fifty dogs!” Isa tells the pair cheerily, she throws her arms out to the side, scaring poor Jenner, who’s not used to this level of energy in the house, “I’m gonna have a whole bunch of huskies,” she rattles on.

“While that sentiment is lovely Isa, I think you’re going to be very shocked at the associated veterinary bills,” Ethan ponders without looking up from his phone and Levin leans back to smack him on the chest. Of course, he is going to burst an eight-year-olds bubble with the serious realities of adult life.

Levin looks over at Isa sincerely, “I think that sounds freaking awesome and I am going to visit you all the time,” Levin loves dogs, she would have ten if she could, “alright your hair is done, it’s time for bed. Cmon, I’ll tuck you in,”

Isa shoots up from the floor, “No! I want Ethan to tuck me in,” it sounds more like ‘Eefan’ than it does anything else.

Levin turns back to a slightly shocked Ethan, but he recovers quickly, placing his phone down on the side table and rising off the bed. She puts the hairbrush on the dresser and watches as Isa grabs Ethan’s hand and leads him to tuck her into bed.

As Ethan is tucking her into bed and putting on the nightlight, Isa reaches into her rucksack beside the bed, pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to the doctor. Ethan recognises it as the menu from the cafe this morning, he’s about to ask Isa why she kept it when he turns the page over to find her top-secret drawing from earlier. It’s a picture of the five of them - Levin and Ethan with Isa between the two, all holding hands, and Jenner and Pascale on either side.

Ethan tucks Isa in and leaves a soft kiss on her hair, “Thanks, Isa, I think I’m going to put this one on the fridge,” she smiles and rolls over in bed.

He walks out into the kitchen and places the picture underneath their schedules, it almost feels like it's his own daughters drawing that he’s sticking up on the stainless steel appliance. Ethan had never thought about having a family. When he began his career in medicine, he had accepted that the hospital was going to be his only family. When he met Levin, he had grown fond of the idea that she would be his family for the rest of his life. Now they were looking after Isa and he knew he wanted more, he wanted a family of his own.

[residentanchor]

A Lesson in Practicality 12

<<Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Summary:  Two chases after Thomas as Virgil and Patton catch up to Logan. Word Count: 6049

Logan made his way down the quiet street of the city, walking away from the noise the center of downtown provided. He didn't want to get lost in the sea of people right now, he usually kept to quieter places. The quiet lets him think where he could relax, where he could pretend everything in his life was normal for a bit.

A part of him felt bad, leaving Patton and Virgil in front of the store alone. He was concerned for Two running off after Thomas, but it had just been too much at once. His brain told him to get away and take a moment and he didn't think for once and listened. He needed a moment to sort through everything that had happened. Barely two blocks down the street and he heard footsteps quickly approaching. He turned and saw Patton running towards him with Virgil falling a bit behind.

"I know you want to be alone, but you really shouldn't walk through the city by yourself!" Patton stopped and panted a bit, catching his breath. "We probably also shouldn't split up more! Roman is busy and Two is off who knows where."

"I apologize, Patton. You are right."

"That's okay. We can keep walking quietly until you're ready to talk."

Logan shook his head and looked over at the two. "No, it's quite alright. Just a bit of time was enough to ease me some."

"Are you sure?" Patton looked concerned but took the nod as enough of an answer. "Well, alright then." He turned and looked over at Virgil who was still a bit out of breath from running. "Gee, kiddo. I should take you out around town more."

"Yeah, I know I'm not... exactly the most fit person..." Virgil took a deeper breath and stood up straighter. "I'll be okay, Pat. We can worry about that later."

"Right." Logan cleared his throat. "The man we identified as 'Thomas' seems to be the same person both Roman and I have had an encounter with. I still do not remember what happened during my encounter, but with the limited data we have, it might be a sort of mimic ability."

Virgil nodded. "Yeah, we sort of figured that out."

Logan sighed and fiddled with his tie. "I have a growing list of theories we really should work out."

"Oh, more science tests huh?" Virgil perked up a bit. "I actually have one for Roman I was meaning to mention."

Logan cocked an eyebrow but simply nodded. "One thing at a time, we will shelf that conversation for a later day."

"So, what now?" Patton asked. "Two is still out there and Roman is preoccupied. Do we go and try to find them or do we just go home?"

"As easy as it would be to try and track him down again, I am not quite... up to it right now." Logan glanced away, looking down the barren street. "I don't know how long he will hold my ability for, so I do not wish to find him again today."

"That's okay, no need to push yourself." Patton put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Two will find his way back to me, I'm sure of it. I believe in him as if he were, well, me!"

Logan looked over at Patton with a bemused look. "He is you, Patton."

"So, we're just gonna... go home?" Virgil spoke up.

"Yes, well, perhaps retreating back to where we know Two will go when he needs to, as well as regrouping and coming up with our next plan of attack."

"Remind me to play a game of Risk with you one day, Logan." Virgil let out with snark.

"A game called Risk does not seem like the type of thing you would enjoy," Logan smirked to himself. "Since you never seem to take any."

"W-was that a joke?" Virgil was surprised. "Well, look whose feeling better?"

"Aww, let's go home and have our family game night! I can even bring out Three to fill Roman's role. He can start saying random Disney quotes too! Not the same but it'll be like he's with us!"

"Eh, no thanks." Virgil spun back towards the center of town. "Let's not ruin our night away from Roman, shall we?"

Across town, Two was in a crowd of people, pushing his way through as quickly as he can, excusing himself as he did. He knew the others weren't following anymore, but he was so close and hadn't lost sight of Thomas yet, he didn't want to give up.

He was able to get a break in the crowd and sprinted, reaching out and grabbing Thomas' wrist, tugging back gently.

Thomas spun around, yanking his arm out of his reach. "Stop, no! I just-" He took a step back, holding up his hands. "I don't want anything else weird happening!"

"Could you at least let me explain? We lost track of everyone else, it's just us!" Two held up his hands, keeping his distance. "I don't mean any harm! We were getting along before weren't we?"

"Logan already explained enough, how do you keep finding me?" He took a careful step back. "What do you want?"

"To be friends!" Two shouted. "Is that really so bad?"

"Yes! Maybe?" Thomas ran his hands through his hair. "Look, I was living a normal life until Logan showed up one day, talking like some dude out of a comic book, but he didn't make any sense! What do you want me to do about it?"

"Oh." Two slowly dropped his hands, his face falling into a concerned frown. "Did... does nothing happen unless we're around?"

Thomas marched closer, getting right in Two's face. "Well, he showed up one day and suddenly I could hear people's thoughts. It happened again back there." Thomas angrily whispered, motioning back the way the came.

Two leaned back a bit. "M-maybe your power only works around us? Or copying ours or maybe-"

"I don't have powers!" Thomas took a step back and spun around, taking a deep breath. "I'm not like you, I can't be!" He put his hands through his hair again. "I'm not."

Two watched the man calm down, shoulders falling a bit. He turned around with a frown, analyzing him. "I'm sorry. We just, Logan didn't remember meeting you and we all wanted to find out why and... got over excited."

"No, no." Thomas dropped his arm to the side, looking away sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled. It took me by surprise, I guess." He looked up at Two and gave a small smile. "Can we just... start again?"

Two perked up and let out a friendly hand. "My name is Patton! Or, Pat Two. You can call me Two!"

Thomas took the hand cautiously and shook it. "Thomas." He pulled his hand away, looking down at it. "Nothing happened that time."

"Or the time back in the store." Two nodded. "I'm not the original, maybe that's why?"

"Right." Thomas nodded and looked up at Two. "So, Logan doesn't remember me?"

Two shook his head. "Said he knew he met someone like us but didn't remember anything else."

Thomas nodded, looking around. "Can we talk somewhere less crowded maybe?"

"Oh!" Two perked up. "There's a dog park a few blocks away! Can we go there? I like going there on my downtime since I'm not allowed to have pets in my apartment."

"Sounds perfect."

Two walked forward and led the way, the quiet between them filled with the passing conversations of the people passing by. The park was a bit out of the way, but Two knew the ease of the familiar and friendly environment would make it easy for him. Also, who didn't love dogs?

It wasn't as busy as the day grew on, but that left them alone on a bench facing the park as a few sparse dogs ran around, playing with one another. Two motioned for Thomas to sit as he took his own seat.

"I think I know what happened with Logan." Thomas let out, staring out at the field. "I wasn't sure it actually happened, I kind of thought it was a dream at first, but I had this little notebook. It must have been his or something." Thomas motioned to describe and show how small it was. "Just fit in your pocket, he was carrying it around I guess and showed it to me. It was all about us. Just names and not too detailed, but he started going on about powers and how he could read minds..." Thomas leaned back on the bench. "I thought he was crazy, I was ready to ignore him. Being nice and telling him I wasn't interested in whatever he was selling didn't work, then he reached out." Thomas turned to Patton. "I kind of jumped and told him to let go and leave me alone. I think the words 'forget I ever existed' may have been said."

Two's face lit up with understanding. "If your ability works by touch, you could have been using his against him. He said he could give suggestions to people, I didn't think he could actually wipe someone's memory!"

"I was afraid of that."

"Thomas." Two leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder for comfort. "We aren't asking you to do anything you don't want to do. Logan was just concerned since he didn't remember and we wanted to find out why." Thomas silently nodded and looked back out at the field. "I'm not asking you to do anything you don't feel comfortable with, but maybe we could..." Two sighed and pulled his hand back. "We could help you understand this ability more, just enough to make sure you have a control over it and it's not something else. Or you can go home and we will leave you alone."

Thomas didn't answer as he kept his eyes on the playful dogs running around. He sighed and looked over at Two for the first time since sitting down. "How many of you are there? Sorry, of us, I guess."

"Oh!" Two perked up at the question. "Well, there's Virgil. He was at the store too, but he's a big worry wart. He's sweet though, he pretends he's not. Then there's Roman. He had a date tonight so he wasn't there, but he's a big softy too. He sings Disney songs all the time and performs at the theater!"

"Oh, he does?" Thomas perked up and smiled. "I do too! Which theater, I don't think I've met him."

Two shrugged. "Sorry, don't know. He could tell you all about it though!"

Thomas looked a bit unsure but nodded. "And what can they do? You make duplicates and Logan does stuff with his mind."

"Oh, well..." Two shifted a bit on the bench.

"That's okay." Two looked up at him. "It's not fair for you to tell me their secrets, I can just ask them myself."

"Oh... OH!" Two jumped up from the bench. "That's perfect, we can go back to the apartment right now and you can meet Virgil and-" Two stopped mid-rant. "I don't know if they're home yet, but they should be soon!"

Thomas laughed and smiled up at him. "We can go another day, I really should be getting home. Maybe order a pizza since I never bought those groceries."

"Sorry about that." Two said still smiling. "We had pizza last night, though! I recommend it!"

Thomas stood up and turned completely towards Two. "You know, today was weird, strange beyond words, but..." He smiled up at the other. "Thanks for chasing after me. I probably would have worried about it forever." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Here, let me have your number, I'm sure the others are worried but we can sort this out a different day." He handed his phone over showing the 'new contact' screen.

Two grabbed the phone and typed everything in before handing it back. "Thanks. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Thomas!"

The two parted with a wave and Two let out a sigh, heading for the nearest bus stop. He got to the exit of the park before freezing, patting down his pockets. "I don't have bus money." He whispered to himself, looking around. "Guess... I'm walking home then."

Patton was staring out the window in the living room watching the light fade away from the city. "Two isn't home yet."

"Don't worry, Patton. He will return when he can." Logan spoke, not looking up from the crossword he was doing to pass the time.

"I felt his panic a little bit a while ago!"

"You also stated that it passed quickly and was probably nothing."

"I know I did but he still hasn't come back yet! What if something happened? What if he got lost, or he-"

"Patton!" Virgil walked into the living area and stared down the other. "Listen, I know I'm the last person who should be saying this, but you can't worry about 'what ifs' all the time. You'll keep going down and down until you set yourself into a panic."

Patton nodded and bit his lip, looking back out the window before turning away and taking a spot on the couch. "You're right. I said I trusted him and I do, so I just need to calm down and wait. I don't need him feeling me panic."

The door suddenly creaked open and Patton bolted from his spot to the door. He stopped and looked up at Roman as he froze in the doorway, concerned. "Are you alright, Patton? How did things go?"

Patton sighed and his shoulders fell. "They went kinda okay? He sort of ran off and Two chased after him and we haven't seen him since."

"Oh." Roman walked in and pulled Patton into an embrace. "Come here, padre. It hasn't been too terribly long, he'll be back."

Patton pulled out of the hug reluctantly and nodded up at Roman. "You're right. Thomas seemed nice, too. I'm sure if he did catch up to him, everything would be okay."

"Thomas?" Roman looked over Patton's shoulder at the others. "Is that his name then?"

"Yeah, he kind of freaked out on Logan and ran off though."

Roman's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I thought this was the guy I ran into, with the electricity."

Logan looked up from his crossword at Roman. "Yes, we hypothesized that it might be a type of mimic ability of some sort."

Roman tilted his head at the thought and nodded. "I see, that does make a bit of sense."

"Enough about us!" Patton clapped his hands together. "How was the date?"

"Oh." Roman shrugged. "It was alright."

"Just alright?" Virgil spoke up. "Doesn't sound too promising."

"I do not wish to judge based off of one date, the offer for another has been extended. He will get back to me about it." Roman spoke as if he was done with the topic. "Is there anything for dinner?"

"We had leftovers, I thought you would have eaten while you were out," Logan questioned. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine, I'll just grab a snack before I hit the hay."

Virgil looked over at Patton who was glancing at the doorway to the kitchen with concern. "You're gonna worry Two if you keep this up."

Patton sighed and nodded. "Perhaps a cup of tea will help me calm my nerves." He made his way into the kitchen as well.

Roman took out a small container of pasta from the other night and turned, jumping when he saw Patton standing behind him. "Geez, Patton!" He placed a hand over his heart. "You scared me there. You're usually not so quiet."

"Sorry, I'm just a bit worried. Would you like some tea?"

"Mmm, that sounds delightful."

Patton took out two mugs as Roman placed the container in the microwave. He spun around and looked over at Patton. "I know you want to ask."

Patton reached for the kettle and started filling it with water. "What do you mean?"

"My date."

Patton looked over and smiled. "I'm not going to ask you about it since you don't want to talk about it."

"That's not what I said." Roman crossed his arms. "I said you want to ask."

"People are naturally curious, but again, you don't want to talk about it." He looked over at Roman who stared him down before diverting his eyes away. "Unless you really do and you're waiting for me to ask."

"No." Roman looked back up and smiled. "Honestly, it was just a boring date."

Patton went back to making the tea, placing it on the stovetop when he froze. He looked up and over at Roman with a puzzled look. He then turned back towards the other room and ran out without a word, abandoning any thoughts of making tea.

Logan and Virgil looked up at Patton as he stared at the front door. "Is everything alright?" Logan spoke with a tone of concern.

Patton nodded and started to smile. The door creaked it's familiar screech and opened up, revealing an exhausted Two walking in. Patton took a few steps forward before stopping himself. A flash of light and out popped what was another copy. "Three, I demand you hug Two for me!"

Three didn't even hesitate as he ran up and grabbed Two in a tight embrace. "We were so worried!" Three cried out. "Where were you? What happened?"

Two pushed back and smiled sheepishly. "I didn't have money for the bus. I had to walk back, got a bit lost, sorry. It takes longer to trek across the city then you think, especially during rush hour."

"Could you not have just asked someone for change to take the bus?" Logan questioned.

"Heaven's no! What if someone really needed that money, I couldn't do that!"

Virgil scoffed and chuckled to himself. "Typical Patton."

Two walked passed Three and up to Patton. "I'm just glad to be home."

"Me 'two'." He winked and Two smiled, reaching forward and returning to his host in a flash. Three walked forward and quickly joined, leaving Patton to let out a sigh of relief as he felt completely whole once more. "Ah. OH." He perked up. "Well, Two certainly had a bit of an adventure!" He spun around and smiled at Logan. "I think I have some good news and a bit of explaining!"

The three sat around the kitchen table as Patton retold the entire story from the beginning, filling in Roman as to what happened after he left. Roman sat, engrossed in the story as he ate his pasta, Logan filling in any gaps Patton may have missed. Virgil sat quietly, absorbing the new information they had.

"So he has your phone number?" Virgil spoke up, watching Patton nod. "So we just wait for him to answer us?"

"I guess so."

"Then what?" Roman pushed away his now empty plate. "You said he could help figure out his abilities, so how exactly do we do that?"

"We can make a whole day of it!" Patton perked up. "We can spend some time trying to figure out everyone's abilities in some way to make him feel more at ease. I can make us all lunch! You use the roof, right?"

Logan brought a hand to his chin, contemplating the idea. "It could work. There have been a number of things I have been curious about. Remember when Roman mentioned being attacked by the mugger but the punches did not hurt?"

"What?!" Patton stood up, almost causing his chair to fall over. "No, no punching! I'm not letting you guys purposefully hurt each other!"

"Of course." Logan smiled. "I was merely suggesting a way to test if we are simply more durable or if it is just Roman."

"No." Patton crossed his arms. "I don't like the idea of you finding out if we are-are durable! That's that, no more discussing this!"

"Man, Patton, you really are our dad," Roman muttered. "Except that would make Logan our mom."

Logan ignored the comment and turned to Virgil. "Didn't you say you had an idea for Roman's abilities?"

Virgil looked unsure before perking up. "Oh! Yeah, I did. I want to keep it a surprise though." He looked over at Roman and the grin on his face grew with fake malicious intent. "Don't worry, it shouldn't hurt you."

"Oh yeah? Well, I accept whatever challenge you throw my way!"

Patton pushed his chair in and clapped his hands together. "Okay children, dad says it's time for bed!"

"Okay, we've officially started to push that to its limit." Virgil got up and waved his hand. "I'm off to bed. Night, guys."

"Me as well!" Roman shot up from his chair and smiled at the two. "Good night you two. Have fun."

Logan glanced over at Patton baffled. "Have fun sleeping? I do not understand what he meant, his tone indicated other intent."

Patton shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Lo. Have a good night."

Patton woke up the next morning to the sound of his phone going off. He groaned and opened his eyes, noticing a bit of light in the sky. He picked up his phone and realized he slept through his alarm, but it was still early. He had no work today so no second alarm went off, luckily meaning he could sleep in a bit more. Quickly checking what had set off his phone, he shot up and put on his glasses.

'Hey, it's Thomas. Did Pat Two make it home okay last night?'

Patton smiled and quickly responded. Thomas had actually answered, he wasn't quite sure if he would. He added the contact and hopped out of bed, suddenly filled with excitement.

He saw the coffee pot wasn't quite empty, a sign that Logan was probably still here, working from home. He usually made a pot and drank it throughout the day. He marched down the hall and knocked on the door, just to be sure. "Logan? You still here?"

The door opened just a few seconds later. "Morning, Patton. Did you require my assistance?"

"No, I just wanted you to know that Thomas texted me!" He held up his phone, pointing at the screen. "We can set up a day to run experiments now! Isn't that exciting?"

Logan quickly read the message and stood up straight. "Yes, quite. Do tell me when he can make his way over one of these days. I feel we should 'clear the air' as you will and make amends."

Patton nodded and started typing out a flurry of messages in his excitement. He sat at the table in the kitchen as he scrolled through his phone, awaiting the arrival of every new message. Thomas seemed a bit nervous about the whole thing, but Patton was good at comforting people, and it seemed like Two left a good impression on him.

The tone announced the arrival of a new message and Patton barely finished reading it before running back down the hall, knocking repeatedly on the door.

Logan opened it with a huff, watching Patton bounce up and down in place. "Patton, are you alright? You're giving me a headache with all the movement."

"Sorry! It's just... Thomas is free can he come over today? I can make us all snacks and I can help out too since I'm here and-"

"Woah, shh, calm down." Logan held up his hands. "Thomas is willing to come over today?"

"Yeah." Patton looked down at the phone. "He said, 'I would rather do it now before I get too anxious and back out' and then he put that laughy, crying face, see?"

Patton shoved the phone in Logan's face who simply pushed it down. "Yes, wonderful Patton. He may come over whenever he feels comfortable. It will just be the two of us until after lunch if that eases his nerves at all."

The rest of Patton's morning was a whirlwind of running around and getting things cleaned up and ready. It took almost an hour before he realized he could cut his time in half by letting Two help out, let alone Three. Thomas already knew about it so he suddenly was all abuzz cleaning and cooking while Three set up a cozy area for them on the roof. It was getting colder so he made a nice warm lunch and some tea, not sure what Thomas would be drinking.

The day flew by until he heard a hesitant knock on the front door. Two opened it and smiled, pulling the other into a hug.

"Oh, it's so good to see you!" Two pulled back. "It's me! I made it back safe, thank you for asking! You're so sweet."

Thomas smiled a bit, eyes darting around. "Yeah, of course. I didn't think about you having a way home until later, sorry. I should have offered money for a cab or something."

"No worries, it was nice to just walk and enjoy the city for once." Two moved out of the way and motioned for Thomas to enter.

He was hesitant, glancing around the apartment at the various knick-knacks the others had placed. Patton walked in with just as big of a smile. "Nice to see you, Thomas. It's just Logan and me here. I'll go get him, he usually works in his room!"

"We made all sorts of things for lunch, didn't know what you liked!" Two headed to the kitchen, motioning for the other to follow.

"Wow, that's a lot of food. It looks so good! You didn't have to do all this."

"Nonsense!" Two waved off the comment. "It's food for the week if anything. Roman and Virgil won't mind either."

Logan entered the kitchen behind Patton and cleared his throat, causing them both to turn around. "Thomas." He said with a nod, pulling something from his pocket. "I would like to apologize. It seems both times we have met were not quite ideal and it caused you distress. I was hoping I could make amends?"

Logan stretched out his hand and Thomas glanced down, noting that Logan had put on a glove. He smiled a bit and took it, pausing to see if the same warm feeling ran up his arm. When nothing had happened, he shook it with a smile. "No, that's okay. Sorry I kind of freaked out and ran away." He pulled his hand back. "You've been very kind, considering everything that happened."

"We should bring the food up and get started." Patton nodded to Two as they carefully gathered the containers they made. "Just tell us what you want to munch on and I'll leave the rest here."

Thomas insisted on helping carry something as they made their way to the roof. Three was staring out at the city when the door opened up. He quickly greeted Thomas before leaning over to Patton, disappearing in a flash. Patton chuckled when Thomas jumped, not expecting it at all.

"So." Logan walked forward and took the lead. "We shall start off wherever you feel comfortable, Thomas. There is no pressure to join in. If at any time you are uncomfortable, you may ask us to stop and you are free to leave." Logan waited for a sign of approval before continuing.

"Yeah, I don't know where to start with all of this." Thomas rubbed his arm and shuffled his feet. "Maybe kind of guide me through something?"

"Oh! I have an idea!" Patton jumped in. "I never tried to see how many of me I can make!"

"I'm not sure that is wise, Patton. We don't know how much stress that would put on you."

Patton huffed at Logan. "Well, then how about I just make as many as I usually stop at? We want to make Thomas comfortable, right? You have anything you would like to test out?"

Logan pondered and looked over at the two before shaking his head. "Not without the other two, and I'm not quite sure how to redo the test I did about my emotions you suggested. That one is a more long-term experiment."

"Then mine it is!" Patton turned to Thomas. "That okay big guy?"

Thomas shrugged. "Yeah, go ahead, I guess."

Patton walked forward to the center as Logan took his spot. He turned around and took a big breath before closing his eyes. Suddenly, three more copies appeared next to him. All of them looked up at once and then at one another. "So this is Three, Four, and Five. I usually don't go farther than this."

Two wan over and joined the others. "I'm Two!"

"Hi!" One of them spoke up. "I'm back! It's me, Three!"

"Hello." The next one said. "I'm Four."

The last one smiled and waved, not saying much. Patton pointed happily at him. "That's Five. He's a bit shy."

"So the more you make the more the personalities differ from your own?" Logan questioned. "Perhaps..." He held a hand to his chin and started speaking out loud. "When you make a copy, it is more an even fragment of yourself that you then copy over to a whole person? The more you chip away, the less even the pieces? All hypothetical of course." He looked over at them all as they gave varying responses back. "You've never made more than this?"

"Oh, no. I've made one more, but I don't let Six out much." The Pattons glanced around at one another. "Six doesn't like the idea he's just a copy and usually tries acting different, rebelling out. It got a little bad, so I usually stop here."

"Then perhaps we shall keep it that way, for your safety." Patton nodded, looking at all the others. "Who knows what Seven would be like."

"I bet he'd be nice," One of them spoke out. "Can we go back?"

Patton opened his arms and they all gathered into a group hug, disappearing in a big flash. "Well, that was fun! I miss those guys sometimes."

"You sure know how to fill up a room." Thomas joked. "I'm kind of curious about it. Not as much as I am scared, though."

"That is quite alright." Logan turned to Thomas. "Take a few deep breaths and if you're up for it, you can try it. I believe the key might be trying to keep calm. You will be prepared this time."

Thomas nodded, looking up at Patton. "I've tried mind reading, you wanna give it a shot?"

Patton smiled and walked over. "Just breathe in and out, let me know when you're ready."

Thomas seemed to try and shake off his nerves before taking one big breath. He looked over at Patton and nodded, looking more determined than before. Patton let out a hand and he took it. Patton gasped a bit as the familiar warm feeling ran up his arm.

"Oh, wow," Thomas muttered. "This is... it's quite different when you're expecting it. Oh, my goodness." He grasped Patton's hand a bit tighter. "You okay?"

"Yeah! How do you feel?" Patton asked, looking up at the other.

"I feel kinda weird? Like, I feel full?" He motioned towards his chest. "If I focus on that, maybe that's how it'll work?"

"Yeah! That's usually how I feel! It's all the bits of you all gathered up nice and warm! You just gotta let it out!"

Thomas nodded and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Logan and Patton looked on as he stood there before he let out a big sigh. "Sorry, no. I can't, I'm too nervous."

"It's okay!" Patton grabbed a hold of Thomas' hand with both of his. "Don't push yourself."

He nodded, smiling up at Patton. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Patton suddenly shivered, perking up at the feeling. "Oh! Well, that was weird."

"Are you cold, Patton? I could get you a blanket you had brought up."

"I'm kinda warm," Thomas said, looking down at their hands. "It kind of feels warm when I'm doing, the uh..."

Patton nodded. "It was, but it's kinda..." He let out a breath. "Kinda different now."

"Are you quite alright, Patton?" Logan inquired with a note of concern.

"Yeah, I..." Patton took in another breath before swaying, ripping his hands away. Logan launched forward and caught the other before he fell, letting him sit on the ground and allowing Patton to lean on him for support. "Not feeling great anymore."

"It's okay, Patton. It's okay." Logan tried not to panic. "Tell me, how do you feel now? What changed?"

Patton looked up at Logan, shaking his head. "I dunno, light headed maybe? Kinda..." His eyes widened a bit. "Tired, and... lighter?"

"Lighter?" Logan looked up at Thomas who was watching them with a look of shock and panic. "Thomas, are you feeling alright?"

His hand was still frozen in place and he turned and looked down at it. "I don't think..."

"Thomas?"

He shook his head. "This wasn't a good idea. I shouldn't have done this."

"It's fine, Thomas. Just tell us what is worrying you."

Thomas looked down at the other two. He seemed a bit paler, mouth open to speak but too afraid to say anything. "I think... I take them from you, not..."

Logan jumped and looked down at Patton. "Can you make Two show up? Are you feeling well enough to try?"

Patton nodded and closed his eyes. A light started to shine before flickering out into nothing, causing Patton to start panting. "No, no it hurts."

"Oh. You, oh..." Logan looked up at Thomas, holding Patton a bit closer. "This is not your fault, we didn't know it was like this."

"It was like I was draining the life from him, how is that in any way okay?!" Thomas took a few steps back. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be near you guys. I was a normal dude until you showed up and all I do is hurt you."

"No, Thomas." Patton looked up at him, smiling. "I'm slowly starting to feel better, it's okay!"

"NO!" Thomas shouted. "None of this is okay! I'm sorry, I was willing to give this all a shot, I was." He shook his head. "I can't. I have to go." He turned and ran to the door, throwing it open and down the stairs as fast as he could.

Logan didn't move from the ground, staring at Thomas sprinting away from the scene. He looked down at Patton and rubbed his back like he had seen Patton do before. "How are you feeling?"

"I do feel a tiny bit better like it's all coming back." Patton cleared his throat and sat up a bit more, leaning off of Logan for support. "Thanks, Lo. Do you think he'll be okay? I'm worried about him."

"I don't know." He whispered back. "Give him time, that's all we can do I think." Chapter 13>> Tag list: @cyberpunkjinx @phlying-squirrel  @equipodeleo   @ace-anx

[avidfanficwriter]

Don’t Screw With Your Enemy (3)

Characters: Tom Hiddleston. (OFC) Mikayla. (OFC) Olivia.

Rating: M. 

Warning: Smut (minor), Cursing. Heartbreak.

Summary: After a failed marriage as well as a few failed relationships, Olivia begins to doubt her compatibility with men until she meets a fancy new fella. Their relationship she begins to think perhaps could truly be the one for her that is if things work in her favor. 

Tags: @wolflhards

Chapter 1. Chapter 1 ½. Chapter 2. Chapter 2 ½. Chapter 3. Chapter 3 ½. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. 

                                  Dear Tom, You Suck. Love Olivia.

Olivia lays comfortably in her bed, Tom’s arms wrapped tightly around her, the fan drowning out the noise of the city as they lay happily entwined in one another.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers gently placing a small kiss near her shoulder blade. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” She responds arching her back as he creates a trail of kisses. 

“I’ve already been there.” He whispers against her skin. She chuckles as he continues, slowly turning her over and pulling her into a deep passionate kiss. Tom kissed her with such passion, she could hardly believe it was real even as his lips lowered, down her neck, her chest. Even with the minimal light, he knew her body. He’d spent many nights, exploring her; watching as she twisted and sucked in a breath as he moved. His hands fell beneath the thin sheet that hid her from him as he climbed on top of her, perfectly angling her body beneath his and kissed her once again. With a sudden intake of breath, he slips into her. 

Within minutes, her nails dig into his biceps and she leans into him, crying with  release. He chases his own, only lasting an embarrassingly short amount of time before he’s there. Groaning into her, his hip bones digging into hers. Olivia wraps her hand around the back of his neck as they breathe deeply. 

She hates that he can make her feel this way, weak and restrained; like she’d do anything he asked, right or wrong. If he dared to ask, she’d do it; without a second thought. When she’s with him, she doesn’t feel like herself. She’s his. All his. 

It’s been two weeks since they’d met, running into one another at the dog park. Olivia had only recently decided to start taking her dog: Manic to the park, he was true to his name. A Maniac, a golden retriever puppy that had the energy of five dogs. The dog didn’t know how to sit down nor did it know how to sleep, it was active all day long. Rather than facing the heartbreak in giving the dog up, she decided taking him on trips to the park might help get rid of some energy. 

Her day had started off rough, she’d misplaced her keys, her wallet; tripped while on her jog and to top it all off she was ready to go home and couldn’t get the dog on its leash. Her only solace was that it was an enclosed area and he couldn’t get out. 

“You damn dog, get over here.” She gritted her teeth trying to not draw any further attention. It wasn’t working. The eyes of fellow park goers were watching her, most with annoyed expression but some with smiles. “I swear to god, if you don’t get over here, you’re going to the pound.” 

The dog stops instantly almost as if it understood her. “Good.” She stands up straight unraveling the leash in her hand and the dog leaves... again. 

“Fuck you too.” She mutters under her breath. Her dog approaches a man who is putting his small cocker spaniel on a leash. Maniac rushes over to him, happily jumping on him trying to get the small bag of treats out of his hand.

“Hey, buddy. Who might you be?” The man asks gently petting him, his British accent is downright jaw-dropping, almost as gorgeous as he is. 

“God, I’m sorry!” Olivia shouts approaching him. “Could you do me a favor, grab hold of his collar?” 

The man smiles, quickly grabbing the dogs collar while his dog sits comfortably.”Thank you.” She breathes out deeply, leaning down and snapping the leash onto his collar. 

“No problem at all.” He nods, rising to his feet and towers over her. “Doesn’t like his leash does he?”

“He doesn’t like anything.” She says as the Maniac sits next to him. “I’m Olivia Thank you for rescuing my dog.”

“I’m Tom.” He smiles and looks down at the dog. 

“Oh and that rump of refusing to listen is Maniac.”

“Ah, I see his name is true to words.”

“Yep. That it is.”

Tom chuckles. “Have you tried giving him treats as acts of encouragement?” 

She nods. “Since he was a puppy. He’s just a stubborn ass.” She takes a moment to look at him, this tall man with green eyes that seem to suck you in. Tom offered to meet at the dog park a week later to see if he could help her get him under control, he was appalled by the idea that she was considering giving him up. 

Unfortunately, all the training and help that Tom had done, saw little outcome. Maniac was still Maniac. Only now instead of annoying one person, he was annoying two people (and one other dog) not that Tom would admit it.

“I don’t think anything gonna work,” Olivia said with her hands on her hips as they starred at the small terror running in her backyard while Tom’s dog sat contently under the patio watching him. 

“No, no. Don’t give up now, sweetheart.” Tom said rather quickly, gently resting his hand on her back. 

“I think we should. He’s almost two and enjoys being everything but cooperative.” She sighs. 

“A while longer,” Tom suggests. 

She glances over at him, confused. “Why? We’ve been trying this for two months now and nothing is working.” 

“In time.” 

She lets out a small laugh. “Gosh, you sound like you enjoy spending time with us.” She jokes. 

Tom raises his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re good company.” 

Olivia looks at the floor, letting out a small smile in embarrassment. When she lifts her head back up and glances at Tom, he’s staring at her. “Good company, huh?” She repeats in a low voice. His eyes locked on her make her motionless, his eyes are like the sea, a beautiful swirl of green and blue. 

The moment was indescribable between them like they were being pulled together by an unseen force. She held his gaze and inhaled deeply, time seemed to freeze; Tom slowly moved towards her. His hand gently coming to rest on her face, gently tilting her head up. 

He was patient, taking the time to stare into her eyes as he leaned down. “May I?” He asked when they were inches apart. 

He’d stolen her voice, the only thing she could do to convey a yes was to nod, slowly. Then as gentle as ever, he closes the space. His kisses were just like him, perfect. It’s everything a kiss should be, beautifully intoxicating. The moments that fairy tales are filled with, the kiss that wakes the princesses it’s all there. Butterflies fill her stomach as she leans closer to him, rising to the tips of her toes, letting her hand fall to his chest. 

The kiss is different, different than anything she’d ever experienced. There wasn’t an urgency to do anything further, no hands desperate to rid her of her shirt or take her to bed. It was anything but, one hand stayed on her face the other rested on her waist, just above her hip. Tom was the first to pull back, letting out a shallow breath as his eyes fluttered open. Usually, Olivia would say something, a wisecrack or a sarcastic remark about the kiss but she was stuck. The air caught in the back of her throat as she peered up at him, confused.  

It was the same thing was happening to him, he was silent but his eyes ran with a million thoughts. All the things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to convey them. So, instead of filling the room with pointless words, he pulled her into his embrace, tightly wrapping his arms around her. They fit like a glove, his arms embracing each and every curve her body hid beneath her clothes. 

Tom sighed, happily, gently stroking her hair and planted a soft kiss on the top of her head. Olivia rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart rate begin to calm and soon she realized, she never wanted to leave this spot. That if she could stand here and just simply listen to his heartbeat she would be perfectly happy. She didn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with him. 

Two weeks had somehow felt like a lifetime, no one understood it; mainly because she didn’t know how to explain it. How Tom made her feel, how happy she was with him. Her marriage had never made her feel this happy, it was always filled with dread that she was never enough. That the man she called her husband would be filled with longing for another but with Tom, it never happened. 

For the first time in her life, Olivia felt like she was enough.  

He showers first, making sure to give her a tender kiss before he enters the bathroom. When he’s done, she leans on the door frame, watching as he shaves, a blue towel hanging loosely off his hips. Ever so softly, she wraps her arms around his waist, kissing his back as she watches him. He smiles and continues, every so often his eyes fall to hers and another smile appears on his face. When he’s done, he turns, gently planting a small kiss on her lips. 

“You should shower.” He whispers in between the kiss. 

“I know.” She grabs the towel, teasingly starting to tug on it. Slowly inching it off his waist. “But this is more fun.” 

He smiles. “I know.” gently he bites her bottom lip before pulling away. “but you have work.” 

“Oh, work...” She groans, placing her forehead against his bare chest, causing him to chuckle. “Who needs work.” 

Tom strokes her hair, kissing the top of her head again. “Get a shower, you’ll be back before you know it. I have to run home and get some things anyway, then” he lifts her head, catching her eyes in his mesmerizing gaze. “I’ll have lunch ready for you when you come back.” 

“Promise?” 

“Scouts honor, sweetheart.” 

She chuckles. “You weren’t in the scouts.” 

Olivia finishes her shower in record timing, a personal best actually and is greeted by Tom whose in the kitchen, grabbing his keys off the counter. He smiles, letting his eyes trail down her body. “You’re are absolutely dashing.” He says inhaling deeply. 

“As do you, Mr. Hiddleston.” She smiles, walking towards him, gently placing her hand on his chest and leans up to capture his lips in a kiss. “I’ll be back in a few hours, you won’t even notice I’m gone.” 

He smiles, brushing her hair out of her face. “Yes, I will.” 

Olivia returns a few hours later, greeted by the smell of a fresh Reuben from the take-out diner down the street and coffee. Her spirits are crushed, she wishes she could prolong the inevitable, that she had been quieter when opening the door and just turn around to leave. He heard her, she hears a newspaper crinkle and his voice. 

“I was wondering when you’d get home.” He says in a happy tone, another stab to her heart. “I got you a Reuben.” 

She takes a deep breath with every step she takes towards the kitchen, she’s shaking now, petrified of what she has to do. He’s sitting at the table in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes looking over the newspaper. Two cups of coffee in front of him and a two white bags of food near his arms. A sight any other time, she would have loved to see, just Tom relaxing. 

Olivia tries to smile but can’t, she can’t do anything. She can’t even step closer to him. He’s sitting there, unsuspecting, reading a newspaper. 

“We have to talk.” She lets out, quietly.

“Yes?” His eyes never leave the newspaper in front of him and for once she’s happy he didn’t add a pet name.

With a deep exhale and a strict plan in mind she begins, praying her tears don’t fall. “I think it’s…” she bites her bottom lip. “I think it’s time we call this.”

She’s barely done with the last syllable of her word when the paper falls from his hands onto the table and his eyes lift to hers. The look on his face is heart-shattering. “I don’t understand.” 

“I have a rule.” She begins as he places his hands on the table, his right hand quietly taps the wooden surface showing his nervousness. “I don’t get involved with people…” the confusion in his eyes grows and he rises to his feet. “That has had a relationship with Mikayla.”

He’s taken back by her response, her reasoning is another a woman, a woman he hasn’t seen in a year. He shakes his head in confusion as he squints his eyes. "What?” Tom’s waiting for a response that’s never coming, Olivia is distancing herself from him making it clear that she can leave him and count her losses. Her eyes are empty, filled with nothing and her face is pale. She’s going cold. “Mikayla Callier?”

The sound of her name makes her shiver, a trail of cold chills runs down her spine. “Yes. I don’t get involved with people who’ve been with her.”

Tom chuckles, nervously while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what you heard but what Mikayla and I had was short lived. Barely a week.” He takes a large step towards her hoping to envelop her in his arms but she rejects him, she holds her hand out acting as a barrier and takes a step back, regaining the space between them. 

“Still. It’s best we go our separate ways.” He can barely hear it but he knows it’s there, the sound of her voice breaking. If she wasn't so stubborn, he’d probably be able to see the pain in her eyes too.

“Why?” 

“We have too.” 

“Why?”

“Because...” She breathes out. “Because if she finds out about us, she’ll try to break us up.”

“You’re going to allow her to dictate this relationship?” He shouts.

“I’m saving us.”

He shakes his head. “Even if that means we go our separate ways?”

She hates him right now just about as much as she likes him, he had a point but she had to stick with the objective. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.” His voice comes out in a sob.

She sighs, facing away from him because she just knows that he is hurting. “Look a few years ago, something happened and since then I’ve decided it’s best to steer clear of anyone she’s associated herself with.”

“What happen?”

“I got set up on a blind double date, turn out the guy was dating her but they weren’t telling anyone. He told me and nothing happened. Well, a few weeks later she finds out get angry and claims to the whole wide world that he cheated on her with me. They break up and it’s supposedly because he and I had a thing behind her back. Then when I got engaged, she stole my wedding, my dream wedding. She can't stand me and I’m not going to play her games. The last thing I need is for her to find out that I’m dating her ex-boyfriend.”

Tom stares at her dumbfounded, he can hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. It sounds made up, childlike even but it fits Mikayla to a bill. The whole world was out to get hurt and she didn't care who she hurt in the process of protecting herself. The main reason they ended their relationship.

“I won’t let her.” 

“You don’t have a choice.” 

“What about us?” 

“Goodbye, Tom.” 

He steps towards her, “Olivia...” He pleads, reaching out to her. 

“Tom, stop.” Her voice is rough and he stops in place, starring at her with shock. His arm hangs in the air, motionless, silently asking for her to reach towards him. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

“Tom...” He puts his arm back at his side, his eyes are broken. A deeper shade of blue that hurts to look at.

“Olivia, tell me. I’ll go to her, tell her I love you and that she will be unable to it.”

“It’s not enough.” She shakes her head

“Tell me what to do Olivia.” He begs. 

Olivia looks away, her eyes filling with tears as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’d appreciate it if by the time I got back, you and you’re things were gone.” She says with a deep inhale. 

He’s out of words, out of begging, out of everything. There is not a part of her that he recognizes anymore so he nods, slowly, while clenching his jaw. Olivia inhales deeply and turns, leaving him to gather his things. 

The lunch is cold, the coffee is even colder. 

[fandammit]

Loss like the sharp edges of a knife (5/7)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 

[A/N: This veered off from my original outline, and I’m having to rearrange a few things for length and narrative purposes. So, now it’s 6 parts instead of 5 :/. Sorry for the length, the wait…and the continued wait, but thanks for reading! PS. A couple Filipino words in here: lola = Grandma, anak = child]

He takes the long way home from David’s house the following Tuesday.

It’s an inconvenient, circuitous route that he likes because it generally has less traffic on it on any given day, one that Gracie seems to like better too for all that she stays seated up and starting out the window rather than curled up and sleeping in the passenger seat like she normally does. That it happens to take him right past Karen’s apartment is something he tells himself is an additional benefit, rather than the entire reason.

The moment this thought crosses his mind, Gracie looks over at him and snorts before licking his hand, and he thinks – for about the thousandth time – that she’s way more perceptive and emotionally expressive than any one dog has the right to be.

Almost without meaning to, he slows the truck as he glances up towards Karen’s window. His heart knocks against his chest when he sees the pot of yellow daffodils sitting out on her windowsill, the weather now warm enough by midday to warrant putting them outside her window rather than pushing them up against it.

He circles the block twice before he finds a parking spot. He rolls down both windows about a quarter of the way. It’s still cool enough outside that he isn’t worried about Gracie getting too hot in the car, but figures a little extra air wouldn’t hurt. He gives her a few scratches under the chin, then gets out of his truck and tries to keep himself from jogging over to her apartment building.  Manages it, but just barely.

He squints up at her window, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun. He doesn’t see anything held in place by the pot, but thinks he sees something small and flat stuck between the stalks of the flowers.

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he reaches up to grab the fire escape ladder, scaling it quickly and with ease, as though he’s done this two dozen times before instead of just the three.

(He wonders – briefly – if dreams can give you muscle memory.)

He reaches the landing outside her window and leans over, grabs what looks to be a photo wedged between the flower stems.

He turns it over in his hands and sucks in a sharp breath, his hand coming up to rub against the edge of his own beanie, the ache in his chest crystallizing into a sensation that can’t be ignored.

She’s standing in front of a semi-frosted window, the words Krav Maga Institute visible behind her. She’s clad in all black – black tights, a fitted black tank top – with a smirk on her face, her bright blue eyes especially piercing in contrast to the plain black beanie that sits low on her forehead.

He leans back against the peeling wall and looks closely at the photo, tells himself he’s studying the contours of the knitted cap rather than the shape of her mouth, the curves of her form. He swallows thickly, tells himself that the beanie could’ve been from anywhere or anyone, that it doesn’t necessarily have to have been the one he left her all those weeks ago, that photo of Gracie stick against the seams of it.  

But no – he looks again, sees where she’s folded it up to keep from falling over her eyes, finds his eyes drawn by the fraying edge caused by his own worrying fingers. Her head is tilted slightly down, her hand reaching up to brush against that worn edge of it. He looks closer and smiles, swears that there’s a teasing edge to her smile, a radiating warmth in her eyes as she looks directly at the camera.  

The effect of it – of seeing Karen wrapped in what he’s now sure is his plain, black beanie, her long blond hair tucked underneath it and framing her face, her blue eyes made brighter by its darkness – is immediate and intense and absurd. It sets off a sensation that nearly overwhelms him – a thrumming through his veins more pointed than the undefined longing he’s long grown accustomed to. It’s something sharper, more heady and intoxicating. Something that feels dangerously, exhilaratingly close to want.

He blows out a harsh breath and shakes his head, looks back down at the photo again. Stares at it like it’s the world’s last work of art, studies it like it’s some sort of sacred text rather than a 4x6 photo with CVS printed across the back.

She looks stronger, though he has to admit it’d be hard for him to really know since he’s only ever seen her wrapped in coats or else buttoned up in pencil skirts and blouses. But her posture is solid and straight, her arms curved with muscle, a coiled sort of readiness in her stance even though everything about her is relaxed. He thinks she looks happier, too – her expression shot through with real glee, her eyes wide and sparkling at the camera. It makes him smile, even though the ache of missing her, the low grade pain of absence that he tries to keep locked away in the very darkest corners of his mind, flares up as he does. It combines with the hum of desire in his veins in a way that’s nearly maddening.

He sighs and closes his eyes – builds a new life around Karen in his mind’s eye based on the photo in his hands and the six month of Bulletin issues piled high in the corner of his apartment, rather than on the memory of the last time he saw her.

Imagines her learning to break wrists and crack ribs, her lithe form and wide-open features now twice as deceptive as before. Pictures her happy and cared for, with someone close enough and trusted enough on the other side of the camera to take the picture without asking too many questions about what or who it might be for. He envisions her running down a lead or chasing down a harried cop, disarming them with her piercing gaze alone, then gathering up the wayward pieces of a statement or a casually dropped observation and fitting them together into a story with a satisfied smile on her face.

He glances back down at the photo, at the beanie pulled down low on her head, and chews on the corner of his lip. He can’t tell if it’s a trick of lighting or the yearning in his own heart, but he swears that it looks a little more worn at the edges than when he last saw it.

For a moment, he lets himself indulge in pleasure of believing that she’s worn it as frequently as he’s worn the one that she gifted to him. Lets himself believe that she thinks of him during those dark, cold nights in the city, finds satisfaction in thinking that some part of him is able to keep her warm even from afar.

He pushes off from the side of the building and glances into her apartment, wonders what her expression might be if he were to be waiting for her when she gets home. If she would be wearing his black beanie, if she would be clad in all black again just having come home from training. Wonders what exactly his own reaction might be.

He takes a deep breath in and very firmly steps back from that line of thinking. Tells himself that for now, it’s enough to know that she thinks of him, that he’s important enough for her to leave him tangible snippets of her.

He very carefully places the photo in his jacket pocket, looks at the daffodils on her window sill one last time, and climbs back down the fire escape. Thinks of what he might leave her in return the entire way home to his own apartment.

He’s early to Gracie’s final obedience class a few weeks later, his toolbox in hand.

Mrs. Abaya sees him from across the training field and smiles, walking over to him and giving a few pets to Gracie before looking up at him with a feigned look of surprise.

“You’re an hour and a half early, Peter. Were you really so excited for your last obedience class with Gracie?”

He gives her a wry look and shakes his head, lifts the toolbox in his hand.

“Heard you talking last class that the kitchen sink in the staff lounge was leaking. Figured I could try and help some if you were ok with it.”

Her face lights up with delight as she claps her hands in front of her, taps them against his chest.

“Oh, praise Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Peter. We’ve just turned the water off for the last two days. I kept meaning to call someone but, you know – I get so busy here.”

“Uh huh,” he says with a skeptical look and a teasing lilt to the words. It’s the sixth time in the last four weeks that he’s come over early to fix something around the shelter – a leaking faucet, a blown circuit, a faulty switch. The first time had been purely coincidental – he really had overheard Mrs. Abaya fretting about the fans in one of the kennels that had gone out and wondering if they had the money to fix it.

He’d come back the next morning with his toolbox, had simply asked to take a look at the broken fan and spent the rest of the morning fixing it until it ran smoothly.  

That night, he’d noticed that Mrs. Abaya had refunded the entire cost of both the beginner’s obedience class he’d finished up and the intermediate class he was currently taking, a point of fact he’d made sure to bring up to her the following day at the end of class.

“I don’t need that money back, Mrs. Abaya. In fact, I’d rather you keep it. Fan’s not a big deal.”

She’d simply hummed some non-committal noise and patted him on the cheek before mentioning that the women’s bathroom toilet was constantly running, maybe he might have a second to look at it?

She never took the money back out of his account. But she also always seemed to mention whatever might be broken right when he was just within earshot, so it’s a trade he doesn’t mind making. Besides, he likes Mrs. Abaya, likes being at the shelter, likes doing something with his hands that reminds him that they can do more than cause pain and violence.

He walks with her to the lounge, listening to her talk about the new dog they just picked up that day, the string of families that have come in looking for a pet. She walks him just to the entrance before squeezing his arm and turning to go.

“I’ll go and get your assistant,” she says teasingly, smiling at him before turning around and shuffling back down the hallway.

He sets his toolbox down reaches over to pet Gracie before walking over to the sink and bending down to open up the cabinet doors.

“Hi, Gracie,” he hears a small, quiet voice say to the right of him. “Hi, Tito Peter.”

He looks over and sees Mrs. Abaya’s granddaughter, eight year old Emeline, with a young Doberman Pinscher mix as her side. She occupies the unique position of owning one of the few dogs in the class that Gracie actually seems to actively like rather than just barely tolerate, which is a godsend considering how much time she spends at the shelter. Her parents – a bleeding heart immigration lawyer mother and a social worker father – work long hours, which means Emeline spends a lot of her after-school hours helping out Mrs. Abaya at the shelter. Which also means that she’s become his de facto helper around the shelter as he fixes up faucets and fans and fences.

He smiles at the signifier before his name, which as far as he can tell is a Filipino word for someone who is but isn’t really your actual uncle. It opens back up a piece of his heart that he’d forgotten existed – the part that always wished for a brother growing up, the part that took pride in being called uncle whenever he met the kids of the guys in his unit.

He crouches down so that he’s not bearing down on Emeline from his height, smiles as she leans over to give Gracie a kiss on the forehead then steps forward to give him a hug.

It had surprised him the first time, the ease with which she was willing to throw her arms around some relative stranger introduced to her by her grandmother. But after having spent an increasing amount of time around Mrs. Abaya in these last four weeks and having met not just Emeline, but Emeline’s parents, a few of Emeline’s cousins, Mrs. Abaya’s sister and about half a dozen other members of the family – half of whom he’s not even all that sure are actually related to Mrs. Abaya – and receiving hugs and pats on the back and cheek, arms around his shoulders and kisses to his cheek, he thinks that touch and affection must come easy to them.

It doesn’t always to him, but there’s something comforting about knowing that it does to others, about recognizing that there’s a world in which softness isn’t a weakness.

He sometimes has the vague sense that he’s been adopted in some strange way, given that Mrs. Abaya has started showing up with trays of homemade lumpia and pancit that seem freshly made even though she swears they’re just leftovers that she doesn’t want going bad, the way she’s always fretting about the amount that he is or isn’t socializing in his free time.

Some part of him wonders if he should be wary or, at the very least, annoyed by the amount of attention and interest. But mostly he finds himself touched by it. And though it is Pete Castiglione, not Frank Castle, that Mrs. Abaya cares for, she knows enough of the very broad strokes of his story that make the two similar – widower, grieving father, former Marine – for him to feel at least a tiny bit less alone.

“What’re you fixing?” Emeline asks, breaking him out of his reverie as she rises up on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder at his toolbox.

“Your grandma said this is leaking,” he says, gesturing to the pipes under the sink. “So, here I am.”

She nods and then sits cross legged next to his toolbox, reaches over to open it.

“I’ll help you.”

He nods, then raises a brow at her.

“Your homework done already?”

She furrows her brow at him and blows air up through her bangs, an exaggerated look of exasperation on her face that only children can somehow manage to make and still be endearing. She’s too polite to roll her eyes at him, but somehow he gets the impression anyway – has to bite back a smile so that he can keep a stern look on his face.

“Ye - yes, I finished it.” She shrugs as she hands him a wrench. “It was only that one time that I forgot – just that one time, Tito. And I finished it after we got done with the bathroom and before mommy came to pick me up.”

He nods and lies down on his back, begins going through the process of fixing the pipes in the same way that he’s done every piece of maintenance with Emeline as his side – by carefully pointing out just what he’s doing, explaining each step of the process, wriggling out from under the sink and letting her help when and if she can. She’s surprisingly quick at picking up what he’s doing, easily remembering the tools and steps even though this is only the second sink she’s seen him fix.

It’s relaxing – working with his hands, chatting with Emeline about her day. She’s different enough from either Lisa for it not to ache too much when he does, and there are sometimes whole minutes that go by when he’s able to disappear into the fiction of Pete Castiglione – someone’s almost uncle who can be counted on to fix leaking pipes, who can laugh at a truly nonsensical second grade joke without being reminded of another joke, another 8 year old, another life.

When they’re done, he has her run around the back and turn the water back on. They test the sink and she gives him a high five and wide, toothy grin when everything drains through the pipes instead of pooling at the bottom of the floor.

“Mommy says that I’m probably better than Daddy now at fixing stuff,” she says proudly, calling her dog Macey to her side and giving her a good pat on the back.

“Oh yeah?” He picks up Gracie’s leash and starts to walk over to the training area. “Maybe your grandma can hire you instead of me to fix stuff  around here.”

“Noooo,” she answers, drawing out the o sound as she shakes her head. “Lola says you’re the best. And besides, I need a lot more practice.”

“How much more practice, do you think?”

“Hrmmm.” She scrunches up her face, then squints up at him. “Like eleven years probably.”

He purses his lips to the side as he tries to force his smile back. He wants her to know that he takes this all very seriously.

“And how old will you be in eleven years?”

“Ummm - 19,” she says quickly, her eyes widening. “I’ll be old!”

He chuckles at that, then nods.

“And if I’m 36 right now, how old will I be then?” He asks, because he knows they’re learning to add double digits right now.

“You’ll be…you’ll be 47!” She exclaims triumphantly, and there’s a part of him that’s proud of how quickly she gets there.

She stops in the middle of the hallway.

“Tito, you’ll be really old,” she says, her voice hushed.

“Who’ll be old?”

He turns around and sees Mrs. Abaya walking up behind them.

“Uh - well, apparently me in eleven years.”

“He’ll be 47 then, Lola! That’s older than Mommy or Daddy.”

“Pah, anak,” Mrs. Abaya says, swooping down to rub her cheek and drop a kiss on top of Emeline’s head. “That means he’s 36 now? He’s only two years old than your parents. That’s still young.”

She says it to Emeline but he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s directed at him for whatever reason.

He doesn’t really have time to think about why that might because in the next moment, she’s shooing them off to the training grounds, telling them they better get ready for their session.  

The final class concludes with a mini graduation ceremony. The dogs all get graduation caps and he’s stupidly proud of the fact that Gracie stays completely still as Mrs. Abaya puts on her cap, and that she’s one of the few dogs (Macey is another one) in the class that doesn’t immediately try to paw it off.

Gracie walks across the small, raised platform with her chest puffed out and what seems to be a smug look on her face, stands tall as Mrs. Abaya loops a ribbon that says “Overall best behaved” around her collar. He sneaks a few treats to her from his pocket as Mrs. Abaya makes a small speech talking about how proud she is of all the dogs and the trainers, and how there’s always more classes and things to teach themselves and their dogs.

He walks over to where Emeline is taking at least two dozen photos of Macey with her mom’s phone.

“Marisol, Jeremy,” he says in greeting, nodding to both of them as he stretches out his hand.

“Hey man! Good to see you again,” Jeremy says, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, his face lit up with a big grin. “Emeline was just telling us how she helped you fix the kitchen sink.”

“And how apparently she’ll need another eleven years of practice before she’s as good as you,” Marisol adds, reaching over to give him a warm hug as she smiles at him.

He grins and shakes his head.

“Nah, she’ll need, you know, maybe another five years, tops, before she’ll know everything I know.”

Both Jeremy and Marisol laugh, and it seems like Marisol is about to say something else before they hear Mrs. Abaya’s voice from behind them, calling for Marisol to come over.

Marisol gives him an apologetic look and excuses herself, Jeremy following behind her with his hand at the small of her back.

He inwardly thanks Mrs. Abaya for the interruption, takes his phone out of his pocket and crouches down in front of Emeline.

“So, think you could take a picture of me and Gracie?” He asks, handing the phone in her direction.

“Yeah, I can!” She clicks over to the camera as he backs up until he’s crouched down next to Gracie, holds up her certificate in front of them both so that it faces the camera.

“Make sure you get the certificate in there, sweetheart.”

She gives him a look that says, of course, that same look that says she’s rolling her eyes without rolling her eyes, which makes him huff out a laugh.

He waits until Emeline is satisfied, which means he’s told about seven different times that he needs to smile, then scrolls through the three dozen or so photos quickly.

“Are you gonna put it as your phone background?”

He glances over at Emeline, who’s peering over his shoulder, looking at the pictures flashing across the screen.

He briefly considers just saying yes. Knows that’s the best way to keep away from the line of questioning he’s sure to get from Mrs. Abaya the next time he sees her.

But there’s something about keeping it a secret that feels wrong, makes it feel illicit rather than important. And there’s a part of him, too, that wants it to be real in some other way outside himself, that wants some evidence that it won’t disappear the moment he opens his eyes in the morning.

“It’s, uh, it’s for a - a friend of mine,” he finally says. There’s an instinct to frown when he says friend, even though that’s as good a descriptor as any for what Karen is to him, so he immediately follows it up with - “Karen - she, uh. I think she’d like to see how Gracie’s doing.”  

Emeline narrows her eyes at him a bit, and for a moment the expression on her face is so uncannily similar to one Mrs. Abaya might give him that he nearly laughs out loud. She doesn’t say anything, just reaches over his shoulder and scrolls three photos to the left.

“There. That’s the one you should send her.”

He looks down at his phone. The photo she picked is him caught mid laugh, a small but genuine smile on his face, his eyes crinkled up with real amusement. Gracie faces towards the camera in complete seriousness, looking almost regal despite her ridiculous graduation hat.

“Why that one?”

Emeline shrugs.

“You look happy in that one. I think she’d want one where you’re happy, don’t you?”

He thinks about that question the entire drive home, mulls it over as he stops by CVS to print out the picture. The next morning, he pulls on his beanie and sweatshirt and tucks the photo into his pocket, doesn’t look at it again until he’s perched outside Karen’s window.

He turns the picture over in his hands, thinks about the photo she’d given him, carefully tucked away in the pages of his favorite book  – the curve of Karen’s smile, the brightness in her eyes, the way it both soothes the ache in his chest and amplifies the humming in his veins to see it.  

He wedges the photo between the window and windowsill, looping tape around the back to make sure it doesn’t fly away. As he climbs back down the stairs, he imagines her finding it. Wonders if she’ll build a life around him the way he has for her. Hopes she’ll know how hard he’s trying to build an after that means something, that he’s doing so to build his way back to her.

He huffs out a laugh. It’s a hell of a lot to pin on one photo, on one look, on one windowsill. 

But he remembers the meaning in a single gesture, whole conversations told in single looks and in silence. Thinks about how much can be said in a single photo.Thinks about how it can be enough, for now.

[ezatluba]

Overfed and underexercised, some dogs are putting on pandemic pounds

By Kim Kavin

September 5, 2020 

When shutdowns to stem the spread of the novel coronavirus began last spring, Massachusetts retiree Lisa Allen took her state’s stay-at-home guidance seriously. She holed up in her high-rise Boston condo with her 6-year-old Pomeranian, Desi.

She reduced walks from three to two a day — the better to avoid the elevator and lobby. She bought pee pads for Desi and gave him a treat when he used them.

By late June, Desi was having trouble breathing. A routine visit to the veterinarian revealed that the tiny dog had gained a pound.

“If I only gained a pound, I’d be very happy,” Allen said. “But when you’re 5 pounds, that’s 20 percent of your weight. It was putting strain on him.”

The problem, the vet said, was one familiar to millions of Americans and a growing number of their pet dogs: a routine upended by covid-19. In many cases, housebound humans are giving their dogs more attention and walks, boosting fitness for pets and people alike. But in others, veterinarians and professional dog walkers say, the changes have led to overfed and either underexercised or overwalked dogs — and to new joint problems and obesity.

Banfield Pet Hospital, which has more than 1,000 locations across the United States, surveyed pet owners at the end of May about how they were faring during the pandemic. Many reported pudgier pets.

“It’s too soon to tell if the covid crisis has resulted in weight gain for the average pet,” said Andrea Sanchez, a Banfield veterinarian and senior manager of operations support. But of 1,000 respondents, she said, “33 percent said they thought their pet had gained weight — and it was especially dog owners.”

Tomika Bruen, who owns a dog-walking company in the Los Angeles area, said that when her clients began calling her back recently to take their dogs out, she detected not only twinges and soreness among the canines but also exhaustion. Owners who had canceled services for several months had also failed to keep their dogs in shape.

“We normally walk dogs for 20 minutes to an hour,” Bruen said. “The ones that usually get longer walks, I’m noticing that we have to slow down and take breaks. I think their pet parents might take them out for 10 or 15 minutes. They’re winded now after 25 or 30 minutes.”

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Dog walker Danielle deWildt, whose company operates in Boston, said she’s seen doggy weight gain so substantial it’s visible to the naked eye, especially in city neighborhoods.

“They’ve put on so much weight that their bodies move like Jell-O,” deWildt said. “I can see the fat rolling on their bodies.”

Even deWildt’s own bull terrier, Sonny, plumped up during the height of the Boston-area shutdowns. His ideal weight, she said, is 38 pounds. He was up to 41 by late June, and he sported a new little roll above his tail.

“The parks got closed. The trails got closed,” she said. “I was home more and eating more snacks. Got to give one to him — look at that cute little face. It’s a fair percentage of his body weight.”

Anne Kimmerlein, a veterinary epidemiologist for VCA Animal Hospitals, said she’s hearing about dogs that have packed on covid-19-era pounds. But she’s hearing the opposite, too.

“We also have seen anecdotal stories about dogs that were overweight or sedentary, and now that their owners are at home, they’re spending a lot more time playing and walking,” she said.

That kind of increase in activity is generally good, said Doug Kratt, president of the American Veterinary Medical Association. But it can lead to new problems if owners aren’t careful, he said.

“I think you’ll see some animals that got heavier but also some that lost a little bit of weight and are maybe having to address arthritis-type issues because the owners are walking them more,” he said. “The creaks and aches may have shown up more.”

Kratt said that while it’s too early in the pandemic to know, he suspects that the disrupted routines will have different regional effects on dog weight and health. In cities, shutdowns have kept more people and pets sequestered inside apartments and condos, and outside of closed dog parks. In suburban and rural areas, where parks and streets are less crowded, people may be exercising their dogs more, he said.

No matter the location, Kratt said, the rise in numbers of humans staying home with their dogs 24/7 is causing more emergency calls to veterinarians for things that simply went unnoticed back when people were out all day.

“We’re seeing, at my clinic, more vomiting and diarrhea,” said Kratt, who practices in Wisconsin. “More lameness. More itching. These are things that maybe the pets would always do, but people weren’t around to see it and watch it as closely.”

Sanchez said that 44 percent of respondents to the Banfield survey said they were paying closer attention to their pets. She has been encouraging them to think of new ways to give the dogs exercise and stimulation.

“My dog is a rescue, and he’s always had some issues with being outside, and with noise phobias. A large part of his exercise has always been tug-of-war or catch in the house or the backyard,” she said. “Those are great things to do. … And if you bring home a new toy, or if you have another pet they can play with, you’ll start to find more creative ways to add exercise indoors.”

A veterinarian can also tell pet owners how many calories dogs should eat each day based on their current weight. The amount of food and treats vary from brand to brand, Sanchez said, so dog owners should work with veterinarians to determine a calorie count that works for the food sources in the home.

That’s what Allen, the Boston retiree, is now doing with Desi, whose new nickname is “the portly Pomeranian.” His meal sizes have been slashed, and she throws a ball in the condo for him to chase while she continues social distancing.

At first, Desi was not a fan of the new plan, which also includes fewer treats. But he’s coming around.

“We spoil our pals because we love them, but watching their weight to ward off illness really is a better way to spoil them,” Allen said. “I have to keep reminding myself of that, even though he’s staring at me and I know perfectly well what he wants.”

[kashmiresims]

A Moment of Peace

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Orion couldn’t go back to Cain’s place after what he had witnessed. He figured it would be better to go back to the house and try to settle his thoughts at the fact that his main squeeze was a dealer. As soon as he saw Cypress’s car parked out back, her knew his friend was home, however Orion still felt an uneasy anger toward Cypress after hearing his song being played publicly on the radio and he knew Cypress would become silently judgmental if he learned that Orion was gone all night because he had stayed with Cain. He didn’t know why Cypress cared so much about Orion’s love life--it was Orion’s choice! It was the first time in a long time he’d been able to be with Cain and didn’t regret it.

He entered the house, grabbed the stair rail, and climbed the steps with a frown on his face until he got to the top.

That was odd, the door to his room was open…he could have sworn he had closed it when he’d left the night before. As he approached he stopped cold because he found Cypress sitting on his bed, his face resting on his fist and a look of complete and utter disappointment in his eyes as Orion came into his view.

It caught him off-guard but before he could defend himself, thinking the expression was because of Cain--he noticed a few of the empty Tranquilicis bottles were pulled out of his night stand and placed on top of it. 

“What’s going on?” Orion asked, growing uneasier by the second.

“I could ask the same of you. Why do you have all these pills?”

“They help with my anxiety,” Orion told the truth and refrained from pointing out that technically, there were hardly any pills left from those bottles.

“Okay, but Tranquilicis isn’t something you get over the counter. It’s something a doctor has to write a prescription for. Do you have one?”

Orion wouldn’t outright lie to Cypress’s face, and besides Cypress had already probably found the scratched out name on the labels of the original prescription recipient. If he thought about it, he could have guessed Cain wasn’t doing things above board because Orion too, had found it odd the name was scratched out. He just didn’t question Cain because Cain was going out of his way to get Orion free pills.

“It doesn’t matter if I do or not, they help. That’s enough,” Orion grew terse and defensive.

“Are you sure you aren’t developing a dependency? This is a lot of empty bottles,” Cypress nodded to the side towards the bottles. He sounded like his mother.

Orion belted out a scornful laugh, “Yeah, like you have the ground to lecture me on becoming addicted to a substance.”

Cypress stood with frown and came closer, “Hey, we’re talking about something that’s technically illegal here. Besides, I won’t die from an overdose of nicotine.”

Orion rolled his eyes, annoyed that Cypress happened to conveniently forget all the other gross chemicals that caused health issues in cigarettes.

“I’m doing fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” Orion crossed his arms with growing frustration that Cypress was hassling him about it.

Cypress looked a bit hurt at Orion’s abrupt dismissal. But it was Orion who should have felt hurt. Cypress had stolen his music.

“So why do you look so miserable?” 

“I heard my song on the radio,” he mumbled.It wasn’t the only thing that had made him miserable but it was the one thing that directly involved Cypress.

“Why would that make you miserable?”

“Because you stole it. You recorded it, aired it, and gave it to the station without even asking me permission. I wasn’t even done with it yet–it was a work in progress and now it’s in a final form as far as anyone listening is concerned.”

“You should be recognized, and since you’re not really playing live anymore how else is your music going to reach the masses? You should be thanking me for putting my neck out on the line for you!”

“I don’t want or need to be recognized for anything!”

“But you deserve it!”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need anything like that – I have seen how recognition leads to fame that in turn results in an interrupted life. I am fine with just playing my music for my friends and maybe small audiences if I work up the nerve but I don’t want to be recognized for it—I just want people to enjoy it.”

“You can’t have it both ways. If you want people to enjoy it, you will have to be recognized. People don’t just listen to music in a vacuum and not want to know where it came from or who sang it, especially if they want more.”

Orion just looked at the floor, not believing he was having this argument with Cypress. They never argued.

“Besides, it was just a song about Cain, it’s not like it’s going to be your biggest hit,” Cypress couldn’t help but to seem to snark.

“Fuck off,” Orion blurted angrily. He grabbed his acoustic guitar case from the corner of his room with a rare, heightened temper and left. He stomped down the stairs while Cypress chased after him asking what his problem was and for once in his life Cypress was the problem. Orion knew he had to remove himself before he’d say anything else he’d regret.  

What would Orion do without an instrument? Without a way to make music? His prickled nerves smoothed over gradually as he strummed out some of his favorite melodies from where he sat on the park bench before surrendering to whatever music formed as an idea in his head and came out in between the strings.  It was still a brisk temperature, now slightly breezy and the leaves were starting to turn bright oranges and golds. He had to stop thinking about the feeling of betrayal. Cypress had been so rash and judgmental but if he would stop and open his eyes he would realize that Orion didn’t write that song about Cain. He wrote it to communicate his heartbreak about Cypress.

Cypress was the catalyst that made Orion realize he was attracted to men in the first place. He had been ambivalent to dating and romance in general, probably an attitude he picked up from Cypress’s asexual tendancies, but after that fateful day when he was sixteen and found Cypress’s hand in his, something just clicked inside him. It felt right.

A part of him still loved and longed for Cypress in ways Cypress wasn’t able to give to him. Maybe that’s why he tolerated such abhorrent behavior from Cain because as long as he had someone else to give his love to, he could suppress his desires toward his best friend.

Cypress had made it clear he couldn’t be anything more than just Orion’s best friend and Orion would rather die than lose such a cherished relationship, so being with Cain helped Orion in more ways than Cypress knew.

Cypress also didn’t understand how much Tranquilicis had been helping Orion manage his anxiety. It was hypocritical, for Cypress to chide Orion about the dangers of addiction when Cypress was smoking a pack of cigarettes a week.  

Orion closed his eyes and played whatever melody popped into his head, inspired by natural beats he could hear and pluck from around him—from the sounds of the city to the rustling in the leaves. This garden was a calming place, a place of refuge for artists who wanted to paint or play music. Orion had come here a few times with Nick perform for tips but that wasn’t his reason for being here now. He did it for the pure enjoyment of creation and solace. His poor brain needed a break.

His melody must have attracted a dog, for one trotted up and looked at him expectantly. A fluffy, black-furred animal that looked to be a somewhat exotic breed.

“Hi there,” Orion said, though the animal didn’t understand him. Orion felt himself smile and slapped the surface of his guitar to make a purposeful rhythm as he played and the dog sat promptly, seeming to enjoy the change by evidence of its wagging tail.

Orion couldn’t resist the dog’s fluffiness any longer. He sat his guitar on the bench and knelt down to pet it. It seemed fond of having its head rubbed right between the ears. He’d always wanted a dog but his father and sister were allergic to animal hair so all they had were birds in his family for pets.

“Sebastian!” the dog perked up at a call and Orion glanced up to see a man in a long, expensive-looking gray jacket smiling from down the path. The man said “come” in Takemizese and the dog stood and cantered over to its master.

“I’m sorry, but was he bothering you?” The man asked Orion in Simlish but there was no need. Orion was actually fluent in the first language.

“Not at all,” Orion answered in Takemizese and stood, “I ponder if he might be an admirer of music.”

His comment made the man laugh in delighted surprise and he continued to speak in his native tongue, “Sebastian has particular tastes, though I never knew he was partial to music. What name do you play under? Can I buy him an album to listen to?”

It was Orion’s turn to laugh, not sure if the man were joking or not, but it was apparent he didn’t listen to college radio, “I have not created any albums yet, but if and when I do you could find it under Orion Loche.”

“I should not keep you from your playing Mister Loche; thank you for indulging my dog though,” the man inclined his head and said to the hound, “Follow.” Orion picked up his guitar and started strumming it again, “I could indulge him to a greater capacity if that is acceptable to you; I have never had an animal as an admirer before.”

“I would be delighted if you would accompany us around the gardens,” the man smiled, “Sebastian would be too.”

It was only proven so as the dog began to wag his tail again with exuberance and sniff around Orion’s shoes.

Orion realized he was being rude and hadn’t asked the man his name, “Many apologies, but what is your name? I should have asked during our introduction.”

“It is no worry; I am called Yuzan Bao,” the man replied with a smile and then made a slight eyeroll paired with a chuckle, “Though we can continue our conversation in Simlish—I find my native language to be full of burdensome formality.”

“Fair enough,” Orion agreed and made the lingual switch.

“It’s not common to find a Kashmiri who can speak fluent Takemizese. Where did you learn?” Yuzan asked with amusement.

Orion plucked his guitar strings absent-mindedly as he explained, “I lived there when I was a child.”

“Really? Which area?”  

“Takemizu  Village. My parents had a home there. They were big into the Blue Jasmine Music Festival—did all sorts of shows for it so decided to just live there year-round and perform across the region for many years.”  He smiled remembering his youth. Takemizu Village was a small town nestled between the mountains and so when his parents played their instruments outside, the sound carried back and forth across the valley. It was pure ambrosia for the ears.  

“We moved back here when I was nine. So I had a lot of time to learn the language and I kinda had to because of school.”

Zan made an exasperated face of sympathy, “Unlucky, Schools there are so rigid. I hated the drilling—and the punishments for getting out of line.”

“I know right!?” Orion agreed, remembering how he was commanded to recite a poem from his readings and he stuttered the words, being too nervous to do it front of the class and then the teacher hit his knuckles with a yard stick for his bad etiquette. He momentarily stopped playing his guitar and flexed them, the memory triggering a ghosting sensation of pain.

That experience was probably one of the reasons he got so anxious to perform in front of people and why he was so anxious about the possibility of screwing up. This man was the first person he’d ever talked to who even could understand and related to Orion’s experience with Takemizu schooling.

Sebastian made a loud woof to remind Orion that the music had stopped. Yuzan frowned and snapped out “Rude” in Takemizese and Sebastian lowered himself onto his belly and turned over so it was exposed to Orion.

“He is apologizing,” Zan explained in Simlish, “If you give him a belly rub then he knows you have forgiven him.”

“Wow, you’ve trained your dog very well,” Orion mused handing over his guitar for Yuzan to hold while he knelt down to pat Sebastion on his belly. The canine immediately stuck out his tongue and started wagging his tail happily.

“It takes a lot of practice and discipline,” Yuzan replied, returning the guitar and then made an upward motion with his hand. Sebastian returned setting onto all four paws. Yuzan reached into a pocket of his long coat and withdrew a baggie of dog treats, opened it, and tossed one at the dog who caught it mid-air in one bite.

“You seem like to have plenty of it,” Orion smiled, and Yuzan regarded him with a raised brow and it made Orion blush a bit. Here he was, passing judgement on someone he’d just met and he felt like he was in second grade again while stumbling over his words, “What I meant is…that you look so…world class and formal and I thought…”

Orion clamped his upper lip over his bottom one and decided to play more of his guitar medley instead.

Yuzan started laughing aloud at Orion’s blunder, but it wasn’t one of ridicule—just abject amusement.

“I assure you I am not as formal as I appear—I suppose by Kashmiri standards it could be seen that way but in fact, any Takemiseze citizen would claim I’m not formal enough. It’s my curse in life.”

“Not the worst curse to have, all things considered,” Orion noted. He was thinking of his own curse, to forever be burdened by anxiety. Thank Plumbobs for that Tranqilicis and music. They were the only two things to seem to work for him anymore. Both men passed a under an arched trellis that had ivy and white flowers climbing it; where the petals were in the midst of falling off the vines and covered the path. Sebastian kept pace next to Orion, looking upward and almost seemed to be grinning with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

They passed a garden wall in front of a fountain and Orion took a lean against it and closed his eyes. He felt a slight thump next to him and opened one eye to see that Yuzan had joined him--his back against the wall and with his hands stuffed inside his pockets. Sebastian sat patiently in front of them though made no more barks of protest but only because Orion was still playing his music.  

Orion shut his eyes again and continued, feeling a deep sense of peace playing in the gardens on this autumn day, it was in such contrast to how he felt coming into the place earlier and the turmoil he had been through since he’d woken up. r He picked up the tempo of his song. The song wasn’t really a song, just a winding, improvised string of musical notes. He wouldn’t remember it all enough to write it down. It was like a wild animal that couldn’t be caught and tamed—never to be replicated again. Yuzan and Sebastian had the privilege to listen to it and ever know it even existed.

Eventually, Orion checked the time and realized he been out far longer than he had anticipated. He walked back to his guitar case and set it inside despite the heartbreaking whimpering noises Sebastian was making as he walked away.

“I’m sorry but have to go,” he said as he clicked the case closed and pulled it over his shoulder, “It was a pleasure playing music for you and your dog.”

“Do you come to these gardens often?” Yuzan wondered, following after Orion as he made his way to the garden exit.

“I come every once and awhile,” Orion shrugged and admitted.

“I visited it for the first time this weekend and I think I have  found it’s my favorite public spot in the city.”

“Why is that?”  Orion slowed his pace and Yuzan passed him, turning around and began to walk backward so they could converse face-to-face.

“The flowers,” Zan waved his hand out with a grin, gesturing at the blooms around them that were slowly wilting with incoming colder weather. First frost had yet to occur but they were hanging onto life.

“What’s left of them at least.”

Zan nodded, “Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh, the blue ones for sure,” Orion smiled in remembrance as he kept walking forward,  “They remind me of Takemizu. We had tons of them outside our house growing in giant bushes. My mother refused to have them trimmed.”

He noticed Zan had visibly straightened himself and his grin was ever broader, “I have them growing in abundance inside my home here in Memosa Bay where they will never wilt—you should come see them if you miss them once winter comes.”

Orion stopped walking, unsure what to make of Yuzan’s offer.  He usually wasn’t this talkative or open with strangers but he felt an agreeable yet uncanny connection with Yuzan. He finally nodded, “I’d like that.”

“To be my friend?”

He was so forward about it. Orion could understand however, why the question was asked in such a way. In Takemizese culture it was considered rude or even cowardly to be anything but straightforward with someone.

Orion had never just been asked directly to be anyone’s friend before. In his experience it was a gradual occurrence. He hesitated ever so slightly to think on it. Yuzan looked to be a few years older than himself though dressed more expensive and sensible than a college student would be. Perhaps he was already graduated with an office job somewhere in the city? Orion hardly knew anything about the man except he was from Takemizu, liked dogs and flowers.

“It is, after all, hard to make new friends when you move so far away from home,” Zan lamented, taking advantage of Orion’s pause and plucked a leaf that looked about to fall from a small hedge. Orion agreed. He’d had to start all over when he moved back to Kashmire. Luckily for Orion, on his first day of school in Kashmire, a boy name Cypress Wellington was tapping out the beats to a rock ‘n roll song on his desk that Orion recognized from his father’s album collection and it prompted Orion to ask him about it. That led to conversations about music, instruments, and the best friendship they had ever known. He remembered those times with Cypress fondly and had to forgive his friend for earlier because he realized there wasn’t a deceiving bone in Cypress’s body, and he really was trying to look out for Orion’s best interests. It seemed this man was looking for something similar.  

Yuzan still was waiting for an answer. He seemed so hopeful. Orion could understand the struggle at being a newcomer to the region and it wasn’t pity but understanding that made him nod in sudden earnest and stick his hand out, “Yeah, I’ll be your friend.”

Genuine happiness erupted across Yuzan’s features and he took Orion’s hand in his to give it a cordial shake, “Call me Zan.”

[g0dblessthefandom]

Wags and Kisses (A DogPark!Brittana One Shot in 3? Parts)

Heeeeeyyyyyy y’all. Remember when I was saying I wanted to write some more? Yeah, here it is. (Will be on FFF.net once it’s done here)

Santana should have known better than agreeing to babysit Quinn’s spoiled lap dog, Dolly.

She should have said no. She wanted to say no. She’d known Quinn and her wife, Mercedes, since they were all in high school, and Santana could say no to Quinn no problem. In fact, she relished it. Quinn was a proud woman, and since they’d started their law firm in the city almost a decade prior, they’d spent most of their days arguing. Over the last eight years they’d gone from a handful of lawyers and law clerks to a firm rocketing its way through the ranks. She made her living arguing, and spent a lot of that time arguing with Quinn. Getting to say no when Quinn asked anything was almost the highlight of her day.

But Quinn hadn’t asked her. Mercedes had.

The same Mercedes who’d been her best friend in high school. The same Mercedes who’d let her crash at her place in the city when she had nowhere else to go. The same Mercedes who’d encouraged her when law school was kicking her ass (meanwhile, of course, Quinn was on her third highly competitive internship in some international city). That same patient, kind, giving Mercedes, who very rarely asked her for anything, had to only look at her once, and make a request and she was stuck.

So, that’s how Santana found herself at the dog park twice a day for the past week, walking the ball of fluff that went by the name Dolly. Mercedes and Quinn were still pretending they didn’t want kids (though Santana was sure it would only be a matter of time), so Dolly was a stand-in until they figured out why they stopped every time a baby carriage went by, and it showed. Santana had never met a more pampered pooch, and the list Mercedes had given her as Quinn was trying to get them out the door so they wouldn’t miss their flight, was atrocious.

Dolly had a specific diet, medicine that had to be administered every day, special bedding, and, inexplicably, a collection of DVDs that were to be played everyday while Santana was at work. It was madness, but she had the sneaking suspicion that both Mercedes and Quinn would know if she missed any of the steps on the list, and she’d never hear the end of it.

So, she dutifully walked Dolly, mostly ignoring the other people at the dog park with their pets. She didn’t have anything against socializing per se, but half of the people there seemed to be even more insufferable about their pets than Quinn and Mercedes, and the other half seemed to only be there to chat up any people who looked single.

Today, in particular, she found herself in a mood. She had been managing Quinn’s cases (most of which were headed up by junior partners), but one specific one would require a court appearance that she hadn’t prepared for. She’d need to step in for Quinn in court, and she felt underprepared in a way she hadn’t felt in years. It was like an itchy collar that just didn’t fit correctly, and it seemed no matter what she did, that feeling just wouldn’t go away.

There would have been worse places to spend an afternoon. The dog park was nice, in a small green space in the heart of the city with big trees that the dogs could sniff at and plenty of room for them to run around.

Santana paced back and forth while Dolly sniffed at new dogs and played tag. The scene should have been relaxing, but she furrowed her brow in frustration as she held her cell phone up to her ear.

“Because, Rachel, I have my own problems right now that don’t include listening to you whine about how there were anchovies in your caesar dressing.”

She had known Rachel as long as she’d known Quinn and Mercedes, but where Mercedes brought out a warm protectiveness, and Quinn brought out a fierce competitiveness; Rachel brought out what one might feel if they were strapped to a circus clown everyday of their life: annoyed, inconvenienced and a bit terrified. Anyway, she had a lot of her mind. The case that they were working on at the moment was an important one. She humoured her because they'd been through so much they were practically sisters, but she could only take so much. She's gotten lost in thought but tuned back into Rachel who’d taken exception to her complaint.

“And furthermore, Santana it’s not just about the anchovies, it was the entire attitude of the waitstaff! They were completely out of order!”

“Look, Yentl, I have actual problems like what I’m going to do with Quinn’s case. If anything goes wrong with it. Quinn will have my ass.”

Sugar Motta was one of their firm’s wealthiest clients, and her divorce from famous musician Artie Abrams was the talk of the town. It was also a make or break case for them. One that would take their good firm to great, and ensure they could have their pick of clients in the future. So, a lot was riding on it. A fact that Rachel didn’t seem to appreciate.

“You'd probably be into that.” Rachel muttered.

“What was that, Berry?”

“Oh nothing.”

“Anyway, I don’t get it, Santana. You’ve got a whole team of associates working for you, why don’t you just leave it to them?”

“Well, first of all, if I just leave it to them and they screw it up, what do you think Quinn is going to do to me? Secondly, I am Santana Lopez, I don’t leave things half done. I’m going to go in there and show those newbies what a real lawyer looks like.”

“And what does a lawyer look like?”

“Me, idiot.”

“No need to be rude, Santana.” Rachel responded in a clipped tone.

“Whatever. Sorry, okay? I’m just running around in circles, and this case is killing me, and top it all off, I have that dumb dog yapping at all hours of the night because I left the green kibbles in her food bowl and-”

Santana trailed off as she realized she lost sight of Dolly. She looked around frantically, and took a step back as a blur whizzed by her.

“Frank, no!”

Santana’s gaze was drawn towards the woman the voice belonged to. She was one of the most gorgeous women that Santana had ever seen. Tall, and blonde, with legs for days and a face that even when curled up into a gentle chastising of her dog was adorable in every way conceivable. For the first time in a long time, Santana found herself at a loss for words. She could only stare at the other woman as she raced towards what looked to be a mix between a French bulldog and a poodle.

The dog that was currently humping Dolly.

“Rachel, I’ve gotta go.” Santana didn’t even give Rachel a chance to respond before ending the call, and stuffing the phone into her pocket, striding over to the blonde and her mutt.

“Franklin Beans Pierce!” The woman called again. “What do you think you’re doing? Get offa her!”

She probably thought she was being stern, but Santana could only laugh. There wasn’t a stern bone in that woman’s whole body.

“It’s fine, you know.” Santana said, interrupting.

“Huh?” The woman turned, and Santana almost had to take a step back. She was facing some of the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. They were deep and beautiful, and they made Santana want to drop down on one knee right then and there and propose in front of the entire dog park.

She lost her voice for a second, and cleared it to get it back (though there was still a bit of a squeak left behind). “Hi, um, hi. I just meant, she’s fixed. My dog, she’s spayed, so she can’t get pregnant.”

The blonde smiled and Santana did take a step back. The smile lit up her face in a way that was almost blinding.

“Oh! Well, that’s good. I mean, I just don’t know if your pup was that into it, but I’m glad there’s no harm done.”

She stuck out a hand. “Hi, I’m Brittany. Nice to meet you.”

Santana placed her hand in Brittany’s and nearly melted on the spot. There was a firmness in that hand, all long, strong fingers. Santana tried not to think about it.

“Um, Santana. Santana Lopez. Nice to meet you, too.”

Brittany seemed to linger in the handshake, and then reluctantly let go of Santana’s hand. She turned back to the dogs, who were now chasing each other happily.

“They’re having a good time, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Santana couldn’t take her eyes off of Brittany. Even in profile, she still made for a striking figure. Her face was like something carved out of marble, but surprisingly soft. Santana was almost overcome with the desire to cup Brittany’s cheek and pull her close. She shook herself, and tried to come up with a topic of conversation. She could feel the thread of their possible meeting coming undone, and she scrambled to catch it before it got away. She fumbled for a few seconds more when Brittany turned back to her with an effortless grace.

“I haven’t seen you around before. Is the little lady a new addition to your family?”

She was smiling again, and Santana could feel herself smiling back. “Uh, yeah, she’s actually my best friend’s dog. She and her wife went on vacation, and I told them I’d watch the mutt.”

Santana almost slapped her hand over her mouth. This woman clearly liked dogs. What would she think of Santana bad mouthing them? She scrambled, desperate to correct. “I mean, she’s a nice dog, but kind of spoiled.”

Brittany laughed again, that tinkling thing that seemed to ripple out of her and surrounded Santana in a soft warmth.

“It’s ok. I could tell from the bow she could be a bit of a handful. Even though she looks really cute in it.”

“Yeah, and I always get the feeling if I don’t put it on her, my friends will hear and never speak to me again.”

“Pup mommies tend to be like that.” She said with another chuckle. “So, no pets of your own?”

Santana thought of her spotless foyer and imagined Dolly sitting in the middle of it, holding a freshly chewed pair of her favorite Louboutins, and shuddered.

“No, they’re really not my bag.” She felt more than saw the disappointment coming from Brittany so she quickly changed the subject. “What about you? How long have you had Frank?”

Brittany faltered for a moment, her eyes widening slightly. It was enough that Santana hurried to backtrack.

“It’s just that you seem like a real natural with him, so I figured-”

“No, it’s okay, yeah, he’s like my little doggy buddy.”

Santana wanted to keep talking, but at that moment the alarm on her smartwatch began to beep and she looked down with annoyance.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go. Dolly gets her pills in about five minutes, and it takes me at least that much time to stuff them into her snausages.”

The brightness returned to Brittany’s face, and she nodded. “That makes sense. Maybe I’ll see you the next time you bring her for a walk?”

“Yeah, for sure. I always come at the same time anyway, so if you come at the same time, then, um, we’ll be here at the same time.”

“Cool. It’s a date, then.”

Santana felt her face burning, and did her best to attach Dolly to her leash, all the while trying to keep her smile from getting too desperate. She walked out of the double gate, and back towards her condo, looking back every so often to Brittany who would wave and she would wave back. She felt a bit silly, but more than that she felt elated. Who was that woman, and how could she spend every day with her?

When Mercedes and Quinn called to FaceTime with Dolly, Santana took a moment of her own, telling Mercedes all about her meeting with Brittany.

“She must have been hot.”

“Oh man, she was! Like, you wouldn’t believe, ‘Cedes. But she was more than hot, she was amazing. Her smile, her laugh. I think I’m in love.”

Mercedes laughed. “Wow, Santana, I never heard you fall so fast. And this is including that girl you dated who could put both of her feet behind her head.”

“This is way beyond that.”

“Are you really going to see her again tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I hope so.” Santana said wistfully. “I’m going to wear something cute.”

“If she likes you as much as you seem to like her, you’re in good shape. Good luck.”

“If she likes me as much as I like her, I’m not going to need it.”

[raendown]

Pairing: TobiramaKakashi Soulmate au: The one where you gain a unique power when you touch for the first time

Follow the link or read it under the cut.

The thing about living in a place called Fire Country is that one very quickly grows tired of the irony of the frequent forest fires which blazed through the surrounding areas. As a young snarky child Tobirama had always wondered why his parents never bothered to move away to somewhere better, somewhere safer. It wasn’t until he had grown up and gone away to university in another city that he understood. One can’t help falling in love with home, no matter what flaws you find there.

He’d been lucky in life to have never been personally affected by the fires which sometimes touched the edges of the little village he lived in. No, his personal heartbreaks came from another source. Konoha was a mostly quiet place which appeared almost to hold its breath in the wake of the tragedies which happened over a decade ago, when a rare sickness had spread throughout the population and caused deaths by the dozens. Tobirama had lost two of his three brothers as well as his mother. His father had been broken by it all, withdrawing into himself until most days it seemed as though only Tobirama and his eldest brother Hashirama were left in their sprawling family home.

Leaving for university had been healthy for him, a three-year window of breathing space to finally put the past behind himself. Coming home had been inevitable however. Tobirama didn’t think he could ever live very far from his older brother. He was twenty two years old now and although he most often chose to close himself up in his own wing of their large house, he felt at peace knowing that Hashirama was safe inside the same walls when he went to bed at night.

Life was good for the most part ��� a little lonely, but good. He’d been very happy for his brother when the older man found his soulmate just last year, an occasion marked by a sudden explosion of flowers from the man’s hand the moment he brushed skin with Uzumaki Mito for the first time. It had been amusing to watch but it had also pushed the thought to the front of his mind that he had yet to find his own soulmate. He was still fairly young, still plenty of time ahead of himself, but Tobirama had never been fond of waiting. He was good at it, was capable of being much more patient than any of the rest of his family ever had been, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He liked having things done sooner rather than later and this was something that was rather important.

People might think him cold because of his typical lack of expression but really Tobirama had a lot of love to give and no one around to give it to.

Four months after his twenty-second birthday the young Senju found himself chased out of the house by his only remaining sibling and told not to come back for at least an hour. It was, he knew, an attempt to force him to go be social somewhere. Unfortunately for the other Tobirama had no such inclinations; he was lonely and anxious for his soul mate but he also had a marked dislike for small talk with strangers.

To be perfectly honest, Tobirama had high hopes that his Power would manifest itself in the same spectacular manner that Hashirama’s had so that he would be able to identify his soulmate without having to go through the trial of greeting every new stranger that he came across. He had taken an elective course in university studying what little science was understood about the Powers each person developed upon meeting their soulmate for the first time. It was something that had always fascinated him – and part of him thought that if he could understand the science of it he might be able to do something about it: hurry the process, reverse engineer it to bring him to his partner, something. He was well aware that his standoffish personality meant finding his soulmate was likely his only chance at ever falling in love.

Unfortunately his studies had been disappointing in that department. A great deal of their discussions had centered around the possible answers to why certain people developed certain Powers. While it would have been interesting to find out why his brother had been given the ability to create flowers at will instead of something more useful, it wasn’t what he had been hoping for. He’d been hoping for a way to find love, a faster way than just waiting patiently for the universe to do its thing.

Since he knew very well that Hashirama would annoy him back out of the house if he did try to go back before the designated hour was up, Tobirama headed towards a nearby park instead. Luckily there were very few people out today. A mother was pushing her son on the swing set, a lone man was walking his dog around the circular path, and two teenagers were heavily involved in each other’s tonsils at the far side of the large lawn. The grass in the park was yellow and parched from the rising summer heat and not enough rain. The trees were wilted and crisp, reminding him that the news had been full of fire risk warnings again this morning. His eyes drifted back to the mother by the swings, cigarette drooping loosely between her lips, watching her carefully.

With a huff he dropped his eyes, pulling out his phone and slumping down on to a nearby bench. He’d been extremely lucky to get in to the course he wanted in university, a very specific branch of biology that only accepted so many students per year, but his shiny degree did little to help him when there were no jobs to be had in his field around here. Konoha didn’t exactly have a bustling scientific community out. Coming from such an old family they would never be short on money but Tobirama wanted to do more with himself than live off his family’s charity. He wanted to make something of himself, to spend money that he had earned with his own two hands. None of the job websites he was scrolling through, however, had any openings. If he wanted a job in this town the best he was going to get was the title of Fry Cook.

If he had his way he would get a position at the Hatake Research Institute, the small branch building next to their local hospital which rumor said had been given funding recently for all sorts of interesting projects. Trouble was that it was a small institute with no job openings. He would probably have to wait for one of the old geezers working there to drop dead before anyone even looked his way. It was starting to look like if he truly wanted a job in the field he had studied he would either need to move away from home or make a two hour commute to work every day.

Neither of those options sounded appealing to him. Sometimes it sucked to live in a small town.

Tobirama’s concentration was broken by a rough bark and he looked up from his phone to scowl at the little pug that was yapping at his feet. The thing looked as though it were telling him off for something and it took a great deal of willpower not to stick out his tongue childishly. Honestly. He wasn’t even doing anything.

“Ah sorry! Pakkun, stop that!”

He looked up to see the man at the other end of the leash, tugging on it and murmuring scolding words to his pet. Tobirama blinked. He hadn’t been able to tell from a distance earlier but the man was gorgeous. His light hair was spiky but floppy, falling over his eyes yet not quite managing to cover the scar that ran through one of them. His pink lips turned down in a strangely attractive frown as he reprimanded the very unapologetic pug. ‘Pakkun’ continued to yap at Tobirama’s toes until his owner bent down and picked him up.

“I’m really sorry,” the other man said. “Pakkun’s just a grumpy old fart. I promise he won’t bite.”

“That’s quite alright, he wasn’t causing any harm.” Tobirama paused, wondering what to say. He really was no good at small talk but he didn’t want to let this vision leave. Luck, it seemed, was on his side suddenly, for the man smiled and shuffled the dog in to one arm to hold out his other hand.

“I’m Kakashi,” he declared, eyes turning up in an adorable smile.

Tobirama reached out with a quiet, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Their hands met and he was pleased by the tight grip of the other’s fingers. Then the moment was marred by the slight grimace that took over Kakashi’s features. Tobirama dropped their hands at the same time the other did.

“Your hand is wet,” the other man. He sounded as though he were trying to point it out politely and not sound grossed out. Tobirama frowned.

“On the contrary, it’s your hand that’s wet.” His palm had been bone dry until he touched the stranger. He wouldn’t have dared to hold his phone with wet hands, he knew better than that. Hashirama ruined cellphones all the time by checking text messages in the middle of doing dishes without bothering to dry his hands first.

Kakashi took a step back from him, opening his mouth to give some kind of retort. Then he paused as he looked down at his hand. It was dripping, small droplets forming in the center of his palm to run down each finger. Tobirama blinked and looked down at his own appendage, startled to see that it was doing the exact same thing. When he held it up perpendicular to the ground, a small pool of water gathered in the palm and dribbled down over the sides.

The two men looked at each other in disbelief, Kakashi’s head tilting slightly to one side while Pakkun strained his neck to try and sniff the hand not holding him.

“I…I didn’t have a Power this morning,” the other man mumbled. “My hand’s never done this before.”

“Neither has mine,” Tobirama admitted. He hesitated before adding, “I’ve never heard of two people having the exact same Power.”

“Me neither.”

Both of them stared in silence, neither sure what to say for a few long moments. It hit Kakashi first. Between one second and the next his eyes widened and he rocked back on his heels in shock, throat bobbing like he was trying to speak around a lump that had suddenly appeared there.

“Holy shit you’re my soulmate…you’re my soulmate!”

Tobirama nodded slowly as it hit him too, feeling faint. As much as he had been hoping to simply stumble across his soulmate by accident he hadn’t truly expected it – certainly he hadn’t expected to find him just by sitting down in the park for a while. He wondered if they would have found each other if the little pug Pakkun hadn’t taken exception to him for some reason.

He’d been looking forward to this moment since he was young and now that it was here Tobirama was a little embarrassed by his inability to react like a functioning human being. His body didn’t seem to want to do more than simply stand there like an idiot, one arm hanging uselessly by his side while the other hovered motionlessly in the air, palm still turned upright and continuing to produce water. He should probably try to stop doing that. With a bit of concentration and a furrowed brow he managed to make his hand stop pooling liquid, the tiny puddle already gathered draining away droplet by droplet.

Then he jumped a little when another pale hand touched his, looking up to see Kakashi gazing back at him in wonder. Pakkun was gone, presumably somewhere on the ground now.

“You never told me your name,” the other man breathed, damp fingers clamping down around his own.

“Tobirama.”

He watched Kakashi mouth the name to himself silently then lick his lips as though to taste the syllables of it on them. It was just a quick flash of a tiny pink tongue yet for some reason Tobirama felt heat rise to his cheeks and he had to look away quickly. When he turned back Kakashi was smiling the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen on someone other than his older brother.

Although he would deny it to his dying day and insist that the very notion was cheesy and overly sappy, in the back of his mind Tobirama would always know that the moment he saw that smile he was already in love. He’s never seen anything quite so beautiful before.

Whatever he said next he had no memory of. Before he knew it he had led Kakashi back to his house and Pakkun was sniffing around the living room as he introduced his new partner to Hashirama. At some point they had woven their fingers together and he was strangely reluctant to let go so that the other two men could shake hands, trading enthusiastic greetings that he didn’t listen to. He was too distracted by the sound of his soulmate’s voice and the shapes his lips made as he spoke.

He did pay attention, however, when Hashirama gleefully asked them to demonstrate their matching Powers, jokingly proclaiming that they should register with the city as volunteer firefighters. Tobirama stuck his hand over the kitchen sink and concentrated, giving birth to a small stream of water. With practice he could probably create a tiny river all at once. His brother’s idea might have merit if he could figure out how to do that. If he couldn’t do what he wanted with his fancy degree then he might as well do something else useful – like help fight the fires that might spring up again any day now.

Confusion reigned, however, when Kakashi held his hand over the sink as well only to have his palm burst forth with flowers instead of water.

“What the hell?” Kakashi looked down at the peony in his hand, eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline. “I’m not crazy right? It was water before?” He looked to Tobirama for confirmation, who nodded.

“I saw it too,” he agreed.

“That’s so cool!” Hashirama crowed, undeterred. “He matches both of us!”

Tobirama blinked, something clicking in to place as his mind made a twisting leap of logic. He reached out and brushed his fingers against the back of Kakashi’s hand – and suddenly the flowers turned to water, burbling out from his skin like a backyard fountain.  

“How!?” Kakashi demanded. Tobirama grinned, fascinated.

“Your Power isn’t the same as mine,” he said. “It’s the same as the last person you touched. Your Power is to copy the Power of others!”

Without thinking he went off on a tangent about the possible scientific explanation for that and how it would work, the formation of DNA and the ‘memory’ of Kakashi’s cells. Hashirama groaned and the sound made him realize he was probably being boring again, going on about science and biology and all of the research he’d always wanted to do on the subject. His jaw snapped shut with a small click, cutting off the flowed of words. Kakashi made a quiet noise of protest.

“Wha-? Don’t stop there!” He tugged on their entwined hands, making Tobirama wonder when they had woven their fingers back together again. “You were on to something good there! The idea that my DNA has a rapid-adaptation mutation is fascinating! I’d love to bring you over to the Institute some time and set you free with all the equipment. Some of those studies you mentioned have incredible merit!”

Tobirama blinked. Then stared. Then blinked again. He’d never met anyone outside of his university classes who wasn’t instantly bored when he started talking about these things.

“Institute?” he asked. Kakashi nodded with a wide grin.

“The Hatake Research Institute? By the hospital? I guess I didn’t get a chance to mention my full name, Hatake Kakashi. Technically I haven’t inherited anything yet but my dad’s pretty much retired and I run most things around the place anyway.” He paused to tilt his head questioningly. “I don’t suppose I could talk you in to a visit? If I could bribe you in to joining the team we’d love to have someone with your kind of mind.”

Hashirama guffawed, head thrown back and both hands holding his stomach, while Tobirama found himself stunned into immobility not for the first time that day.

“Bribe him!?” Hashirama boomed out another laugh. “He’s been salivating over your Institute for years. You’ll have to force him to go home every day!”

“Oh.” Kakashi took a good look at the transcendent expression on Tobirama’s face, then affected a very smug look. “You’re just getting all sorts of good news today, aren’t you?”

Tobirama didn’t have the words to reply and so he didn’t even try to speak. He’d never been the best at expressing himself verbally anyway. Instead he simply leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a frantic first kiss, fisting one hand in the front of Kakashi’s shirt like the other man was all that was holding him to the earth. Kakashi gave a quiet moan of approval and slid his own hands around Tobirama’s hips.

Neither of them heard Hashirama gagging and telling them to take it elsewhere. Nor did either of them notice the older man giving up and leaving, giving them a little time to themselves. What they did notice was how complete they felt to be in each other’s arms – and the slow seeping of water through clothing as each of them lost control of their newly discovered Power, soaking their shirts and entirely ruining the moment.

[papermoth-bird-blog]

Nashville: Laces get tangled.

Like the hills of the city itself, I’ve found myself going through some ups & downs over the past few days. Though I’ve been getting up really early still, I’ve found myself slow to start the actual day. At night too, I’ve been watching some southern-themed movies (Ballad of Buster Scruggs & Steel Magnolias) instead of partying at Honky-Tonks (which kinda scare me... just not into the excessive drinking). We’ve been able to rope some other folks into going to Mexico last minute, which is fun. I’m definitely getting more excited for that leg of the journey now that it’s being laid out. The Jungle & the cenotes are definitely taking centre stage in my daydreams. 

I’m craving the countryside. I need to hug a tree. or ride a horse. or pet a dog or something. I went to Centennial park for a picnic (where the Parthenon is) & it still didn’t do quite the trick. I really hope I can go on some hikes in Texas. I did hear there were some really great spots in the greenbelt. If I said Nashville was walkable earlier- I should add it is, but not for the faith of heart or easily tired. The sprawl is real, so are the rolling hills. Especially in the east. It’s very much a car-town. With that- I’ve noticed a lot of people have really dark tints on all their windows- like they all have secrets or something. Theres also a drive-through everything- including Krispy-Kreme & banks.

I’ve found myself a little more lonely here- but maybe I’m just picking up on the general vibration of the city. Like New York, Nashville is definitely a city of broken dreams. My date from the other day (Shibby) said that apparently 100 people move here a day. I suppose they are all chasing something by coming here, and many many many of them end up chewed-up and spit-out. Even the ones that are skirting by sometimes play for empty rooms. It kinda makes me really sad. Everyone seems lonely in that way. But I mean, just as I start to feel realllly sad, a lady scream over the fence of the daycare she was working at and said “I HAVE TO TELL YOU, YOU LOOK SO CUTE I COULD HUG YOU MISS.” So, there were reasons to smile again.

Nashville definitely has a charm to it though. The Murals are beautiful & there is plenty more art to see in the museums (the frist) & little boutiques. Fashion is definitely real here too- and let me tell you I got into some trouble at Buffalo Exchange. After that, I promised myself I wouldn’t buy anything else, but I did wander through a few other stores with my eyes half closed. I mean- the weather has been great too honestly. Today was as hot as a summer day in Nova Scotia. Yet, I’ve seen a few people wearing full blown coats (with fur trim!) while I busy sweating in my overalls. Also, the Magnolia trees here are so huge! I literally had a lump in my throat looking at them (they are my favourite). The Forsythia is in bloom too (my second favourite). 

I walked around East Nashville today for a bit of a grounding excersize. That’s where more of the artists tend to live. I had lunch at a cute spot called Sky Blue. (Where I overheard a man say “our species isn’t designed for socialism. It’ll just never work! It’s impossible!” Which I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at.)  There I pondered many of the things that have been coming up for me emotionally lately & really reeling over the strange things/happenstances that the universe has been sending my way. And I’ll say, I can’t get into all of them, cause some of them are far too strange & I haven’t been able to fully process them myself, but I will say one.

So over the past few days I’ve been trying to vaguely figure out if I was going to go to California or not. I had to decide because I needed to pick and airport to fly out of for Mexico. Anyways, my uncle Eric lives in Venice Beach, so I reached out to him to see if I could stay with him & if he had any ideas of things I should get up to. He told me I’d love San Francisco & Santa Cruz. San Francisco, though a place I’ve always wanted to go, is a little more north than I can justify wandering on my way to Mexico, so I decided to look into Santa Cruz. 

I don’t know much about the place, to be honest, although I definitely know people that have spent time there. So I decide to watch some cheesy montage-travel vlogs on the ol’ Youtube. I’m watching one, half asleep, when I kinda had to take a double-take. For all of two seconds, who do I see playing a banjo & base drum on the side of the road in random Santa Cruz?? Nick. Nick Shoulders. One of the musicians I met in New Orleans. So I messaged him all “I don’t mean to be weird but.. is this you??” Praying that he understood that the universe was a prankster that likes you psyche you out, and that he’d understand I wasn’t a weird stalker. Of course, he did ask “HOW THE HECK DID YOU FIND THAT?” It’s literally two seconds in this random video on the internet. His name isn’t anywhere near it- like I’m sure the guy that made the video doesn’t even know Nick. Anyways, turns out he lived in Santa Cruz for a year in his van. The world is freaky and small & getting smaller everyday. I both find that a little suffocating & also a little cosy (depending on my mood). Anyways, I might have to take that as a sign and go there- I mean--- **something** is flashing big flashing lights in that direction for some reason. Nick said I’d be able to find some good country/dancey type shows there too. 

I still feel the universe being on my side, ushering me along on this trip. I mean the radio has been playing all my favourite songs, like a reminder that home is a feeling that can live inside me. I do feel some homesickness, though.  (Then I think of going back to work, and some of the dramas unfolding in Halifax and I KNOW I’m not ready to go back yet). I’ve been talking to many of *my people* on the phone. And making an effort to meet people here too. You can’t force friendship though. I’m definitely feeling super grateful to have the friends & the life that I do back home- I mean it’s prettttty dope. I’m spoiled by it all. Meeting new people definitely helps remind me of that. They all give me such strange looks- as if I’m making it up. But I just laugh- cause it is stranger than fiction in so many ways, even if it is a bit messy at times.