#his hair looks like fluffy puppy dog ears and the way he does dinosaur hands sometimes looks like a dog on its hind legs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Note

Ashton's kids guilting him into getting a dog with a month(s) long plan that Uncle Cal helped with

this is cute as hell and calum so would

sorry this is a long one!

__________

It’s not that you or Ashton didn’t want a dog, you were both dog people and grew up with a furry friend. It was all about timing. You met when the band came back out of hiatus and they were gaining more fans, more followers, and more scrutiny from the media. In between him touring, your work schedule and visiting him on tour, you both agreed it wouldn’t be fair to the dog.

After you got married you decided it was a good time, the band was in a good place. Still getting hype but it calmed down some so managing a loving dog together would be perfect. Then you found out you were pregnant with Fletcher.

As the years progressed and your family grew and responsibilities changed, the prospect of getting a dog shrunk more and more. Your lives were busy with four kids.

It’s a Sunday morning while you and the Irwin troops were waiting patiently at the kitchen table while Ashton was busy cooking up his famous fluffy pancakes. Mylo, who is one now, is drinking milk from his sippy cup watching his older siblings interact with one another.

“All right, here comes the flapjacks!” Ashton announces waving his spatula in the air.

“They’re pancakes, daddy!” Henry giggles reaching for his own sippy cup that’s filled with orange juice.

“Oh, you’re right, Henny, my mistake,” Ashton winks and serves a pancake on each eager child’s plate. You and Ashton both split off to cut the pancakes before lathering them up with syrup.

You’re busy ripping up the pancake for Mylo into miniscule pieces so he won’t choke when Ivy shouts “UH OH!”

You glance up to see her looking down at the floor.

“It’s okay, princess,” Ashton says bending down to pick up the fallen pancake. He places it on a napkin and shoves a large piece of pancake in his mouth.

“If we had a dog he’d eat it right up,” Fletcher informs who is now six. He eyes his dad while he shoves a hefty amount of pancake in his mouth as well.

“Dogs can’t eat pancakes,” Ashton says.

“Piggy does!” Henry exclaims referring to Uncle Luke’s dog while also trying to shovel a large amount of pancake in his mouth. The boys always had to do what Ashton did.

“Hey, hey, smaller bites please,” you scold wiping Henry’s mouth of syrup.

“Piggy eats everything,” Ashton laughs then brings up going to the park thus resulting in the topic of a dog falling short.

***

“I’m bored,” Fletcher whines shuffling his way into the living room where you and Ashton were watching Parks and Rec. Ivy and Mylo were down for the nap and you thought Fletcher and Henry were upstairs playing cowboys and dinosaurs.

“Where’s Henry?” you ask.

“Pretending to read,” Fletcher grumbles collapsing onto the couch opposite where you and Ashton were cuddling.

Nap time was when you and Ashton could get a little bit of alone time because Fletcher and Henry always played at that time too. Henry can only read a few simple words so he’ll sometimes go in his room to have quiet time where he rifles through his books. It was adorable.

“Why don’t you read with him, buddy?” Ashton asks threading his fingers through your hair.

“I don’t wanna,” he grumbles then jolts into a sitting position. “If we had a dog I could play with him outside! Then I wouldn’t have to be quiet for naptime!”

His hazel eyes are shining and you can’t help but smile at how much he’s like his father. If he’s got his mind set on something he’ll do every tactic to try and get it.

“Fletcher, we aren’t getting a dog right now,” Ashton sighs smiling lightly at the tv screen. Andy just said something stupidly funny.

“But Daaaad! I’ll walk it and clean up it’s poop! I always help uncle Cal feed Duke!”

“I know you do and you do a great job, Fletch. Maybe when Ivy and Mylo are older we can get one,” Ashton reasons. You pinch his thigh in silent praise at his compromise.

Fletcher sighs once more then runs upstairs to his room.

“Why’s he so dog crazy all of a sudden?” Ashton mumbles pulling you closer to his side. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“All of his uncles have dogs and we’re the only ones who don’t have one,” you shrug. “He is six, Ash, dogs are all that’s on a little boy’s mind.”

And it continues like that for the next three weeks. Fletcher will randomly insert how a dog would would make any situation better during a family occasion. Henry joined in with his brother and soon after Ivy was crawling around acting like a puppy when she played with her brothers.

Finally, Ashton caved and brought up the idea of going to a shelter to find a dog that is at least two years old and potty trained. All the kids are in bed so it’s safe to discuss.

“We don’t have time to potty train a dog on top of our three other kids,” Ashton sighs scrolling through the website on his tablet.

You sit in his lap wrapping your arms around his neck and pepper his cheek in kisses.

“You’re the best daddy in the whole world,” you praise. He squeezes your waist as you drag his mouth to yours, the photos forgotten for a moment as he shifts you onto the counter.

“Haven’t called me that in years, baby girl,” he hums slipping his hands under your shirt.

“Get us a dog and I’ll bring it back,” you smirk.

“Done.” He crushes his lips to yours promising to take the kids to the shelter tomorrow.

***

“Which one do you want to take home?” Ashton asks Fletcher who is still staring in amazement at the three dogs before him. He’s stunned into silence while his siblings are petting them all. Mylo is in your arms.

“Really daddy?” Fletcher looks up at him, tears in his eyes and you feel yours sting with tears as well.

“Really, buddy,” Ashton smiles bending down to ruffle his son’s curls. “You’re the oldest, so you decide.”

Fletcher flung his arms around Ashton’s shoulders squeezing him as tight as he can while Ashton rubs his back lovingly. Fletcher decides on a medium sized black and tan dog, she’s an australian cattle dog/german shepard mix and is two years old.

Her name is Daisy and she licked Fletcher as soon as he approached her.

The other kids fell in love with her too as her tail wagged and smelled each one. You and Ashton had to remind Ivy to pet her nicely but Daisy handled all of them well.

After signing the papers and buying her supplies, you got to take your new family pet home. Calum was waiting anxiously in the backyard, he picked up other supplies while you were at the shelter and couldn’t wait to see the kids’ faces.

“Her name’s Daisy uncle Cal!” Fletcher exclaims running to him. Daisy trots along behind him and sniffs at Calum’s legs.

“She’s perfect, Fletch! Good job!” Calum grins petting her ears then watches her scamper off with Fletcher, Henry and Ivy. Mylo is asleep in your arms from the craziness of the day.

“Thanks for finding the shelter man,” Ashton says.

“No problem. Glad to see Fletch-man followed my instructions.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Who do you think told him to keep badgering Ash about a dog?” Calum grins mischievously then runs off to play with the kids and Daisy.

#dad!ash #dad!ashton #dad!ashton blurb #ashton blurb #ashton irwin blurb #5sos blurb

73 notes · View notes

augustmoon259 · 4 years

Text

For I shall already have forgotten you CHAPTER 7: TRICK, OR TREAT?

Madeline wakes up and reaches for her phone laying on the nightstand. It’s 8 am. As her awareness returns to her, she sees Bucky and Kumarie playing together. Madeline’s lips quirk up as she gives both of them a quick pet on the head before going to start her day.

After brushing her teeth, Madeline heads to the kitchen. She expected to see Alfred there, as he had told her that he was an early riser. Contrary to Madeline’s expectations, Alfred was nowhere to be found. It had only been 20 minutes since she woke up, so Madeline decided to cook breakfast for her and Alfred.

Madeline wiped sweat off her forehead as she observed the results of her labor: fluffy pancakes topped with butter and maple syrup, crispy strips of bacon, wholesome fruit parfaits, and freshly made coffee. Madeline’s stomach growled, but it would have to wait until she found Alfred.

It was almost 9:30 now but still there was no sign of the house’s owner. Madeline surmised that Alfred was still sleeping in his room. She felt a pang of guilt at the thought that he had gone to sleep late because of her. Madeline made her way to Alfred’s room. She was just about to knock on his door when it opened from inside.

“Hey Maddie…” Alfred yawned as he greeted Madeline. “What’s up...? Is it morning time already....?”

“Oh! Yes! I was just about to wake you up actually. I made breakfast.”

Alfred seemed to be more alert after he heard her statement.

“Woah! You made breakfast?! Now I gotta hurry up and eat it!”

He rushes off, leaving Madeline feeling bemused. Alfred is already sitting at the dining table when she returns to the kitchen, making her wonder if he even took the time to brush his teeth.

As if he read her mind, Alfred beams as he remarks, “Don’t worry! I brushed my teeth! Now let’s dig in!”

Alfred grabs his fork and chews on a large bite of his pancakes. His eyes widen as he prepares to eat another.

“Wow, this tastes amazing! You’re a great cook Maddie!”

Madeline blushes as she plays with her food.

“No problem Al...Consider this thanks for helping me after my nightmare yesterday..."

There’s a gasp from Alfred as he momentarily stops eating.

“No way! You called me Al! You’ve been calling me Alfred up until now!”

“Well, yeah...You already call me Maddie, so I might as well call you by a nickname too, right?”

“Yay! Mission: Become Friends with Maddie has officially been completed!” Alfred stands up and does a short victory dance before sitting back down. “And you don’t have to worry about yesterday. That’s what friends do!”

Madeline’s heart felt light as she and Alfred continued to talk and enjoy breakfast together.

When they finished, Alfred was ready to start the day.

“Okay Maddie! You know the costume I asked you to get? You can go put it on now! We’re gonna be in costume all day!”

So Madeline went to do exactly that. Half an hour later, as she finished dressing herself, she examined her reflection in the mirror. Madeline had braided her hair into a pair of 3-strand braids, one on each side of her head. She wore an open-fronted gown which laced closed across a kirtle. The outer fabric matched the red of her bodice, while the rest was white. Madeline’s skirt went down to her mid-calf, underneath which she wore white leggings and black old-fashioned buckle shoes. To complete her look, she wore a long red hooded cloak and carried an empty wicker basket.

Satisfied with her appearance, Madeline made her way to Alfred’s room for the second time that day. As before, when she was prepared to knock, he startled her by opening the door first.

“Maddie! Can you guess what I am?”

Alfred wore pants that were tattered at the edges; his shirt was in a similar condition, frayed at the bottom. Alfred’s bright blonde hair was covered by a brown wig and his face obscured by a wolf mask. The upper half of his face could no longer be seen; Alfred’s cerulean eyes stared at her through his mask. A wolf pelt was thrown around his shoulders. Madeline spotted wolf ears on top of his head and a fluffy tail behind him.

“Hm...Are you...the Big Bad Wolf?”

“That’s right! I am! Isn’t it just great we ended up in matching costumes?”

“But Al, don’t you like heroes? The Big Bad Wolf isn’t exactly a hero..."

Alfred gives her a sly wink in return. “You’ll just have to find out why I chose this costume then, huh?”

He checks the time on his phone.

“Let’s see...It’s about eleven, so we have some time before our first stop of the day.” Alfred looks up and grins at her. “Do you want to visit my favorite cafe?”

The two of them had a great time visiting museums, going on scavenger hunts, taking pictures with others in costume, and more.

The highlight of Madeline’s day so far was the National Air and Space Museum. Alfred loved space, so it was unsurprising that he would take her there. Some of the Star Wars costumes impressed her, almost as much as the actual museum exhibitions themselves. They had taken a break afterwards to eat the food they had bought at the cafe: Halloween themed foods like bat tortilla chips with mango salsa, spider pizzas, pumpkin deviled eggs, etc.

Finally, it was time for the last event of the day, the Night of the Living Zoo at the Smithsonian National Zoological Park.

The zoo was decked out in Halloween decorations: lights, skeletons, witches, and cobwebs. There were a range of spectacular performances, from fire eaters to jugglers. Alfred and Madeline met dancing dinosaurs, Jessie and James from Team Rocket, and even had the chance to spectate a wedding (it wasn’t real of course).

Alfred was incredibly enthusiastic when they visited the animal exhibits.

“Maddie! Look! Caiman lizards! Sleeping on that rock! They’re super chilling, together! Buddies!”

“Oh hey, look at those turtles! It’s a turtle party! Turtle party, turtle party, who’s got the pizza for a turtle party?!”

“Look at this one! Hm, what’re they called? ...Rock hyrax? Nah, I’m calling him Mr. Cheeks...Oh no! Mr. Cheeks doesn’t look very happy with me!”

If the night had ended there, Madeline would have been satisfied. She didn’t know what could possibly top Alfred’s amusing commentary.

She and Alfred ended up in the crowd that was gathered around a stage. The stage, previously used for band performances and live karaoke, was now the platform for the last event of the night, the Halloween costume contest. The announcer explained that there were several categories, ranging from the “most unique” costume to “best duo”.

Unlike the other categories, wherein contestants would line up on stage and the audience could cast their vote for best costume, the duo category required a story. In other words, the duos have to create a short narrative and perform it in front of the audience. The “best duo” were judged not only on the originality of their costumes, but how well they performed together.

Madeline was extremely nervous. She knew that she and Alfred would be competing together, but not like this!

“Alfred, what do we do? We don’t have a story!”

“Maddie, it’s okay! I got a plan. All you have to do is act like your usual self.”

“But-”

“Trust me!”

Without his mask, Alfred’s puppy dog eyes, combined with his ears and tail, made Madeline capitulate.

“Okay. I trust you.”

Alfred smiled one of his enigmatic smiles and disappeared somewhere alone. Madeline wrung her hands together as other duos performed. She and Alfred were the last to go, and soon it would be their turn.

The announcement that it was now time for them to perform startled Madeline out of her trance. She was surprised to see the appearance of the stage. Projection technology had transformed it from a normal outdoor stage to a tranquil forest...and did she hear the sound of chirping birds? Buzzing insects, croaking frogs, and bubbling brooks?

Puzzled, but mustering up her courage, Madeline stepped out onto the stage. Reminding herself of the fairytales she grew up on, she pretended that she was Red Riding Hood herself. Madeline twirled her skirt and hummed. She pretended to walk and pick up flowers to place in her basket. She sat down and closed her eyes, as if resting underneath a tree.

With her eyes shut and the ambient noises of nature, Madeline could believe she was actually in a forest. There was no crowd watching her, just her and the trees.

Moments passed before she felt like something was...poking her face? Could it be Alfred? She jerked her eyes open and stared at what was disturbing her rest.

It was Alfred, but he was on all fours as he scrambled away from her. He put as much distance as he could between the two of them.

Madeline reached her hands out to stop him from escaping altogether.

“Wait! I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m sorry!”

Alfred paused. He was growling softly and looked like he would run away again. Madeline approached him slowly, until she was close enough to touch him. She rested her hand on his head, and Alfred stopped growling.

Madeline lowered herself to give Alfred a hug. She felt the moment when Alfred hugged her back. She removed her arms to look at Alfred. He was no longer on all fours, but kneeling like her.

“Do you have a name?”

Alfred shook his head.

“Well, my name is Madeline. Do you mind if I call you Wolf?”

He nodded.

“Wolf, do you want to be friends?”

Alfred nods again.

“Alright Wolf. Since we’re friends, let’s not be afraid of each other, okay? Here, let me hug you again.”

So Madeline did. This time, Alfred accepted her hug readily.

“Friends care about each other. They show that they care about each other by doing things like that.”

As she was preparing to stand up, Alfred grabbed the hem of her skirt. Madeline watched as he dug his hands into one of his pants pockets to search for something. From Alfred’s pocket emerged a single yellow dandelion.

He offered the dandelion to her unsurely. She stared at it before clasping her hands around his to take it. Madeline placed it behind her right ear.

“Thank you Wolf. Now come on! Let’s explore the forest together.”

She held his hand as they left the stage.

They won the contest.

Madeline was happy they did, but after their performance, she had not stopped rambling and questioning Alfred. Did he plan all of this? How’d he know she’d react that way? Alfred would laugh and tell her that he “knew she could do it!”. She’d be mad at him for putting her on the spot like that, but they did get a free pair of tickets for admission to Six Flags...

When all was said and done, it had been a memorable night for Madeline. People had even asked for autographs from her! Madeline was thankful Alfred had made this the best Halloween she’d ever had.

3 notes · View notes

spelviin · 6 years

Text

oblivion

Read on AO3

In his dreams, the tether slips from his grasp.

He sees a flash of blue, of fear, behind a panic-fogged visor, and hears his own scream echoing in his ears as his world is torn from him, tossed about like a ragdoll by the merciless force of gravity before vanishing, swallowed in bright blue light.

Blue like his eyes, those eyes that had held such terror in those final moments. Those eyes that he will never see again.

In his dreams, he screams and screams and screams and screams, until his agonized wails are reduced to nothing but voiceless whimpers and then, and then-

He wakes, sobbing into his pillow in an empty bed.

Yuuri misses the days when waking from a nightmare brought a sense of relief. When he was able to catch his breath upon waking from whatever horrors his subconscious mind had shown him and realize, it’s not real, it was just a dream, none of it happened, everything is okay.

He misses the days when he didn’t have to calm himself down after nightmares, when there were arms around him the moment he opened his eyes, arms pulling him close, a warm body holding him, the softest voice in his ear reassuring him, telling him he was safe and loved. He misses that most of all.

But those days are over now. There are no arms around him, there is no sense of relief, no escape from the nightmare that plays in his head, over and over every night.

Because it wasn’t just a dream.

Victor is gone, really gone, truly gone, and he can’t wake up from this reality he’s living in, this reality where the man he loves was torn from his grasp, ripped violently out of the known universe, lost to him, probably forever. He can’t escape the pain, the constant dull ache in his chest in the shape of his husband. He can’t tell himself it’s okay, because it’s not, because it will likely never be okay again.

There’s no escape, no denial.

The nightmare he’s living is real, and worst of all… it’s all his fault.

______________

In his dreams, he sees the man with the silver hair.

It isn’t every night. Some nights, his mama tucks him into bed with a kiss and he dreams of other things, like dinosaurs or flying puppies or big scary monsters chasing him. Other nights, he dreams of nothing at all. But the man always comes back eventually.

The man looks strange, but not in a scary way. Just different. Like the people who come to visit the onsen sometimes, the ones his papa calls foreigners. The foreigners are often loud, drinking too much and making demands in broken Japanese, or not bothering to use Japanese at all. Many of them have unpleasant looks about them, causing Yuuri to hide behind his mama’s legs when they come to coo over him.

The silver-haired man is not unpleasant, or loud. When he speaks, his Japanese is perfect, if strangely accented, and his voice is soft and kind. He doesn’t make demands. He only ever talks, asks Yuuri about his day, plays games with him if Yuuri asks.

Yuuri is happy when he dreams about the silver-haired man. But sometimes the man looks so sad. One night, Yuuri is telling him about his first ballet class with Minako-sensei when he notices a single tear slide down his cheek. Yuuri falls silent at the sight; he’s never seen a grown-up cry before.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and the man looks startled for a moment, his hand flying to his cheek before he even seems to realize he was crying in the first place.

“Oh,” he says, smiling a strange smile as he wipes the tear away. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, Yuuri, really. You were telling me about Minako-san’s studio…?”

Yuuri feels troubled, reminded of Mari when she gets sad but doesn’t want to say why. “My papa always says you should talk about it if you’re sad.”

The man laughs. “Your papa is a wise man.” His smile falls, and he draws his knees into his chest, looking sadder than ever. “I really am fine, Yuuri. I just get a bit lonely sometimes.”

“... Lonely?” Yuuri had never considered that dream-people could be lonely. “Don’t you have a family? Or friends?”

“I do,” the man says quietly. “But they all live very far away, somewhere I can’t see them.”

The man tilts his head down, and Yuuri can no longer see his face behind a curtain of silver fringe. He wishes he could do something to help. His mama gives him hugs when he gets sad, but Yuuri knows from several failed games of tag that you can’t touch dream-people. So instead, he sits down next to the man and gathers up all his courage.

“Then I will be your friend!”

The man looks up, surprised. Bolstered by the temporary absence of sadness in his eyes, Yuuri continues.

“Yuuko-chan is my friend! And Minako-sensei is my friend, even though she’s my teacher now! And she’s even older than you, which means that you can be my friend too!”

To Yuuri’s delight, the man actually laughs, a small, affectionate smile playing across his features.

“So? Can we be friends?”

“Of course we can, Yuuri,” he says. “I’d like that a lot.”

When he wakes the next morning, he realizes he does not know his new friend’s name, or even if dream-people have names. He asks his mama and papa at breakfast, but they just smile and ruffle his hair affectionately. Mari calls him a weirdo and tells him to name his own imaginary friend.

Yuuri thinks it would be quite rude to do that, so he decides to simply wait and ask the man the next time he sees him. For three nights, Yuuri sleeps dreamlessly, but on the fourth, the man appears again, looking far happier than he had before.

Not wanting to forget again, Yuuri makes sure to ask his name as soon as he appears.

“Victor,” the man smiles. “My name is Victor.”

“Victor,” Yuuri repeats, the syllables sounding slightly different on his tongue, but the man keeps smiling anyways, and they spend the rest of the dream talking and playing like they always do.

When Yuuri wakes, he feels happy. His friend does have a name, after all.

“Victor,” he tries again, still half-asleep but content. “Victor.”

______________________

“Victor!” Yuuri screams, sitting bolt upright in bed, tears streaming down his face.

His hand is still outstretched, as it had been in the dream, as it had been the day he lost him. He can still feel Victor’s tether in his grip like a phantom pain, feel it slipping out of his grasp, feel his utter helplessness in the face of the Aurora’s pull.

If he’d only been stronger, if he’d only held on for a few more seconds, they could have saved him. Mere seconds after Yuuri’s grip had faltered, the Aria’s engines had come back online, pushing them back out of the Aurora’s gravitational field.

Just a few seconds longer, and they could have pulled him back to safety. Just a few seconds longer, and Victor would still be here with him. But he’d failed. The tether had slipped away, and Victor with it, lost to the void, possibly forever.

Just a few seconds longer.

Yuuri lets his outstretched hand drop down to the mattress, buries his head in his knees, and cries.

“Victor,” he sobs, curling up as if making himself smaller will ease the terrible ache of guilt in his chest. “Victor, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

For a long while, the only sound to be heard in the bedroom is Yuuri’s weeping, interspersed every so often with sobbed-out apologies to a man who can no longer hear them. Then, there is a creak, and the familiar tingling of tags, before something cold and wet touches the inside of Yuuri’s elbow.

He sits up and sniffles, blinking his tears away to see two pairs of big brown eyes looking up at him. Makkachin stands on her hind legs, front paws resting against Yuuri’s side of the mattress, whining softly as she nudges him again.

“Hey, girl,” Yuuri murmurs, giving her a quick pat on the head. “It’s okay, you can come up.”

She does so immediately, hopping up onto the bed and immediately curling up on Victor’s- on the empty side.

“You too,” Yuuri says to the smaller dog, still on the floor. His front paws rest against the base of the bed, and he whines in frustration, too small to hop up on his own.

Yuuri bends down to pick him up, cradling his tiny, fluffy form close to his chest. “Morning, Vicchan,” he tells the little poodle, his voice shaking only slightly.

He gives the dog a kiss on the forehead, and in turn, Vicchan stretches up as far as he can to lick some of the tears off Yuuri’s cheeks. Yuuri lets out a giggle that sounds just a little too close to a sob as he hugs his dog.

He isn’t the Victor Yuuri needs right now, to kiss away his tears and reassure him that everything will be alright, but he’ll do.

______________________

Yuuri is so excited the night of his thirteenth birthday that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep. A soft snoring from across the room emanates from the dog bed his parents had put in, and the sound is so cute he’s half-tempted to get out of bed and cuddle the tiny creature within to kingdom come, but he forces himself to stay put.

The puppy needs his sleep, after all, and so does Yuuri. There’s someone important he needs to share his good news with.

It takes him a while to calm himself enough to properly drift off, but soon enough his eyes slip shut and he finds himself in a familiar place.

His dreams always begin here, in an empty white space, surrounded by a dense fog. He takes a step forward, then another, then another. It never seems to matter which direction he goes; as long as he keeps walking, he always manages to find what - or rather, who - he’s looking for.

Tonight, it only takes a little bit of searching before a familiar shape becomes visible through the fog. A smile spreads across Yuuri’s face and he picks up the pace, jogging the final few steps between him and his friend.

“Victor! Victor, guess what!”

As soon as Victor comes into view, the smile falls from Yuuri’s face. It’s a bad day. Victor is huddled on the floor, staring dead-eyed into the whiteness that surrounds him.

This isn’t the first time Yuuri has found him like this. It isn’t a common occurrence, but every so often the Victor who Yuuri encounters in his dreams isn’t his usual chipper self. He seems distant, sad, afraid, any number of things before he notices Yuuri’s presence, only to immediately snap out of it when he realizes he’s not alone.

Today is no exception. As soon as he catches sight of Yuuri, the empty look leaves his eyes to be replaced by a brilliant, heart-shaped smile.

“Yuuri!” He uncurls from his position on the floor, stands, and waves as Yuuri approaches. Despite his smile, Yuuri can just make out a flicker of something terribly sad in those bright blue eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks, slowing down as he approaches.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Victor insists, as he always does when Yuuri plucks up the courage to ask. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Yuuri’s concern for his friend vanishes in a moment, eclipsed by his excitement. “My parents got me a puppy!”

His smile brightens, seeming more genuine now. “Oh, Yuuri, that’s wonderful! Happy birthday!”

Yuuri feels his brow furrow. “How did you know it was my-”

“So, tell me all about it!” Victor plows over his question in a burst of exuberance, sitting down cross-legged on the floor and patting the ground for Yuuri to sit, too. “What’s its name? What breed is it?”

“He’s… he’s a miniature poodle.” Yuuri says, feeling his cheeks flush preemptively to his next words. “I named him, uh… well, I named him Victor. After you.”

The heat in his cheeks spreads to his whole face as soon as the words leave his lips, and he looks at the white floor beneath them. God, what an embarrassing thing to say! It’s the truth, of course, but still, what on earth had possessed him to admit it right to Victor’s face?

Mari had been the first to make the connection when Yuuri had announced the puppy’s name at breakfast the day before.

“Victor?” she’d asked, not unkindly. “Wasn’t that the name of your imaginary friend when you were little?”

He had learned long ago that dream-people were not a normal occurrence, that not everyone had a stranger who spoke to them in their sleep on a regular basis. He had also learned that repeatedly talking about dream-people seemed to lead those around him to believe he had an overactive imagination, or worse.

So, Yuuri had feigned ignorance. “What imaginary friend?” he had scoffed. “I just like the name, is all.”

Mari had raised her eyebrows, but had otherwise kept her skepticism to herself - to Yuuri’s immense relief- and the subject had been dropped as Vicchan the poodle rolled adorably on his back to beg for belly rubs.

The thought strikes Yuuri now that he really should have said the same to Victor. Claimed that he just liked the name, or that that was the name the shelter had given him already, or just made up a different name to tell Victor entirely. Any of that would be less embarrassing than admitting he’d named his dog after the man!

He’s still flushed red and looking determinedly at the floor, willing himself to wake up so that he can get out of this awkward situation, when Victor finally speaks.

“After me, huh?” This is not the response Yuuri had been expecting, prompting him to finally remove his gaze from the floor and back to the man sitting across from him. His eyes are distant again, something strange flickering behind them. It’s not sadness like it was before, it’s… something else. Curiosity, perhaps? Suspicion? “I’d always assumed it was a coincidence…”

Before Yuuri can ask what he means by that, Victor snaps out of whatever stupor he had been in, that same wide smile on his face. “Sorry, Yuuri! I don’t know what came over me, there.”

“What do you mean by-?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he insists, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “Just me being silly. Victor is an excellent name for a poodle, Yuuri. Does he know any tricks yet?”

Yuuri can’t help but feel like there’s something Victor isn’t telling him, but he’s too excited to talk about his new puppy to pursue it any further. Instead, he spends the rest of the night telling Victor about every facet of his new puppy’s existence, from the early struggles of housetraining to all the tricks he wants his Vicchan to learn.

Victor seems only too content to talk about dogs, his face growing sad only when he peppers in anecdotes about training his own dog, Makkachin. But as the morning approaches, and Yuuri starts to feel the telltale tug of wakefulness pulling at him, Victor grows serious again.

“Yuuri,” he begins with uncertainty, face half-hidden behind his bangs. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You said you named your new puppy after me” Yuuri nods, flushing again involuntarily. But his embarrassment is cut short by what Victor asks next. “Does that mean… do you remember this, when you wake up? Remember me?”

“Yeah.”

“…Oh.”

The look on Victor’s face is as raw as it is inscrutable. The mist is filling his vision again, but Yuuri tries to read him anyways. Is he angry? Disappointed? Shocked? Before he has time to figure it out, Victor is completely shrouded in grey once more.

Yuuri can hear something distantly, the faint beep of his alarm clock pulling him back to the real world. It nearly drowns out the last words Victor says before he wakes.

“...Why didn’t you stop me?”

#og #kaleigh writes

103 notes · View notes

everlarkbirthdaygifts · 7 years

Text

Happy Birthday, laurabaptista!

Apologies to @laurabaptista for the short delay on your gift. We hope you had a wonderful birthday and celebrated in style! To keep the party going, @ally147writes has written a story just for you!

AN: Happy birthday to the prompter! I hope you had a wonderful day :) This story was inspired by my own beagle adoption a few weeks ago. The story didn’t end up quite as cutesy as I’d hoped for a single parents!Everlark fic, but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway.

Unbeta’d. All errors are my own.

‘Dog Days’

Peeta’s run out of excuses.

The questions have been building up for almost a year, since one of Charlie’s classmates brought theirs in for show-and-tell. Peeta miscounted the kid’s parents’ orders of bread rolls and cookies for a month after that in thanks for the non-stop barrage of questions that had been invited into his life:

“I want a puppy, Dad!”

“But Damien has a puppy, Dad!”

“Can we get a puppy, Dad?”

“Why can’t we get a puppy, Dad?”

“Dad! Can we get a puppy, please?”

“Dad? Dad? Dad? Dad? DAAAAAAAAADDDDD?”

He caved, as he knew he always would. He can’t say no to his own little mini-me, not when he turns on those big blue eyes and juts out that bottom lip. He’s been a slave to his son since the first time he laid eyes on him.

But he’ll be damned if he capitulates to a puppy. Puppies take work, and mean time off from the bakery that he can’t afford to take.

Compromising with a six-year-old is a task in and of itself, but he steels himself, and waits for a time when Charlie should be at his most amendable.

So, like the sneaky wimp he is:

“What if we adopted a dog that’s a tiny bit older?” he asks as Charlie’s wrapped up in his fluffy bedspread, right on Sleep’s door. “What do you think about that?”

Charlie eyes, hooded and blinking just a moment ago, widened and glittered. “Really? You mean it?”

Peeta smiles and smooths back Charlie’s messy curls, so much like his own when he was that age. “I really do.”

Charlie yawns again and settles back against his pillows with a smack of his lips. “Awesome,” he says, the word slurring as he starts to fall asleep.

Peeta pads back down the stairs and tosses himself atop his bed. His laptop is waiting, open. He’s scoured different adoption sites, the local pound, even local listings, but nothing seems right.

After a few more cursory searches, he comes across a Facebook page dedicated to rehoming dogs in his local area. He skims through the listings; some are obvious scams, pictures of too-perfect puppies frolicking in too-perfect fields for a too-perfect price. Some are in the golden years of their already short lives, and as much as he’d love to rehome an older dog, he can’t have Charlie get too attached just to break his heart so soon after.

There’s a listing at the bottom of the page that looks promising, but the date next to it tells him it’s been up for almost a month. He clicks on it and gasps. It’s perfect.

A little beagle, female, only a year old. Artemis, or Artie for short. Fully vaccinated and vet-checked, microchipped and insured. Likes walks and loves small children. Toilet-trained and good on a lead (or as good as a beagle can be). Comes with own bed and toys. They’re asking a two-hundred-dollar fee plus rehoming costs, but compared to some of the local breeders and pet stores he scoped out early on, she’s a bargain.

He types out a quick message on his phone to the seller, asking if the dog’s still available, and sends it off before he can second-himself. He feels almost nervous — like he’s put himself on display or something — as he sets the alarm on his phone (just a precaution; he hasn’t slept past five in the morning in years), sets it on his bedside table, and melts back into his pillows.

XXX

When he breaks for lunch, he has a response from the seller. His eyes grow wide as he looks over the long-winded message, more like a detailed questionnaire quizzing him on every aspect of his life to gauge his suitability for dog ownership as though he’s adopting a child.

He supposes he shouldn’t mind all that much — if it were him parting with a beloved pet, he’d want to make sure it was going to the right home, too. But if this was the treatment they were bestowing on every potential adopter, it’s no wonder the listing was so old. He doubts anyone could live up to these expectations.

He keys in his answers to all the questions as best he can: he’s a baker and usually done with work by two or three at the latest; unmarried but with a six-year-old son; yes, he’ll have plenty of time to take Artie for walks in the afternoon; he hasn’t owned a dog since he was a child, but he remembers it well (and besides, that dog was a basset, so he’s got experience with hounds) and so on and so forth until he’s sure this person knows him better than everyone else in his family.

Peeta sighs and sends the responses off, but he doesn’t have a good feeling about any of it.

XXX

Peeta’s in his car waiting for Charlie’s class to break for the day when his email pings again.

It’s another response from the seller, with another list of questions. Peeta tips his head back against the top of his chair and sighs before preparing his new answers, but a small note at the bottom catches his eye.

If you’d like to meet Artie, I’ll meet you at the park on 12th, by the Snow statue, this Saturday at eleven.

Katniss

Katniss. He rolls the name in his mouth. He’s never heard anything like it before.

He’s finishing off his responses and telling her, yes, he’d love to meet Artie this weekend, when Charlie comes barrelling into the back seat with the cacophony of noise only a six-year-old is capable of.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, bud. How was school?”

“Good! Ms. Rue brought in cupcakes ‘cause it was her birthday.”

“Cupcakes, huh?” Peeta pulls out of the parking lot and turns out onto the main street. “Were they better than mine?”

In the mirror, Charlie fixes him with a look of uncharacteristic seriousness. “No one’s cupcakes are better than yours.”

“Glad to hear it.” They coast past the bakery and out of town, where houses are lined up neatly like rows of trees in an orchard. “Hey, bud, wanna come to the park with me this weekend?”

Charlie’s too invested in his dinosaur figurines — which Peeta remembers telling him he couldn’t bring to school — to give him more than a passive, “Hmm.”

Peeta smiles to himself as he turns onto their street. “We’re going to meet someone.”

The dinosaurs crash together in epic battle. “Uh-huh.”

“And maybe, if all goes well, we’re going to bring her home.”

“Her?” Charlie drops his dinosaurs and fixes Peeta with a wary look. “Who’s her?”

Peeta pulls into their driveway and spins in his seat, grinning as he flashes the picture of Artie from her adoption listing. “Her name’s Artemis.”

“A dog? Charlie’s eyes blow wide. “We’re gonna get a dog!”

“Maybe,” Peeta says as he climbs out of the car. “We have to meet her first.”

“What sort of dog is she?”

“She’s a beagle.”

“What’s she like?”

“I don’t know, bud. We’ll meet her on Saturday and find out.”

“Do you think she’ll like me?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“What does she like? What’s her favourite food? What are her favourite games? What are…”

Peeta sighs and takes Charlie’s backpack from the back seat. Maybe he should’ve waited until Charlie was half-asleep again before he said anything…

XXX

Come midday, the sun is high and bright in the sky. Peeta curses to himself; why didn’t he bring sunscreen? He can almost hear his skin sizzling.

Katniss is late. By almost an hour. He and Charlie have made lap after lap around the park, the stern, cold eyes of the Snow statue following them all the while.

“We’ll give it another ten minutes,” Peeta says as Charlie takes huge gulps of water from an overpriced bottle. “If they’re not here, then we’ll go.”

Charlie almost chokes on his water. “But, Dad!”

“I know. But they’re running late.” He glances down at his phone, shadows it with his free hand from the glare, but there’s no new messages or anything. “Maybe they’ve changed their minds.”

Right as the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s wrong.

Tentatively approaching them is a beautiful woman, maybe his own age, with jet black hair that glows like embers in the high sunlight and warm olive skin, holding a massive bag in one hand and a leash in the other. His heart kicks up into overdrive; he’s never felt such an instantaneous, overwhelming reaction to a woman, not even Charlie’s mother. Even without the small dog with a pink collar loping along at her side, straining on her leash to sniff everything in the air, he knows this is Katniss. Somehow, no other name seems to fit.

Trotting beside her is her tiny, adorable miniature, a little girl of maybe three or four clutching the woman’s hand, with cheeks so red he thinks she must have been crying.

His heart feels like it’s hopped up into his throat as she comes closer, closer, and pauses in front of him. His mouth opens and closes, and he can just about feel his brain try to make speech happen, but it’s just not working. She’s not just beautiful: she’s radiant.

She tips her sunglasses down her nose and inspects him with silvery eyes that are red around the edges.

“Are you Peeta?” she asks, her voice coming out low and sultry, like smoke and fire.

“Yeah.” His voice breaks. He clears his throat. “Yeah,” he tries again. “You’re Katniss?”

She gives a terse nod.

“Sorry we’re late,” she says. “We had a few things to do before we came, and they all ran late.”

“Aww, cool!” Charlie leaps in front of him before Peeta can say anything more. He’s on his knees before Artie, patting her fur and scratching behind her floppy ears. “She’s so cool! Are we keeping her, Dad?”

Peeta sends an apologetic smile Katniss’ way; her lips stay in the same tense, unmoving line.

“Don’t know, Charlie. That’s up to Katniss here.”

The line of her lips softens just a fraction, the corner quirking up into the tiniest of smiles.

“She’s adorable, by the way.” Peeta grins and squats down to pat Artie. “Why are you selling her, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“We had to move,” she says, with a sharp edge to her tone. “We can’t keep her in our new house. The new landlord’s kind of militant about pets, we’ve heard.”

“That’s too bad.” He holds out his hand for Artie to sniff, but she doesn’t seem too interested in him. “What does your… husband think?”

She quirks a brow at him. “No husband,” she says. “Just me and Violet. And even if there was, I doubt it would change things.” She coughs. “So, is your wife excited?”

He grins up at her. “No wife. Or husband for that matter. Just me and Charlie, looking for a new friend.”

She huffs a tiny laugh and quickly coughs to disguise it. Peeta’s grin spreads even wider.

“Anyway, I took her to the vet yesterday,” Katniss says, her grip on the leash tightening as Artie tugs away. “She’s all healthy, and she had a bath and got her claws trimmed.” She taps the faded cloth handbag hanging ting at her side. “All we need is for you to sign the transfer papers.”

Peeta’s gaze shoots back up to her face. “Excuse me?”

“I think…” She trails off, sucks in a huge gulp of air. “I just want what’s best for Artie, and I think that’s you.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. You gave good answers to all my questions. And you look…” She shifts about and gives him a sidelong glance up and down out the corner of her eye. “I don’t know… active.”

He grins at the flush that takes over her cheeks.

“That,” she quickly goes on, waving at Charlie and Artie playing on the grass, “and your son seems to really like her. I think they’ll be good friends.”

At that, the little girl at her side turns bright red and ducks her head against Katniss’ leg. Her little shoulders start to shake. Peeta can just hear her muffled voice: “No, mama. No Artie.”

Katniss sighs. “Violet, please. It’s all right. Artie will be happy with them.”

Violet shakes her head, presses even closer to her mother’s thigh. Katniss sighs again and brushes her hand through her daughter’s hair.

“She’s not taking it so well,” Katniss explains in a low whisper.

Peeta nods, reaches out a hand to set against Violet’s tiny shoulder. The little girl shakes her head and presses even tighter again.

He sighs and stands as Katniss leads him over to a park bench. The only words that pass between them are Katniss pointing out where on the forms he needs to sign. Three signatures and two-hundred bucks later, he’s a dog owner.

Somehow, it all feels so wrong. Not even Artie seems enthused. The only one having a good time in all of this is Charlie.

“She’s not very good off a leash,” Katniss says, her voice wavering. “She’ll follow her nose to the ends of the earth. And she runs fast.”

“Katniss,” he starts, but she ploughs on.

“She’s a bit weird with things that have wheels: skateboards and trolleys and things, so be careful if you’re walking her in busy places.”

“Katniss.” He thinks she’s about to burst into tears.

“And you can’t give her too many snacks. She’ll eat everything if you let her.”

“I’ll remember.” He stares down at his hands folded in his lap. He never expected to feel so… evil.

“And, also, please, just…”

He can’t help himself; he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her against his side. He half-expects her to scream, shove him away and run off into the dense packing of trees bordering the park. But she doesn’t. Instead, it’s as though all the fight drains from her. She goes slack against him leans into him, presses her face into the crook of his neck for one, two, three seconds, enough for him to catch the soft citrus scent of her hair. He swallows at the warmth of her breath puffing against his skin, fights a shiver clawing its way through him.

“Sorry,” she mutters before pulling away with a massive sigh.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs. Even with the warmth of the day, when she moves off him, he feels cold.

She schools her expression into a scowl and stands, wrapping an arm around Violet and handing over Artie’s leash. She drops the massive bag at his feet and he peers inside; Artie’s bowls, a folded bed, toys and snacks. God, he feels even lower.

“Please, just… take good care of her, all right?”

Before Peeta can say another word, Katniss is picking up her things and herding her daughter to the nearest exit.

“Dad! We’ve got a dog!” Charlie positively beams and he scratches Artie around the ears. Artie’s just watching her family fade towards the parking lot with the sort of forlorn expression naturally on most beagles.

“Not so rough, bud,” he says as he watches them leave. “She’s only a little dog.” He sighs and stands, bogged down with bags. “Come on, let’s get her into the car and head home, so she can check out her new yard.”

Artie follows with little fuss to her new car. She hops into the back seat and Charlie tumbles in after her, his huge grin not wavering once. Peeta feels his guilt lift at the sight of his son so happy.

He settles himself in the driver’s seat and drops his keys at the sound of his name, muffled through the window.

“Peeta! Wait!”

Katniss is sprinting towards him, on her own this time. He smiles as she approaches, winds down the car window for her to lean in. “Is something wrong?” he asks.

She stares into the back of his car. For a second, he thinks she’s going to reach over, take Artie back, and run full-tilt the other way. Instead, she sags against the door and looks at him imploringly.

“Look, I know I don’t owe you anything, but do you think…” She sighs, glances over to where her car must be parked. “Do you think you could send some pictures when Artie’s all settled? Just so Violet knows she’s doing all right?”

He nods, a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, of course. And, uh…” He trails off, runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “If you wanted, you could bring Violet over sometime, to visit? I don’t live too far from here. Or we could come to you, or come to this park —”

“I’d like that,” she cuts in, though her eyes still look unsure. “I mean, Violet would love that.”

“Great.” He grins as Katniss backs away. “Send me a text.”

“I will. Soon.” She brushes a long length of black fringe away from her eyes. “Thank you, Peeta. And Charlie. I know you’ll take good care of her.”

“We will!” Charlie squeals from the back.

She pushes back off the car, a shy, tiny smile on her lips. “I guess I’ll hear from you soon?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “You’ll definitely hear from me soon.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by ally147writes

92 notes · View notes