griseldabanks

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 21

Story: The Four (original) Prompts: Enthusiastic greeting — Late night laughter — Waking up together

Timor couldn't suppress his grin as Norun banged his stick against the marble floor and announced loudly, “Lady Taria of the Tritons!”

Taria's expression was much more composed than his, but the ridges of translucent spikes on her head kept bristling up like a cat's fur and then smoothing down as she clearly tried to rein in her excitement. Her long tail also swished back and forth more vigorously than her stately gait down the plush blue carpet to the foot of the throne warranted. One of the castle guards escorting her stumbled slightly as her tail knocked into him.

At the halfway point, the guards flanking her came to a halt with a clank of armor, then they both saluted Timor and stood at attention. As Norun had no doubt instructed her, Taria took three more steps forward—though her strides were much longer than a human's, so she was much closer than most visitors and petitioners Timor saw in the throne room. She was close enough that he could see the flames from the candelabra flickering in her big black eyes and the red scales that covered her head to foot.

Taria bent in an elaborate bow, arms extended to either side, tail curled up behind her, and sank to one knee. Timor had to bite his lip momentarily to keep from bursting into laughter. Most onlookers probably thought this was a traditional Triton gesture or something, but Timor knew that even the Triton king only received a respectful nod of the head with a hand on the heart.

“You are most welcome, Lady Taria,” Timor said. Somehow, he managed to do it without laughing, even though she lifted her head and winked at him.

“Leave us, please,” he said, gesturing to the guards and meeting Norun's disapproving gaze. “I would speak with the Triton ambassador alone.”

Norun looked like he wanted to argue, but finally bowed deeply and backed out of the throne room, along with all the other attendants and hangers-on. When the door shut behind the last one, Timor finally did what he'd been wanting to do ever since she'd been announced. He hopped down from the throne and rushed forward, just as Taria got to her feet and caught him in a bear hug.

“Look at you, shooting up like a beansprout!” Taria laughed, swinging him around in a circle. “I leave you for a year, and you've gone and grown up without me!”

Now that he was on his feet right in front of her, Timor realized that his head actually came up to her shoulder now. Yet she looked the same as ever, except that instead of the black tunic he was used to seeing her in, she now wore a silky blue shirt and swishy pants of the same color that almost looked like a skirt when she stood still.

“And you're pretty good at ordering people around now,” Taria chuckled, ruffling his hair as if to make him look a bit more like the scrawny waif she'd first met. “Who'd have thought you'd make such a good king?”

“Not me,” Timor said earnestly. “It's mostly Norun's doing, anyway. He knows all the customs and regulations, so mostly I just do it like he says. I've still got a lot to learn.”

She cocked her head and looked at him with a smile that almost looked sad. “You really are growing up. You're not that scared little kid who used to huddle up next to me after a nightmare while I tried to make him laugh. Which was every night, I might add.”

Timor's cheeks felt hot as he crossed his arms, trying to frown. “Is that any way to speak to the High King?”

Taria snorted loudly, probably the most undignified sound that had ever echoed around these marble walls. “Oh, I've got a lot more blackmail where that came from, Your Majesty. You just better thank your lucky gemstones in that crown of yours that I'm here on a goodwill mission. On your request, I might add.”

“Oh, right.” Timor had almost forgotten why she was here, in the rush of excitement at seeing her again for the first time in a year. “So you accept, then? You'll be my advisor for Triton relations, and stick around for a while to teach me everything I need to know about your people?”

“Sure!” Taria said with a casual shrug, belied by all the ridges on her head standing straight up like an excited porcupine. “Just tell me one thing: Is Farawin doing this too?”

Timor blinked in surprise. “He got here yesterday. How did you guess?”

Taria tipped her head back and laughed. “I didn't guess, I knew! It's obvious you just want to get the four back together again.” She crushed him against her side in another hug, grinning down at him with a toothy smile.

“Yes,” Timor admitted, savoring the warm touch of her hand on his shoulder, a liberty no one ever took with him these days. “Of course I do. I can't be myself unless I've got you.”

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 20

Story: As My Own Soul (original) Prompts: Desperate hug — Sharing food — Care for caregiver

David slowly sat up in the darkness, listening hard for what woke him up. Some kind of sound? He held his breath, closing his eyes to shut out the orange glow of the streetlights behind his closed curtains.

There. The sound of muffled sobs. Coming from the living room, he thought.

“Jonathan?” he whispered.

No response. He must be fast asleep on the top bunk.

Normally, he would turn to Jonathan for help in any situation like this where he didn't know what to do. But...hadn't Jonathan been telling him he needed to start doing things himself, instead of relying on his brother for everything?

So David quietly got to his feet and eased through the door. As soon as he stepped into the hall, he saw the light of a single lamp on in the living room, and heard the unmistakable sounds of his mother crying.

He tiptoed out and paused in the doorway, looking at Mom sitting there, still wearing her pink-flowered scrubs from a long day of work. She held a picture frame tightly against her chest, and even though David couldn't see the photo it held, he knew it was the picture of Dad they kept on the bookcase.

Though he didn't think he'd made any sound, suddenly Mom looked up at him. “David?” she sniffled. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up.”

The sight of her tear-strewn face made David's throat feel tight. “You miss him too?” he whispered.

Which was a stupid thing to say; of course she missed Dad, or why would she be sitting here crying over his picture? But she nodded and wordlessly held her arms out to him.

He flew to her side, throwing his arms around her and burying his face in her soft, warm chest before she could see his tears. She held him close, rubbing his back and rocking him just like she had since he was a baby, even though she was still crying.

“I don't know why it hit me so hard today,” she finally said, after a minute or two of silence. “Just one of those days, I guess. I come home, and...I almost expect him to be here. But he's not.”

David clung to her tighter for a moment. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

“I try to be strong...for you,” she sniffled. “But it's just...it's hard.”

David felt so helpless as he listened to Mom's voice break and felt her chest heave with sobs full of a pain that might even be deeper than his. After all, she'd known Dad a lot longer, and some of those years he'd just been a baby, so he didn't even remember a lot of it.

What would Dad do if he were here? David had no idea. He'd never seen his parents have to deal with grief while they were both alive.

Okay. So what would Jonathan do, if he were awake and it was David who was crying?

Gently extricating himself from Mom's embrace, David got up and crossed the room to fetch the box of tissues. He grabbed one for himself, then handed the box to his Mom, who gave him a watery smile as she dabbed at her eyes.

Meanwhile, David went to the kitchen and peeked in the fridge. What would really hit the spot right now would be a nice thick slice of Grandma's chocolate cake, but they didn't have anything like that. Mom didn't have much time to cook, let alone bake anything when there wasn't something going on at church.

In the end, he settled on Pop-Tarts. He opened a package of the maple and brown sugar ones and popped both of them into the toaster.

For some reason, Mom laughed when he brought out the plate and offered it to her, but she ate hers all the same. She broke it in pieces with her fingers before eating it, while David just ate his whole and got a lapful of crumbs.

His gesture felt clumsy, not like it would have been if Jonathan had been the one comforting them. But even so, after their bellies were full of warm, sweet maple pastries, Mom pulled him close and kissed him on the forehead.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know I'll be okay as long as I've got you.”

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 19

Story: bartender story (original) Prompts: Putting on ointment — Thick blankets — Sunset

Kesric twitched again as Bob dabbed more ointment onto his back. “Watch it!” he growled.

“If you held still,” Bob said mildly, “it wouldn't hurt so much.”

“You try fighting the dragon next time, if you know so much about it.”

Bob wiped his hands on a cloth and began to bind the burn wounds on Kesric's back with bandages. “Seeing as how you've slain dragons before, Sir Kesric, I would have thought you would know how to avoid getting burnt to a crisp like this.”

To his slight surprise, Kesric didn't have another indignant retort for him. Maybe he was in more pain than Bob had realized. Resting his forehead on his hands clasped before him, Kesric muttered under his breath, “The others...can they hear us?”

Bob glanced over at Leon, who was supposed to be gathering firewood but instead was pretending a stick he'd found was a sword, and apparently was trying to imitate some of Kesric's moves against the dragon. Maolie, who had been subdued ever since they'd discovered her true parentage, had gone off to try to magic some fish out of the stream without so much as a word of her usual complaints.

“Just us,” Bob said, carefully pulling the bandages under Kesric's stomach to wrap all the way around his torso.

Kesric let out a defeated sigh, seeming to wilt beneath Bob's experienced hands. A shudder ran through him, rippling through his strong shoulders. “Then I have something to tell you, barkeeper. I...never slew that dragon.”

Bob hesitated for a moment as he processed this information, then kept going. “Oh? Then what is the true story, the one the legends don't tell?”

Another shiver ran through Kesric's whole body. The golden light from the setting sun glittered on a bead of moisture on his cheek. Perhaps sweat. Perhaps not.

“There was a nest,” he muttered, so quiet that even Bob could barely hear. “It was a mother protecting her eggs. I knew that soon, those eggs would hatch, and those dragons would grow to threaten the countryside even more than before...and yet...I just couldn't do it. I turned, and I ran.”

Bob tied off the bandage, moving as gently as he could. “And what happened then?”

“The dragon fled. I don't know if she took her children or left them to die as soon as they hatched, but the dragon was never seen in that kingdom again. Everyone thought I killed it...when in reality, all my actions did was warn it away. I'm sure that if you traveled far enough, you'd find a land where a dozen more villages have been burnt to the ground from a sudden influx of dragons.”

He was shivering even harder now. Bob began to worry that fever was setting in. He fetched a heavy blanket and carefully draped it over Kesric's back, knowing that weight might be uncomfortable on his wounds. But shivering would also be painful.

“I'm not a hero, Bob,” Kesric whispered. Beneath the shaggy strands of hair trailing over his face, his eyelids began to droop wearily. “I'm nothing but a coward.”

“You pushed me out of the way of dragonfire, lad,” Bob said, feeling at Kesric's forehead. Slightly warm, but nothing to be too concerned about. “And you stood your ground against the most fearsome beast we've seen yet. And despite the way Leon talks, being a hero isn't everything, really. There are far more important things....”

He trailed off when he saw that Kesric was fast asleep. Bob gathered up his supplies and heaved himself to his feet. Maybe, if Leon would leave off his stick-fighting, he could help Bob find some feverfew.

“I've got you,” he murmured to Kesric's sleeping form. “Just rest easy now, and we'll have you back on your feet in no time.”

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 18

Story: superhero siblings (original) Prompts: Coming home — Kitchen dancing — Sleeping in

There was nothing more luxurious than sleeping in on a weekday and waking up to the pattering of raindrops on the window. Sophie kept her eyes closed, snuggling deeper under the heavy quilt as she listened to the drip-drip-drip of water in the gutter, or the downspout, or wherever it was.

It had been so long since Sophie had allowed herself such simple comforts. For weeks, the only sleep she'd gotten had been a few sporadic, fitful hours on a bus or train or in whatever hidey-hole they managed to find. But it was never particularly comfortable, and she never really felt like she could let her guard down completely. Because what if Dr. Clementine's men found them? What if they had to jump up and start running again?

Even before they'd run away, Sophie had never felt completely relaxed in the big, plush bed in Dr. Clementine's mansion either. There was always that lingering unease, even before Dr. Clementine had shown his true colors, the sense that they didn't really belong.

But they belonged here. They'd only been here a couple days, and already Sophie felt like they'd finally come home. The stairs creaked and the floor creaked and the ancient beds sagged in the middle, and there were still so many things they didn't know about Dr. Kartal or how they would slot into his life.

But he promised that he would take them shopping for new mattresses and new clothes, and it didn't feel like a bribe. He didn't assure them he could buy any book they wanted, but every room in this house had at least one overflowing bookcase, and when he'd realized he had very few books that would interest six- and eight-year-old girls, he took them to the public library almost before he'd even restocked his pantry.

And most importantly of all...he made them feel safe. That was probably the most important thing, Sophie decided. Her heart didn't seize up when she heard Dr. Kartal's footsteps creaking across the floor. His smile didn't make her feel sick to her stomach. She didn't know what the future held for them, but somehow she knew that as long as they had Dr. Kartal, everything would be okay.

A tugging on the quilt made Sophie crack her eyes open. “Sophie!” Grace said in a loud whisper. “I'm hungry!”

With a yawn and a full-body stretch, Sophie reluctantly emerged from the warm cocoon of her bed. Across the room, Rebecca sat up in the bed she was sharing with Grace, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Okay, let's go see what we've got for breakfast.”

Sophie reached over and nudged the bundle of blankets on the couch that was Jack. Dr. Kartal had suggested making up a bed for him in another room, but none of them wanted to be too far apart right now. “C'mon, sleepyhead,” she said, slapping the thick blanket with a dull thwap.

“Huh?” With a loud snort, Jack rolled over and fell onto the ground, still tangled up in blankets.

Laughing, his sisters helped him untangle himself before he could tear the blankets in a sleepy misuse of strength. And in a few minutes, they all trooped down two flights of spiral stairs to the kitchen. Sophie opened the fridge to see what their options were, shivering and wishing she'd thought to put something on over her pajamas. Rebecca, who hated wearing socks when she could get away with it, was sitting on her bare feet on a chair at the kitchen table.

“No Lucky Charms,” Grace said morosely from the pantry. “He's only got corn flakes and oatmeal.”

Rebecca made a face, but Jack said optimistically, “Corn flakes aren't so bad. If you put sugar on them it's basically the same as Frosted Flakes. And we could make toast,” he added, opening the bread box, which they had filled the day before.

“I know!” Sophie said, pulling out some eggs and milk. “Let's make French toast!”

Everyone perked up at that, but then came the debate about how exactly one made French toast. Sophie knew it involved dipping bread into a mixture of eggs and milk, but it had been so long since she'd helped their mother make any, she couldn't remember how much of each they needed. And she was pretty sure their mother used to put vanilla and cinnamon in too.

The whole French toast plan threatened to come crashing down when Rebecca cried out in horror, “Wait! He doesn't have syrup!”

Sophie frowned at the big sugar jar sitting on the counter, wondering if she dared try her hand at making syrup of her own, even if it wouldn't be maple syrup, when suddenly a voice in the doorway brought them all up short. “What's all this, then?”

They all whipped around, frozen as if caught with their hands in the cookie jar, to find Dr. Kartal standing there tying the belt of a plaid dressing gown, his greying hair all askew and making him look even more disheveled than usual. He pushed his glasses farther up his nose, peering around at them all.

“S-Sorry, sir,” Jack stammered, stepping forward as if to take the brunt of the blame, like he always did....

But those sharp black eyes were twinkling behind his spectacles. “Making French toast on a Tuesday morning and you didn't invite me?”

Warmth suffused Sophie from head to toe as she remembered all over again that none of them had to worry about anything they said or did being used against them. “Well, that was the plan,” she said sheepishly, “but I'm not sure I know exactly how to make it....”

“Tut, tut!” Dr. Kartal bustled forward. “I've got you. Not to worry, made it a thousand times myself. But first!” He held up a finger, raising one eyebrow sternly as he looked them in the eye one by one. “We need some music.”

He pulled out a CD and fed it into the dusty CD player sitting on the windowsill, and in moments the whole room filled with exhilarating music played on instruments Sophie had never heard before. It put her in mind of sun-warmed hills, tall mountains in the distance, golden grasses swaying in the wind. And it was almost impossible not to start swaying herself in time to the music.

She glanced around and saw Jack's foot tapping to the beat, Rebecca drumming her fingers on the table, Grace swishing back and forth in her nightgown in the pantry door. Seeing this, Dr. Kartal began snapping his fingers and breaking into exaggerated dance moves that had them all laughing.

“Come, all of you!” he said, sashaying towards Sophie and holding out his hand as if to lead her onto a ballroom floor. “Many hands make light work!”

And so Sophie let Dr. Kartal spin her in a clumsy pirouette, and they all danced around each other as he directed each of them to measure out the ingredients. The rain beat against the window, the morning light dim and grey. But inside, the kitchen was full of laughter, warmth, and music.

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 17

Story: The Ambassadors (original) Prompts: Healing wounds — I love you text/note — Rain on the roof

Pronunciation note: Shynael = shuh-NIE-ell

Shynael whimpered.

“Shhh, it's okay,” Shard murmured. “I've got you.”

“Hurts,” Shynael said, then whined deep in his throat like a dog when moving his jaw jostled the quills stuck in his nose and mouth.

“I know, I know,” Shard said, holding his dragon's head still in his lap with one hand while he used the other to carefully pull another quill out from the chinks in Shynael's scales. He'd always heard that dragon scales were even more impenetrable than chainmail, but it seemed Shynael's hide hadn't quite hardened to that extent yet.

“Didn't your mother warn you to be careful of porcupines and prickly creatures like that?” Shard couldn't help asking. It felt like Shynael's mother had something to say about everything else.

Shynael opened shiny golden eyes and looked up at him mournfully, but he didn't seem to want to try talking again. He lay draped over Shard's knee like a large dog hoping for a pat on the head, his claws digging into Shard's leg painfully every time he pulled on another quill. It felt like every time he pulled a quill out of Shynael's snout, he was stabbing himself with it.

“Well, you know better now,” Shard said, pulling out another quill with a smooth tug.

Rain pattered on their shelter as Shard continued to work. It was too wet to build a fire, so it was chilly even with Shynael's warm weight pressed against him. And Shard didn't want to think about how muddy his clothes were or how annoying it would be to wash them in the morning and have nothing dry to change into. But at least he'd been able to craft this serviceable, if a bit leaky and drafty, shelter out of tree branches overhanging a large boulder.

“Okay, last one,” Shard said, bracing one hand around the largest quill spearing Shynael's nose. He winced himself as Shynael's clawed feet clamped around his leg. He would definitely have bruises there by the morning, if it hadn't broken skin. “Ready? One...two—“ He yanked the quill out before Shynael could tense up any further.

With a loud yelp, Shynael jerked back, knocking over one of the tree branches with his tail. Shard scrambled to put their shelter back together, then finally slumped back against the cold rock, wetter than ever.

“Sorry,” Shynael mumbled, still hardly opening his mouth. He folded his wings close to his body and curled his tail around his feet, making himself as small as a mastiff-sized dragon could be.

“Don't worry about it,” Shard said, wiping his hands on his already grimy knees, surreptitiously feeling for bruises. “It's over now. You want some food?”

Shynael perked up for a second, then worked his jaw a little bit and shook his head. His mouth would probably still pain him for a while, and unfortunately all they had to eat right now was dried meat and stale bread. Maybe, if the rain let up in the morning, he'd see if he could find a bird's nest and cook up some eggs for them.

But for now, all he could do was try to make Shynael feel a little less miserable. “Come here,” he said, opening his arms.

Shynael was getting too big for this, but he clambered into Shard's lap, his back legs still on the ground while he curled his neck around Shard's, gingerly resting his head on Shard's shoulder. It was like holding a lizard the size of a dog, while also draping a snake around his shoulders. But at least it left him a lot warmer than before.

He reached up to rub Shynael on his favorite spot on his snout, then thought better of it and just patted his neck instead. He found himself fiddling with the little pile of porcupine quills he'd made.

People made pens out of these, didn't they? Father Mark always used feathers, but he'd heard tell of it. Idly, Shard began scratching in the dirt with one of the longer quills, the movements coming back to him easily even though it had been so long since he'd been somewhere civilized enough for writing.

“What's that?” Shynael asked, unwinding his neck so he could see better. “Is that the writing you told me about?”

“That's right,” Shard said, rubbing out the idle letters he'd scratched out and starting over again more purposefully. Shynael had already explained that dragons didn't write at all, which seemed preposterous to Shard. Apparently, they just passed their stories down orally and simply memorized everything their elders told them.

“What are you writing?” Shynael asked when he paused at the end of his short line of symbols. “What's it say?”

Shard smiled. “It says, 'I love you.'”

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 16

Story: Captain America Prompts: Carrying — Reading aloud — Loving gaze

Note: This takes place in my Whole Shards AU, after the end of my fic Take Me In. Check it out if any of this makes you curious!

“Okay, buddy—bedtime.”

Jake looked up at Steve with huge, plaintive blue eyes. “But Daddy, I'm not tired at all.” The effect was ruined somewhat by his jaw-splitting yawn.

Bucky hid his smile behind his hand, wondering how Steve could keep a straight face as he said, “It's bedtime whether you're tired or not, Jake. Come on, come pick out a bedtime story.”

Reluctantly, Jake got up from the coffee table, where he'd been showing Bucky how to make a LEGO car. But then he looked at Bucky and brightened. “I want Bucky to read my bedtime story!”

“If that's okay with Bucky,” Steve said, scooping Jake into his arms.

“Uh...okay.” Bucky trailed after them into Jake's bedroom, trying to remember if he'd ever read a bedtime story to anyone before. Usually his mom would tuck his sisters in when they were little. He'd read to Steve sometimes when he was sick....

He'd been back for a week now, but Jake still insisted on doing everything with Bucky. He insisted on sitting next to him (if not right in his lap), he grabbed Bucky's hand any time they went walking, and every time Bucky turned around, Jake was there to proudly show off one of his books or toys or games, or to ask him to color with him or something.

Bucky wouldn't have been surprised if Steve were a bit jealous that suddenly Jake seemed to have swapped out who his favorite person was. But every time Bucky looked over at Steve, he saw nothing but a fond smile.

“First you gotta tuck me in,” Jake said bossily as he clambered into bed.

Bucky glanced furtively at Steve, who just sat in the rocking chair across the room and settled in to watch. No help at all.

“Um...like this?” Moving clumsily with only one hand, Bucky pulled the sheet up to Jake's chin. It didn't look right, but Jake tucked it under his arms without complaint and patted the empty space at his side.

“Now sit here and read so I can see the pictures. That's what my daddy does.”

Great. Being reminded of Steve Rogers, Father of the Year and Best Reader of Bedtime Stories, was exactly what he needed right now.

Gingerly, Bucky perched on the edge of the mattress next to Jake's pillow, then picked up the little book he pointed to on his bedside table. It was a picture book about rabbits, apparently, called Runaway Bunny.

“I can help turn the pages,” Jake offered, sitting up and leaning over Bucky to open the book. Jake was always on the lookout for things Bucky struggled to do with only one arm; he wondered sometimes if Steve had told him to do that.

Clearing his throat, Bucky started to read. “Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away. So he said to his mother, 'I am running away.'

'If you run away,' said his mother, 'I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.'”

As he continued, reading the series of fanciful ideas the little bunny had for escaping his mother's grasp, Jake snuggled up closer against Bucky's empty left side. Jake reached over to turn the pages while Bucky held the book in his lap, moving slower each time. He slumped heavier and heavier against Bucky, until his hand lay still at the final page.

Bucky flipped the last page one-handed and read, “'Shucks,' said the bunny, 'I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.

And so he did. 'Have a carrot,' said the mother bunny.”

And that was the end. A silly end to a silly book...so why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

He looked down at Jake, fast asleep and practically lying in his lap now. The little boy who used to be so stiff and nervous around him, sure that at any moment someone would lash out or yell or punish him...and now his cheek lay pillowed on the thigh of a deadly assassin.

Slowly, Bucky set the book aside again and dared to reach out with a finger that had pulled the trigger so many times...and he lightly, ever so lightly, brushed a tuft of dark hair out of Jake's face.

Over in the rocking chair, Steve was wiping away tears. What a sap.

Bucky held his breath to keep the sobs inside so he wouldn't wake up Jake.

[griseldabanks]

We take a brief break from the main plot to follow Steve and Sharon on their first(?) date.

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Now, what's this about a date?” “It's Sharon—” “Obviously.” “—and I don't really have a lot of experience in this area....” “Through no fault of mine, might I add.” “Yeah, thanks,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 15

Story: As My Own Soul (original) Prompts: Shopping trip — Storytelling — Laughing phone call

The card slipped from David's fingers. He snatched at it, but it just bounced off his fingers, fell to the gutter...and slipped through the bars into the drain.

David stared after it in horror. His subway pass...his only way of getting home....

Suddenly, the voices and footsteps echoing up the stairs towards him seemed to grow louder and louder, mingling with the cacophony of voices, cars swishing through puddles, honking horns, street musicians....

He hastily backed up to the nearest wall, pressing his back against it and trying to breathe. Was that man smoking on the corner looking at him? Were those laughing teenagers over there laughing at him for dropping his subway pass? Dozens and dozens of people rushed by, all of them with places to go, no attention to spare for a terrified boy who couldn't seem to breathe all of a sudden, too focused on their shopping trips or their phones....

Phone.

With shaking fingers, David fumbled his cellphone out of his pocket. It was Mom's ancient flip phone that she'd given him when she'd finally switched over to a smartphone. He was only supposed to use it in case of emergency, but...this was an emergency, wasn't it?

He looked at the two numbers saved in his phone. For a long moment, he stared at Mom's number. She would be in the middle of her day at work, but he knew she would drop everything if he told her he was stuck downtown. But...then he would have to tell her why he was downtown....

So he highlighted their home number and called that instead. He closed his eyes as he listened to the long tone sounding in his ear. “Come on,” he whispered, “pick up....”

Click. “Hello?”

“Jonathan!” he said, a little too loudly judging from how some passersby looked at him.

“David?”

“Jonathan, I-I dropped my pass down the drain, and-and-and now I can't get back home, and I...I....”

“Hey, slow down there, dude.” Jonathan's voice sounded so calm, so normal. David closed his eyes again and took a deep breath, trying to pretend his brother was right there next to him. “All you gotta do is go buy another one, right?”

“But...if I do that...I won't have enough left.”

“For what?”

Shame swirled in his gut as he pulled out the ad he'd ripped out of the paper. “For Mom's birthday present. I was gonna get her this necklace....” Looking at the crinkled bit of paper, it now seemed like a stupid idea. She probably wouldn't even like it...and when would she even wear it? She couldn't wear jewelry like this at work.

“Ah. And you can't buy it and then ask her to pick you up, because then she'll see it.”

“Couldn't you pick me up?” David asked hopefully, even though he knew what the answer would be.

“Duh, I don't have a license,” Jonathan laughed. “Just go buy a ticket, David, and get her something else for her birthday.”

“But I can't!” he protested. “That's all of my allowance.”

“Sooooo...make something.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, let me think.” Sarcasm dripped from Jonathan's voice. “What skill could I possibly be talking about that involves you coming up with something creative that costs zero money?”

“What, you mean like...telling a story?”

“Ding ding! Give the little man a prize!”

“But...I've never shown Mom any of my stories before....”

“See? It'll be the perfect surprise!”

“But what do I write about?”

“You're the creative one, not me. Look...just get your ticket, come home, and maybe we can brainstorm something. How's that sound?”

David took a deep breath, looking around himself again. The crowds had dissipated somewhat in between trains. There would be plenty of time for him to get another ticket, then get back home before Mom got off work. It would be fine.

“Thanks, Jonathan,” he mumbled.

“Hey, that's what I'm here for.”

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 14

Story: bartender story (original) Prompts: After nightmare — Day together — Random gift

“Here you go, lad,” Bob said, handing over a steaming mug of tea. “Drink up, now.”

But Leon just sat cupping the little travel mug in both hands, staring into the tea as if considering drowning himself in its depths.

Bob returned to his task of scrubbing out the pot he'd cooked their morning porridge in. Leon's bowl lay untouched, growing cold and crusty on the ground next to him. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his hair tousled from another restless night.

“Would be better to talk about it, wouldn't it?” Bob said. “If you don't stir your thoughts and ladle them out every now and then, they stick to the bottom and burn black, that's what I always say.”

Leon just turned his mug around and around in his hands.

“Come, lad, Kesric and Maolie are off to market, and there's naught but old Bob and the birds to hear—“

“I'm a coward.” Leon's voice, hoarse from disuse, cracked around the clearing like a whiplash.

“Well, now, it was the Cave of Frights,” Bob pointed out, glancing over at Leon's haunted expression. “I think we all saw things that gave us a turn.” He himself didn't like thinking of that dark pit he'd looked down, strewn with the broken bodies of his friends....

Leon shook his head. “It's...not just that. Everyone else...you were all afraid, but you pressed on. But me? I froze up. I saw an image of the Dark Lord himself, and I just...stood there. Kesric had to grab me and throw me over his shoulder like a sack.”

So that was what he'd seen. None of them could see the terrifying sights that appeared to the others. That was the spell cast upon that cave—it showed each of them what they feared most.

“And now....” Leon clutched his tea even harder, his eyes staring bleakly at nothing. “Every night...it's the same thing, again and again. I face the Dark Lord...and I can't move....”

Bob tossed the last of the dirty water into the grass outside their circle of bedrolls, then set the pot on its side next to the fire to dry out. They would most likely be here all day, so no need to pack everything away.

“What if that happens for real?” Leon shuddered so hard a bit of tea slopped over the side of his mug and dripped, unnoticed, into the grass between his feet. “I'm supposed to be the Chosen One...but what if I get to the Dark Lord and I just...I can't? What if—“

“Then let's go home.” Bob shrugged when Leon looked up at him in consternation. “I'll need some help rebuilding my tavern. Maybe Maolie can gather up some funds...we can sell the gemstones from the Hero's Blade...and you can come and help me run my tavern. No need to worry about Dark Lords anymore.”

“But...But...no!” Leon spluttered, spilling tea everywhere as he gestured angrily. “The Dark Lord killed my parents and burned down my village! He has to be stopped! He has to, or there will be more children just like me, only they won't have prophecies about them that give them the power to face him, and he'll just continue razing the countryside, and...and...and how am I going to live with myself if that happened?”

“Hmm.” Bob got to his feet, crossed to the fire, and picked up the teapot. “Now that doesn't sound like something a coward would say.”

Leon stared at him while Bob refilled his mug with fresh tea, then fetched another for himself and sat down on the log next to him. “What...but...but I'm...scared.”

Bob blew on his tea to cool it. “As you should be, lad. You'd be a right fool otherwise. But maybe the next time you feel yourself freezing up like that, you just need to think about those children you mentioned. If you fear that more than the Dark Lord, I don't think you'll have any trouble defeating him.”

Leon sat staring into his tea for a moment more. Then, at last, he raised it to his lips and drank. “Oh, this is really good!” he said, staring at the tea in surprise before downing it in a few gulps.

“Naturally,” Bob chuckled. “I put a little powdered sleepwort root in, from that old coot we saved from the bandits. Won't affect me much, but to someone of your weight, on an empty stomach, who's hardy slept an hour the last two nights combined? You'll be out like a—“

He looked over, and sure enough, Leon was already nodding, the mug slipping from his hands. With a smile, Bob helped him slump down onto the ground and covered him with his blanket. With any luck, this time his sleep would be unhindered by the Dark Lord or anything else.

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 13

Story: The Ambassadors (original) Prompts: Relearning a skill — Surprise compliment — Fresh laundry

Pronunciation note: Shynael = shuh-NIE-ell, Vannasai = VAH-nuh-sigh

“Oh, look!” Shynael called out with a trill of laughter. “The hatchling's finally learned how to walk!”

“Very funny,” Shard grumbled, using the haft of a spear as a walking stick as he hobbled out of his room. His wounds were healing, but he still felt unsteady on his feet as soon as he'd gotten out of bed.

When he looked up from carefully watching his feet as he eased himself down the steps to the main courtyard, he realized that what at first glance he'd taken to be dappled sunlight on the dragons' backs were actually articles of clothing. Shirts and vests and leggings stretched out over their scales. “What's all this?”

“Your clothes,” Shynael trilled, “what's it's look like?”

Vannasai let out a short, musical trill as well. “Did you never do this on your travels? It's always how Vesper used to dry out her clothes.”

“Legacy said we had servants for this sort of thing,” Vesper said softly, coming into view around Vannasai's shoulder, carrying a basket with laundry that she proceeded to spread across Vannasai's green scales warming in the sun.

“That's so smart,” Shard said, hobbling closer. “I always just used bushes on our travels. You have such practical ideas, Vesper.”

She glanced over in surprise, her cheeks coloring at this unexpected praise. She ducked her head, but for once, she wasn't wearing her hooded cloak, and her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, so nothing could fall down and hide her small, pleased smile.

Shard smiled back, even though she wasn't looking. She deserved the praise.

Vesper reached into the basket and pulled out a white sheet—probably the one she'd taken off his bed that morning and replaced. She struggled to drape it over Vannasai's broad side.

“Here,” Shard said, limping over as quickly as he could. “Let me help.”

“Oh—no, you're hurt—“

“It's fine. Look, I'll hold it; you climb up, and I'll pass one end to you.”

After another feeble protest that she could manage on her own, Vesper saw that he was determined, and clambered up onto her dragon's back, with a little nudge from Vannasai's nose. Reaching up over his head and passing a corner of the sheet to her pulled on Shard's sore muscles more painfully than he tried to let on, but finally Vesper caught hold of the sheet and shook it out, snapping smartly in the breeze like the sail of a ship and then draping it over an empty patch of green scales.

The breeze ruffled Shard's hair, refreshingly cool in the bright glare of the sun. With it came the scents of new greenery on the trees, the flowery smell of the soap Vesper had used, and the ever-present smoky odor of dragon. It had become the smell of home.

His knees were beginning to feel weak again, so Shard staggered over to Shynael's side. Seeming to guess exactly what Shard needed most, Shynael obligingly crooked his foreleg at just the right angle that Shard could lower himself onto it like it was a bench, leaning back against Shynael's shoulder.

Shynael curled his neck around to lay his head protectively across Shard's feet. He gave a great yawn, tongue curling back like a cat's, then settled in for a doze in the sun. Vannasai did the same, while Vesper slid down off her dragon's side and sat down with a basket of mending.

A peaceful silence, such as Shard hadn't known for far too long, settled over the courtyard. He closed his eyes and let himself savor it.

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 12

Story: The Last of Us Prompts: Hand on shoulder — Practical gift — Movie night

Jackson really was an amazing place. Joel hadn't bothered with Christmas in twenty years—no point, no time, no desire. Too many memories, too much pain. And no one else seemed to care much about mistletoe and tinsel either, not when one wrong move could spell the end for you and everyone around you.

But here in this one small pocket of sanity in a world of chaos, they had Christmas trees. Lights, both electric and candles. Red berries that he didn't think were actually holly, but something close enough. People sang Christmas carols. The chapel had a little hand-carved Nativity set in one corner, a menorah in another, and at certain times of the day, there was story time for the children, where someone would tell traditional winter tales from a multitude of cultures.

And then there were the movie nights. Every Friday night, the whole town—except for a few on guard duty—would crowd into the meeting house, where an ancient projector would be carefully set up with one of their treasured Christmas movies, and everyone would pass around treats while they watched. They didn't have much in the way of cinnamon or vanilla, and chocolate had to be carefully rationed, but there was plenty of corn to pop. They drank steaming mugs of apple cider and something kind of like eggnog. There were cookies sweetened with honey, and candy made from maple syrup. And children's eyes shone with just as much wonder and excitement as he remembered seeing decades ago.

Tonight, the movie was Home Alone. Joel had been reluctant to go to this one; even just hearing the name dredged up memories of Sarah watching it incessantly when she was a kid. But Ellie was enamored with every movie they showed, so she dragged Joel out to see this one too. They sat together and watched the woes of a boy whose cushy life in a big house with a family who could afford a vacation to Paris couldn't have been further from their own experiences.

When they introduced the old neighbor shoveling snow that the kids were afraid of for some reason, Ellie leaned over and nudged Joel in the ribs. “He's just like you,” she whispered. “'Cause he's old.”

For that, Joel nudged Ellie back and reached over to snag a handful of her popcorn. She stuck her tongue out at him, then turned back to the movie and laughed at the next joke.

He kept glancing back at her through the movie. He'd thought it would be painful to revisit this old favorite of Sarah's, but somehow everything was different with Ellie at his side. He watched the way her eyes crinkled up with laughter, the way she contentedly munched on her popcorn, the way the light from the projector reflected on her eyes thrown wide in surprise at Kevin's crazy attempts to keep robbers away from his house.

He saw the movie through Ellie's eyes, and it became new. Just like the rest of the world did.

Later that night, they stood outside the meeting house along with several other huddles of people lingering to say goodnight. Ellie enthusiastically recounted every last one of Kevin's traps, as if they hadn't both just finished watching the same movie. “And then he set his head on fire!” she crowed, throwing her own head back and laughing. “Man, that kid would've been great against the infected!”

“Yeah, he probably would have,” Joel said, glancing around and noticing that they were the last ones there. He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, let's go home.”

They set off down the snow-covered streets, occasionally waving to fellow townsfolk they passed. They walked in silence until they turned down a side street off the main, well-lit road. Down this way, they saw few lights, since there weren't many people who lived in these houses.

“Is this what it was like?” Ellie's words sounded close, muffled by the snow surrounding them. “Before, I mean. Is this what Christmas was like?”

Joel nodded. “More or less, I guess. Though there were more people trying to get you to buy expensive crap for Christmas presents. Can't say I miss all the commercials and crowds in the mall.”

“I wish I could see a mall at Christmastime,” Ellie sighed wistfully. “Just imagine—you can walk around and just pick something brand new to give somebody for Christmas.”

“Nah, you're much better off here,” Joel said. “Speaking of which,” he added, coming to a stop outside his little cabin, “come on inside. Got something for you.”

Ellie's eyes opened wide with that same wonder he'd seen while watching the movie with her. “Wait, you mean like a Christmas present? But it's not till next week!”

Joel shrugged, leading the way up the steps to his house. “I'm on rotation for patrols next week. Don't know what time I'll make it back on Christmas Day. But it's ready, so I might as well....”

“Okay, so what is it?” Ellie charged up the steps after him, brimming over with smiles and energy.

“All right, all right,” Joel laughed, flipping the lights on and heading over to the cupboard where he'd been keeping her gift. “I didn't wrap it or nothin' yet.”

“I'm guessing it's not another trip to a....” Ellie's voice trailed away as he turned back towards her.

Joel crossed the room and placed in her hands a brand-new leather holster. “Merry Christmas, Ellie.”

For a moment, Ellie just rubbed her thumb back and forth over the soft leather, and Joel wondered if she were disappointed. It was a practical gift, sure, but after her birthday present, maybe she'd been hoping for....

Ellie looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “This is so cool! Where'd you get this?” She immediately buckled it on, pulling an imaginary pistol out and blowing nonexistent smoke away.

“Made it.”

“You made this?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, feeling a little sheepish now. “Uh...yeah. Hank showed me how. Made a few others didn't look so good before I really got the hang of it....”

“Aw man, now I feel bad that all I got for you was a new coat.” Ellie clapped her hand over her mouth.

Joel grinned. “You got me a coat?”

“Yeah, I traded for it....” Ellie swore. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Well, I promise to look surprised when you give it to me.” He pulled her into a hug.

Ellie squeezed extra tight for a moment. “Thanks, Joel.”

“Merry Christmas.” And it was—a merrier Christmas than he'd had in twenty years.

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 11

Story: superhero siblings (original) Prompts: Verbal affirmation — Couch cuddles — Nose kiss

“Jack!” Sophie cried in alarm when she looked up and saw the way her brother staggered through the door.

Knees trembling, hands shaking as he collapsed against the wall, Jack nevertheless tried to give his sisters a reassuring smile as the the door swung shut behind him and the lock quietly clicked. Sophie rushed forward, lending him a shoulder to lean on as she helped him to the couch. She hated how heavily he slumped against her.

“Did he hurt you?” Grace asked in a tiny voice.

Sophie looked over to where her sisters had been half-heartedly playing with the enormous dollhouse Dr. Clementine had given them. At first, they'd been overjoyed with its beautiful, intricate details, down to the working light switches and the little remote-controlled car. But all of Dr. Clementine's lavish gifts had lost their luster in the past few weeks.

“No, I'm fine,” Jack said, but he was so weak that he didn't seem able to lift his head from where it rested on the back of the couch. “He just had me...doing chores.”

“What kind of chores?” Sophie demanded, sitting down next to him.

For a moment, Jack just stared at the ceiling, like he could somehow avoid answering the question that way. But finally, he mumbled, “There was a truck with a flat tire, so I lifted it while the mechanic changed it.”

“Oh. But you've done that before, right?”

Jack wearily closed his eyes. “Not like a pickup truck. Like a delivery truck. Must've been completely full. And...he made me hold it over my head. He wanted all the tires to be checked. And I had to hold it steady the whole time.”

“What?” Anger burned in Sophie's chest. “Why would he need you to do that? You can check the air when they're on the ground, can't you?”

“Yeah,” Jack sighed. “I think he's testing me. I mean...obviously there's the tests in the lab. But he wants to see if I'll do what he says. There were way more guards than usual, and they all had guns. It's like...he wants to see if I'll go along with whatever he asks me to do, or if I'll rebel. As if I can do anything, when....”

Cold fingers of dread clutched around Sophie's throat as she looked around at her siblings. Every time she thought about Dr. Clementine's thinly veiled threats, the way he held each of their wellbeing hostage at different times, promising swift retribution if any of them acted out...she wanted to scream.

“Sorry.” Jack's voice was a harsh whisper that sounded loud in the silence. “I'm sorry I...I can't protect you....” He bit his lip, which had begun to tremble.

Glancing at each other, Rebecca and Grace set aside their dolls and crossed over to the couch. Rebecca leaned up against his side, hugging his arm. Grace climbed right into his lap, wrapping arms and legs koala-style around his torso. She kissed the tip of his nose and then buried her face in the crook of his neck.

Sophie caught a glimpse of tears in Jack's eyes, still pointed up at the ceiling, before she wrapped her arms around all of them in a big hug. “I know it doesn't feel like it right now,” she murmured, tears pricking her eyes, “but you are. You are protecting us. You're the strongest person we know—and I'm not just talking about your powers.”

“Yeah,” Rebecca said quietly. “I always feel like if you're strong, I can be strong too.”

When Jack spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “The only reason...I even try...is because of you guys.”

They were all crying now, in a big huddle on the couch just like that first awful night after their parents had died. But it helped, Sophie thought. It was always scary when Jack got weak like this, so weak he could barely move. It was terrifying to think about how they'd ended up here, in this helpless situation at the mercy of a man who'd turned out to be worse than a monster.

Even after they'd all sniffled themselves to silence, none of them seemed to want to let go. Sitting here like this, they could almost forget about their awful situation. It almost felt normal, like they would all open their eyes and find themselves somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere like....

“Let's go home,” Grace whispered.

“Think somebody else's living there now, Gracie,” Jack mumbled, patting her on the back.

“It wouldn't be home without Mom and Dad anyway,” Rebecca muttered, drying her eyes on Jack's sleeve.

“Not our old home,” Grace said, as if this should be obvious. “Dr. Clementine said this would be our home now, but it's not. So let's go find our real home.”

Could she dare to hope again? Sophie had believed Dr. Clementine's friendly smile, as had they all. She'd thought maybe they could build a new life here. It had all turned out to be a dreadful lie...but was it worth it to believe that their true home was still out there somewhere?

“You're right,” Jack said softly, breaking into her thoughts. “We can't just give up. We have to keep trying.”

Sophie straightened just enough to look at Jack's face. He looked a little stronger already, a little more like his old self. “Do you really think we can do it?”

Jack looked around at them all, catching each of their gazes and giving each of them a little smile. “If we all work together...yes.”

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 10

Story: clone sister (original) Prompts: Overcoming fear — Sharing a bed — Lullaby

Lightning flashed. Thunder growled. Lily sighed and rolled over, squinting at the light from her phone as she checked the time. Four hours until she had to get up for work, and she couldn't sleep. Tomorrow was going to be just wonderful.

Another crash of thunder. It wasn't just how loud the storm was. She hadn't been able to sleep through a storm in five years.

With a defeated sigh, Lily sat up and turned on the lamp on her bedside table. High time she admitted defeat and just did something useful. She picked up her phone and scrolled through a few playlists before picking one filled with soft, soothing music. She just needed something to focus on instead of the rain pounding the windows.

Loving and fighting Accusing, denying I can't imagine a world with you gone

Hmm. Not her favorite, but....

Lightning flashed again, and beneath the sound of the thunder that shook the whole house, Lily heard the sound of a tiny squeak. Looking up, she found that the door to her room stood ajar, though it was hard to tell if the squeak had come from the hinges or the small girl peering through the gap.

“Ivy? What are you doing up?” Another roll of thunder answered her question. “Are you scared?”

Ivy's round eyes glistened in the golden light of the lamp. “My heart is pounding very hard....”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that means you're scared. Why didn't you go get Mom and Dad?”

Ivy shrank back a little into the shadows. “Your light is on. They are asleep. I do not know why...but I did not want to be alone.”

Hold on, I still want you... Come back, I still need you...

“Well, come in, then,” Lily said impatiently. “No sense in just standing in the doorway.”

Ivy slipped inside and carefully pushed the door shut behind her. She didn't come any closer, just stared at Lily with that flat, unnerving stare. Not for the first time, Lily wished they'd had enough to afford some kind of personality conditioning before they brought her home, even if it wasn't Rose's personality.

The next blast of thunder came an instant after the flash of lightning, deafeningly close. Sounded like the storm was right overhead. Since Lily was already looking at Ivy's face, she saw the exact moment her face scrunched up with fear, eyes going wide, forehead furrowing, breath catching....

They pull you in to feel your heartbeat Can you hear me screaming, “Please don't leave me”?

Rose used to be scared of thunder. When she was Ivy's age, she would run crying into their parents' room on a night like this. She never went to Lily for comfort.

But...Ivy wasn't Rose.

Lily pulled the covers aside. “Come on. You can sleep with me tonight.”

Ivy darted forwards, vaulting up onto the bed and diving under the covers. Lily couldn't suppress a small smile as she tucked the blanket around the little bundle of warmth curling up against her side.

I don't wanna let go I know I'm not that strong I just wanna hear you Saying, "Baby, let's go home."

As she lay down beside Ivy, Lily wondered if she would get any sleep at all this night. But maybe at least Ivy would.

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 9

Story: superhero siblings (original) Prompts: Scars — Passing smile — Baking cookies

“Who keeps cookbooks in their library?” Rebecca asked, wrinkling her nose as she flipped through the ancient Betty Crocker cookbook.

“Dr. Kartal, apparently,” Jack said, and the kitchen rang with their laughter.

“He probably just gets his recipes off the internet or something,” Sophie pointed out, wiggling her fingers at Rebecca until she handed over the cookbook. She found the tab for desserts, and flipped to that section of the thick book. “Now, what kind of cookies should we make?”

“Chocolate chip?” Jack suggested.

“Sprinkles!” Grace piped up.

“Peanut butter,” Rebecca said confidently.

“Maybe we should just go with sugar cookies,” Sophie said, biting her lip. “We don't know what kind he likes....”

“Isn't it the thought that counts?” Jack said. “I think he'll be happy no matter what we make for him.”

Rebecca scrunched up her nose again. “Yeah, but you know how awful it is to get a Christmas present you can't even enjoy? Like, what if he doesn't like chocolate or he's allergic to peanuts or something?”

Sophie turned another page in the cookbook and smiled for a moment before turning it around to show her siblings. “How about this one? Sugar cookies, but you can make paint with egg yolks and food coloring. Everybody likes sugar cookies!”

Watching her smile spread to all three of her siblings, Sophie sent them all off to scour the big old kitchen for everything they needed. They'd all helped Dr. Kartal cook on multiple occasions, but he wasn't big on baking, so it took some exploration to find things like baking powder and cookie sheets.

They never did manage to find any kind of mixer, but when Sophie fretted over how much more work it would be to mix it by hand, Grace just said, “You know me better than that!” Standing on a chair at the counter in the middle of the room, she grasped the big bowl with one arm while her other arm moved so fast it was just a blur, mixing together all the ingredients they measured out. In just a few minutes, the batter was smoother than they probably would have managed to achieve even with an electric mixer, though Grace was trembling all over by the end and had to sit at the table with a cup of apple juice and a plate of bread and butter to replenish her energy.

Next they had to roll out the dough and cut out a bunch of festive shapes. Though Rebecca spent the entire time they were mixing the dough scouring the kitchen for cookie cutters, she couldn't find any. At first, they thought they might have to just use the rim of a glass to cut circles or something.

“That's boring!” Rebecca scowled. “I wanted to make Christmas trees and stuff!”

Jack paused in the process of rolling out the dough. “Hey...Sophie, why don't you do it?”

Sophie looked up from the cookbook, where she was looking over the portion of the recipe that explained how to make the paint. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like....” Jack peeled off a bit of the dough in a lopsided triangular shape. “But better, obviously. And we wouldn't even waste any of the dough, because you could make them whatever shape and size we want!”

“Well...okay,” she said doubtfully. “But I have to do it sitting down, you know, or I'll fall over when I'm done. And I can't see the counter when I'm sitting down.”

“Then we'll do it on the table,” Jack said, unperturbed. “C'mon, Rebecca, put some flour down.”

“Wait!” Sophie said before Rebecca could dip her hand into the flour jar. “Make sure you wipe the table off first and then dry it.”

“Yes, Mom,” her siblings chorused.

In just a few minutes, the table was clean, and Rebecca dusted it with a thin layer of flour before Jack placed the mass of dough onto it and carefully rolled it out again. Then the others gathered around eagerly to watch. Sophie felt a little hot around the collar and wished for a moment that they would all turn away and pay no attention to her. In recent weeks, she'd only used her powers for big things. Rough things. Knocking things over or throwing things at their pursuers. It had been a long time since she'd done much precision work.

So she began with something simple: a star. Focusing on the dough in front of her, she envisioned a star shape in the middle, then reached out with her mind and sliced apart the dough, pulling apart the bits of dough as cleanly as if she wielded a knife. Slowly but surely, the star shape lifted out of the dough and then sailed across to the cookie pan Jack held at the ready.

Rebecca and Grace clapped appreciatively, and Sophie blushed a little, but she couldn't suppress her satisfied grin. She could already feel the immobility tugging at her limbs, pulling everything from the neck down back into the chair. But she was perfectly situated to see the tabletop, so she kept going even though she knew it probably meant she'd be sitting here in the kitchen for a long time.

As she proceeded, she went for more and more intricate shapes with the dough. Not just the Christmas trees Rebecca wanted, but also gingerbread men (well, they weren't gingerbread), stockings, candy canes, presents with bows, even a series of Santa Claus in his sleigh with all his reindeer. With the last bits and pieces of dough, Sophie used her mind to squish together letters that spelled out THANK YOU DR KARTAL.

Each new design earned the cheers and applause of her siblings. As each cookie sheet grew full with Sophie's designs, Rebecca and Grace worked to paint them with the egg-yolk glaze they put together, and then Jack whisked the sheet off to the oven and watched the timer carefully.

The old, drafty kitchen was soon full of warmth, laughter, chatter, and the delectable smells of baking cookies. When Dr. Kartal opened the front door that evening and heard the happy hubbub in the kitchen, he paused in the entryway and smiled to himself. His strange little family, his children who had come to him bearing scars that could be felt but not seen, were really acting like children for once. And that was the best Christmas present he ever could have wished for.

[griseldabanks]

I am going to give wisdom advice. It's more important to write something you care about than it is to write something unpredictable.

[griseldabanks]

Steve and Bucky send each other letters while Bucky is in solitary confinement.

That's what I want, more than anything. I just want us all to be together. Even if we had nothing, even if we were dirt poor, I would be happy as long as we could be together. My dream will come true someday. I believe that.

TW: prison life

[griseldabanks]

Comfyvember 8

Story: As My Own Soul (original) Prompts: Found — Thunder shower — Fresh fruit

David's stomach growled as he stared through the gap in the bleachers at the high school soccer team running laps. The coach had got upset at a couple of them for goofing off, and so they all had to run laps instead of actually playing ball.

Tentatively, he tested the split in his lip with his tongue. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, and his stomach growled again. For some reason, he thought of those stewed tomatoes the cafeteria served sometimes. Straight from a can, not seasoned at all, just heated up and then slopped onto a tray. Everybody complained about it, but right now David actually thought he would have been grateful to have some. Not that he'd ever tried it, since Mom always packed him a lunch.

“David? What are you doing down here?”

With a start, David looked around to find his lanky brother peering in from the side. Of course it was Jonathan. He always knew exactly where to find him.

Bending down almost double, Jonathan squeezed through the opening to David's little hiding space and plopped down on the ground next to him, plucking at his soccer jersey to fan himself. His hair was a dark, sweaty mop, but somehow it still looked artfully messy, like those jerks who walked through the halls full of themselves because girls swooned whenever they passed. Teenagers were weird.

“Shouldn't you be running laps or something?” David mumbled.

“Nah, look.” Jonathan nodded towards the soccer field through the bleachers. “We're getting rained out.”

David peered out and saw the coach directing the team to jog back towards the school building. The light drizzle that had kept up all day was turning into a steady rain, and even as David watched, he saw a flash of lightning in the distance.

Jonathan sat cross-legged, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to look David in the face. “So how come you're hiding out here? Isn't your lunch break over?”

David shrugged. His stomach growled loudly.

Jonathan's eyebrows suddenly pinched together in a fierce look. “Hang on. Did those idiots steal your lunch again?”

David didn't say anything, staring unseeing out at the empty field.

But Jonathan dove for David's backpack beside him, and David didn't have the energy to protest. After digging around between David's books and pencil case, Jonathan came up empty. No paper bag that Mom always carefully packed so his fruit wouldn't get bruised and his sandwich wouldn't get smushed. No brownie left over from the church bake sale, either. He'd been looking forward to that.

“David.” Jonathan's voice was low and dangerous—not dangerous to him, but to anyone who got in his way. It reminded David of the times Dad used to tell him to go to his room. “You have to tell somebody about this.”

“Told you,” David muttered, not looking at him.

Jonathan snorted. “Barely. And I meant a grown-up, genius. There's not a whole lot I can do.”

David knew he was right. Jonathan was always right. But.... “It's just easier to let them do it,” he sighed. “'Swhat Mom always says. 'Just ignore them, and they'll get bored when they see they can't get to you.'”

“Yeah. Looks like you're doing a great job of not letting them get to you.”

David shot him an annoyed look. “Yeah, well, you weren't there, okay? You don't know the kinda stuff they say. You don't know what it's like to have to sit there and listen to everybody laughing at you, and you have to just let them do it, because if you fight back you know you can't win. You don't know what it's like to just...to just sit there...and nobody ever sits next to you...and they're standing around talking about their birthday parties or whatever and nobody invites you, and...and it's like you're...invisible!”

“I don't know what it's like, huh?” Jonathan's voice was soft and sad. “Come on, dude. You know me better than that.”

David bit his lip—then winced, having forgotten the cut in the left corner.

“What's this?” Jonathan's voice suddenly sharpened again, and he reached out to grab David's chin, turning his face so he could see the cut. “Did they do that?”

David nodded, and when he blinked, he felt a tear roll down his cheek. For once, he didn't care.

Jonathan stared down at him with anger, frustration, and helplessness swirling in his eyes. Because what could he do? He couldn't go beat up a bunch of ten-year-olds. He couldn't march around the school as David's bodyguard to fend off the bullies. “David...please. Please tell the principal or a teacher or...or the lunch lady, for Pete's sake. If they run around thinking they can just steal anybody's lunch and get away with it, how d'you think they'll be when they grow up? Probably end up robbing a bank or something. So...think of this as helping them, if you're not gonna help yourself.”

David tried to imagine Ryan Bradshaw wearing a bandanna around his face and sneaking out of a bank with a huge sack of money. He snorted.

Smiling a little, Jonathan swiped the back of his fingers down each of David's cheeks, wiping away the tears. “That's better. Now, eat up before your stomach devours you from the inside.”

He tossed a bright red apple into David's hands. David gaped up at him. “Where did you...?”

“It was in your bag, silly,” Jonathan laughed. “Guess those bullies of yours like ham and cheese better than apples. Idiots.”

David opened his mouth to bite into the apple, then winced again when the movement pulled on his cut.

“Aw, here.” Jonathan took the apple back, then pulled out his pocket knife and started slicing into it.

“Isn't it against the rules to bring a knife to school?” David asked, accepting the first slice Jonathan handed over.

Jonathan grinned, slicing into the crisp white flesh of the apple with deft motions. “Just watch them try and stop me.”

David rolled his eyes, munching on the apple slices on the uninjured side of his mouth. The sweet yet tangy juice filled his mouth, tasting a million times better than it usually did after his PB&J sandwich.

Thunder rumbled overhead, louder this time, and cold drips of water kept falling on his head. “Hey, we should probably head inside pretty soon,” Jonathan said, glancing out at the rain. “But will you go to the principal's office or something? You've already missed the start of your class; you'll probably end up there anyway.”

He had a point. David accepted the last two apple slices, then took a deep breath. “If I do it...will you come with me?”

Jonathan grinned, tousling David's hair. “Sure thing, dude. But you have to do all the talking.”