#look at how SMALL his cheek ''fur'' is. then compare it to his NEWEST design (top image)

[hershelwidget]

Gup Spirits Doodle Dump

Its been a while :] Have some losers (occasionally featuring the Octopod Spirits themselves)

Every day of my life I think about how their designs subtly changed as I grew more and more attached . something something "to be loved is to be changed"

[iamonlypartlymajestic]

A Sealed Surprise - FjorClay Week Day 3: Fairy Tale/Mythology

The roar of the tavern rushed over Caduceus, a contrast to the silence of the empty plaza and its closed-down shops. It seemed as if the entirety of the town was congregated in the packed building. What little he made out amidst the noise of cheers and whispers was that a quite notable bard had made a surprise visit. And they had crafted a new song.

Caduceus looked over the sea of people to search for his friends—quite easily, actually, due to his height.

“Caduceus!” A voice to his left called him. He quickly found Jester waving her arms wildly to gain his attention. She was standing on a table repeating his name at increasing volumes. Caduceus smiled in acknowledgment and attempted to squeeze his slim body through the throng.

A weight fell on his foot.

He looked down to see a thick dark cloak slumped over his boots almost blending in with the ebony wood floor. Caduceus quickly gathered up the pile of fabric before it could get kicked into the legs of the crowd and damaged. The firbolg draped the cloak over his arm and admired its softness. It felt really warm under his hand. It may have been due to the gradual heat of the tavern and its dim lighting, but the fabric seemed to almost pulsate a sensation not unlike the fur on a living body. If Caduceus had to compare the fabric to anything, it would be to his own fur. He stroked the cloak a bit longer, reminded of his childhood having brushed his siblings’ fur often, particularly after a tumble in some bramble bush.

He glanced around searching for the cloak’s owner. Nearby, a half-orc sat on a stool next to the bar facing away from Caduceus and towards the makeshift stage where the bard was tuning their lute. Caduceus strode up to an empty space next to the stranger and held up the lost cloak.

“Is this yours? It fell on the floor.” Caduceus gave the other man a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I picked it up before it could get stepped on.”

The half-orc jerked in surprise, his eyes carelessly roaming over the firbolg but then widened at the sight of his cloak. His scarred lips twisted in an anxious grimace and his eyes did not meet Caduceus’s, still fixated on the folded cape. “Uh—yeah, it is.” He raised his hands in a clutching motion as if to grab the cloak but didn’t touch the fabric.

Caduceus continued smiling as he pressed the cloak into the other’s hands. “Your cloak is very soft. I imagine it’s quite wonderful to sleep in especially during the colder nights approaching. I would like one myself if I didn’t have my own fur.”

At the touch of the cloak, the half-orc immediately snatched it from the firbolg. The half-orc clutched it with both hands and brought the dense fabric up to his face in relief. He breathed in its scent, but quickly brought the cloak down to his lap—still in his very tight grasp—apparently having remembered his manners.

“Th-thank you. Very much.” The half-orc then made eye contact with the firbolg for the first time throughout their interaction. He looked at Caduceus from head to toe and then back to his face. His eyes narrowed to a squint before lighting up as if he was impressed by what he saw and gave Caduceus a wide-toothed smile, showing off the blunted ends of his tusks.

Now admittedly, Caduceus was a common recipient of surprised looks. Not many people have encountered a firbolg in their lives, much less one with bright pink hair. It also wasn’t the first time the cleric had been examined over as being a member of an adventuring party, he and his friends were frequently tested as ally or foe. However, Caduceus couldn’t help but feel there was something more to this simple interaction than just returning a lost piece of clothing.

Maybe the Wildmother would give him an answer later.

“Caduceus, where are you?” Jester’s call pierced through the dreamy atmosphere they created right before the delight of the tavern visitors reached its peak. The bard must have finished.

“Oh! I have to meet my friends.” Caduceus stepped back from the half-orc and with a parting smile to his new acquaintance he hurried to the table Jester was still standing on.

“There you are!” Jester placed her hands on her hips in a scolding manner and jumped off the table. Her jokingly stern expression quickly melted into a smile. “What took you so long?”

Caduceus hummed before answering. “Someone dropped a cloak and I returned it.”

Jester wiggled her eyebrows and cooed. “Are they cute?” She elongated the word cute and fluffed up her dress. “What’s their name?”

“I thought so.” The half-orc was quite handsome, more so when he smiled. The firbolg admired how tender the half-orc’s eyes became when he held his cloak, a complement to his scarred bulky figure. Caduceus tilted his head further in thought before remembering, “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself.”

“Oh jeez, Caduceus. That’s like, the first thing you’re supposed to do when you meet a cute person.” Fortunately for Caduceus, Caleb called for their attention before Jester could give him any more romance tips.

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As soon as the firbolg walked into the mesh of bodies and out of sight, Fjord’s face burned. The tavern’s heat began to suffocate the half-orc, so Fjord quickly shoved himself to the exit. He inhaled the refreshing air of the chilly night, but it wasn’t staving off the deep blush on his cheeks.

“I’m such an idiot!” He screamed into his sealskin to muffle the noise. How could he have made such a dangerous mistake?

Always keep your skin with you.

The first and most important rule Fjord had learned upon being cursed as a selkie.

With his face still hidden in the sealskin’s wrinkled coating, Fjord knelt on the ground. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” If the firbolg hadn’t returned his skin, the half-orc would have been a slave forever.

The adrenaline and anxiety were still shaking through Fjord’s core. He needed to be wrapped in his skin. Needed to be engulfed by its silky softness.

He needed to swim.

The port town he currently stayed in was surrounded by stone-lined beaches. He wasn’t the only seal or selkie to have found a short-term home in its many coves. The half-orc raced to the beach while making sure he wasn’t being followed. He removed his armor and clothing and hid his belongings in a designated area he found the day before: a small cavity in the wall of the cove carefully hidden by a well-placed boulder.

Once ready, Fjord climbed to the top of a small cliff. He tied the skin around his neck and took a running head start off the cliff’s edge. His body twisted as he dove and upon hitting the water’s surface, he was fully transformed.

The half-orc turned seal zig-zagged through the ocean, careful not to stray too far from the shore. He had never craved the water as much as he did after becoming a selkie. Sure, he spent much of his childhood dreaming of sailing away, but only as a means to escape the orphanage. Now, he needed the water as much as he needed to breathe. He and other selkies could only achieve freedom and life in the deepest depths of the water far from the chaos at surface level.

Fjord’s long glide screeched into a plunging halt. He almost lost his skin—his soul today. It could have been all too easy. If it wasn’t the firbolg who had found his skin. If the firbolg was a bit too uncaring about returning others’ valuables.

Fjord would have been forced to live a life forever searching for his skin, to forever follow whoever had taken it. Forced to do whatever it takes to get it back. The lost sealskin would feel akin to being well, endlessly skinned alive.

Punish. Punish. Punish.

The one-worded mantra pounded into his head. The resulting headache interrupted his swim. “Stop thinking. Stop thinking. It’s okay. It already happened. It’s okay.” Suddenly, the darkness of the water seemed to hide something much more sinister than wayward fish.

Fjord swam back to land and flopped back to his hiding spot. He usually slept in his seal form to disguise himself amongst the sizable population of ordinary seals.

As he calmed down, past memories sloughed off his mind like water and were replaced by a certain pink-haired firbolg. Fjord’s blush came back in full force. Now that he had worked off his fear, he had to face his newest dilemma.

He was married!

Well, according to selkie customs that is. But still! Married!

Fjord didn’t even know the firbolg’s name and they were married. The half-orc rubbed his snout against a rock in exasperation. He knew nothing about the firbolg other than the fact he apparently liked the color pink and...plants? Fjord definitely remembered there was something plant-like growing tastefully along the armor on the firbolg's slim body. The half-orc couldn’t stop himself from forming a toothy smile. He never showed off his teeth—insecure about his tusks, so for him to smile widely in front of the firbolg…

The firbolg was just so nice! In the small amount of conversation they had, the firbolg’s calm voice was like a balm over his fear and anxiety. He wanted to melt in its grave tones and into the firbolg’s embrace. Fjord’s heart was racing at having to see the tall elegant figure again.

He needed to see him. To know his name. To know everything about him.

Fjord resolved to go to sleep, find the firbolg the next day, and... tell him.

Fjord did not sleep. His mind raced with thoughts of the firbolg. His body was equally as restless as he stroked his sealskin through the night wondering what it would be like to caress the firbolg’s long hair and fur.

He hoped that he accomplishes the next task in his mental list. After shedding his sealskin and dressing into his clothes and armor, the half-orc marched back to the town center to look for the firbolg.

Fjord flitted his eyes back and forth as he strolled through the town, looking into various shops and buildings, staying only long enough to confirm that the firbolg wasn’t in them. Fjord passed by a flower stand and then immediately stopped and walked back. The flowers were beautiful, but what captured his attention was a row of jewelry crafted entirely of flora. His eyes strayed to the ring section in particular. He didn’t know anything about firbolgs or their marriage customs, but he did know about human proposals. It wouldn’t hurt to have something to signify their marriage, right?

With a trembling hand, Fjord picked a ring made of a piece of twisted vine and topped with a pink flower he was unfamiliar with the name of. After being assured that the ring would magically resize to its new owner, he bought the well-crafted ornament, replying to the shopkeeper’s knowing smile with a shy tight-lipped smile of his own.

Okay. Step 1 of the proposal taken care of. Now Step 2: the actual recipient.

Fjord cradled the ring in a pouch he hung from his belt and continued to search for his new husband.

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Caduceus followed after Beau idly. He had no need to buy anything in town, preferring to see what his friends bought instead.

They pair walked to the center of the town where a water fountain resided, ostentatiously designed with the types of fish the port town was famous for. The rest of the Mighty Nein were already there showing off their new items to each other.

Caduceus was in the middle of complimenting Jester’s new ribbon when the tiefling brought his attention to someone behind him.

The firbolg turned around, pleasantly surprised to see the half-orc from last night. “Hello.” Caduceus smiled in greeting and nodded to the half-orc’s cape over his shoulders. “I’m glad your cloak is doing well.”

The half-orc straightened and puffed out his chest. “Um, yes. Thank you again.” His eyes wavered towards Caduceus’s friends probably noticing their unsubtle attempts at eavesdropping. Jester was in fact still behind the firbolg’s tall form and upon realizing the half-orc was the “cute person” Caduceus had talked about, leaned even closer to hear better.

“I’ve realized that I’ve yet to introduce myself. I am Caduceus Clay.” The firbolg cocked his head to the side. “And you are?”

The half-orc seemed to have lost his brevity, a bright blush overtaking his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous, but grinning dazzlingly. “My name is Fjord. I...Caduceus…”

Fjord took a deep breath, composed his face into a determined expression and presented a ring between two fingers. “Now, I don’t know anything about firbolg tradition, but I thought—I thought you would like this ring.”

Caduceus stared at the hydrangea-woven ring, enchanted by the idea of this gentle half-orc purposefully seeking him out. The firbolg wanted to reach out his hand to accept the gift. At the corner of his eye, he could see Jester’s eyes switching back and forth between the two, her mouth agape. He looked back at Fjord. “What’s it for?”

The half-orc cleared his throat before answering. “I would like to marry you.” Fjord looked directly at Caduceus and his yellow eyes seemed to glow with conviction, knocking the breath out of the firbolg’s chest. A passing breeze blew by tousling Fjord’s hair and a vision of flora erupted behind the half-orc. A giggling chime rang in Caduceus’s ears weaving a tale of dedication and exhilarating waters.

Upon Caduceus’s answering silence, the glow in Fjord’s eyes faded just as quickly as it appeared. The half-orc’s voice lowered into a bashful gruff as he awkwardly continued. “Uh..err. If you would have me, of course.”

It took a moment for Caduceus to realize what Fjord had just confessed to, the firbolg’s ears perked up and his eyes grew wide in shock. He flushed from head to toe.

Chaos erupted around the couple punctuated by Jester’s squeal of excitement.

Author’s Note: It was originally supposed to be a short comic until I got too lazy to draw more panels. I decided to supplement it with some writing, but then I just went a tad bit overboard.I hope you enjoyed it! (￣▽￣)ノ

For @fjorclayweek​ 2020, Day 3: Fairy Tale/Mythology Based off of the Selkie Accidental Marriage tumblr post by @howtobangyourmonster​ 

Cross-posted on AO3 as A Sealed Surprise by IAmOnlyPartlyMajestic

[kenzieam]

It’s Time - (Bucky X OC)

Rating: M (language, eventual smut, angst)

Genre: Drama/Angst

@captstefanbrandt @iammarylastar @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @notimetoblog @captain-ariel-barnes @jaamesbbarnes @lancefvcker @bitsandbobsandstuff @softlybarnes @lovelybbarnes @buckitybarnes @bucky-plums-barnes  @moonbeambucky @badassbaker @citylights221 @empress-of-boujee @tbetz0341chook007 @shynara51 @diinofayce @casestudy-mw  @jewels2876 @damnaged-princess @everythingisoverrated @allmyfanficfaves @melgoodwin @clarabella960 @curvybihufflepuff  @angryschnauzer @wowspideyholland @sergeantwhitewolf @smilexcaptainx @plaidcat4815

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An AU story with Bucky Barnes and my new OFC, Nika, please let me know what you think!!

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It's time.

Two little words, glowing on my phone screen; an innocent text, that manage to stop my heart.

Even though I've been expecting this for the last eight months, I'm still not ready.

Taking a deep breath, I dial the familiar number. He answers on the fourth ring.

"Lev."

"Clint."

For a long moment, neither of us speak.

"Are you coming home?" He finally asks.

"Does she even remember me?"

"Her only daughter? Of course she does."

My cuticles are suddenly very interesting. "Do I have time?"

"Yeah. If you hurry. I'd give her maybe a week."

"Does she want to see me?"

He sighs then, and I feel a small twinge of guilt. "Yes, she's been asking for you, she doesn't understand why you left in the first place."

"You know why-"

"I know, and before the cancer started rotting her brain Mom knew too, but now she's asking..... Can I tell her you'll be here soon?"

Dammit. "Yeah. My manager owes me, I'll call in my vacation time; let me find a flight and I'll call you back with the details."

"Thanks, Lev."

"Sorry I wasn't there."

"Don't worry about it."

"Is he going to be there?"

Another sigh. "He's one of my best friends, of course he'll be around."

"I don't want to see him."

Clint is silent for so long, I wonder if the call dropped and glance at my screen to check.

"It's been five years, Lev. You're going to have to let it go."

"You know I can't."

"You don't know the whole story, and if you weren't so goddamn stubborn I could've told you it a long time ago."

"Clint, don't. Don't go all big brother on me."

"Six minutes older."

"Big whoop."

I hear mumbling in the background, Clint's reply is muffled. "Lev? I gotta go, Nat needs help with the baby. You still have to meet your niece, you little puke.”

“I’ll call you back.”

“Just leave a message if I don’t answer, sometimes it takes awhile to get Lou to sleep.”

“Alright.”

“Bye, you little shit.”

“Bye, ass-munch.”

My smile fades as the call ends. My Mom is dying, end stage cancer and, from the other side of the country, it’s been easy to avoid that hard truth. She always loved Clint more than me anyway, but that’s hardly an excuse. Now it’s time to face the music.

A few minutes noodling around on my laptop gets me a round-trip flight leaving tomorrow morning.

My call to my manager is short and saccharine sweet. I have the next three weeks off, with the option of taking another week; it definitely pays to hoard your vacation time.

My neighbor across the hall agrees to watch Grimshaw for me, and I pet his sleek black fur one last time before handing him over, earning a nip for my trouble. The former stray is smart, even for a cat and he knows what’s up. He never gets shuttled over to the neighbors unless I’m leaving for an extended period of time, and he makes sure I know he’s displeased.

It doesn’t take long to pack, and I’m yawning under the covers not long after. I’m stubbornly refusing to consider what’s going to happen once I get home, and what my chances are of running into him.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** The flight doesn’t take nearly long enough, and far too soon I’m walking through arrivals, wondering if it would be uncouth to pop into the airport bar for a few shots of liquid courage.

“Hey stranger!”

The first real smile I’ve cracked all day appears as I turn to the speaker and am swept up into a bone-cracker of a bear hug, suddenly surrounded by familiar cologne and strong arms.

“Hi, Steve.”

“That’s all? Hi, Steve? Haven’t seen you for years and it’s ‘Hi, Steve?”

“Oh! Steven! My beating heart! I’ve missed you so!” I wail dramatically, pretending to swoon and falling against his broad chest, looking up into his amused face before reaching up and clutching at his cheeks, pinching them and pulling him down for a loud European style set of kisses. “Better?”

“A little.” He teases, slinging an arm over my shoulder and pulling me to his side. “Did Clint tell you I was picking you up?”

“No, he just said he wasn’t going to be able to and he’d see who he could find. I was thinking I’d probably get a cab.”

“Nah, baby girl. As soon as he said you were flying in I volunteered.” His arm tightens, pulling me closer and he plants a loud kiss to the top of my head. Out of all of Clint’s friends, Steve has always been the big brother, the big affectionate goof not ashamed to tell you he loved you, that always answered the phone, no matter the god-awful hour and was halfway out the door to pick you up before your drunken ass could even remember which party you were currently at.

He scrunches a handful of my hair. “What’s this? Channeling homeless 80’s hair-band?

“Shut up.” I slap his shoulder hard enough to hurt my hand, but of course it doesn’t faze the gorilla. “I had a hair appointment booked today, but I’m here.”

“You look like you did in school, last picture I saw, you had some sleek French model bob thing.”

I feel a twinge of guilt, that was almost a year ago. “Nah, it grew out. I’ve been up to my eyeballs in projects lately; my only regular date is my masseuse to try and loosen up these knots I get from bending over a drafting table all day.”

“Clint said you’re almost a partner?”

“Bro exaggerates.” I stop short, grinning widely at the vehicle Steve has led me to. “Nice wheels, Rogers.”

His grin back is equal parts pride and bashful. All through high school he’d talked about owning a vintage Porsche, and the black piece of art in front of me sure looked like one. “Got lucky and found the ad just as the guy posted it, it needed a little body work, but not much else. Got it reasonable enough, guy wanted room in his garage for his new toy.”

Stowing my bags in the front, trunk, I remind myself, he holds my door open like a gentleman then runs around the front, sliding into the driver’s side with his typical grace before turning the key and grinning widely at me. It was infectious and I can’t help but grin back, squeaking in surprise when he lays a few blackies screeching out of the parking lot.

“So how is work going?” Steve asks, downshifting, the hum of the engine immediately addicting.

“I’m a senior architect at the firm, but I doubt I’ll be partner anytime soon.”

“Why? You’re amazing, Bean. I saw what you’d draw in art class.”

“My personnel file calls it a ‘bellicose attitude’, I’m sure if I wasn’t the one bringing in 40% of the contracts myself, and if they hadn’t head-hunted me, I’d of been skidded months ago.”

“Why the attitude? Just do your thing, sweet; don’t pay attention to the peasants.”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Half of the people there are just concerned with prestige; they just want to design the newest ‘in’ thing, not for the art of it, but the fame; I’m not an architect for the glory, I love architecture.”

“Come back home, there’s plenty of firms in Manhattan that would love to have you. Get out of Seattle before you’re completely disillusioned.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Steve rolls his eyes, fixing me with an affectionate exasperation. “You can’t do that forever, Bean. It’s been five years.”

“Do you and Clint compare notes?” I grumble, pointing out the windshield. “Stop at that Starbucks and I’ll buy you a Caramel Macchiato to shut up.”

Smirking, Steve pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine but before I can climb out he grabs my hand, stopping me. “It’s hard not to, you guys were perfect for each other. He’s spent the last five years kicking his own ass over it, and we miss you here, please just talk to the guy.”

“He slept with another girl, Steve. Or did you forget? Got her pregnant too.”

A dark emotion sweeps across Steve’s normally cheerful face. “That’s your side of it.”

“What other side is there?” Even as the words leave my mouth I feel a hot flash of shame. That had been part of the reason I’d left in the first place, to avoid this; to stop from breaking the gang up by demanding they choose sides.

“Are you happy?” He asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Working across the country, in a city where you have no family? Sure, you’re an architect, your dream; but this is the first time you’ve been home since Clint and Nat’s wedding.... four years ago, has your anger been worth that?”

Suddenly, I wasn’t sure anymore. The wave of nostalgia I’d been holding back hits me full force then and I have to look away, blinking back unexpected tears. Steve’s hand is warm over mine.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just.... just talk to him, Bean. Clear the air if nothing else. If you still feel the same way after then you can go back to Washington with a clear heart, but it’s obvious you’re not over him.” He cups my chin, turning my head to look at him and waits patiently until I raise my eyes. He smiles gently, grinning wider when I manage a wet smile back.

“Love you, Bean. I’ve missed you; we’ve all missed you.”

“Love you back, doofus. You want sprinkles?”

“You’re buying? Of course.” He pulls away, reclining into his seat with a groan and flaps his hand at me. “Hurry up, I’m thirsty.”

His Macchiato occupies him the rest of the way and I find myself staring out the window as we drive, finding less changes than I expected to the old neighbourhood. I was used to constant design and construction back in Seattle, this is exactly what I remember from high school.

“Nothing’s changed.” Steve beats me to the punch, slowing to a stop to let an old lady cross the road, carrying a reusable shopping bag. He sticks his head out the window. “You need any help, Mrs. Proctor?”

Her reply is muffled, but Amelia Proctor was ancient when I was young, and muttered back then too. I catch a ‘no, dear boy, but thank you’ then she’s past us, moving like creeping Jesus.

After he closes the window I grin. “Mrs. Proctor’s still around, huh?”

“Yep, and she’ll still chase you down with her cane if you cut across her flower garden. How many times did you do that?”

I can’t stop a giggle. “At least once a week, it was a game; she loved it.”

“You two were terrible; poor Mrs. Proctor, if it wasn’t you, it was him.”

He’s treading in dangerous waters again, and I look away.

I don’t look forwards again until he turns the car into the driveway, I’m staying at Mom’s while I’m here, same lapis blue exterior with white trim, same swing on the wrap-around porch. Clint’s car is parked in front of the garage doors. I glance down the street, his house is just a half-block down, brick-red with grey trim. He and Nat bought that house from the Foster’s right after they got married, would they stay there, or move into this house, our childhood home?

“There she is!” My door is yanked open and arms pull me out into a tight hug.

“Sam Wilson.”

“Lev Barton.” He lets me go only far enough to kiss my forehead then yanks me back again, finally releasing me with a loud sigh. “You look good baby girl, except for that hair.” He cuts a glance at Steve and I wonder briefly if Rogers texted him to have that line ready.

“Shut up.”

His laugh is infectious and he slings his arm around my neck, pulling me close and almost off my feet. “I’m kidding, you look like you did in high school, it looks good.”

He’s the second person to say that, first Steve and now Sam; I hadn’t really had time to think about it these last few months, who else is going to wax nostalgic on me?

“Baby sister!” I hear the familiar voice and duck out from Sam’s arm just in time to be swept up by Clint. It takes my breath away just how tightly he grabs me and I feel a rush of fresh shame; what kind of sister have I been, letting him deal with all this himself?

“I’m sorry.” I murmur in his ear and he knows immediately what I’m talking about.

“It’s okay, Mom’s always been hardest on you, I understood why you’ve stayed away.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my hair. “I’m just happy you’re here now.” He steps back, glancing over his shoulder, his face splitting into a huge grin as Nat appears, a pink blanket wrapped bundle in her arms. My sister-in-law and childhood friend steps closer, looking every inch a glowing new mom. She tilts the bundle so I can see and I feel my heart immediately burst.

“Ohhhh.... guys, she’s adorable.” I find myself cooing, making ‘gimme’ fingers. Carefully my new niece is placed in my arms and I’m completely suckered.

She’s got Clint’s blond hair and Nat’s nose, fist curled against her downy-soft cheek. She’s already a few months old but she still looks like a tiny doll to me.

“She’s so little.”

Clint wraps his arm around my shoulders again, looking down at his daughter. “Yeah, she’s just a little shit,” he grins, sidestepping Nat’s playful smack.

“Is Jax still around? I’m getting her name tattooed on my wrist.” It’s a split second decision, but that’s how I roll.

“Yeah, he’s still downtown.” Clint answers, shaking his head. We may be twins, but we’ve never been alike. Clint’s got Mom’s hair and eyes, while I’m darker, like Dad. Clint treats his body like a temple, whereas I’ve closing in on an even dozen tattoos. Clint’s never had so much as an earring, while I’ve had a whole gamut of piercings, up to and including one only my infrequent boyfriends have ever seen. “Can you see Mom though before you run off defacing yourself further?”

My mood stutters a bit as I’m reminded why I’m here in the first place and Clint sobers as well, pressing a kiss to my forehead in apology before stepping away. Nat takes his place and smiles as her new daughter stirs and blows a few bubbles in her sleep. I just grin like a damn fool down at her for a few minutes, breathing soft-baby smell and sighing.

“Eloise Arabella Barton.” I grin.

“You’re not tattooing all that, are you?” Nat sounds doubtful.

“No, just ‘Lou’, it’s almost as cute as her.”

Clint reappears, face sombre. “I just called the hospice. Mom’s having a good day, did you want to go?”

I gently hand Lou back and take a deep breath. “Just let me put my bag in my room, then yeah.” I glance over at Steve and Sam, standing nearby. “You guys?”

Sam shakes his head. “I gotta run, Wanda’s on bedrest. You have to come by and see her, Bean.”

“How much longer does she have?”

“Five weeks. And she hates every minute of it. First pregnancy was fine, now the second one is dragging her down.”

“Must be a boy, then.”

“Ha Ha. Text me later Bean, before Wanda opens the bedroom window and starts screaming your name.”

“I will.”

Sam turns and starts jogging away; he, Wanda and their adorable daughter Zoë live the next street over.

“Steve?”

He shakes his head. “I have to run by the site, check out the new crew.”

I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. Steve would have been a good buffer between me and my Mom, now I’m going in alone. “Business going good?” I feel bad for not asking sooner about Steve’s construction company.

“Yeah, it’s good.” He seems reluctant to answer, “Buck handles most of the grunt work now, I handle the clients end of it.”

I nod. Steve always was the most even-tempered of us all, the one who easily made and kept friends, the ‘never met a stranger’ guy. His business partner, the man I’d avoided for five long years, was a whole other story.

He leans forward suddenly, presses a quick kiss to my forehead. “Say hi to your Mom for me and I’ll see you tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“Didn’t Clint tell you? He’s having a barbecue to welcome you back.”

“What?”

“It was a surprise, you big dummy.” Clint deadpans behind me. “If Bean knew about it, she’d catch the first flight back to Seattle.”

My immediate flash of panic is quickly overwhelmed by the thought of seeing all the old neighborhood again. Surely it’ll be big and busy enough that even if he does show up, I can avoid him.

Steve shrugs in a ‘sorry, not sorry’ way and turns away, calling goodbye over his shoulder before roaring off.

“Dick.” Clint shakes his head, grinning. “C’mon. Nat’s feeding Lou; hop in the car and we’ll go see Mom.”

I never did get to put my bags inside, so I set them just inside the porch and walk over to Clint’s vehicle.

“You need a minivan now, Dad.” I tease.

“Nah,” he replies easily, buckling his seat-belt and gesturing into the backseat. “This is the ultimate in soccer-mom SUV chic, minivans are so last season.”

We fall silent as we get closer to the hospice and I find myself picking at a small mark on my jeans. The shaking in my knees gets worse as I follow Clint inside the building, smiling dutifully as I’m introduced to the receptionist, then follow my brother down a maze of hallways. He knows the way and if I wasn’t about to have a panic attack, I’d be able to focus more on how downright beautiful and peaceful it is here. Soft lights and music, green spaces and small waterfalls, it’s a nice place, considering you only come here if you’re going to die. Dad’s estate has been footing the bill for here, and I can see now why it costs so much.

He stops in front of a room and holds up a hand. “Wait here.” He instructs before disappearing inside. I fidget and wait, pulling at my poor cuticles a little more before he reappears. “C’mon.”

I follow, swallowing hard but I’m still not prepared for the sight that awaits me. Always fashionably lean, Mom is positively gaunt now, her hair thin and colorless, a far cry from the perfect weekly blow-outs she always had. Dad had been a successful business man up to his surprise death from a heart attack when Clint and I were sixteen, and Mom had always been the polished, glamorous wife, doting on her favored son and tolerating her free-spirited daughter. Spare with her compliments and sharp with her judgements, her and I had never really gotten on. She’d been smart though, learning the business quietly from Dad, taking over when he died and selling it for an embarrassing profit a year later, she’d ensured herself a comfortable life, and now, a comfortable death. I knew there were trust funds set up for Clint and I, but I’d never looked into mine, preferring to make my own money.

Her eyes, bleary with heavy painkillers, nonetheless lock onto me like a missile.

“Levka.”

I’ve never gone by my full name. Supposedly, when we were born, Dad got to name Clint, and called him Clinton Edward after some childhood friend that died young, while Mom got to name me. She had a degree in Russian Literature that she’d never to my knowledge used, other than bestowing me with my incongruous handle; Levka Valentina Barton.

She reaches for my hand, breaking me out of my thoughts and I give it before I can think twice. Her grip is weaker, but still stronger than most men. I sit in the chair Clint pushes forward for me and try to think of what to say.

“Mom, I-”

“Don’t, Levka.” Her voice is surprisingly strong. “You and I have never been ones for idle chitchat, at least not with each other.”

I shift guiltily on my chair, wondering if I’m about to get my proverbial ass handed to me by a woman with no fucks left to give.

“I wanted to see you before I go,” she continues, as matter of fact as if she’s leaving for a weekend at the spa. “I’ve always been proud of you, Levka; even when I didn’t show it.”

I nearly fall off my chair in shock. Mom has never, ever told me she was proud of me.

“You are as strong as your name, and you have always been strong in your convictions. Perhaps that’s why we’ve never gotten along, but I’ve always admired how you make your own way. I want my grand-daughter to have strong role models in her life, to grow up knowing independent women like you and her mother; therefore, I’m leaving you my house-”

I glance in shock at Clint, but he doesn’t look surprised.

“-and I hope you will move back home and help raise Lou, help mold her into a eloquent and respected young lady.”

I’m gasping like a fish out of water and Clint steps closer, resting his hand on my shoulder.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, Levka; for not being the best mother to you. I want to be able to see your father again and tell him we are okay.”

Okay, now I’m crying. I feel Clint’s hands on my shoulders and for the longest time, I can only hold Mom’s hand against my cheek as I try to form words. That’s all I’ve wanted, all my life from this woman, acceptance. “Yes Mom; of course.” I manage tearfully a few minutes later.

Almost immediately Mom nods and closes her eyes, sighing peacefully and for a micro-second I panic, thinking she’s gone ahead and died, but Clint leans forward over me, gently disentangles our hands and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“She does that,” he explains quietly. “Falls asleep really easily. The painkillers. She’ll be out for hours.” He pulls gently at me. “C’mon, Bean.”

I let him pull me to my feet, let him lead me outside like a child and, when we reach his vehicle, I break down completely, and cry like a baby on his shoulder.

Later, on our way home, I’m better, lighter than I’ve felt in years, and unable to stop grinning like an idiot.

“I should have come home sooner.”

“Nah,” Clint’s smile is bittersweet. “Up until last week she still would have torn you apart; that’s how I knew it was time, she finally wanted to make amends.”

“I’m sorry about the house, I’ll put you on the deed too-”

“Don’t worry about it, Bean. I have my home, just do what she wants and move back, please?”

I chew my bottom lip, I can’t answer that right now. I have a life in Seattle; okay, it revolves around work and a small group of acquaintances, but it’s still my life. If I moved back I’d be settling right back into my old life, my old friends... there would be no way in hell I’d be able to continue to avoid my past. But Mom’s words echo through my head, and it’s her fucking dying wish. After my entire life wanting the woman’s approval and love, I’d do damn near anything now that I had it.

“I have to think about it.”

Clint nods, dropping the subject. After a few more minutes he pulls into the local grocery store parking lot. “Well,” he grins, reaching across me and grabbing his wallet from the glove box. “Now that Steve’s let the cat out of the bag, come help me grab supplies for the barbecue, I have no idea what hipsters from Seattle like to eat.”

“Ha Ha,” I grumble, but follow him anyway.

By that evening there’s paper lanterns strung across the backyard and a few dozen people are milling around, grazing at the snack bowls and standing in loose groups, drinking and talking. I recognize most of them, went to school with half of them, and am being dragged around by either Clint or Steve, depending on who’s manning the grill at the time, being introduced to the rest. Nat and Lou are surrounded by cooing women and Wanda is reclining in an outdoor chaise lounge, Sam waiting on her hand and foot, to my endless amusement.

I’m actually feeling quite relaxed, my second Dirty Corona going down way too easily and thoughts that this could be my new normal flitting casually through my head when it all comes crashing down.

“Levi.”

There’s only one person who calls me that, pronouncing it like ‘when the levee breaks’ and there’s only one person whose voice gives me chills, even after all these years. I take a deep breath, steeling myself and turn around.

“Bucky.”