Hold Me: a comfort promptfest

[sholio]

I think we really need some comfort right now.



In the comments, please leave prompts about people being comforted, patched up, or healed; or supporting each other, or just generally making each other a little happier. Hurt/comfort of all types is obviously great, also anything like cuddling, cheering someone up after a bad day, showing up to someone's event to support them, doing fun things together, comforting with puppies/kittens - whatever this means to you, I'm not going to be picky about it.

It doesn't have to be pure fluff. Angst and blood are fine.

Leave prompts like this:
Fandom, character or pairing, prompt

All fandoms and pairings are welcome. "Any" or original work prompts are also welcome.

Fills can be any length or medium. You can fill your own prompt. Prompts can be filled as many times as you want. Non-fill comments on prompts are also fine, e.g. commenting to say that you liked a prompt.

You don't need to use subject lines on prompts. Subject lines on fills would be helpful for compiling a master list, e.g. "Fill: Agent Carter, Peggy/Daniel, bubble bath." Warnings for upsetting content are not required, but would be courteous.

Please, no prompts about specific real-world events happening now. Fictional versions of similar things are fine though.

Feel free to link to this!

Go forth and prompt!

Edit: Roundup of posted fills #1 | Roundup of posted fills #2

There is an AO3 collection now:
https://archiveofourown.org/collections/holdme_comfortfest

You are welcome to add your fills if you like, but you don't have to.

Comments

Questions here

[sholio]

I have comment emails turned off for this post, so if you need to ask me a question or otherwise get in touch with me, do it here!

Re: Questions here

[kore]

Aw, this is a lovely idea, and very you. Thank you so much.

[rachelmanija]

Torchwood: Exit Wounds happens up to a point, but Owen escapes the reactor before it goes critical and arrives in time to save Tosh's life and comfort her.

[sholio]

I was hoping you'd do this one. :D

[rachelmanija]

Torchwood: Everyone hangs out after Countrycide because they're afraid to sleep and some of them are also in physical pain.

[sholio]

Torchwood, team, "Exit Wounds" never happens at all - after the building explosion, everyone gets some down time to get patched up and recover.

[rachelmanija]

Torchwood: Owen thinks no one will ever want to touch him again now that he is dead; any or all of the team prove otherwise.

[rachelmanija]

Torchwood: Owen and Tosh go on that promised date, he feels like anything sexual is out of the question and feels terrible about it, but she figures out a way or a satisfying substitute.

[sovay]

Torchwood: Owen and Tosh go on that promised date, he feels like anything sexual is out of the question and feels terrible about it, but she figures out a way or a satisfying substitute.

+1. My immediate reaction to that line about "I can't sleep, I can't drink, and I can't shag" was "two out of three you may be SOL, but I am looking at two surgeon's hands and one very nice mouth, Owen, you've got this."

[rachelmanija]

Iron Fist: Ward becomes a cat daddy when a stray pregnant cat gets into his office/penthouse and has a litter in some inconvenient place.

[sholio]

Agent Carter, bedside vigils after Jack's shooting.

[booksarelife]

I might actually try to write something for this and some of these!!

[ellenmillion]

Any/original, two rival business owners, in the aftermath of an earthquake or natural disaster that destroys one of the businesses.

FILL: Original, natural disaster

[yelp]

"Congratulations," rasped Jera, between coughs, as she watched her rival approach. "You've won. You'll be first to market now." 

She took another swig of water from her bottle, but it didn't help, nothing did. Her throat was still scratched raw, her lungs felt like they had filled with smoke in that burning factory, and would never manage to expel it. She'd made so many trips in, waking her workers, dragging them out, carrying if she had to. It had all happened so fast, there hadn't been enough time. 

That was the trouble, with wheat fields. 

For all the millions that had gone into their engineering, for all the articles about "the golden ticket", "the miracle gene", uniquely nutritious and shelf-stable and hardy—apply the smallest spark of flame, and for all of that, they were nothing more than tinder. The fire had consumed it in the blink of an eye, and there had been nothing to do but evacuate, before the factory went too. 

From the ridge she'd retreated to, she could see that the golden miracle fields were nothing but piles of char now, still smoking and smoldering, the factory a burnt-through husk, filled itself with wood and grain. Soft ash fluttered from the sky, settling on her bowed head and bare forearms, feather-light like kisses. 

"You were pulling all-nighters on the production line," Eilie observed, "all of you," and that was more than she could take. Jera surged to her feet, or tried to. Stumbled instead, and was caught against Eilie's shoulder, one of her strong farmer's arms coming up and catching her, holding her steady while she dissolved into another bout of coughing. 

"It's my fault," Jera admitted miserably, when she had the breath. She thought she would be crying, if she hadn't been burnt dry through and through. "If I hadn't been in such a rush... if I hadn't been blinded by my own greed, and ambition..." 

She'd always been like that. Succumbed to the frenzy of work, let it take her every waking moment, and her dreaming ones besides. It was only now, with the work in ruins, did she have a moment to stop and see how reckless it had all been. Chasing that deadline, chasing Eilie's shadow. Having her workers sleep on pallets on the factory floor, what kind of insanity had that been? It didn't matter that they'd offered, that she'd been right there with them, pulling twice the shifts. 

Bad enough that the fire happened at all—there should never have been people sleeping here too, only a wall and a dirt path away from the blazing fields. 

"You got them all out," Eilie soothed, and Jera was startled to admit that this was what it was. The arm supporting her was also rubbing circles into her back, through the thin material of her pajamas, palm cool and steady. "No one was injured." 

Jera finally looked at Eilie, really looked, for the first time. The taller woman, normally so put together, was covered in soot too, dark smudges all over her face and hastily thrown-on clothes. Her long hair was pulling from its bun, and feathered into her face, lending her sharp features a softer look and drawing attention to her shoulders, bare against the cool night air. Her jacket was bundled into her free arm, and Jera found herself pulling back, to stare at it.

"It was chaos when I got here, but I know you, Jera. You prioritized your workers' lives over your life's work, as I knew you would." 

Both arms now free, Eilie wrapped the bundle, revealing tubes and tubes of wheat seeds, filling out an entire tray, each neatly labeled in Jera's own hand. All her experiments—every generation, every germination—preserved here, in Eilie's arms. 

"I admire that choice. I don't know if I could have made it. I thought you shouldn't have had to either."

"But... why?" Jera reached out a hand, and found it was shaking. "You could have left them... You could have done nothing. You could have..."

"Won?" Eilie finished for her. "Neither of us wins until the market has its say, you know that."

There was the thinnest crescent of a smile on her lips, as she handed the precious bundle over. "I can't win or lose until you bring your strain to market. All I ask is that you hurry up and regrow, so we can really compete."

[muccamukk]

The Pacific, Andy/Eddie, connecting through music.

[scioscribe]

Torchwood, team, post-"Countrycide" in a werewolf universe with pack puppy piles.

Fill: Team Means Pack (Torchwood team)

[sholio]

Posted on AO3.

[muccamukk]

Band of Brothers, any, hot drinks on a cold day.

Christmas Coffee

[anthrobrat]

McClung had taken to collecting sticks since they showed up outside Bastogne. He seemed to have a sixth sense about these things, so no one really questioned it when he would break off a twig and stow it in his pocket. Sometimes he would mutter to himself about brittleness and the damn fog, but mostly everyone assumed it was some sort of childhood superstition and left him to his devices.

On Christmas, what was their sixth day under siege, when the air felt like it couldn’t get any colder and their bodies were worn down from the shivers, Shifty finally discovered what it was that McClung had been up to with the twigs. The last of the Sterno had gone out with Smokey during the Christmas Eve battle, and the front line guys were having trouble even heating their coffee.

“Shift, I’m gonna need you to cover me in just a minute, and then we have maybe five before someone comes looking, so we’ve gotta get this just right. Just right, Shift.”

“Earl, I don’t rightly know what you’re even talking about. Get what right?”

“Our coffee fire. I’m gonna have to make it in the foxhole. You know they’ll all come running.”

“Ok Earl, whatever you say. I’ll keep watch for ya,” Shifty whispered back before peeking his head over the top of the foxhole.

“Haven’t had a hot drink in two days. Gonna be glorious, Shift. Glorious. Christmas Coffee.”

McClung went about constructing a tiny tent out of his twigs and then held his Zippo to it. A small blaze began to eat at the kindling and he quickly put his cup of melting snow over the flame while blowing gently to keep it going. He held the cup with one hand while adding a few more twigs to each side as the flame grew.

Meanwhile, Shifty kept an eye out for any soldiers who may have caught wind. He doubted Earl would hoard a coffee fire, but the secret made him smile. A quick Christmas coffee between pals in the midst of this misery sounded like a mighty fine idea.

“How’s it coming, Earl?” Shifty whispered over his shoulder.

“Gonna get this water as close to boiling as this tiny flame will let me, I tell ya,” is all he got back, but the snow was quickly melting inside the metal cup and the flame was going strong, so Shifty had hope. Thankfully it was still early, so there were close to no men milling about, and a Captain probably wouldn’t need their fire.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, McClung hummed in appeased glory and tapped Shifty on the shoulder. He bent his head down to whisper “Merry Christmas, Shift,” in his ear as he passed the cup around so Shifty could have a sip.

“I think we could probably sit to enjoy this, if you’d like,” Shifty said as he blew at the steam and took a quick sip. It burned the roof of his mouth - a feeling he never thought he would revel in - before the heat slid down into his tummy and then all the way out into the tips of his toes.

McClung backed up to the wall of the foxhole and Shifty followed him down, careful not to spill a single drop. They found a comfortable angle at which they could huddle together with both their hands around the cup. The space between them warmed with the steam and their body heat, and for the briefest of moments Shifty held a peculiar thought that maybe it would all be okay.

“I smell coffee!” suddenly rang out from another foxhole.

“Quick!” Shifty whispered, wide-eyed, as he pushed the cup toward McClung, giggling. Earl took as big a sip as he could given the temperature and passed it back. They spent the next few minutes trying their darndest to get the coffee down while keeping their snickering to a minimum.

When finally the coffee was gone, they leaned their heads together and held onto the cup until the last of its warmth radiated into their soon-to-be ice cold fingers. When Hoobler finally stumbled over to their foxhole, the fire and coffee were gone.

“I know it was you, I can smell it, and I can’t believe you didn’t share,” was all Hoobler had to say about it, but when McClung produced a lone cigarette for him his ire changed quickly into gratitude.

As Hoob walked away, Shifty whispered, “thanks Earl, Merry Christmas,” and leaned his head down onto McClung’s shoulder to capture the very last bit of warmth.

[scioscribe]

Agent Carter, Peggy/Jack/Daniel, bed-sharing after at least one of them has been tortured via sleep deprivation.

Fill: Agent Carter, Peggy/Jack/Daniel, bed-sharing with tortured-with-sleep-deprivation Jack

[chouette]

Daniel stirred at Peggy’s soft touch. It was still pitch dark outside, and he felt as exhausted as he’d started when they first collapsed into bed. It had been a very, very long week.

“Darling,” Peggy said quietly in that tight, calm tone she adopted in times of great tension, “I need your help with Jack.”

“Jack? What’s wrong?” Despite the grittiness rasping his eyes, Daniel pushed upright from the bed, wide awake and heart pounding.

Peggy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s not all here, and he won’t let me get close.”

“How is he still awake,” Daniel marveled, even as he shrugged on the robe she handed him and took up his crutch. “I don’t think he’s gotten more than a couple hours in the last three days.”

“He shouldn’t be,” Peggy said darkly. “I think he may have some trace chemicals in him, but Doobin said the blood tests were inconclusive. Of course, he’s also been awake for the last three days,” she echoed dryly.

“Surprised you didn’t just knock his lights out. That usually works for you,” Daniel quipped, but Peggy didn’t respond, except to look grim. That wasn't a good sign. They came to the guest room, the door already ajar. Daniel went to push inside, but Peggy stopped him.

“Jack,” she called, and carefully staying to the side of the doorway, pushed the door open wider. “It’s just us. Are you still awake?”

A book hurtled through the doorway, smacked into the corridor wall.

“Stay back,” Jack said, voice thready with tension.

Peggy and Daniel exchanged looks before she cautiously peered inside. The bed was unmade, sheets twisted, and empty. Jack was wedged tight in the corner between the nightstand and wardrobe; he clutched a roll of giftwrap paper as though he were holding his service rifle. Sweat soaked the front of his undershirt.

“He won’t listen to me,” Peggy said.

Jack flinched. “Ugokuna!”

Daniel pulled Peggy back a little. “Let me try,” he told her.

Inside the room, Jack hadn’t stop flicking glances around the room, his eyes exhausted and glazed, but his breath shallow. Daniel stumped into the room, not bothering to hide his footsteps.

Before Jack could do more than inhale, Daniel barked, “On your feet, Lieutenant!”

Jack scrambled upright on pure reflex. On any other day, he wouldn’t have had any trouble standing at attention, Marine training as ingrained as it was. But this was after four days of being held captive in the underground bunker of some terrorist cell in East Berlin, denied food and sleep, subject to strobing lights and raucous music, interrogated over and over again with the aid of some unholy alternating mix of barbiturates and eugeroics. When Jack snapped to his feet, he reeled off balance, stumbled over his feet and toppled over the nightstand, sending the lamp atop it sliding and crashing to the floor.

The lights flicked on as Peggy joined them in the room.

“Oh, Jack,” she said as he tried to climb to his feet, blinking muzzily at the destruction around him. “No, don’t move, you’ll cut your feet.”

“Marge?” Jack mumbled, dazed. “I—sorry, didn’t mean to…” he searched for the word, couldn’t find it, and sighed, shoulders slumping.

“You with us, Jack?” Daniel asked, just to be certain.

Jack stared at him silently for a few beats, and nodded.

“Okay, good. Peggy’s got your shoes here, put those on, and come out of the room,” Daniel coaxed.

“Did I wake you?” Jack asked as he shoved his feet into his boots. Besides him, Peggy slipped an arm under his shoulders and steered him out into the hall, where Daniel took over.

“Nah, we were playing Parcheesi. C’mon, join us for a round,” Daniel said lightly. He caught Peggy’s eye over his shoulder, and mouthed, “I got him.”

She nodded. “I’ll bring up some tea,” she whispered, and went to fetch the broom.

“I can take the couch,” Jack offered, a beat later.

“In a bit,” Daniel soothed, and ushered him into the master bedroom. “Take a seat, Jack.”

Jack looked at him sardonically. “Where?”

Daniel made a show of glancing around before gesturing. “Just on the bed, for now.”

“I know what you’re doing. You’re manipulating me,” Jack told him, and sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress.

“Am I?” Daniel turned to his drawers and rifled through the middle one. He extracted a clean old shirt and tossed it at Jack. It hit him in the face. The resulting look of offended dignity was almost funny, had Jack not otherwise been about two seconds away from collapse. “You stink, pal,” he said sympathetically.

“Sorry,” Jack muttered, and slowly, painstakingly changed his shirt. There some lingering bruises on his shoulder and along his ribs, but nothing more serious—his captors had seen no need for physical coercion it seemed, when they could break him another way. He laughed shortly. “Shoulda known it wasn’t real. S’cold here.”

“Jungles don’t get much snow, huh?”

“Sometimes, the sun bleaches the sand so white, you could trick yourself into thinking it. But then there’s the, y’know, muck. Mosquitoes. Dysentery.” His voice gone soft, Jack trailed off, lost in contemplation of the wall. He blinked, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “God, I’m tired.”

Daniel hummed in acknowledgment as he tossed Jack’s shirt in the hamper and shrugged out of his own robe. “So tired you can’t sleep, huh?”

“I want to, but I keep seeing—and it’s… my head,” Jack said, a little brokenly. “They’re crawling around in the- the shadows. They talk.”

“It’s probably because of the wallpaper in the guest room,” Daniel commiserated, guiding Jack higher up the bed. “I told Peggy we should’ve just painted it white instead of putting in that weird leafy pattern.”

“Daniel we've talked about this, the wallpaper’s a wedding gift from my mother, and a genuine B.J. Talbert design,” Peggy said as she came into the room, bearing a gently steaming mug. “We decided to use it up in the guest room precisely so we wouldn’t have to stare at it in ours, while she can congratulate herself on her good taste when she comes to visit. Budge up, Jack. Here you go.”

“What’s this?” Jack said, holding the cup with both hands and staring into its depths.

“Chamomile with a spot of honey. It always helps me sleep.”

“Think I’m past it, Marge,” Jack sighed, but sipped some anyways. “Haven’t slept in days. I think I’ve forgotten how.”

“Perfect, then we can use this time to go over some of the quarterly reports that came in while you were out,” Peggy said smoothly. “Daniel?”

“Got ‘em,” he said, handing over a stack of completed paperwork, and plucked the mug from Jack’s listless fingers.

“Can’t read,” Jack mumbled, peering over her shoulder. “The letters’re running around.”

“I can read them out loud, but don’t you dare fall asleep on me,” Peggy said sternly. She settled in, while Daniel tugged the comforter up over their laps. Between them, Jack drooped, blinking heavily.

“Won’t,” Jack protested. “Can’t sleep here 'nyways. Couch.”

“I wish you luck. That thing’ll break your back. Hey, pay attention,” Daniel said, and eased a pillow behind him.

“This is the important part, Jack,” Peggy said. “The financial statement for last quarter is a bit of a mess. We stayed within fifty-two percent of our overall budget, which isn’t too terrible. The bulk of it went into operations and the renovations for the main building, and in particular security upgrades and added features. In accordance with the charter rules and regulations, PL-88…” Her voice droned on gently, a steady patter of deathly dull information that would have challenged even the most alert and attentive of accountants.

Rather than listen in, Daniel watched Jack as his blinks grew longer and longer, his head dipping lower and lower. His breathing finally evened out and carefully, oh-so-gently, Daniel tipped Jack back onto his pillow, and watched as he sank into the softness with a soundless sigh.

“…hopefully that’ll stick for the next few hours at least,” Peggy said, continuing in the same voice and rhythm. “If that doesn’t put him to sleep and keep him there then I shall have to admit his superiority in this respect because I can never get through two paragraphs of that without a little nap at my desk. Do you think the hallucinations will remain a problem?”

“Sleep should do the trick,” Daniel assured her. “Just have to keep him here long enough for his brain to reset.”

Peggy hummed and set the papers down with a sigh. Carefully, she slid down on her side, propped up on her elbow as she looked down at their slumbering companion. “We should have found him sooner,” she said quietly, not quite daring to touch him for fear of waking him.

“I know,” Daniel agreed. There was no point in pointing out they’d done their best, redirected all SHIELD resources towards the goal of retrieval, beyond what had been wise. “We’re here now, though.”

Peggy sighed, and gave into temptation to brush some blond hair from Jack’s eyes. “No more nightmares, my little pain-in-the-neck,” she murmured to him.

Daniel reached over, caught her hand in his and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “He’ll be alright tonight. We’ve got him,” he smiled.

Unclasping his hand, she touched his cheek fondly. "Goodnight, my love.” She twisted away to turn off the bedside lamp; the darkness that swallowed them felt cozy and safe.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Daniel replied, settling in alongside Jack’s warm bulk. “…You think he snores?”

“Don’t you dare wake him if he does.”

“Just this once,” he conceded, and allowed sleep to overtake his senses.

[scioscribe]

Torchwood, Owen and Ianto, Owen makes Ianto tea/coffee when Ianto's having a bad day.

[scioscribe]

Iron Fist, Ward & Danny, Danny enters Ward's nightmare to protect him from memories of Harold.

[rachelmanija]

True Detective, Marty feeds Rust.

True Detective, Rust feeds Marty.

True Detective, Rust had to take drugs for undercover purposes and is now having a bad trip; Marty takes care of him.

True Detective, Rust is having a drug flashback; Marty takes care of him.

[muccamukk]

Band of Brothers, any, "you're not dead!" hugs

[sholio]

Protection Inc: Defenders, comforting with tiny raptors.

[rachelmanija]

AWWWWWWW.

[sholio]

Agent Carter, any, bringing someone food when they're stressed and working late.

[sholio]

Any or original, covered in puppies or kittens.

FILL: Band of Brothers, Bull & Johnny & Bill, covered in kittens.

[muccamukk]

"Where's the bull?" Bill asked. He plonked down to Johnny on the side of a railroad embankment, and watched his best friend think it over.

A man could usually find one of them by finding the other—Bull being the easier of the two to spot, Johnny to hear—and failing them being together, count on them knowing where the other was, so Bill was surprised when Johnny shook his head slightly.

"Aid station?"

"Nah, just came from there," Bill said. "Docs said he skipped out an hour ago."

"Course he did," Johnny grumbled, but not without fondness. "Didn't report to me." They both looked at Lieutenant Peacock, sitting on a twisted remnant of blown rail and fussing with his bootlaces, a perfect target for any German sniper their sweeps hadn't picked up, and mutually concluded not to bother asking the officers.

"Your boys sacked out over there?" Bill pointed to a half-collapsed barn with a tilt of his head.

"I told 'em it was gonna fall on 'em, but then the lieutenant said it looked okay. Guess who they listened to." Johnny sent Peacock another sour look.

"Well, if you're looking for a hayseed," Bill said, and pushed himself up. He reached down to offer Johnny a hand, and was ignored, so he bumped their shoulders together instead. Johnny shot him a look, and Bill followed up by clapping his hand on the back of Johnny's neck and squeezing lightly.

Johnny didn't answer, but Bill saw him close his eyes for just a little longer than it took to blink. It had been a fucking shit show of a couple of days, even without spending most of the previous night thinking Bull was either dead or a PoW, and Bill knew that Johnny hadn't gotten much in the way of sleep. None of them had.

It wasn't that Bill didn't have enough to worry about with his own boys, but it seemed like someone had to look out for the other sergeants, too, and if Bill didn't, he didn't know who would. Bill gave the scrap of skin between Johnny's helmet and collar another squeeze before letting his hand drop.

Johnny didn't say anything to that, but sort of hummed low in his throat, and looked sideways at Bill for a second, corner of his mouth twitching up, which was about as good as it got with him.

The barn had taken a couple hits, and the roof was slumping badly, but otherwise it wasn't as bad as Johnny had made it sound. Inside, most of first platoon were sprawled across the floor, some on dismantled hay bales, others just flat on the floor or on top of other boys sleeping flat on the floor.

Bill's eyes followed Johnny's as he did a headcount, and knit his eyebrows together as his frown deepened. Bill didn't see Bull either, and didn't know where to look after this.

Hoobler was resting nearest to the door, half sitting with his arms wrapped around his M1 like it was a teddybear, helmet tipped forward to half-cover his eyes. Johnny kicked his ankle to wake him, and from the way he blinked up at them instead of starting, Bill guessed he hadn't really been out yet.

"Hoob!" Johnny demanded, then scowled when Hoobler put his finger to his lips. Still, he dropped his voice a fraction when he asked, "You see Randleman?"

Finger still to his lips, Hoobler pointed across the barn to the back corner, where a couple of the hay bales had survived the pillaging.

Bill squinted into the shadows, not able to see much past loose straw, but Johnny was already picking his way across the floor, mostly not tripping on the boys, so Bill rapped his knuckles on Hoobler's helmet and started to follow.

By the time he got back there, Bill's eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and he could make out a sizable blanket-wrapped lump curled up in the middle of the hay. There weren't a lot of guys in the unit that size, and none of the others had curly blond hair like was poking out of one end of the bundle.

Bull lay with his back to them, his bad arm curled against his chest while his head rested on the crook of his good elbow, helmet and rifle set within reach. Someone had given him their blanket, as he had a couple draped over him.

The barn was filled with the sound of sleeping men, most of them grumbling, snoring or farting, but even so Bill could hear Johnny hold his breath as he watched Bull, studying him until the rise and fall of his back was clear enough to show he was breathing.

"See," Bill said, and Johnny nodded, letting out a long sigh. Neither of them were going to forget the previous night and the terror of not knowing, probably not as long as they lived, but for now the third of their little pack was sleeping peacefully, as safe as any of them could be. "You should sack out too, while we got the chance."

"I will in a minute," Johnny whispered back. Seemed like he wanted to just stand there and watch until he had the image properly in his head. Bill watched as something shifted in the set of Johnny's shoulders for the first time since they'd touched down. "In a minute," Johnny said again. Then scowled sharply.

Bill followed his gaze, and it took a minute to work out what was wrong.

Something inside the blankets was moving. It was down by Bull's ankle, just above where the toe of his boot poked out. At first Bill thought it was just Bull shifting in his sleep, but if it was, he'd grown an extra foot.

Johnny pulled his trench knife out of his belt and used the tip to flip the edge of the blanket back. "Oh, for crying out loud," he muttered.

Bill blinked at the wide green eyes staring back up at them. "What the..."

It was a scruffy orange kitten, just old enough to have its eyes open, but not yet steady on its feet. It brought its paw up to bat at the tip of Johnny's knife, and Johnny jerked it away so the little thing would cut itself. As he did, the guard snagged on the blanket, pulling the whole thing back off Bull's legs.

Bull grunted, and shifted in his sleep, and Johnny froze, glaring at the kitten like he dared it to move and wake Bull up.

It opened its mouth noiselessly, and put its front paws on the ankle of Bull's jump boot, almost managing to climb up before tumbling onto its back. Its tiny paws waved briefly in the air, and Johnny started to reach down to right it. Bill batted his hand away, and a moment later the kitten managed to catch its tail between its front paws and chewed fitfully on the end.

Bill was about to say something about the first kitten when a second poked its nose out from under a fold of the blanket, and started to toddle towards its sibling. It'd gotten about half way there when a long tawny leg reached out from under the blanket and hooked it back in.

The first kitten, either knowing what was good for it or having gotten hungry, flipped back onto its stomach and followed, disappearing into the cave made by the tuck of Bull's knees and the folds of olive drab wool.

Johnny glanced at Bill, who shrugged, and swept his hand to the side. Johnny nodded and inched the blanket back over Bull's knees, revealing the space against Bull's stomach. Five pairs of small green eyes and one pair of large green eyes stared up at Bill and Johnny. The queen cat hissed, low and menacing. Johnny dropped the blanket back into place.

"I wouldn't try move her," Bill whispered, and got one of Johnny's "No shit!" looks. Bill wondered if they should worry about Bull rolling onto his stomach and squishing them all, but he didn't think Bull would shift much with his bad shoulder. "Guess she wanted somewhere warm, huh?"

"Yeah." Johnny looked down at Bull and his nest of kittens with a more gentle expression than Bill had seen since Johnny and Pat's wedding day. "Know how she feels."

"You better get some shut eye," Bill told him. When Johnny stayed fixed in place, Bill reached over and lifted his rifle sling off his shoulder. "Come on. They'll have us on the road again soon."

"Fine, all right." Johnny took the M1 back from Bill and leaned it against the hay bale before slumping down with his back to it and his legs stretched out in front of him. He folded his arms across his chest, and tipped his head back so that the back of his helmet rested on the curve of Bull's back, moving slightly with each of Bull's breaths.

Bill stood there watching until Johnny's face smoothed into sleep. He shed ten years when he was conked out like that, and Bill wished he saw it more often.

Unable to help himself, Bill reached down and put his hand on top of the blanket where it draped over Bull's knees. He drummed his fingers lightly, and felt a small pressure in return: a tiny paw batting at his fingers through the wool. Bill drew his hand back, brushing over Bull's hip and pausing for a moment to soak in how warm and solid and alive he was.

Then he straightened and stepped away, leaving his friends to sleep while they could.

[sholio]

Any or original, finding a stray animal (any kind of animal) in the rain.

AC, Peggy & Jack, drenched kittens are found here?

[sheron]

My excuse for this is I don't know what happened.

"You and Me Against The World"

Summary: Peggy is turned into a cat.

***

Peggy was a small white cat, slight enough to pass as a kitten, with soft fur, wily golden eyes and long sharp claws. Very long. Very sharp.

Prior to this experience Jack thought his life could not get any weirder, but he was currently feeding small raw fishes to what used to be the Director of SHIELD so there was clearly room there to stretch the limits of the imagination.

"The energy beam just glanced her!" one of the scientists kept exclaiming from the other corner of the room. "Honestly, I have no idea how this happened!" Which was just the sort of thing you want to hear from your top scientists.

"Reverse it!" Jack growled at him, only to hear the kitten before him hiss and bare her claws. "Not a meow out of you, Carter," he told her. "This is literally their job." He glared over at the cowed scientist, who swallowed thickly and turned to his instruments.

Jack turned his attention back to Peggy, studying her critically. On the desk before him, Peggy swallowed half a sardine in one bite and shortly after her pink feline tongue flicked out to lick her paw clean. Her fur was still wet — he'd finally found her outside in the rain, having scuffed with some stray dogs because a disoriented Peggy Carter who suddenly found herself in the form of a small animal was more than ready to pick a fight with something twice her size — and all in all she looked a little rough. It wouldn't do if she caught a cold or something.

Internally rolling his eyes at himself, Jack picked up a fluffy white towel and dropped her on top of her. It covered her completely. A somewhat pitiful meow echoed from underneath, but Jack wasn't putting his hands anywhere near. No, thank you. His hands were still bleeding in fifteen different places from the last time he'd tried to pick her up. How something so small could be so painful escaped him.

Eventually, Peggy found her way out from under the towel, her small round head poking out with a hunter stare from her feline eyes.

"Dry, yet?" Jack asked. Dryly.

She turned up her nose at him and promptly went to lick her fur in indignant yet oddly adorable motion. Jack smirked despite himself. He knelt beside the table, setting his chin on his folded arms, at an eye-level with Peggy; she obviously didn't like him talking down to her and it didn't seem fair in any case. As far as he could tell, she knew who he was, but her sharp human intellect was reduced to a somewhat more primal animal instinct. Therefore, as long as he did exactly what she wanted, Peggy was fine with him being close. But if he stepped out of line, the sharp claws came out. So not much had changed in that respect, at least.

She continued to groom herself, and Jack sighed, pushing the plate with the sardines closer in case she was still hungry. His thoughts turned to what he would do if they never got this reversed to bring the real Peggy Carter back. Adopt her, he supposed. Feed her cat food for the rest of his life, he thought sourly. After Daniel...With what happened last year, the two of them had stuck together, drawn closer by shared loss. Jack took more and more assignments out of New York, and Peggy did seem to be glad to see him when he dropped by her office. But having her live with him, in the body of a cat, seemed like a rope too far. Jack glared at the scientists's backs, mentally willing them to figure it out.

At that moment, he felt a rough, wet tongue against his thumb and nearly jumped in surprise, but controlled himself. Jack peered over at Carter, who peered innocently back at him. She'd licked his thumb! More precisely, she'd licked the deep scratch her claws had left there earlier.

Carefully, so as not to startle her, Jack moved his hand to put two fingers on top of her head and scratch the short fur there. He watching the golden feline eyes narrow. She allowed it, yawning in a very unladylike fashion.

Jack smirked again. "You and me, it's not so bad," he admitted quietly.

She butted her head into his palm.


Fin.

[rachelmanija]

Any or original, fire lizard hatching. This does not need to be canon for your fandom.

Pern, Vertigo, Marvel, and DC all in one.

[senmut]

"This is a bit awkward, little ones," Death said as the eggs began to rock. How could new life be appearing in her domain unless… "Did the storms drown your nest, little ones? Well, I think I can arrange for companions for you."

Death drew in her choices, the denizens of her Waiting Room. Jason Todd, Bucky Barnes, Gwen Stacy, Barry Allen — she had far too many that could not move on.

The brave souls dealt with the hunger, the emotional rush, with their giving natures. Gwen looked to her in worry.

"If we do move on?"

"They will be a part of you. Whatever outcome awaits, for they have bonded fully," Death said, ignoring that Delirium had sneaked in and made off with one of the little dragonets. "Their world is not yet, for many of you."

"So soft, not quite like Lockheed," Illyana whispered, nuzzling the small creature. "I will care for you, no matter if I go to Hell again, or some other fate."

The contently sleeping creatures cast a spell of peace over Death's company, and she found it wiser to linger within that, than to go learn just what Delirium might do with a fire-lizard.

[redbird]

Earthsea, any, cooking or eating a meal

Fill: Earthsea, Tenar & Ogion, eating together

[musesfool]

The Place had been deep in the high desert, where storms were rare and full of sand and lightning. The Nameless Ones protected them, or so Tenar had believed in her time there, before she saw them for what they truly are.

Gont is an island, and storms there are full of water and wind, and in the autumn they often blow up without warning. The lightning is at least familiar, Tenar thinks as the rain soaks her to the skin. The boom of thunder makes her jump as she hurries up the path to Ogion's house.

Ogion is silent as she drips her way across his floor to the bathroom and wrings her hair out over the claw-footed tub that dominates the small, tiled room. It's a luxury that surprised her when Ged brought her here, but one she's enjoyed taking advantage of. She doesn't have the energy to heat water for a bath now, even though her teeth have started to chatter, but Ogion has a fire roaring in the hearth when she's done changing into warm, dry clothes.

The kitchen smells of warm bread and chicken soup, but when Tenar moves to set the table for dinner, Ogion bids her stay by the fire.

He brings over a tray containing a steaming bowl of soup and a mug of cinnamon-scented tea, and thick slices of warm bread glistening with melting butter.

"Eat," he says in his slow, deep voice.

Tenar takes a sip of the tea and grips her spoon tightly. "Join me?"

Ogion smiles, and makes himself a tray, and together they eat by the fire, warm and dry as the wind whips the rain against the house.

[sholio]

Any/original, a handmade card (holiday, birthday, get-well, etc).

Fill: Addams Family (1964 series), Gomez/Morticia & Wednesday, a Friday the 13th card

[yarnofariadne]

Wednesday returned from the store with her grandmother disappointed but undeterred. Maybe it was better that the store didn’t have any Friday the 13th cards; she knew her parents would appreciate something she made herself more anyway.

Upstairs in her room, she climbed into her desk chair and opened the top drawer. She took out a piece of paper and her box of crayons. Opening the box, she selected the only worn-down crayon from amongst the new, unused ones, and shook her head as she always did, wondering why they wouldn’t sell boxes of just black crayons. It’d be much more practical. But then, these were the same people that didn’t sell Friday the 13th cards either.

She coloured a dark, leafless tree with ravens sitting atop branches and bats hanging upside down from others. She outlined a full moon in the sky, and placed a few more bats flying in front of and around it. On the ground, she drew a graveyard, with tombstones for each member of her family. When she finished, she leaned back and looked at it, satisfied with her artistic masterpiece. After writing a short message inside, she slid out of her chair and went downstairs.

In the living room, her mother was knitting a sweater — it must’ve been for Cousin Imar, judging from the number of arms — while her father stood on his head reading the newspaper.

“Happy Friday the 13th, Mother and Father!” Wednesday announced as she handed her mother the card.

“Oh!” Morticia exclaimed as she set down her knitting. “Wednesday, darling, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She placed a hand over her heart as she looked at the drawing and read the message inside. Leaning over, she kissed the top of Wednesday’s head. “Thank you, dear. Gomez, come look at Wednesday’s card.”

Gomez, right side up, leaned over Morticia’s shoulder to see the card. His eyes widened. “Wednesday, you’re an artistic genius! To think, my seven year-old putting the great masters to shame!” He picked Wednesday up and twirled her. “A happy Friday the 13th indeed!”

Morticia beamed at them, then turned a thoughtful eye back to the card as Gomez set Wednesday down. “I’ll have it framed this afternoon. I’ve never seen such divine shadows. C’est magnifique, cherie,” she said as she squeezed Wednesday’s hand.

“Tish,” Gomez moaned, and Wednesday, knowing exactly what would happen next, quickly moved the card out of her father’s way.

[muccamukk]

The Pacific, Andy/Eddie, A letter with good news.