#a puppy with floppy ears and golden fur perhaps

[lumiilys]

Sad wet kitten Ed all alone in a cardboard box :(

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidentally Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 8 | I  think my guest celebrity taste tester may have something to do with.

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  This is the last chapter!  Thank you for sticking around! I maybe bring these two back for more adventures. 

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: With feelings revealed and reciprocated, Tom and Molly move ahead in their relationship. Happily ever after?

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

--

Tom called Chris later that day and made apologies.

“Nah, man. I was out of line. Just wanted a bit of what you and Molly have. She’s a great girl.”

“She is. The best. No hard feelings?”

“Buy me a beer the next we meet?”

“I’ll buy you two. Thanks for understanding.”

“Just don’t tell Robert. I would never hear the end of it.”

“Of course. Now I have some things to attend to.”

“Tell Molly I have to raincheck on lunch. Sounds like she has more important things to do. “

Tom just smiled.

-

Three Months Later

“It’s so nice to have all you here.” Diana gazed around the table. “Emma, would you be a dear and clear the plates?”

Emma caught Tom’s eye, and he quickly got up. Molly choked on a roasted potato.

“I’ll take care of it, Mum.” Tom grabbed several dishes and disappeared into the kitchen.

Molly leaned over to Emma. “You know if you keep blackmailing Tom into doing all the chores around your mum, he’s going to keep being her favorite.”

“Tom!” Emma popped up as Molly smirked. “I’ll help too.” She jogged off to the kitchen to help.

“So what are you doing these days, darling? I noticed you haven’t had as much time for lunch.”

“I have been busy cooking.” Tom walked back in and Molly pulled him in for a kiss. “Tom suggested it.”

Tom sat back down and pulled Molly close to him. “Your food is too good not to share with the world, love.” Tom’s stubble tickled her cheek as he nuzzled in.

“Stop it!” She playfully smacked his chest. “It’s just a blog and an Instagram account. Nothing fancy.”

“You are too modest. An Instagram with over 500,000 followers. That is quite the accomplishment.”

“I think my guest celebrity taste tester may have something to do with.” Molly booped Tom’s nose. “In fact, I suspect you pushed for the Instagram account so you don’t have to update your own.”

Tom blushed. “You know I don’t care for the spotlight.”

Emma scoffed. “Lies. You are a grade A drama queen, Thomas.”

“Not anymore. Give me the quiet domestic life.” Molly leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Good.” Diana said. “Then next week’s dinner is at your house.”

“I can do that.” Molly responded. “I need some more guinea pigs.”

“Then it’s settled.” Diana smiled.

Tom whispered in Molly’s ear. “Should we tell them now?”

Molly nodded eagerly.

“Tell us what?” Emma’s head darted around. “The two of you aren’t pregnant, are you?” She squealed.

“Our family is expanding. We..” Molly said.

“Are…” Tom continued.

“Getting a Dog!” Molly finished.

“Well, it’s no grandchild, but a start.” Diana smiled.

“And the other surprise is…” Molly spied up at Tom.

“We’re getting married!” Tom waved his hands in the air. Emma and Diana stared at them. “What no celebration?”

“Well dear, it just that… aren’t you two already married?” Diana commented.

“We are but…” Tom nudged Molly.

“We realized that none of our friends and family were there to celebrate with us, so we decided to renew our vows.”

Diana clapped her hands together. “Oh, that is lovely, dears. A proper ceremony and reception.”

“I thought you would like that, Mother.” Tom added.

“You were right, Thomas. Now Molly, I realize you don’t have any family here, but if you’ll let I would love to help you with preparations, just your mother would.”

Molly sniffled. “I would like that very much. Thank you.”

“I’ll help too!” Emma added. “I love shopping.”

“Lord help my bank account.” Tom groaned.

-

They got back home late and Molly leaned against the door.

“That was a long day.” she sighed, dropping her purse to the ground. Tom caged her against the door. He nuzzled into her neck. “Tom, your whiskers tickle!” She squealed.

Tom kissed wet, sloppy kisses along her neck. “Then stop me.” He purred into her, hooking one of her legs around his waist. “You know my mum makes a good point.” His hands teased her shirt up and slipped underneath, caressing her warm skin.

“What was that?” She arched her back into his touch, reaching behind to grip his ass with both hands.

“We really should give her a grandchild….” Tom squeezed her breasts over her bra. “A little boy or girl with your eyes and my hair.” Tom muttered, rocking his hips against her.

“Not right now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t practice?” Her eyes twinkled.

“I like practice.” Tom lifted her up and carried Molly to their bedroom.

-

They set out the next day to the local animal shelter to pick out a dog. Molly was certain Tom would want a big dog, a golden retriever, or a Labrador.

“Because I��m a human golden retriever?” Tom questioned.

“Something like that.” Molly giggled. “Except I don’t have to leash you out in public.”

“Naughty, darling.” Tom nipped at her as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Only because your mind is in the gutter.”

They walked along the corridor of cages. Molly pointed out a setter, but Tom shrugged it off.

“I’ll know our dog when I see it.”

Molly and Tom rejected each dog as they passed, along with Molly pleaded for one in particular.

“But this little guy looks just like Chris’s dog, Dodger!” Molly pleaded.

Tom furrowed his brow. “Is that supposed to convince me to say yes?”

“Yes?” Molly asked hopefully. “I thought you two made up.”

“We did, but it doesn’t mean I want a dog just like his.”

“Fine.” Molly leaned down and patted the dog’s head. “Sorry, buddy. I tried.”

Tom spun around, arms wide. “Maybe we should go to another place, love?”

“We’re not done yet.” She shoved him down the way. “I have a feeling our dog is here.”

They finally made it to the last stall where a small brown ball of fur lay in the corner.

“Hey buddy.” Molly called out.

The puppy’s head popped up, and he trotted over, floppy ears and all.

“He’s a spaniel, Tom.” Molly commented as the puppy licked her hand. “And friendly too.”

“Oh, I like him.” Tom leaned down and extended his hand. He was rewarded with a copious amount of licks. “I like him a lot.”

“Is he the one?” Molly gazed up at Tom, who was smiling at the dog. She recognized that look, often been the recipient of that look.

“I think he is, darling.” Tom hugged her tight. “Definitely.”

They went to fill out the paperwork as they brought the puppy out.

“And what are we naming this little guy?” they asked as the puppy was handed over to Tom, with his too big paws for his body. The puppy caught Tom’s face with his tongue.

“I’ve always liked the named Bobby. What do you think?”

Molly scratched the puppy’s head. “Bobby. I like that. You ready to head home, Bobby?”

Bobby responded by barking.

“I’ll take that a yes.” Tom added. “He appears to be quite vocal.”

Molly groaned. “Just what I need, another Hiddleston male to yell at me.”

Tom leaned over to kiss Molly. “I promise never to yell at you again. And we can put Bobby in obedience school.”

Bobby barked again as Tom leaned over again and kissed Molly passionately.

“Perhaps you are the one in need of obedience school, Mr. Hiddleston.” she smirked.

“Only if you are my teacher, Mrs. Hiddleston.” Tom smirked right back.

[tatesweaterweather]

Adopting puppies with Kit - fem!reader <3

(⚠️ warnings!: none)

“You wanna get what, doll?” Kit called from under the car he was currently tuning up.

“Puppies!” You happily exclaimed. “Please, Kit? I think it’ll be fun for us.”

“I don’t know, babe. With my busy schedule and your upcoming job, how will we be able to look after some pups?” He questioned as he slid out from underneath the car. You only looked up at him from where you were sitting on his desk with a disappointed expression before looking back down at your hands.

“Yeah, you’re right. It was stupid.” You sighed. Kit only set his cloth down on the ground before walking over to you and lifting your chin to look at him.

“Your idea wasn’t stupid, doll. I just want you to be sure that that’s what you want.” He leaned down to kiss your lips. “If you wanna get a puppy, I’m all for it. We can make it work.”

“Really?” You perked up. Kit chuckled at your enthusiasm.

“Yes doll, like I said. I’m all for it if that’s what you want.” He stroked your hair. You only smiled before reaching out both of your arms to wrap around him. You soon hopped off his desk and began to walk excitedly towards your shared car.

“Oh, we’re doing this now?” Kit asked as he scrambled to fix himself up before getting in the car.

“Yes, now.” You answered. You were practically bouncing in your seat. The drive to the animal adoption centre was not that far, but you couldn’t wait to get there. Growing up you lived in a strict household, so you were never allowed to own your own dogs.

“Kit, hurry.” You impatiently grabbed his hand as you made your way through the parking lot.

“Babe, calm down. The dogs aren’t going to go anywhere in the next two minutes.” He laughed.

“Ha. Ha. Now let’s go!” You pulled him through the doors. You awed almost immediately as soon as you seen the puppies in their own little spaces.

“Afternoon! Is there something in particular I can help you with, today?” The lady working with the dogs asked.

“Yes, actually. My boyfriend and I were looking to perhaps adopt a puppy today?” You smiled.

“Why, yes! We have a wide variety of puppies, you can take a look at any one you may like. I’ll just give you a few forms to fill out if you do decide to adopt today.” She handed you a clipboard and you thanked her.

“Kit, look at all these little babies!” You awed as you stared at each and every one. One in particular had caught your eye, and Kit had noticed as well. She was a small, dark, fluffy dog with floppy ears.

“Looks like that one’s name is Penny. She’s only a few months old.” He said as he looked at the dogs chart.

“What do you think, Kit? Can we please get this one?” You cooed as you gently rubbed behind Penny’s ears.

“Of course, doll. It’s completely up to you which dog.” He joined in on rubbing Penny’s soft ears. You were so sure of adopting Penny when another small puppy caught your eye.

“Oh but wait, look at that one!” You pointed to the golden retriever looking puppy. “Looks like his name is Jasper.”

You began to pet Jaspers soft fur and suddenly you knew you had a very big decision to make. You thought you had made up your mind again when another puppy accidentally bumped into your hand. It was a brown, fluffy dog that reminded you of a teddy bear and you couldn’t help but coo. Kit must have seen the look of distress on your face while you were trying to make a decision and he stepped behind you to rub your shoulders.

“Hey, what do you say we just get all three of em?” He kissed your ear softly. You swiftly turned around only to be met with his soft eyes.

“Really? All three?” You asked excitedly.

“Yes doll, all three. I could tell you couldn’t decide. I mean how hard can it be to take care of three little puppies, right?” He rubbed your arms comfortingly. You couldn’t find the words to express your excitement and instead you settled for sending him soft kisses repeatedly.

“Okay, okay. Let’s fill out the forms so we could try and get em today.” He laughed. You smiled before writing down the information on each puppy. You made sure to double check each section before handing in all three forms.

“Three puppies?” The lady at the front desk exclaimed in shock.

“Three puppies.” You repeated with a huge smile on your face.

“Whoo, alright. Let me just go over these and then I’ll get someone to prepare the dogs for their leave. Is that okay?” She asked and you nodded, walking back over to Kit.

“I love you so much.” You pushed his hair back and leaned in to kiss him once more. “Thank you.”

“I love you too, doll. Like I told you, I’d do anything for you if it meant that you’d be happy.” He stared down lovingly at you. Your soft moment was soon interrupted as all three of your puppies were brought to you.

“Well folks, I wish you good luck.” The lady smiled before handing the leashes off to you. “Have fun raising your new family.”

You thanked her before grabbing them and walking towards the door with Kit.

“So, have you decided on their names yet?” Kit asked as he opened the car door for the puppies to hop in.

“I think I’m gonna keep two of their names. The last puppy we picked, I think I’ll name him Tino.” You giggled as you let the puppies jump into your lap.

“Tino?” He laughed.

“Yes, his name is now Tino.” You cooed as you picked up little Tino to kiss his head.

“Well doll, whatever makes you happy makes me happy.” Kit smiled as he ruffled the puppies fur. They wagged their tails in excitement as they jumped around in your laps, Kit being careful to drive slow so that they’d be safe. You could only bite your lip as you felt the feeling of content wash over your entire body.

“Our new family.” You thought to yourself.

(a/n: The first dog is Penny, the second dog is Jasper, and the third dog is Tino. <3)

[pika-ace]

Foster Dog Hamilton AU-Character Descriptions

((I combined all your submissions into one to save space cause I’m kinda OCD like that, okay X3))

Burr Breed: Black Lab Appearance: Um…a black lab,lol. Dark brown eyes. Breed Info: To be honest, this is just what I’ve always imagined Burr to look like as a dog. While Labs are usually very hyper, many can have a calm disposition as well. They are very friendly and charming to lots of people, as well as intelligent. Background: Burr was born to a breeding pair of Black Labs that were owned by an official breeder. He was adopted by a man at a little younger than two months. He was very hyper and playful, which amused his master at first, but as he grew bigger the man grew tired of the constant barking, and began yelling at Burr when he began to get loud, even kicking him at some points. Burr soon grew afraid to bark or make much of any noise. If he even moved around the house too much his master would get angry. He trembled at any raised voice, even at voices raised in excitement. His life soon became both monotonous and stressful at the same time. A personal motto he ended up developing was “Bark less,Wag more”. At a little under a year old, his owner finally grew tired of having him around and tied him up outside the animal shelter one night. When the employees found him they took him in right away. The attempts to adopt him out were unsuccessful, as due to his anxiety he would never play with anyone who came to look at him or interact with them much at all. Plus,he would show great fear at raised voices and barking, as if he would be punished for other dogs barking. The shelter employees decided to ask the Washingtons if they could take him. Perhaps they could help him to be a normal dog again. 

Laurens Breed: Beagle/Retriever mix Appearance: Slightly taller Beagle body, golden brown color with a white chest,fluffy floppy ears, light brown eyes. Scar on his tail. Breed Info: Beagles are friendly social dogs. They usually get along well with others. They do tend to howl and bark when left alone though due to separation anxiety. They also love to track scents,though they must be watched carefully because this can cause them to wander and get lost. Beagles owners have to work hard to train these dogs to listen, as they sometimes their pets will ignore their directions, especially when tracking a scent. Beagles are also one of the most popular breeds in South Carolina. Background: Laurens was born to a beagle father and retriever mother in a small family home. His other siblings were sold but he was kept by the original family. They had a hard time teaching him not to howl and wander off. Eventually he ended up wandering so far that he became lost. After days of trying to find his way back, he finally made it,but his father,who never really liked having the puppies around and still didn’t care for Laurens himself,chased him away before the family saw him,giving him a good bite on the tail. He was picked up by a shelter a few days later. The Washingtons were still new to this foster care thing, so they decided to try and foster him, so he was sent to Virginia to be their second foster.

Lafayette Breed: Picardy Spaniel Appearance: Just as a Picardy Spaniel looks, brown eyes Breed Info: The Picardy Spaniel originated in France as a gun dog. Today it’s nature is active,affectionate, and alert. They are great family dogs and are content to stay by their family’s side. Due to their alertness,they are excellent watchdogs and will sound the alarm if something is amiss. They are easy to train from a young age. They do best with a positive and consistent leadership. They are great with children. Background: Lafayette was born in France and purchased by an older couple living in France. After a few months, their schedule would not allow them to give as much time to him as he needed. Rather than just send him to anybody, the couple asked their friends the Washingtons to take care of him back in America. Lafayette was flown to them some time later, and has been with them since. It was soon after that the Washingtons decided to foster some more animals.

Hercules Breed: Pitbull/Rottweiler mix Appearance: Rottweiler style body, a bit leaner however. Brown brindle coloring. Brown eyes. Breed Info: Both Pitbulls and Rottweilers have a bad reputation due to many being used in dog fights. Both breeds are affectionate and protective towards people. They make good guard dogs and are both active and intelligent. Rottweilers are very alert and aware of their surroundings. They are levelheaded and calm. Pitbulls can be fearless,yet stubborn. Both breeds were used to drive livestock in the past. Background: Hercules was born into a dog fighting organization, but at a few months old he was rescued in a police raid. Despite being rescued as a pup, nobody wanted to take him, especially as he looked more and more intimidating as he grew older. At a couple years old, the staff was thinking he would never be taken by anyone,until the Washingtons took him in. He was the third dog that they fostered and kept,after Lafayette and Laurens. Unfortunately for Hercules, he is often feared by people who can’t see past his breed and history, but he is one of the sweetest dogs.

Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy Breed: Golden Retriever Appearance: Angelica: Darker gold wavy coat Eliza:Straight gold coat Peggy: Light cream coat Breed Info: Golden Retrievers are even-tempered, intelligent and affectionate. They were bred to retrieve game for their masters. They enjoy being in water and are very easy to train. They can be trained for many different things. They enjoy being around other dogs as well Background: These three sisters were born in the same litter and are inseparable. They were adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler at a few months old and have been there ever since. Angelica enjoys going duck hunting with Mr. Schuyler, Eliza gets spooked by the gunshots however, and Peggy is a little too hyper to stay quiet, so they stay home with Mrs. Schuyler. They live nearby the Washingtons’ home, and their owners have been friends with them for years,so they often go over to their home,as it is large enough for many dogs. Eliza is so calm and gentle and Peggy is so friendly that Mrs. Schuyler volunteers them as therapy dogs for children in schools and hospitals. 

(Just a little note that I forgot to add in my submissions. I made Jefferson and Madison cats because I thought it would fit them better in this AU. I may send in an alternate description where they are dogs, but for me, I headcanon them as cats. Plus, it sounds less overwhelming when you say someone is caring for five dogs and two cats rather than seven dogs.)

Jefferson Breed: Ragamuffin Cat Appearance: Brown tabby,long-haired, light blue eyes. Magenta collar Breed Info: Ragamuffins are large and long. Their fur is long, soft, and silky. It needs to be brushed daily to keep all the tangles out of the coat. They usually have a docile nature and love to be held or lay on laps. They crave attention and can become clingy. Background: Jefferson belonged to a wealthy elderly lady. He was very spoiled from the moment she bought him. The best quality,most expensive wet cat food,groomed every day and night, and the softest bed. It all ended when she passed away when he was older. After a little while, some people dropped him off at the animal shelter. He mourned his poor owner as he sat in the kennel he had been placed in. He turned up his nose at the food they offered him, he barely knew how to groom himself, and what was this bed!?. He became grumpy and unwilling to let anyone interact with him. The shelter decided to ask the Washingtons if they would be willing to foster him, as they have been pretty successful with animals. They agree, and the next day he was sent off to them.

Madison Breed: American Shorthair Cat Appearance: Small, stocky grey cat, amber eyes Breed Info: American Shorthair’s have broad chests and a muscular neck. They are placid and easy going. While they’re fine with attention, they don’t need it constantly. They can entertain themselves easily. Their coat is thick and dense, so they need some brushing, especially in the colder months when it gets thicker. Background: Madison was born in a kitten mill. He was sickly soon after birth and developed a cough. It’s a wonder he survived. Police shut down the kitten mill when he was six months old and brought as many cats as possible to be evaluated and treated. Madison was there for a few months to regain his strength. It was discovered that his cough could be controlled with medication. It wasn’t contagious but he would always have it for the rest of his life. Not many people want sickly cats,so the shelter asked the Washingtons if they could continuously foster him if the shelter provided the medication. They agreed and took him soon after that.  

[the-mad-starker]

Starker Christmas: Puppy Love

This isn't what I had in mind when I made the mood oars but @less-than-wholesome-starker talked about lost puppy Peter and I had to…

Originally supposed to be Day 7 of Starker Christmas with the prompt about opening presents but who even knows now 😩

Original Idea: Tony buys Peter a puppy to keep him company whenever Tony has to leave on business

Lost puppy Peter: Peter is a lost puppy that Tony takes in and cares for. Christmas magic happens.

... Yeah just ignore the story. It's so weird, I have no idea wtf. 😭😭😭

AO3 Link

It hasn't snowed yet, but judging by the chill in the air, Tony knows it's only a matter of time. It's predicted to start in less than an hour.

New York traffic is horrendous so Tony makes sure that he's arriving home before then. He's about to walk into the entrance of the tower when he hears some loud commotion in the alleyway. He pauses and wonders if he should check it.

“That's how you get mugged and murdered,” he reminds himself, but honestly, he goes anyway.

He stands at the entry of the alley, peering in the shadowy depths. One heartbeat, two, three, four… Nothing. He's about to walk away when a trashcan is knocked over. A whine echos in the alley and then something stumbles out from the trash and it's a dirty, frightened… puppy? A golden retriever puppy, by the looks of it.

There's a million different reasons why Tony should walk away. He should just call the local pound to grab the stray. But then the first snowflake of the storm kisses his nose and Tony knows he can't leave the poor puppy outside. He'll just bring it inside, leave it on the ground floor and call someone to pick it up. Sounds reasonable.

The poor thing is shivering, staring up at Tony with large brown eyes.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony says softly. He kneels so that he isn't towering over it and tugs his glove off. Tony offers his hand to the wary puppy.

The puppy has a collar and a tag, Tony's relieved to see. So it isn't exactly a stray, to which Tony is grateful. He can just call up the owner.

PARKER, the bone shaped tag says.

“Parker?” He tries and the dog's ears perked up. His little tail hesitatingly wags.

“I'm Tony,” he says gently when Parker sniffs his fingers.

The puppy probably smells something he likes because that little tail takes off, wagging furiously. He steps closer and when Tony picks him up, his tongue just lolls out as though he knows he has nothing to fear.

“C'mon, you good,” Tony smiles and presses the squirming puppy to his chest. “Have no idea how you got out here, but snow and skinny little puppies don't mix well together.”

He takes Parker indoors, snuggling the small bundle in his coat.

Tony doesn't leave the puppy on the ground floor, but instead takes Parker back to his penthouse. By the time he walks in, Parker is dozing in his arms. The puppy's eyes blink open when the lights turn on, and a soft woof before he's squirming in Tony's arm.

“You need a bath,” Tony tells the wiggling puppy.

The gold retriever puppy gets that sorely needed bath and ends up wrapped in an oversized fluffy towel. Parker looks adorable and so tiny in it.

“You have to have an owner,” Tony says as they end up snuggling on the couch. The pup must be tired out and after being fed a couple strips of steak, Parker's sprawled out on his chest, large brown eyes droopy.

His collar only had his name tag and nothing else.

“We'll find them…” Tony tells the sleeping puppy. “Don't worry.”

The next few days are a busy affair.

It's the holidays so it's even busier. That doesn't stop Tony from trying to figure out where the puppy came from. He’s a small pup but he isn't malnourished or sickly. He's obviously cared for.

In that time, Tony tries to keep from getting attached and he fails miserably. The puppy trails after him when they're together, which happens to be most of the time. He doesn't trust anyone else to take care of Parker and Parker doesn't seem to mind being taken to SI

There's also enough employees on vacation that only a handful are treated to the sight of their boss being followed around by a cute little golden retriever.

No one contacts Tony about a missing puppy or the ones that do are obviously not the owner. Most likely trying to scam something just because of Tony's name but he quickly sees through them.

“You can always stay with me,” Tony tells Parker. The dog does that cute little thing where his head tilts at the sound of Tony's voice. His tail wags as though he understands.

“I won't even charge you rent,” Tony says to which Parker Huff's. He pets the dogs head and gives him light scratches around his floppy ears.

“It gets lonely during the holidays, you know,” Tony admits quietly. “So… You're welcome to stay.”

Tony could go anywhere, do anything. He had the money to throw the most extravagant parties. But at the end of the day, his home was cold and bereft of warmth.

Parker nosed his way beneath Tony's blanket and laid his head on the man's chest.

“Merry Christmas,” Tony told him, petting his soft fur. He fell asleep to the sight of the dog's large brown eyes, so warm and watchful.

It feels good to have a companion, someone staying by his side.

He falls asleep to that though, hands buried in the puppy's soft fur.

The next time he opens his eyes, the light is shining through the crack between the curtains. His arms are wrapped around a slamming body and for a second, he thought he had brought someone back to bed.

Once his brain full wakes up, Tony quickly realizes he hadn't. He yells in surprise, scrambling and almost falling off the bed.

“What the–”

Large brown eyes peered at him from the bed.

The teen in his bed sits up, hands held in front of his face.

“Wow,” the boy stares as his fingers flex. “So weird…”

“Who are you?!” Tony yelps.

Then he turns to look at Tony and the expression on his face is both fond and completely smitten.

“Tony!” He launches himself at Tony and Tony, being stunned and caught unaware, finds himself with an armful of gangly human limbs. A cold noses presses against his neck.

“It's me, Parker,” the boy happily tells him.

“Park– my puppy?” Tony says incredulously.

“I'm not a puppy,” the teen pouts, “well… I…”

Tony feels like he's dreaming but Parker the human continues on.

“I made a wish… A Christmas wish,” he tells Tony solemnly. “I just… wanted to be with you.”

“It can't be that easy,” Tony says, eyebrows scrunching up.

But Parker smiles, eyes crinkling into happy crescents.

“Sometimes, it is,” he tells Tony. “You're a good man, and you took care of me. I just… wanted to make you happy and I didn't think I could do that as I am.”

“That's… really sweet,” Tony says.

“Not sweet,” Parker grumbles, “You said I could stay with you… You said always!”

Looking into Parker's eyes, Tony does feel a sense of familiarity. It's just… bizarre.

“Are you…” Parker frowns, “Did you lie?”

“Of course not,” Tony immediately says.

“Good!” Parker smiles and hugs Tony again. “I want to stay with you. And maybe… can you call me Peter?”

He runs his fingers through the boy's short hair. Would any of this make more sense if he had coffee…?

“... Alright, Peter,” Tony agrees, “I think… yeah I think we need to talk about exactly what happened.”

“Sure.” The teen let's go of him and slips off the bed. Perhaps sometime during the night, he had stole some of Tony's others, because he wore a rather baggy shirt and boxers.

Tony gets up to follow him and notices the dog collar that was set on his bedside table. He picks it up and goes to the kitchen to have one of the most bizarre talks he never thought he'd have.

[taexual]

EXO / Adopting a dog together

REQUESTS: Buying a dog with Exo?🐶

could you please do something with exo ot9 about raising a big dog together?

BTS version of this request is HERE

Xiumin

The most difficult decision you and Minseok ever had to make in your relationship was choosing if you wanted to adopt a cat or a dog. After a long and thorough consideration, during which, both of you presented your points, you went ahead and got a puppy while Minseok was in the studio. Perhaps it was playing dirty but you were certain he would fall in love with the fluffy little creature when he met it.

“Y/n?” Minseok called out after he came home from work and didn’t find you in the bedroom. “I can hear weird noises, is everything okay?”

The weird noises he mentioned had to be the sound of the newest addition to your family, who would not stop barking as you tried to get him into the tub so you could wash him.

Finally, after wandering around your apartment in search of you, Minseok opened the bathroom to see you struggling to keep the hyperactive puppy inside of the tub as you attempted to wash the dirt off its fur.

“Y/n, w-what?” Minseok asked, causing you to turn around with wide eyes.

“I didn’t hear you come home,” you said, not having planned to introduce the puppy to him like that.

The one moment that you looked away from the puppy, however, was enough for him to jump out of the tub and run straight to Minseok, resting his wet upper paws on his knees, immediately expecting belly rubs from this stranger. Minseok, a little – okay, a lot – taken aback, squatted slightly, to scratch the ears of the furry animal in front of him.

“We have a dog, huh?” Minseok said, giving you a small smile to show you that he wasn’t angry about this.

“Yeah,” you said awkwardly. “He’s our child now. We can’t give him back anymore.”

Minseok laughed, enjoying the way the puppy kept licking his hands whenever he allowed him to.

“Our son,” Minseok repeated, stopping the scratching and immediately having the puppy jump on him. He laughed again, almost losing his balance, and then winked at you. “He seems like a little troublemaker. Must have gotten that from you.”

Suho

Junmyeon wanted to get a dog as much as you did and the only thing that stopped him from doing so right away was the issue of looking after it. He didn’t want you to have to take care of the dog all on your own.

“Y/n, I don’t want you to have full responsibility,” he said to you, in a voice so serious, you thought he was going to break up with you. “The dog is both of ours. We should care for it equally. And yet, I feel as if I’d neglect it.”

You almost laughed in relief as the topic turned to the dog you were supposed to get. “Junmyeon, I think we should look at the dog as our companion, not our child.”

“Our—oh,” he considered this. “Oh, okay. That actually sounds better. We’d still have to walk it though, and I’m away a lot.”

“That’s okay,” you shrugged your shoulders, not seeing the problem. “I can walk him when you’re not here. He can be my little supportive friend – or, big supportive friend – while you’re not here.”

“I like the sound of that,” he nodded. “As long as I don’t become second to the dog. I know I’m asking for a lot here, I know how much dogs mean to you, but really. I need some cuddles, too.”

You laughed at this. “You know I love you. You can get a belly rub anytime you want.”

Junmyeon burst out laughing at this and it took him about two minutes to calm down and brush the tears away.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That sounds fair. We’re getting a dog as long as you promise to love us both equally.”

“I promise,” you said, almost laughing, too. “Have you thought about what kind of dog you’d like?”

“Honestly, I’m good with anything,” Junmyeon replied. “Let’s let the dog choose us instead.”

Lay

It took you about three whole months to convince Yixing to get a dog. He wanted a pet with you, he really did, but he wasn’t sure if adopting one was a good idea since he had to travel a lot, and you were busy, too. Finally, you managed to talk him into at least visiting the shelter, claiming you didn’t have to adopt yet, you could just look around.

Yeah, right.

“Oh, Y/n! Look! That little puppy was eyeing me ever since I entered the store,” Yixing exclaimed cheerfully, pointing at a cage with chocolate labrador puppies. “It must like me. Hey, little guy!”

You smiled involuntarily at the sight of your boyfriend – who was hesitant about getting a dog – attempting to pet the puppy by sticking his hand into the cage. All four of the puppies inside of the cage swarmed to Yixing immediately, making him laugh in delight.

“Looks like they all like you,” you said. “Which is, of course, not shocking at all, since you’re you.”

“They are too cute,” Yixing said. “Do you think it’s possible for us to take all four of them home with us?”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Like, at once? To keep them? All four of them?”

“I’m sensing you’re about to say no.”

“I would never do that,” you disagreed. “It’d be cruel to separate them from each other. And, anyway, how could we even choose one? Possible or not, we have to take all four.”

Yixing was smiling as he listened to you talk while watching the four puppies compete for his touch inside of the cage. He had completely forgotten he only came here to look around.

“Do you see that one, who won’t stop wagging his tail?” he asked you, suddenly.

“Yeah, why?”

“He has a small golden patch on his ear. He’s so precious. I already have a name for him.”

“We need to discuss this,” you warned, knowing what “name” he was going to choose. “You can’t just choose a name for him on your own.”

“Sheep,” Yixing said, completely ignoring everything you’ve said. “His name is Sheep. Let’s get those adoption papers ready so we can take him and his brothers home.”

Baekhyun

Baekhyun fit right in with the dogs at the animal shelter that the two of you have stopped at on your way home from your date night. It was a purely spontaneous decision and yet, despite only dating for eight months, Baekhyun was already trying to adopt a dog with you.

“Look at that one!” he pointed at a yet another dog, having a breakdown about this one, too. “Look at his little floppy ears!”

You laughed, his enthusiasm brushing off on you. “Or that one! Look how big his eyes are!”

“Ah, Y/n, you’re killing me. We have to adopt one.”

“How would that work?” you asked. “I mean, I love dogs, really, but--”

“We could share it. I’d take the dog every second day of the week and you could keep it for the rest of it,” Baekhyun suggested. “We spend the weekends together anyway, so it won’t be a problem.

“Won’t that put the dog in a lot of anxiety?” you mentioned. “It probably won’t like being separated from either one of us once it gets attached.”

Baekhyun thought about this. “You’re right. We should just move in together.”

This took you off guard and you pulled away from one of the dogs whose ears you’ve been scratching, focusing your attention on your boyfriend. “What?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? We’d save the poor dog from separation anxiety and we’d get to spend more time together. If anything, I’d say it’s a win-win kind of situation.”

Your heart was basically beating out of your chest now.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, struggling to find the words to say. This was definitely not a decision you could just make on the spot. “Shouldn’t we think about it first?”

“What is there to think about?” Baekhyun said, carefully picking one of the nearest puppies up and putting its face next to his. “Come on, Y/n. Can you really say no to this face?”

He smiled widely as he said this, and suddenly, you weren’t sure which face he meant - his or the dog’s he was holding. You found it difficult to say no to either one of them, though.

“This is blackmail,” you said, sighing. “And I can’t believe it’s working.”

Chen

Jongdae loved it when you sent him random pictures of dogs you found cute - he also adored the way you captured every one of those pictures with, “this one looks like you” - so he didn’t think twice when one of his friends told him that his dog just had puppies and he didn’t know what to do with them. Jongdae suggested adopting the puppies and he returned home with three new friends that same night.

“Dae?” you called out from your bedroom, alarmed to hear odd yelping follow the sound of someone closing the front door. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” Jongdae answered. “Actually, Y/n, could you come here for a bit? I could use some help.”

“Help with wh--” words got caught in your throat as you exited the bedroom to see Jongdae struggle to balance the three Dalmatian puppies in his arms. “Wh-what? Are those..? Where did you..?”

“They’re ours!” Jongdae answered you, even though you haven’t managed to finish any of your questions due to the shock. “Can you take that one from me though? She’s about to fall onto the floor and I’m not sure how good dogs are at landing on their feet.”

Still confused, you moved closer to him and grabbed the poor puppy from him before it could hurt itself. “How’d they get here? And what do you mean they’re ours?”

“It’s a long story, I’ll explain everything later,” he said. “In the meantime, do you think you can look after them while I run to the store to get them something to eat? They’re probably starving.”

“Jongdae, you can’t leave me with three random dogs and just run off without explaining anything.”

“Right. But they’re not random dogs, they’re ours. I got them for us.”

You watched him, unblinking. “You literally went ahead and got us dogs without telling me anything?”

The enthusiasm faltered from Jongdae’s voice a little, “Yeah…”

“Well,” you took a deep breath, brushing your hand against the black and white fur of the puppy in your arms. “This might be the best decision you’ve ever made.”

“Yes!” Jongdae exclaimed, his previous wide smile returning to his face again. “But I do think the best decision I’ve ever made was starting to date you. Getting us dogs is definitely the second best, though.”

Chanyeol

Chanyeol listened to you talk his ear off about how your friend had adopted a dog but he would not take the hint until you outright told him that you wanted a dog, too. And even then, he assumed you were joking. When he left on tour and you sent him pictures of you, cradling a puppy in your arms, however, he realized you were serious.

“Y/n,” he said over the phone to you, having called you immediately after he saw the photographs. “Where did you get that dog?”

“My friend knows some people,” you said simply. “Isn’t it cute? His name is Steve Rogers, apparently - yes, I know - and his previous owners just dropped him on the street. The pure creature wandered aimlessly for days it seems, until those people found him. They were looking for a home for him and, well, we have a home.”

“Uh, yeah. We do have a home,” Chanyeol said, sounding a bit distraught. “S-so, he’s ours now?”

“Yeah. We have a four-legged roommate,” you said, biting your lip. “Is that okay?”

“The fact that you basically saved a dog? Yeah, of course. It’s great,” he said. “But the fact that you got a dog without me? No, not really. I’m kind of upset.”

“Oh,” you hesitated for a moment. “I’m sorry. Steve was too cute to resist.”

“Ste--oh, the dog. Right,” Chanyeol said. “Can we rename him? Because I swear, it’s going to give me a heart attack whenever I’ll hear you mention someone named Steve.”

You laughed. “What would you want to call him, then?”

“Well, Tony is a nice name.”

“Oh, so Steve is bad, but Tony works?” you asked skeptically. “Your hatred for Captain America couldn’t be more obvious.”

“I don’t hate him but he’s no Iron Man,” Chanyeol said, sighing. “But okay, fine. He can be Steve Rogers. Do you think we should get more dogs, so we could have our own Avengers?”

D.O.

“Soo!” you called out to him after having gotten back home to your shared apartment but not fully walking inside yet. “Could you come out here?”

“Yeah, Y/n?” Kyungsoo answered, entering the hallway and noticing the way you stood still halfway out the door, your hands behind you. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yeah, no, everything’s perfect!” you said quickly, glancing behind your shoulder momentarily until your eyes met the terrified ones of the puppy on the leash behind you. You turned back to look at Kyungsoo with a wide, hopeful smile on your face. “So, listen. I have some news.”

“Do you, uh, have to give them to me with one foot out the door?” he asked you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No. But that’s how I’m keeping you in suspense and--”

Your words got interrupted when a yelp - caused very obviously by the big dog of your neighbors’ that just stuck his snout out of the apartment next-door - sounded from behind you, and, next thing you know, the puppy ran inside of the apartment, pulling you with him by the leash. The poor thing only stopped running once he reached Kyungsoo. Clearly, the spot next to him must have meant safety.

“Well, ta-da! I guess,” you said, biting your lip. “That’s the news.”

Kyungsoo turned around, squatting in front of the shaking body of the puppy.

“Wow,” he breathed, carefully extending his hand and letting the dog sniff him. Once the puppy licked his palm in approval, Kyungsoo slowly brought his hand through its fur. “You got a dog?”

“I got us a dog,” you said, smiling softly as you watched the two of them get acquainted. “My friend is volunteering at a shelter and I stopped by to visit her today. She told me one of the dogs had puppies but no one wanted them because they weren’t purebred. Now, my friend took two of them but she already had two dogs before, so she asked me if I’d like this one and, well…”

“You just took him,” Kyungsoo said, as the puppy flopped on its back, clearly asking for a belly rub. “Sorry, you took her. Does she have a name?”

“No, but she really reminded me of you,” you said. “When I tried to take her home, she scared three cats away just by looking at them.”

Kyungsoo glared at you - proving your point - and then shook his head. “Well, if she’s that much like me, then she has to stay. Birds of feather flock together.”

Kai

Obviously, Jongin’s life wouldn’t have been the same if he didn’t have dogs. You shared exactly the same attitude and that had to be what drew you to each other. The two of you had a tradition of having doggy play dates every Saturday and that tradition has been strong for all of the two years that the two of you were together.

“You know what I think,” Jongin said one sunny Saturday as you strolled down the park, your dogs tugging on your leashes. “I think we should get a dog together.”

You glanced at him, somewhat surprised. “Really? You don’t think the two dogs you have, and the other two I have, are enough?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “There can never be enough dogs.”

“There can be a limited amount of space, though,” you said. “I don’t want the dogs to feel crowded. And, besides, how would we split the new dog?”

“We wouldn’t,” Jongin said. “We’d find a place to live with the dogs. With a big yard. Oh, and a pool!”

As of right now, both of you often stayed at each other’s places, not yet having thought of really moving in together but now that Jongin brought it up, you realized it might have been the sensible thing to do.

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe we’ve reached that point in our relationship where we have to get a dog together.”

“Oh, I have an idea!” Jongin said, jumping up in excitement suddenly. “What if we got a dog for every anniversary? It could be another one of our traditions.”

“Uh…” you did some calculations in your head. “That would mean that by our tenth anniversary, we’d have eight new dogs.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t see how that’s a bad thing. We’re great people. The dogs love us and we love them back.”

“I can’t argue with that logic.”

“Great,” Jongin said, placing an arm on your shoulders and pulling your body closer to his as the two of you continued your walk, dogs all around you. “We’re the absolute best couple in the world.”

Sehun

“I just don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment,” Sehun said to you as you dragged him to the animal shelter you’ve accidentally stumbled upon a few days ago. You really wanted to show your boyfriend the dog you saw there but he was resisting.

“We don’t have to get it, you just have to look at it,” you insisted, opening the door of the shelter and pushing him inside before he could run away.

Sehun didn’t hate animals, he was just convinced that he didn’t have time to get a pet, let alone take care of it, especially without the help of his family who could look after the animal if he wasn’t able to. You, however, were a firm believer that a person could do anything as long as he wanted it enough. And Sehun needed a little push to understand just how much he wanted a new dog.

“Look, there it is,” you pointed at a black poodle crossbreed. “The owner of the shelter told me that she’s only two years old, but she’s been deaf since she was a puppy, and that’s why her owners gave her away. Oh, look how excited she is to see you!”

Your encouragement was no longer necessary because as soon as Sehun noticed the way the dog’s eyes lit up at the sight of him, he was already sold. A small smile spread across his face as he slowly extended a hand to touch the soft fur of the animal, and you could see Sehun melt once the dog approached him, gratefully licking his hand.

“How could anyone give her away?” he asked in disbelief. “She’s so sweet.”

“People are cruel,” you replied. “But, anyway, she’s been in this shelter for over a year. No other animal has been here that long. The owner said he’s convinced no one will ever take her, and I’m not just saying that to convince you that we need to take her, I’m just… I’m just saying. This poor dog doesn’t deserve this.”

“You’re right, she doesn’t,” Sehun said decidedly. “We have to take her. And I’m not just saying that because I can’t get my hand out of her cage because she’s so soft.”

“Really?” you asked, your eyes lighting up as you chose to ignore the way he played with your words, having obviously suspected that you only told him this story in order to convince him to get the dog.

“Really,” he confirmed. “You probably wouldn’t have had to tell me anything. Just by looking at her I could tell she belongs with us. Our very first child. Oh, this is a heart-wrenching moment.”

“Well, then stop saying it in this voice or I’ll cry,” you hit him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s find the owner so we can tell him she’s finally going home.”

i don’t own any of the gifs posted. credits go to the original owners of the gifs.

masterlist / ask (requests are closed)

[sky-scribbles]

The Shape of the Soul

Dragon Age Daemon AU, featuring the Origins and Awakening companions. Inspired by this amazing post by @piedpica (who tumblr won’t let me @ for some reason? but go check out their daemon headcanons, they’re amazing). Not included are Leliana, because I can’t top the idea from the above post, Anders, because he’ll be addressed in the DA2 instalment, and the dwarves, because I've adopted the idea from other Daemon AU makers that dwarves wouldn’t have daemons.)

~

Alistair

You wouldn’t think to look at Cara that she was the daemon of a King’s son. And that’s just how Alistair likes it.

He’s never asked anyone what Maric’s daemon was, and honestly, he doesn’t care. No doubt it was something very heroic and glorious, an eagle or a stag, fit to stand alongside his father in portraits, fit to be sung of in tales. But Alistair grew up sleeping in a kennel, and Cara was always going to settle as a dog.

She doesn’t stay as a dog all the time, of course, no child’s daemon can ever stay still. After he’s sent to the Chantry, after he hurls his mother’s amulet at the wall, they both go out of their way to cause as much trouble as possible. When the sisters gather them to pray, Cara pads in quietly as a cat or a little terrier. Then, halfway through the Canticle of Exaltations, she transforms into a great snorting druffalo or an ugly-faced wyvern or even a ridiculous nuggalope, and the drone of voices transforms into yelps of shock and shouts of anger. Alistair doubles up laughing, and keeps grinning even during the chores he’s given as punishment. ‘Worth it,’ Cara whispers, and he has to agree.

But for all the jokes she plays with her changing, she always seems to come back to dogs. Perhaps she's simply trying to be as un-King-like as is physically possible, perhaps she's just being a true Fereldan. It doesn't matter. There's a comfort in it that he finds nowhere else, in having her curled against him at night, warm fur against his skin to remind him that he is not quite alone.

He doesn’t even notice that she’s settled for days, the form she takes is so very like her. It takes him some time to realise she's stopped shifting, that she's taken on the shape of those Storm Coast retriever dogs. One of those none-too-smart looking ones, with the folded-over, floppy ears and the big brown eyes. ‘I wanted a mabari,’ he mock-moans, and Cara opens her mouth and hangs out her tongue in a dog’s way of laughing. ‘I wanted someone with brains,’ she sniggers, and Alistair pounces on her and wrestles her to the ground and they tussle like puppies, letting out breathless gasps of laughter.

It’s Cara that Alistair looks to for reassurance every time the insults fly his way, every time he hears a voice sneer idiot or sees the curl of a lip betray the thought of worthless. Cara is a creature bred on the wild seas, to drag in nets from icy waters and to retrieve hunters’ kills from tangled undergrowth. She rolls around with her eyes laughing and her legs waving in the air, a jester of a dog, but there’s a soldier underneath the creamy pelt. There's strength and endurance there, things that no one sees in him until the Templars press a sword into his hand and the weapon somehow feels like a perfect, natural extension of his arm, things that no one respects until Duncan passes him his Joining chalice. And Cara's pelt is thick, to hold out the cold of a frosted sea. Over the years, Alistair’s skin has grown just as thick against the whispers of bastard and fool.

Loghain betrays them, and Alistair feels like he’ll be snarling inside forever. Never betray a Fereldan, never betray someone with a dog-daemon, never incur the wrath of a man to whom loyalty comes before all else. The murmurs start, that the crown might fall to him, and he wants the earth to swallow him. His daemon is a dog, and dogs don't rule nations. They follow and they serve. ‘We’re not leaders,’ he whispers to Cara.

She rests her head on his knee. ‘We could be.’

And Alistair looks at her, and knows she's right. For all their games, for all their playful tail-wagging and soft fur, her breed are only jokers on the surface. At their core, they are workers, hunters - even guides to the blind. Dogs are made to serve, and surely that's what a king does, just as much as a Warden? Perhaps there’s more to him than he thinks. He already knows there’s more to him than people say. No one with a dog-daemon is a fool.

~

Morrigan

Gwydion settles as the mirror breaks.

He was always changing his shape, just as Morrigan did. She pities the children who can only watch the shifting of their daemons and envy them, the children who have never known what it is to feel flesh meld into fur, to spread wings against the sky or run on velvet paws through midnight forests. She and Gwydion have run together as wolves, flitted through the woods as bats, stalked the verges of villages on cats’ silent feet. They pride themselves on their closeness, and watch the outside world with scorn. None of these poor fools can be so close to their daemons, when they have never taken on their shapes, never seen the world through any eyes but their own.

When Flemeth’s hands cast the mirror down, everything changes. The glass shatters, and Morrigan’s world solidifies. Gwydion, cowering as a rat among the shards of the mirror, twists and flickers one last time, and then flies to her shoulder like a shadow, the dark beads of his eyes glittering at Flemeth across the fragments of her bond with her daughter. Morrigan watches her mother turn her back and leave her, then rises to her feet. She would like to cry, but she knows no one will come, and so she shifts her form into the one that her daemon has taken.

Together, the two ravens lift away into the night.

He could only ever have been a bird, for so it is with all mages. And perhaps he could only ever have been a raven, for Morrigan knows the old superstitions about them. Birds of the night, birds of magic, birds of wisdom and secrets, birds of death. They are not the brazen crows or showy magpies who strut around the cities – they are birds of wild places, birds of the untamed. And Morrigan is a child of the wilds.

Ravens have an eye, too, for precious things, things that shine.  Morrigan clasps a thread of polished stones around her neck and weaves glossy feathers into her hair, but a part of her still hungers for the golden mirror that Flemeth dashed on the ground. And another part of her yearns to go beyond the trees, to find something beyond, something more, because birds were made for freedom and because a creature like Gwydion screams power in his every breath, because no one could look at the shadow-black feathers and vast wings and dagger beak and think that this is a bird that could live in a cage.

It is only after she meets the Warden that Morrigan discovers that Gwydion is a dancer.

The campfire is lit, and the wilds lie far behind them. Morrigan has a new mirror in a corner of her tent, a gift from the Warden, this strange wandering hero who has become, impossibly, a friend. Morrigan knows what happiness is – it is touching the sky on an eagle’s wings and slipping through the night as a fox, it is a spell cast to perfection, it is watching a moon rise in silver light while Gwydion perches on her shoulder. But what she feels as she and the Warden sit fireside together is something different, a kind of contentment that fills her and warms her, until she feels frighteningly comfortable and safe, until her mission and her task seem distant, even unimportant.

And as she wonders at this strange happiness, Gwydion leaps from her shoulder, shoots upwards, and starts to twist and roll in the darkening sky. He twirls wing over wing, diving and soaring and revelling in his mastery of the air.

Her daemon is an acrobat, a creature of joy, as well as a dark omen. And maybe she is more than a witch’s daughter.

~

Sten

She has no name, of course. She is the Sten, just as he is, one part of a greater whole.

The Tamassrans judge much on what shape your asala takes. The snakes and wildcats become Ben-Hassrath, the horses and oxen are clearly born for labour. He was always going to be a soldier, so he felt no great pride that day, long before he was the Sten, when he awoke to see his asala lying beside him in her true form. The golden fur, the heavy paws, the hooked talons – none of it was a surprise. ‘As it should be,’ he said, and the lioness inclined her head.

A lion is a soldier, but a lion is no brute – it is a strategist. It knows that to walk alone is death, that the one is never as strong as the many. It knows that ignorance is a disease, that only knowledge of the bush and the plains, knowledge of how prey thinks and how a hunter should act, will keep it from starving. And Sten, too, is a hunter of knowledge, learning to speak the bas tongue and asking about their world. Someday, the Qunari will rise to bring these people to the Qun, and he will stand in the front ranks of the charge. As a lion must know its prey to hunt it, so he must know his enemy to fight them.

The Arishok asks a question, and the Sten is sent to answer it, because his asala is a hunter and who better than a hunter to go on a search for truth? But then they learn the answer in the harshest way. What is the Blight? the Arishok asks, and Sten learns the answer: the Blight is the darkspawn, and the darkspawn are hunters too.

The Karashok’s buffalo blinks into nothingness as her other half’s head is torn from his body. Ashaad slumps motionless as an axe sinks into the side of his ape. Sten’s asala crouches over him long after he falls, curls over his wounds to keep the blood in, and when she sees the humans she runs to them, straining to the very edge of her bond with Sten, until they follow her and find him. He lives, yet he awakens incomplete. There is his asala, but not Asala.

Sten is a man in three parts – in his body, in his asala, and in his sword. Your weapon is your asala made metal, their strength given shape. He has lost his sword, and with it, the right to his glorious lion-soul. He is no longer a hunter who can track down the Arishok’s answer. He is worth only to be thrown in a cage to await death, and he cannot meet his asala’s eyes as they huddle inside the bars.

But then the Warden brings him into a kith, a new pride, and he no longer walks alone. His sword is returned to him, and he is complete, he is whole. On the road to Haven, he issues his challenge, the way any lion worth its claws will challenge an unworthy leader, for no pride can survive with weakness at the head. But the Warden’s words are enough for him to know that there is no weakness in his new kadan.

He always welcomed knowledge that would make him a better hunter, but now he welcomes knowledge of the Warden’s world for different reasons, because the Warden’s world has made them strong, and he wishes to understand that strength. For long nights by the fire, he and his asala listen to the Warden’s words, and they learn.

They are strange beasts, lions. They are cats like any other – proud, strong of will, free. And yet they know loyalty, and follow a leader who proves worthy.

The Warden is worthy, and Sten and his asala have a great deal of loyalty to give.

~

Wynne

Sometimes, Wynne wonders if it’s right. Daemons settle so early in life, before anyone can truly be who they will become, before anyone can truly know who they are.

She certainly didn’t, and when she looks at her daemon now, she sees something very different to what she saw back when Solomon settled. She was young, then, full of pride in herself and in her magic, in how her daemon settled so long before her Harrowing. She was proudest of all of what he became. So many of her fellows had to wait until they were thrown to the demons before they could know the shape of their souls, and so often they came back with ragged, nervous sparrows and terrified little wrens, scarred forever by what they’d seen.

But Solomon found his shape years before she was Harrowed, and it was a good shape for a girl so full of pride. Talons, and a little hook-bill, and great piercing black eyes. Mages have birds, it’s a rule of the world, and so Solomon became the newest addition to the Circle’s aviary, a beautiful tawny owl.

Wynne is rather ashamed to remember what she thought of him, back then. She saw only power and cunning, the marks of a predator. And so she snapped at Aneirin as she pushed him harder and harder still, while Solomon added screeches to her complaints. Only after Aneirin ran, and the Templars marched after him with steel glistening in their fists, did she remember those old superstitions about the wisdom of owls. Only then did she have the courage to feel ashamed.

She was not born with wisdom. There was so little wisdom in her the day that Solomon settled. Wisdom comes only from experience, from knowing that your fierceness has driven away an apprentice into the blades of the Templars, from having a son taken from your arms and into gauntleted hands, from decades of teaching pupils and coming to understand that it is not an owl’s sharp senses and cunning that she needs, but its patience. Owls can sit and watch for hours, so silent and still that you might not see them even if you walk right past them. And Wynne has learned to do the same, to sit back and watch, to perceive, to not judge the people around her but to know them.

Solomon is gone now, of course. When that demon fell upon her back in the Circle, she saw him reach feebly for her with one wing, then flicker out of sight and into nothingness.

It was the last thing she ever saw. And then a spirit embraced her, and she woke.

‘It’s a good shape for you,’ she says to Faith, who sits beside her in Solomon’s form. The Warden and the others mill about the fire, talking and laughing, utterly unaware that one of their companions is only alive because a spirit replaced her dead daemon an instant before the Maker could claim her.

Faith turns and looks at her. The spirit rarely speaks, but Wynne knows it’s waiting for an explanation, the way she so often knows what it’s thinking. It has become her soul, after all.

‘An owl is a creature of patience,’ Wynne says softly. ‘And faith is all about patience.’

Together, they sit in silence and watch.

~

Zevran Arainai

Elves are vermin, and their daemons prove it. Zevran has seen plenty of them in his time – ragged city elves with patch-furred rats clinging to their clothes, scruff-feathered pigeons on their shoulders, mangy cats slinking at their heels. His mother, with her fallow deer, was different. That’s the way it is with the Dalish. Their souls take the shape of forest creatures, creatures that can never be tamed.

Aeno both breaks the rules and keeps them. Dalish elves are forest creatures; city elves are vermin. Zevran is a city elf with Dalish blood, and Aeno becomes both.

An assassin can’t have some lumbering beast following them. As his peers’ daemons settle, the ones whose souls become clumsy dogs and horses are the first to go. Those who remain have sharp-taloned birds, venom-fanged snakes, cats that see in the dark. And then there’s Aeno, who switches one day into a sinuous little creature, creamy-white underbelly and dark russet back, tail-tip black as coal. She winds around his neck and bares her tiny dagger-fangs, and Zevran chuckles. Stoat is not a pretty name, but she’s a pretty creature, and more importantly, she is dangerous.

Weasels are vermin, that’s true for Aeno as it is for Rinna’s silky mink. But Aeno was not made to rummage through refuse or slink through street corners. Her place is the forest and the fields, where her wild kin hide among the long grass, waiting for prey. She’s a perfect companion for an assassin – small enough to meld with darkness,  to scurry ahead through shadows to listen and watch, to carry a vial of poison in her teeth and slip the contents into a waiting cup. And those little teeth… they may not be long enough to tear open a throat, but just try fending off Zevran’s dagger when a stoat’s fangs are buried in your hand. And a stoat is really a lion, shrunk down to be pocket-size, all the ferocity and power crammed into the sleek little form. The meadows are its savanna, the fat rabbits its antelopes. But the stoat does not simply spring from cover and give chase. It bounds in twisting leaps in full view of its prey, not chasing them, but hypnotising them, entrancing them until the fangs are near enough to strike. A rabbit is twice a stoat’s size, and only wit brings them down. It’s the same with princes and noblemen, men and women who think their wealth and influence gives them armour. The stoat is a dancer, and so is Zevran. He knows that a word is as deadly as a dagger, a kiss as fatal as a knife. And so he and Aeno master all those things, he and his tiny little murderous soul forging a life for themselves in blood, until -

Until Rinna's mink twists away and drifts apart into nothingness, and even while Zevran laughs, Aeno is frozen and silent on his shoulder. And then they learn the truth. Death would be easier than life with the guilt, but Warden spares him, saves him, and makes him look at Aeno with new eyes. Without the eyes of the Crows upon him, she seems different. Less of the vermin, more of the beast of the wilds. A beast of freedom. The word is strange to him, almost foreign, something that sits uncomfortably on his tongue and yet is so very, very sweet to taste. When Taliesen falls still in the alleyway, the word becomes stronger, nearer, truer. And he and Aeno are facing new prey, very different prey to pompous nobles and former comrades.

‘Don’t you worry,’ Aeno says, and shows her teeth in a grin. ‘An archdemon will die like a prince.’

For the Warden’s sake, Zevran is willing to see if she’s right.

~

Nathaniel Howe

When a man grows up in  a cage, no one should be surprised when he grows wings. Or talons.

Diana always favoured the shapes of hunting birds. The servants whisper behind their hands and his family brazenly speak the words aloud, he may be a mage, and the thought doesn't frighten him as much as it should. What would change, if he were taken to the Circle, if he swapped one prison for another? But as he grows older he sees that they’re wrong, that it’s not the spark of magic that gives Diana her wings, but a longing for freedom. He grows up crushed by his father’s glare, trapped by the resentment that hangs in the air between his parents. He sits in the trophy room, gazing at the prizes won by his ancestors and longing to share in their glory, and Diana perches beside him as a hawk, a kite, an eagle. And he thinks, this is the glory I am capable of. Look at my soul, look at the shapes she takes. Nothing can hold me back.

As soon as he’s old enough that people no longer suspect him of magic, it gets a little easier. The killers of the sky are good daemons for nobles, souls that mirror the falconry birds they carry on their gloves. His father tells him that Diana should become a gyrfalcon, the bird of the nobility, the glorious white-and-grey hunter kept by kings, and Diana tries, she does, she takes that shape again and again as if trying to force her body to stay in it. When she settles at last, though, her back is the dark blue-grey of slate, her form small and sleek, her eyes piercing yellow. His father purses his lips and turns away, because the peregrine falcon is a commoner's bird.

Despite all his father's disapproval - or maybe because of it - when Nathaniel is sent away to the Free Marches, he doesn’t learn a nobleman’s trades, doesn’t pick up the sword, the shield, the lance. He learns how to set a snare and follow a trail and make an infusion of herbs that will spell death for whoever drinks it – and he learns to fire an arrow, to place it so precisely that he can kill a dragonfly on the wing.

Diana is the soul of a man who is both nobleman and assassin. Something in him always wells up with joy when he sees her rising in the sky, sees her fold in her wings and drop, slamming towards the earth like a thunderbolt, the deadly stooping strike of the fastest animal in Thedas. She never falters, never slows. Never misses.

And yet their wings are still clipped, their freedom kept at bay by his father’s name.

The Warden comes and, impossibly, offers him forgiveness and a future. And for the first time, Nathaniel sees his daemon as she was meant to be, hunting free against truly dangerous prey. And the name Howe is no longer a shackle, because with every darkspawn he slays, every fragment of the truth he learns, every moment he spends in the Warden’s company, he purifies the name. And so at last he is free, and he knows that he doesn’t have to cast off his name to stay free, nor to be a good man.

‘I didn’t need to be a gyrfalcon,’ Diana tells him quietly, and he nods.

‘Nobility,’ he says, ‘has another meaning.’

~

Velanna

Again and again as they grow, Velanna and Nanlen hear the words, spoken and sighed and tutted by their clansmen. You never listen.

Which is true, and they are unashamed of it. What reason do they have to listen, when no one around seems to have anything to say to them? When no one has anything worth saying? The other children shun them, turn their backs because Velanna has no idea how to take part in their purposeless games, and so they stand apart and alone. They stand in silence, where they feel most comfortable, and they study the histories, hunting down knowledge and lost lore. Their solitude is met with rolling eyes and scornful glances, and none of them seem to care enough to realise how much it hurts. Pain hurts to live with, and it's easier to turn it into anger. And so they bristle and snap and insist that they know best, and Nanlen changes to show it, so that any other Dalish who tries to quarrel with them will be met with a snarling fox or hissing wildcat or a kestrel with glaring eyes. Even his very name burns. Nanlen, child of vengeance, a name that makes the hahrens swap glances and murmur their misgivings. Only Seranni can ever soften them, persuade them to stop a moment and think. They listen to Seranni, because Seranni cares enough to listen to them.

Nanlen settles not long after Velanna comes into her magic. The Clan seems to think that Velanna doesn’t hear the things they whisper to each other. ‘Keeper Ilshae’s got a struggle on her hands,’ she overhears one of the hahrens say. ‘Even the shems barely ever train goshawks. They never listen.’

But Velanna can be nothing but proud of her magnificent daemon, his feathers the colours of stormclouds and silver and snow. The goshawk is exactly what she is: the living embodiment of the wildest and most dangerous parts of the forest. Its talons are fierce as the thorns of the sylvans, the thorns that Velanna summons to her side in battle. And how can she not be proud of having a daemon who cannot be tamed or trained? The shemlen come and burn the forest, force her clan away with smoke and flames. Velanna aches to punish them, something within her crying out to tear and rend, and when the Keeper cowers away from dealing out justice she feels her rage erupt.

‘We’re Dalish,’ she snaps at the Keeper. ‘We are the last of the Elvhenan. Never again shall we submit.’

Nanlen throws out his wings and lets out a screech, and while Ilshae sighs, Velanna smiles. She pities the fool who thinks anyone could make a goshawk submit.

But then their pride kills their brothers and sisters, and Nanlen seems to change. ‘Velanna,’ he says, ‘we led them to death because we would not listen.’ But Velanna closes her ears to him, just as she always has to everyone. She doesn’t want to hear it, and she unleashes a hawk’s rage on the shemlen who made it happen, shreds them with her thorns the way Nanlen's wild cousins rip apart their kills in their claws, until –

Until she is made to see that she was wrong.

Ilshae was right. She was not ready to be Keeper. Because a Keeper’s task isn’t about being right. It’s about listening. Listening to the lessons of their ancestors, and listening to her fellows among the clan. Listening in the way that Velanna can never do, the way that a goshawk can only do if you show them patience and a reward.

The Warden offers her both.

‘It is not submitting to admit that we were wrong,’ Nanlen murmurs to her. ‘You can follow another without submitting to them.’

And so Velanna follows the Warden, and drains her Joining chalice, and marches out with the others against the darkspawn. To find Seranni, to avenge her kinsmen. To learn, at last, how to listen.

~

Justice

He knows much of demons. But these daemons – these strange, speaking, shifting creatures that the mortals call their souls - they are far, far beyond his understanding.

At first, when the Warden tells him what they are, he almost reaches for his weapon. ‘They’re not demons, they’re our daemons,’ the Warden tries to explain, tells him that they’re not the Fade’s dark entities masquerading as animals, that the spelling’s different, as if that matters – but in the end, it’s Kristoff’s memories that make him understand.

The dead Warden’s mind is full of images of his living soul, a dark-furred Orlesian shepherd dog. Her name was Mariette, and he adored her. It’s a love of a very different kind to that he felt for his wife, somehow less complicated, but no less intense. In every memory, in every vague glimmer of Kristoff’s childhood and in every vivid recollection of a battle fought, the daemon is there. A constant. Unchanging, like a Fade spirit.

From Kristoff’s memories, and from what the Warden tells him, he learns that no is quite sure what daemons are or where they come from, only that they are bound to the Fade, which is why Sigrun and Oghren walk alone, with no companion beside them or on their shoulder. These creatures are somehow linked to the Fade, to his home - but they are not demons, he realises. They are not spirits, either. They are exactly what his newfound mortal allies claim they are: souls.

Justice watches, and so he learns to respect them. For he sees how so very often they represent the better parts of his friends’ natures. He sees, for instance, how Velanna’s silvery hawk sometimes gives her a long, patient stare when her jaw clenches with anger, as if reminding her to be calm. And he sees how, when Anders tries to cast off his responsibility for his fellow mages – people suffering under an injustice that makes fury stir in Justice’s heart – the dark-eyed magpie on his shoulder turns to him and gives him a sharp, reprimanding peck.

And one night, as they travel across Amaranthine to their newest task, he sees how his friends’ daemons curl up against them, and he feels something that terrifies him. He envies them. He envies the completeness they seem to have, the closeness. Jealousy is for demons, and he tries to banish the thought, because it makes him fear what he could become, but it stays and it stays and it stays.

None of them are sure what will become of Themis, when Anders offers himself to Justice. ‘I’m willing to take the risk,’ she says. ‘Perhaps it won’t affect me at all.’ But it does, of course it does, because Themis is a part of Anders, and Justice becomes Anders, and so he becomes Themis too, and so he sees the suffering that has been wrought upon the mages, and the Templars will pay, and the Circle will be ripped apart, and he will tear down every last enemy until the mages are free, and the magpie screams like a mad thing as veins of blue flare beneath her feathers –

As they struggle through their life in Kirkwall, Justice looks at her through Anders’s eyes, and feels a terrible wrenching guilt. ‘I’ve changed you,’ Anders says, his face tear-streaked and flushed, after the night they lose control and attack the mage girl. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ And Justice wishes he could reply, I have changed you too. You are not the man you were when your daemon settled. I have made a distance between you, I have brought you farther from your own soul, and for that I am sorry.

And as if she knows his thoughts, Themis raises her head and looks sharply into his eyes – and yes, they are Anders’s eyes, but the part of Anders that is Justice knows she looks at him.

‘We are all one now,’ she says.

And Justice feels, despite everything, a faint pulse of pleasure. Because he no longer needs to feel the envy that he harboured, when he thought of Kristoff’s love for his breathing soul. Because Themis is his daemon now, just as much as she is Anders’s.

Perhaps I am not only becoming more demon, he thinks. Perhaps I am becoming more mortal.

Once the thought would have frightened him. But now, when he sees Themis, it gives him comfort.

[sian22redux]

He followed me home

Title:  He Followed Me Home

Pairing:  Chris Evans/Reader

Rating:  T for tooth rotting fluff!

Setup:  Ok..so in a rash moment of weakness I bet @theycallmebecca that my beloved Cleveland Indians could best her Boston Red Sox in the latest series.   Whoever won got a drabble.   It was close and an awesome game but unfortunately an L for Cleveland.   So here is her choice:  Chris and Reader adopt a puppy and have to decide on its name:  from the Patriots. Bosox or Disney.   Aannd because I can never write short it’s more of a fic.    Enjoy! 

Summary:

The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name.  

Thanks so much to  @mypatronusismrpricklepants   and  @arizonapoppy for their awesome help. 

 Chapter 1:  Surprise, March 2018

“He followed me home…”

As defenses for impromptu madness go, it’s a little bit predictable.   You’re standing, sheepish and flustered, with an armload of wriggling, wagging tricolor fluff while your boyfriend Chris leans against the front hall closet door.  

His arms are folded across his chest.  His deep ocean eyes are bleary and amused at once.  It is technically his Laurel Canyon home, although your socks and books and curling iron moved in two months ago.  Long enough to feel a bit like they belong, but not long enough to be certain if you’ve erred.  

“Oh really.”  The sound of Boston twangs as one skeptical eyebrow raises.  

It was just the first thing that popped into your head.  Chris pauses to take in the mammoth paws, the blunt short snout and drawls, “So SuperPuppy jogs a cool tens k’s?”    

“Maybe,” you squeak.  It’s not easy to shuffle one’s feet while juggling a possible hot potato in canine form.  

Chris laughs and shakes his head as much at the sound as the ridiculousness of it all.  

On the scale of crazy spur-of-the-moment things you’ve done this falls somewhere between late night skinny dipping in his mother’s pool (scary but fun) and filling La Jolla High’s atrium with foam (fun until you all were caught).  

You sincerely hope this is closer to the first.  

“Y/N, you are so full of shit.”    

Behind you the door is still ajar—open to the bright spring day that lies lazily golden and blue under California sun.   It’s ten o’clock and only seventy degrees.  Dry with just enough heat to remind you summer will be soon, just enough breeze to lift the sweet scent of  Sierra Salvia blooming beside the walk.

Perfect weather for a mid-morning jog  (or a mid-morning nap if one is desperately jet-lagged two days after crossing eight time zones from damp and windy London).    

Chris yawns and rubs at his eyes.   His hair is mussed; his t-shirt’s askew and you can tell from the creases on his cheek that he’s been crashed on the man-eating white leather couch.  Probably with Dodger on his chest.  

While you’ve been out burning off the prickling excitement of reunion after two weeks apart, the pair of them, inseparable since the moment Chris walked through the door, have been busy catching zzz’s.  

You smile wanly at the dark smudges under those dark and ridiculously heavy lashes.  

He so needs it.  The press for Red Sea Diving has been brutal tacked onto Avengers 4.

“Dodger missed you while you were away,” you offer by way of explanation.  

This is true, but not perhaps entirely the whole point.   The pair of you had talked about the problem just the night before.  How Dodger pined terribly for Chris while he was in South Africa.  How you two had whispered the word ‘airport’ but still Dodger had gone crazy when he saw the latest suitcase coming out.  That it might be a good idea to get him another friend; a constant pal when he has to shuttle between L.A. and Massachusetts; crashing for months at time with Chris’s sister’s kids.  

At least the heavens had aligned for the latest trip.  You’d dog sat and watched the house, spoiled him with lots of love, but still Dodger moped, ignored his ratty favorite blanket and had to be coaxed to eat.   Change was hard for animals.  

But even so, this follow through might be just a teensy bit premature.    

How do you explain?  You’d finished breakfast, thought it a good idea to give the two best buds space to chill and took yourself off for a longer run.   Turned right instead of left along Mulholland and wound up outside Ace of Hearts with its ‘Dog of the day” sign plastered on the window.   So cute, and so in need.  

You’d given in, asked to see their featured rescue and wound up outside puppy’s cage, getting a hopeful shy wag and your fingers licked through the metal bars.

How could you resist?  Puppy looked small and alone and so very sweet.

Isn’t this supposed to be one of the things Chris loves about you?? That you are ridiculously spontaneous while he struggles not to overthink every little thing?

“I didn’t plan it,” you admit.  “It just kind of happened.”   Chris’s eyebrows rise even higher.  

“Y/N.”

You lick your lips nervously and try again.   “I…” you start but don’t get a chance to explain because fifteen pounds of black and white and brown fluffball wriggles harder in your arms. You’re standing in runners and shades, long brown hair pulled up under a sweaty baseball cap.   At your feet are two shopping bags from Village Pet and in the waistband of your jogging shorts are the rumpled adoption papers

Dodger, that pure soul of joyousness, is not helping things. He’s excitedly jumping up on his hind legs, pawing and yipping, trying to get closer to the pup.    The little guy whimpers mournfully.   You lift your shoulders, struggling to hold him a little higher, crooning softly to reassure.  The smells and sounds are new.  There’s a strange dog who is trying to say hi and a big, broad, bearded man who is leaning over to inspect him.  

It’s overwhelming and a bit startling to go straight from a 2x4 metal cage to an open expanse of cool and white.    

And Dodger’s idea of friendly can sometimes be a little much  

“Come on pal, leave off.”   Chris grabs at the red collar in tawny fur, pulls the mutt back, clamps his knees around the wriggling and whining, overly enthusiastic host.  The ghost of a beginning grin on his handsome face fades quickly to a frown of concern.  

Puppy is still scared.  He’s shivering silently in fear, trying to hide himself underneath your chin.  

You can almost hear Chris Evan’s enormous heart melting on the spot.    

“Hey, it’s ok… don’t be afraid,” he says, softly, hunching his huge shoulders down to make himself a little less imposing.  “Don’t mind this big, crazy lug.”   A free hand that knows something about anxiety reaches out to stroke the black wavy fur, caressing it slowly, in time to slow easy breaths, resting gently against the little warm body until the shivers ease.  

Chris, thrilled at his feat, smiles wide and looks up underneath your brim.    “Boy or girl?”  

“Boy.  He’s a Bernerdoodle...” you say as if this explains everything.  

“A what?” Chris is chuckling, quieter than usual so as not to startle the poof of dark wavy fur.    He snickers, clutching lightly at his pec, imitating Ned Flanders nasal accent perfectly.    "Homer, I can see your doodle…"    

“Chris!”  

You roll your eyes elaborately, thinking not for the first time that omg this man is such a kid. Yes doodle is slang for penis.  It is also a recognized crossbreed.  

You shake your head and very very carefully shove him with your hip.   “Shuddup.  A Bernerdoodle is a Bernese Mountain Dog and Poodle cross.  You shouldn’t tease the little guy.  He’s had a really rocky start.  Was just busted out of a puppy mill.  He’s the last of his litter. No one wanted him because his markings aren’t symmetrical.

They aren’t.  Puppy has two white paws, one fore, one aft; a white blaze on his chest and a white stripe down his nose.  His eyebrows are tan, as is half his muzzle.  Quirky and utterly adorable.    You give him a gentle hug and a small pink tongue licks at the bottom of your chin.

Chris leans close and wrinkles up his nose as he too, gets a lick.   “Awww.  Sorry dude.”  

You shift the warm furry load at your hip.  A moth flutters past and Chris looks up, startled, realizing belatedly you are still standing in front of the open door.  

“Whatever he is, he’s a cutie that’s for sure.  Bring him in.”    

He lets Dodger go and swings the white oak door shut, picks up the shopping bags while you walk over to the couch, balancing the awkward bundle of big paws and floppy ears and tail.  So much for cardio, it is suddenly resistance day.  

You lower yourself gingerly to the deep expanse of butter-soft, not-claw-proof leather as Chris slides across, dropping the bags to one side. The space is light and bright and so relaxing:  white walls and furniture, low rough wood tables and dark grey carpet. A haven from the bustle and noise of life.  

“You, too.  Sit,” Chris says, pointing a finger until Dodger finally masters his inner zen to settle down beside your knee.  The older dog is upright, tongue lolling and one ear cocked.  A picture of controlled enthusiasm.  His amber eyes keep flicking from puppy back to Chris.  

Puppy nestles into your lap and makes himself at home, sniffing at the air and taking in members of a new pack.  You are clearly alpha female, chief cuddler and source of safety.   Chris is the alpha male:  one pat and the little guy rolls over to show his belly for a rub.  

Chris obliges; bends down to tickle warm pink spotted skin and gets licked excitedly on his chin for his efforts.    “Ow.”  he announces, laughing and holding a hand across his nose

The white milk teeth are sharp.  And curious. “Watch it little fella.

You smile because obviously Puppy’s starting to feel a little braver now but the sight of him mouthing earnestly on Chris’s offered fingers makes you wonder:  how does one keep a puppy from chewing up the furniture? You hadn’t thought beyond getting him safely home.   The expensive designer to-the-trade originals do already have a few puncture holes--Dodger is rambunctious but he wasn’t a baby when he came home.  It’s been years since you had a pet.  Your old dog, a white heinz 57 collie-samoyed mix with the honest-to-goodness name of Buck passed away your second year of college. He lived to be seventeen.  You can’t even remember what it was like to break in a puppy but there must be somebody around to give you tips.  

“We need to set some water out for him and the new wee pads.” you note.  He has been so good.  Didn’t piddle once on the Uber ride home, or even when he was scared.    

Chris nods, unerringly reaching to scratch behind soft and silky ears. Puppy cocks his head and whines. “Check.  In a sec.  Does he have a name?”  

“No,” you admit. “The breeder had shitty records.  At Ace they called him by his number.  They think he’s about ten weeks old, just enough to be separated from his dam.  I bought some food and stuff.” you add, waving in the general direction of the bags. There’s a blue collar to match Dodger’s and a new leash,  a comb,  smaller steel bowls.  Hopefully they show you weren’t completely off your head, totally mesmerized by dark liquid eyes and a cute as a button nose.  

You blush, remembering the excitement of signing for him, holding him for the first time:  all pink toe beans and soft silky fur and new puppy smell.  Pure heaven.  And the right thing to do, give a home to a poor little abandoned soul in need of loving.  

(No ticking clocks, here.  Nope.   None at all.)

Puppy whines and sits straight up.  Coughs once.  Then twice. It’s a huffing, wheezy sort of hack that shakes the little dark body shake from pink nose to white tail tip.    

Chris looks over at you alarmed.  “Is he ok?”    

This time it’s you that melts a little.  Chris worries.  Always. Empathy, wrapped in caring, wrapped in genuine unselfishness.  

“He will be,” you explain, biting nervously at your lip. “Just needs a little time.  He’s a rescue from a puppy mill.  The whole litter had pneumonia and he almost didn’t make it.”

“Oh fuck.”  Chris’s growl is quiet but you know he feels about animal abuse the way you do. Enraged.  

You pull the adoption papers out and pass them over.   Chris scans them, turning them over and checking the certificate from the shelter and its vet.  All is in order.  Case # A201206 has been dewormed.  Had all shots.  Weeks of Baytril for infection and supplements.   Has been off his feed because of illness.  Is paper trained.

“He’s done his shots and antibiotics, but needs a special diet ‘til he’s all better.”

Chris is nodding, taking it all in, trading the pages back to you for a now braver little guy.  You reach down to pull a water bowl and a new blanket and Kong toy out of the first paper bag.

Puppy sits on the soft grey flannel of Chris’s sweat pants and leans against his chest, raising up one enormous paw to ask for attention.    Chris catches it in his own equally enormous hand and lets his blue gaze slide to the rubber chew toy that is easily twice as big as your fist.  

“How big is he gonna get?”

You flush.  This is the tricky part.   “Ummm, the lady said they don’t think he’ll get much bigger than seventy pounds.”

“Seventy pounds?!”

Incredulous, Chris looks down at Dodger obediently flopped on the floor and back up to the pup.  Dodger is lean and wiry, all muscle and energy; straight flat fur.  Puppy is a small mountain of dark wavy coat, paws not quite like dinner plates.  Hefty and solid.  He’s sitting placidly, taking up a good half of Chris’s lap at less than three months old.  

“Dodger’s only thirty pounds,” he frowns.

“I know,” you nod, “but his father was the Bernese. They’re more than a hundred.”  

Chris chokes.  “Jesuz, Y/N, that’s a pony not a dog!”    

You hold your breath.   This is a gamble.  Chris is obviously a bit thrown by how big the pup will grow.  You can see the doubt begin to whirl like a cyclone in his head. “I don’t know…”  

You slide closer, up underneath the long, ridiculously muscled arm laid along the couch’s back,  reach out to stroke lovingly at his cheek.  A big dog is a big commitment, but from everything you know it fits with his big, golden heart.   “Chris, I feel like this meant to be.  You’ve said yourself that if you were an animal you’d be a St. Bernard.  He’s like your kindred spirit.  Bernese are also big and loyal and loving.  They adore kids.  But they get a little anxious in new and different settings.”      

“So you’re just like me, hunh?”  he says, a little skeptically, lifting the little guy with a firm grip around the middle. “Seventy pounds.   I’d be doing curls with you…”    

Puppy, oblivious to the moment, tries to gnaw on his largest knuckle.  

Doubt starts to curl low below your heart.  

Usually if Chris is into something new, your bouncy, exuberant Labrador of a boyfriend will be all over it.  Keen on it right away.  This time there’s an unsettled crease of worry between his brows and Chris is frowning.   Perhaps you hadn’t thought this through? This a puppy and a larger dog.   Perhaps you hadn’t considered how much more work one seems.  There’s a press tour to do for Avengers 3 and 4. US press for Red Sea Diving.  Possibly another Broadway run.  There’s a lot on Chris’s plate in the coming year but you’d just felt so bad for Dodger missing his big guy while he was half a world away.  

And, if you had to be honest with yourself, you admit a needy pup would keep you little more occupied too.   Your job, back-of-house production, keeps you mostly in L.A, tied down and unable to go on tour.  It’s out of the Press’s eye which has its good and bad at once.   As far as much of the world knows you don’t exist.  You’re a name on the end credits.  Known as a studio employee, someone no one bats an eyelid to see Chris with.  A colleague. No biggie.

For the first months of your relationship it was actually kind of great.  Chris, beyond tired with the relentless attention messing with romances, treated it like a game.  You can go out and no prying idiots think you’re his date.  No one’s calling you a bitch on Twitter.  No one’s staking out your house.    Above the table top you are talking about scheduling and below his toes are running up  your calf. Hidden. Secret.  Just for you two. It’s a thrill and nervous making all at once.

You’re happy to have found the one awesome, caring, gorgeous guy in Hollywood who doesn’t brush his hair more often than you do.  Doesn’t tell you to keep out of his better side. Who isn’t jealous and gets your irregular, have-to-stay-at-the-last-minute schedule. Who shares your manic love of baseball and the Pats.

But you’re a little unsure of where this is going.  Sure he asked you to move in, but both of his best friends have been missing Chris so much.  The frequent long distance trips make it hard.  Each time you are together it is as if you are on vacation: a treat, easy and relaxed but it’s also always reset mode.   Constantly catching up.  Two steps forward and one back.   Texting every day is great but it’s hard to properly communicate.   Case in point:  today, when you made a snap decision without discussing first, without thinking that he’s about to go on tour for weeks.

“Sorry….” you admit in a tiny, plaintive voice.   “We do have a week to take him back,” You start to pull away, thinking you’ve overstepped the line.  

“Hey…hey, no it’s ok.”  Chris grabs your hand to pull you closer. Plants a kiss on the top of your sun-faded Bosox cap.  He sighs. “This was a really good idea.  I might be crazy but I’ll make an appointment tomorrow for him to see Dr. Beltran.”

“Really?”  You sit straight up.  Dr. Beltran is Dodger’s veterinarian.  He experienced and no-nonsense.  A pro. You’ve met him once, taking Dodger in for heart-worm meds

“He can stay?  You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Y/N.”  Chris’s spare hand reaches down to play, as it always does at home, with your long ponytail. Relaxed.  Easy. Intimate.  It sends a shiver down your spine.  

“How can anyone resist this face?”  he says, tickling Puppy under the chin.  It’s true. The little guy’s face is the sweetest thing—a black nose with a pale dot in the middle, bright dark eyes and the most adorable pink tongue sticking out.  You’re lost, the both of you.  

Chris offers Puppy a thumb to chew and grins.  “I was just surprised.  Needed to think it through is all.  Next time you decide to add to our world, can you give a guy a little warning?”

“You seemed so tired and I didn’t want to wake you,” you start to explain,  but then suddenly his words sink in.

Our world.  

“What do you….?”  

You stop and take in the pure unfettered delight on Chris’s face. He knows he has surprised you.  ‘Our world’ means this is for keeps.  Serious. He wants you to be an official couple. It’s overwhelming, and unexpected.  Perhaps the constant roadblocks are wearing on him too.  

Your heart does a heavy flip, somersaulting with giddy happiness.  

Chris smiles, drops a gentle kiss to your lips, holds it until the pup begins to squirm.  

“Babe, this last tour, oh fuck, I missed you so so much. London’s great but I couldn’t wait to get back and be with you.  Knowing you and Dodge and this little guy are happy and at home, here,—that will mean the world.”    

You pull away but not too far, lay your head down upon his shoulder, so choked up you don’t know what to say.  Going public seems like a giant step.  Your bosses, the Russo brothers, know about it, as do both families and close friends—but they’re sworn to secrecy.  Chris is gunshy of the media this time—how Jenny was treated really hurt and he wanted things to grow away from the harsh glare of publicity.

You take a deeper, unsteady breath.  This is truly what you want but can you make it work?  

Chris, as always in tune to you, gives you a soft quick hug and elects to change the conversation.  He stretches, holding one big warm hand under puppy and the other up toward the ceiling.  “Man you were right about the tired though. Shit.  I am getting old.  The flights are getting harder.”  

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” you ask.  You are almost, not quite, two years ahead.  

“Ancient.”  

He ducks a tastefully neutral, well-used, toss cushion that flies past his head.  Dodger’s head pops up.  If pillows are flying and his human is stretching then a game of tag might be just ahead.  He gets to his feet, yips excitedly but instead of playtime he gets wobbly curiosity.  Chris sets the puppy on the floor.  The little guy promptly lunges for a shoe, trips over his own feet and tumbles snout-first into deep grey pile.

You all laugh.  Puppy looks up at the sound and you could swear he grins.  This new development is surprising but not scary.  He sneezes, rights himself again, sits down with a blink and barks.  

“Woof!”   It is a surprisingly deep sounding voice.  

“Ho boy, has he got a set of lungs.”  Chris is laughing.  Puppy seems very pleased with himself.   A few minutes cautious exploration brings him over to the wide back windows.  Outside the morning is clouding over.  It will keep the heat from climbing and for a miracle it might just rain.  Puppy wags his tail and barks at a passing bird.  Dodger stands sentinel behind, tail waving slowly, resident expert at communing placidly with the neighbourhood.  

Pup looks to him and back.  “Boof!”   Nope, the new kid on the block isn’t going to get a rise out of Dodger.   Birds and bees and butterflies are people, too.

They seem fine to let be left alone for a just minute, so you rise and set about getting organized.   A second dish of water goes beside Dodger’s in the kitchen.  Pad are laid beside the back door.  The new blanket is draped beside Dodger’s wicker basket.  You set the ingredients for puppy lunch on the countertop and pull the rudiments of a sandwich from the bursting fridge

From the couch you can hear Chris’s stomach grumble loudly.   He may be exhausted but his stomach thinks it’s almost time for English Tea.    

“Come on, you never ate,” you say, pulling him up and guiding him over to the kitchen.  “Lets get the little guy’s space all set.  He’ll need to eat soon and then go out.  We can play with him outside and then it will be time for a nap.”  

Over by the windows Dodger has brought puppy a bedraggled, one-eared teddy he uses for a friend.   They play tug of war, shaking their heads and mock growling at each other, the pup repeatedly losing his grip but bouncing forward to catch a leg again.    It’s hilarious and sweet.  Big brother playing with the little guy,  but just when you think they’ll start another round the little guy plonks down on his butt, opens his jaws wide and yawns.  And coughs.  

“Hey…”  

He’s scooped up into Chris’s big strong arms and nestled against that wide, sleep-inducing chest.   A whine turns into another mighty yawn, the baby is getting tired.   It’s been a busy day and he isn’t quite over his sickness yet.  

You wrap your arms around them both and Chris drops a kiss onto your head.  He smells like spice and soap and Dodger and the warm-cinnamon-bun perfection of new puppy smell.   Intoxicating.

As you brush your fingers lazily across his back he grins, folds you under his shoulder where you fit the best.  There’s a twinkle in his eye.  One you’ve missed for two whole weeks.

“How long does a puppy sleep?”

[justmecarefree33-blog]

Bechloe Fic Preview

So... I wrote a thing. It’s kinda long, so this is really only the preview. The rest I will link to my FanFiction/AO3 accounts for the rest of your reading pleasure. Let me know what you think, yeah?

"You know what you need? A dog."

Beca glanced up from her phone, mouth still full of chicken burrito goodness, giving Stacie an eyeful when she mumbled, "Whhaa?"

Stacie shrugged, taking a sip of her water. "I said you need a dog."

"I know what you said, Stace. I meant it like 'what the hell do you mean I need a dog?'"

"I think you should get a dog because it'd be good for you."

Beca snorted. "Yeah, no. Not gonna happen."

"Aw, c'mon Becs!"

Beca shot her a warning glare. "I don't do animals." Her tone implied it was the end of the conversation but Stacie paid no head to the shorter girl's stink eye.

"Hear me out, okay? You just moved into your first condo-"

"Correction: I've been living there for almost three weeks now and I had an apartment before-"

"Well sure, but you were living with Jesse then, and now that you're single and alone in that big ol' condo of yours, you should get a dog to keep you company. You know, for when your best friend ain't around!" Stacie shot her a wink.

Beca smirked. "Really now? I didn't know Fat Amy was in town." Stacie's jaw dropped and Beca laughed.

"You cut me deep, Becs. Real deep."

Beca shrugged, shaking her head. "But really though. No dog."

"But Beca dogs are so cute! They're cuddly, friendly, fluffy, total sweethearts…" Stacie insisted, twisting her lips in thought. "Yeah you could definitely use a dog to mellow out all of this," she said, gesturing to the frowning musician. Beca flipped her off in return.

Stacie snickered. She leaned forward suddenly, lowering her voice to a husk. "Plus, chicks dig puppies." Stacie winked again, laughing when Beca's cheeks grew ruddy. Beca threw her face into her palms with a groan.

"Stacie, you're my best friend whom I love like 'the sister I never wanted'," Stacie reached across the table to slap Beca's arm. "But I'm not getting a dog just to find myself a girlfriend. Jesse and I broke up like a month ago and I just…I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

Stacie Conrad (self-appointed best friend and unofficial "sister from another mister") was no stranger to the ways and wiles of Beca Mitchell. They had been best friends since birth. They grew up together, watched out for each other, and had one another's backs all through high school. Beca had been there for Stacie's pregnancy scare back in sophomore year and Stacie had been there for Beca when the tiny deejay started to question why she found the girl in her trig class more attractive than James Jackson, the (questionably) hottest guy in their school.

She had been devastated when Stacie moved down to Georgia for college while she was shipped up to Boston with her father, but they never lost touch and spent every summer together. Back when she told her best friend she had feelings for a guy named Jesse (even when Beca had spent her senior year of high school finally some-what comfortable being known as the 'mysterious gay alt-chick with the awesome mixes') Stacie just took it all in stride. Then again, Stacie was bisexual and knew what it was like to occasionally bat for both teams—once at the same time, or so she had bragged to Beca the morning after. Beca had hung up mid-conversation when she heard someone moaning in the background. Seriously, Stacie had no shame.

"Who said anything about a relationship? Like I always say Becs, the best way to get over someone old is to get under someone new." Stacie wiggled her eyebrows, sporting her signature toothy grin. "But if you're not interested in chasing tail, so to speak, I'll be more than happy to step in for you."

Beca groaned. "Jesus dude like what the hell? You want me to get a dog so you can use it to find your next… sexcapade? No, just- just no. That's like, animal cruelty, or something."

Stacie huffed but finally relented, leaning back into her seat and grabbing her fork to finish her salad. "Fine. Just so you know, you're the worst wing-woman ever, Becs. Like… ever. But that's alright because I love you."

Beca rolled her eyes and the two went back to their meals in silence. After a minute Stacie looked up through her long dark lashes and grinned. "I still think you should get a dog."

It was true when Beca had said she "didn't do animals". Or rather animals just didn't do her. Perhaps both.

Her mother had a cat when Beca was younger (meanest bastard alive), and after being attacked by that goat at the petting zoo when she was ten, she had essentially sworn off all animals in general.

And really who could blame her? Animals were messy and smelly. They needed to be trained (unless you wanted poopy carpets and chewed up shoes) and constant supervision lest the damn thing wander off and get stuck under the bed or something. Not to mention dogs basically barked all the time and Beca valued her silence more than anything, especially when she was mixing.

If she wanted to deal with all of that then why not just adopt a toddler for crying out loud!

So no, she wasn't getting a dog. Stacie could suck it.

It would seem, however, that fate had other plans.

She was walking home after her shift at Residual Heat, the record label she had just started working for, still without a car and having decided against the bus to avoid any more potentially fatal run ins with the crazy old lady she had sat next to that morning.

She was wearing her headphones, more focused on the mix currently playing than what was in front of her. When she rounded the corner her nose nearly kissed the pavement tripping over some kind of animal cage. Luckily the cage was empty and Beca managed to stay on her feet (granted her big toe hurt like a mother), but the noise had caught the attention of the two employees standing in front of the pet store. Furthermore, now one of them was walking her way.

Despite her dark appearance, perpetual scowl, and "don't fuck with me" attitude, Beca did in fact possess the ability to be polite (really only when necessary), and she knew it would have been rude to just ignore this girl.

Damn. She'd been less than ten minutes from home too.

Beca begrudgingly pulled off her headphones to dangle loosely around her neck and gave a tight-lipped smile to the grinning blonde striding up to meet her.

"Hi there!" (Oh dear god, one of those people? Should she just keel over now or suffer through attempting to talk to this girl and ultimately die from her own awkwardness?) "Would you like to hear about our adoption program today?"

Beca would have answered that no, she did not want to hear about their adoption program today or any day or anything regarding animals for that matter, thank-you very much. But, as per usual and because she was just so excellent talking to random people on the street, her words jumbled around inside her mouth before she could even get them out. Which was fine because the blonde was pressing on with or without Beca's approval.

"It's national Adopt a Pet Day, but here at Barden's Pet-a-Tete we've turned it into Adopt a Pet Week!" She gestured to the various cages and dog pens before turning back to Beca with a sad smile. "All these little guys here come from a pound in Atlanta. They need good, loving homes, otherwise the pound will take them back to be euthanized by the weeks end."

The blonde suddenly looked at her, all big doe eyes and pouty lips, silently begging the question Beca was hoping to avoid. She gulped, palms sweating, suddenly nervous this girl could see straight into her 'non-pet-loving' soul.

"Jessica, please, I doubt she needs to hear all that," the second girl said, wandering over to Beca and Jessica, carrying two puppies in her arms. The brunette smiled politely at Beca and handed the bigger puppy to Jessica who at least had the decency to look apologetic. Beca was thankful for the interruption.

Despite her aversion to animals, Beca was indeed a sucker for pouting puppy-dog eyes (how ironic). It was pretty much how Jesse got her to go on a date with him way back in their first year of college. That big dope just had to have the sweetest looking pout she'd ever seen and after she eventually caved and went out with him, he knew he could get away with so much because of that look. (That bastard.)

"Sorry, Ash. I know we still have time and more than half of the dogs have been adopted already, it's just that I want these guys to go to awesome homes. Like now! Aw Ashley, can we keep this one? Please!"

Jessica's puppy was some large breed dog from what Beca could tell and was happily licking the blonde's face into slobbery oblivion, waving his tail back and forth in a mad blur. Jessica started giggling when the pooch began nipping at her hair, trying to climb up her chest to get better access with a surprising amount of success.

Ashley shook her head with a small smile, turning to Beca. "Would you mind holding this one while I pry my girlfriend free?"

Beca, who was watching Jessica being (gently) mauled by the beast in her arms, nearly jumped when a tiny bundle of fur was stuck under her nose. Ashley was already turning to help Jessica and Beca had no choice but to grab the puppy from her unless she wanted to be responsible for dropping the poor thing.

She wasn't all that familiar with dog breeds (she could at least tell you the difference between a black lab and golden retriever) but she was pretty sure the little pooch in her hands was a beagle. Its underside was white with a mix of tan and black patches on its back, and two black ears that were far too large and floppy for its tiny head. Beca tried to adjust her grip and was suddenly nose to wet black nose with the pup.

"She's the last of her litter." Beca glanced over at a messy-haired Jessica, having been freed from the puppy's assault while Ashley put him away with two others that looked just like him. She smiled at Beca.

"The littlest one there was. She can be a little shy and timid, which is probably why she hasn't been adopted yet, but she's an absolute sweetheart and just loves her teddy." Jessica grabbed a tiny teddy bear from a nearby cage and handed it to Beca as little puppy teeth gently latched onto the bear's ear.

The beagle growled playfully when Beca gently tried to tug the bear away. Had she been aware of it, and not giving her fullest attention to the fuzzball in her arms, she would have felt her lips twitch with mirth… as if she were about to smile. (Oh dear god, the horror. She was so screwed.)

"What's her name?" she asked.

Jessica's smile widened and Beca realized her mistake, too little too late. "Whatever you want it to be."

Beca sputtered. Struggled to say something, anything. To give the dog back and run away as fast and as far as she could. She told Stacie "no dogs" and damn it, she meant it!

Ashley, almost nonchalantly, called over her shoulder, "You know, all store purchases are 50% off with every adoption. And you get an additional discount on every bag of dog food you buy from here for the next three months."

Beca could practically here the smile in Ashley's voice and if it was anything like the one Jessica was beaming at her then it was hopeless.

Well fuck.

So much for her "no pets" policy.

Read the rest here or here and let me know what you think. Here’s to 2017 Pitches!

[otterthewasted]

The Dog of Dreams

Feyre hears a whine coming from the alley way, and goes to investigate.

This was written as a thank you to a very kind reader, who mentioned their dog in their comment.

Total fluff piece, set post-ACOFAS.

You can also read this on AO3 HERE.

I hope you enjoy!

*Disclaimer - I do not take credit for the any of the characters or the world created by Sarah J. Maas.

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There it was again.

Furrowing my brow, I reached over and turned the sink faucet off, still holding the paint drenched brushes in my hand as I cocked my head to one side, listening.

It was faint, but as I turned to look towards the back door of the art studio, I could just hear it - soft little whines. Setting the brushes down in the bottom of the deep sink, I reached for a towel and wiped my hands as I walked towards the door and pushed it open, looking out into the alley. The alley looked like any other, except perhaps for the trashcans which were stuffed with art materials - empty jars of paint, falling apart paint brushes, paint stained paper and even a few broken easels.

However I didn’t see anyone or anything that might be whining, and was about to turn back inside when I heard it again. Concerned, I walked out in the cool evening air and began to look around for a sign of what it might be, when a subtle bit of movement caught my eye. There, under a bit of ripped painters tarp that was hanging off the edge of a crate. I crept closer, then dropped down into a crouch and hesitantly reached forward to lift the tarp up - please don’t be a rat, I prayed fervently in the back of my mind.

I was met with brown eyes, wide with fear, and golden brown fur that was so covered in dirt it looked almost black. I froze for a second with surprise at finding a little puppy tucked back against the wall, shivering with cold, and watched as it let out a little whine.

“Oh…” I breathed softly, then lowered down to my knees. “Hello there,” I said and held out a hand towards the puppy.

The puppy didn’t budge, still watching me with uncertainty, even as I continued talking calmly, coaxingly, “It’s ok, come on, I won’t hurt you… it’s ok.”

The cool air bit into me, I hadn’t put on my jacket before coming out here, but I didn’t move an inch from my spot. Finally the puppy lowered its head and began to cautiously take a few steps towards me, stretching its neck out to sniff at the tips of my paint stained fingers. The puppy suddenly sneezed and shook it’s head, it’s long, floppy ears tossing, and I let out a soft laugh at the sight.

It was almost as though my laughter convinced the puppy of my intentions, because it let out a little yip, then bounded towards me, it’s tail wagging wildly. Reaching down I picked it up, feeling its little body wiggling in my arms as I held it up in front of me, and giggled when it began licking my face. Standing up I began to carry the puppy back towards the door of the art studio when I felt a brush down the bond.

What has you so happy all of the sudden, darling?

Rhys, the worlds biggest snoop.

I found a puppy.

I responded, my mental voice tinged with the laughter I was still letting out as the puppy continued to lick my face.

At first I didn’t notice the silence as I re-entered the back of the art studio, kicking the door shut behind me, but then I frowned a little. I wasn’t sure what response I expected from him, but silence wasn’t it, and suddenly I was worried.

Rhys? Is everything ok?

“Of course everything is ok, why wouldn’t it be?” I heard him say from the front of the studio. Gasping with shock I whirled to look through the doorway as he strolled towards me, my heart racing with the brief panic I felt from being startled.

“You could knock,” I said a little breathlessly, and Rhysand grinned. “Feyre, I was supposed to meet you here before we went out to dinner tonight, did you forget?”

I had forgotten.

Wincing a little, I gave him half-smile, “Uh… yes. I’m sorry - the last class ran late and then-”

Coming to a stop in front of me, his gaze dropped to examine the puppy in my arms as he cut me off gently, “You found a puppy. So I see. May I?” He asked and held his hands out.

Without hesitation, I lifted the puppy into his arms - though for a moment the puppy didn’t seem too sure about my decision, and kept it’s tail tucked between it’s back legs. Rhys smiled and held it with one arm, then began to stroke his other hand down the puppy’s back soothingly, leaning his head in to whisper something softly to it.

I didn’t recognize the language, and frowned a little in confusion when I felt his thoughts brush against mine.

It’s Illyrian. ‘Hello little brother’ is the loose translation, it’s a term of endearment to a beloved pet - though most Illyrians don’t keep pets, there are the rare exceptions.

I froze, staring at him, but the puppy seemed to pick up on Rhys’s calm affection, and soon began wagging his tail in earnest, licking his chin and making him grin.

“Rhys,” I asked quietly, “did you…” I trailed off, trying to remember if he had ever told me about owning a pet before and couldn’t recall a single story.

Glancing up at me, he understood my question and shook his head. “No, my sister, she loved animals.” He paused, and swallowed, and I could see the memories flash in his eyes and my heart ached at the pain that shone there. Even after all this time, Rhysand still had not shared all of his memories of his mother and sister with me. “She had a cat that she found as a kitten, here in Velaris,” he continued after a moment. “That cat adored her, followed her everywhere…”

Trailing off he looked back down at the puppy and lifted his free hand to swirl a touch of darkness around his fingertips, then pressed them gently against the puppy’s head. I took a step towards him as he used his power - not out of fear, I didn’t believe that he would ever hurt the puppy - but out of curiosity as to what he was doing.

Rhys’s head cocked to the side a little, as though listening to something, then he looked back at me, noting my curiosity. “I just checked to see if he had been marked as owned by someone, and checked his memories as well.” Rhys saw my surprise and smiled, “It’s a bit more difficult to read the mind of animals but it can be done.” Lifting the puppy he handed him back to me as he continued, “He is a stray though.”

Something inside of me swelled as I held the puppy against my chest, looking down into his wide brown eyes, and through the bond I could feel Rhysand’s amusement.

“I had no idea you were an animal lover as well,” he said as I finally looked back at him.

A faint blush touched my cheeks and I stroked my fingers through his fur. “I… when I was little, I always wanted a dog. The grounds keeper had one, and I used to sneak out to play with him, but mother refused to allow me to have one of my own. She said they were dirty and un-ladylike.” I gave a faint shrug and looked back down at the puppy, “And then when I was older, the thought of one more mouth to feed - even if I could train it to help me to hunt…”

Trailing off, I shook my head once, to clear my mind of the memories of cold and desperate hunger. Looking back towards Rhys, I found him smiling, a curious look on his face.

Furrowing my brows slightly, I asked, “What?”

He let out a low chuckle, “You even have to ask?”

Seeing my puzzled look, he reached up to cup my face lightly, chuckling again as the puppy pushed up in my arms to lick at his hand - and my face.

“Ah, Feyre darling, the answer to the question you are so very hesitant to ask me, is yes. You can have a dog, this dog if you want.”

My eyes widened with shock, and a touch of embarrassment - because the idea had been there, in the back of my thoughts, swimming to the surface the longer I held the puppy in my arms.

“Are… are you sure? I mean… we already have so much work to do, and…” I trailed off as Rhys took a step closer, his hand tilting my head up as he leaned down to kiss me, light and sweet.

Drawing back slowly, he slid his hand down from my face and stroked the puppy’s soft ears. “Feyre, there will always be work to do, but that doesn’t mean we give up the things we want, the things that make us happy. Just look at this place,” he gestured to the studio, “it has nothing to do with your official duties as High Lady, but it makes you happy. And,” he said with a smile so filled with pride and love it took my breath away, “it is helping so many people in the process. Perhaps this puppy can do the same, help other people - but even if that is not the case, even if all he does is make you happy, then that is all the reason I ever need.”

My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and pleasure, and  still holding the puppy between us, I flung my free arm up around his neck and pulled him down for another, deeper kiss. Down the bond I sent him waves of my happiness and excitement, letting him feel just how much this meant to me.

When we finally broke the kiss, gasping for breath, he grinned at me widely, delighting in my joy. “So,” he asked, “what are you going to call this rascal?”

Looking down at the puppy, our puppy, I smiled brightly, “Sabre.”

Rhys arched a brow at me with amusement, “Why Sabre?”

I blushed again and shrugged, “I decided when I was little, if I ever had a dog of my own, I would call it Sabre.”

Rhys chuckled, and looked back down at our new puppy, “Well then Sabre - welcome to the family.”

Sabre, apparently pleased with his name, and his invitation to the family, let out a little bark before he finally settled in my arms, resting his head in the crook of my elbow.

The Court of Dreams - that is what they called it, and it truly was. The dreams of bastards and half-breeds, of monsters and Queens, and of a little girl who grew up to be a hunter with the soul of an artist, who saved a realm and became a fae with the heart of a mortal. A little girl all grown up, still full of dreams - and perhaps the Mother or the Cauldron, or simply the hand of fate, chose to grant this one now.

Sabre, the dog of dreams.