I feel like I should explain six, lol. If you haven't read skimmingsurfaces latest chapter of her 100 list, WHY NOT?!
Also, she explains who Bay and Pinny are, lol. They are *drum roll* Pinky and Brain's reincarnations. They're also technically third cousins, though not by blood as Bay's great-grandmother was PatB's adopted daughter, Cici. Who is in prompt 8 as a baby XD
You'll be reading about these two a few times throughout this list as I dedicated quite a few prompts to them, lol
And 9, in this OC-Verse Brain dies from Alzheimer's. There are a few prompts dedicated to that as well because there are so many feels attached to it
And then 10. 10 makes me so sad. Feta's so young when he goes :c He's one of the triplets born to Brie, Brain's sister and my OC. He dies of a sudden brain aneurysm
006. Feel (355)
Bay clasped his hands behind his back, taking a rare moment of solitude from his husband to not do his work. He didn't know what had urged him to come here, nor did he know why he'd bothered to follow the instinctive tug. He so rarely did, after all.
But he had and was now standing in the shade of two flower bushes, tangled eternally. They should be dead, such differing species growing so close together. They shouldn't thrive and flourish as they did, but something told him that they always would. They were together just as the two mice were who had been buried just below where he stood.
Except... They were also still alive. Bay could feel it in himself, in the way the name "Pinky" spilled from him just as easily as "Pinny" did when he spoke to his dearest friend and husband. He could feel it in the deja vu that would come whenever he did or said something, even in the thoughts he would have.
So, really, he knew he was standing before his own grave. He knew that his previous self had decided to return. Why he'd chosen to do so after only two years was beyond him, though. Almost. He was himself, after all. He could feel it. He could feel the verve for life, the joy in ruling the world. He could experience loving his grandmother and great-aunt as those relations as well as, bizarrely enough, his daughters. His father was just his father, his past self and current one vastly in love with the unique experience of having one. The same went for his mother.
There were moments, though, where he keenly felt the absence of a sister. Where he would be about to say something particularly scathing to one of his little cousins and something in his mind would call him a shmuk and silence him.
He frowned, reaching out when a small flower fell into his palm. He brushed the white and pink petals with a fingertip, scowling at it. "Alright," he grumbled quietly, "I'll do it. We'll have a baby." Meddling past lives.
007. Wrecked (156)
He was a mess. A squeaky, babbling mess. Moans spilled out, a jumble of words without coherency were groaned. And the songs were sung, high and squeaky. So much could be said with a single squeak, here in the world of instinct. A single noise could express love, need, praise, and warning all at once.
Such a sound escaped, the warning being that he was too close. Too close, too soon. Again. As always. But he wanted this to last; why wouldn't his body ever allow this to last? The dazed whine that was wrung from him was from his need for it to last as much as it was from his need to let go.
But then long talented fingers wrapped around his length and he was seeing stars. Back bowing, head pressing against the pillows, Brain's seed spilled between them until he was emptied and far too blissful to care about his current state.
008. Soft (311)
Roman had felt this way. Before the effects of the cloning machine took their toll on him and accelerated his growth. But before he'd suddenly grown, he'd felt like this. His fresh white fur soft and warm, encouraging gentle pets and soothing words. He hadn't had either for Roman, having firmly categorized him as an experiment and nothing more. And he'd grown so quickly, there had been no real push for him to alter his behavior, to treat him as more of a son and less of a clone.
With this little mouse, things were far more difficult. With her wide pink eyes, too large for her baby face, and her babbled, stilted speech... It was difficult not to look at her. And once his gaze was captured, his fingers would itch. Because he knew, he just knew, that the fur would be just as soft as it looked and that the little girl hadn't had nearly enough of the required attention it needed in order to retain maximum softness.
Occasionally, there weren't enough other distractions to keep him occupied and away. Occasionally, he had to step closer just to make sure Pinky's daily brushing was enough for her. It always was, but once the soft pets had started, he needed to pick her up. He needed to hold and cradle, pet and coddle.
"Ba!" she would chirp if she was awake, their noses touching in the lightest of ways.
"Yes, Cici," he murmured, trying to ignore the buzz of pride. She was so clever, but he always had to remind himself that it wasn't his or Pinky's doing. She'd been raised to this point by someone else. This soft little angel was the product of someone else.
He had to remind himself of that often or it would've been too hard to set the soft little bundle back down again.
009. Cold (281)
It was a late snow that year, but when the fat flakes began to fall and stick to the earth, the children ran out squealing. It was the very first one for the youths, and there was much excitement to be had by all the castle inhabitants. But there were two who were inside, perched on their windowsill. They weren't supposed to be. Brain had been in his bed since just after his birthday, when he'd fallen because Mr. Hals-Timers had gotten him confused about high places.
But he'd been gazing out of his window at the falling snowflakes with such rapt attention that his husband hadn't been able to help himself. He'd carried his loving love to their window sill, telling him Christmas stories instead of being afraid by how light his not-so-chubby chubby hubby was.
And now he was blowing hot breath over the window and drawing pictures in the condensation with his finger. "Look, Brain, a tree!" He'd drawn a Santa hat, but Brain was smiling anyway. Simple things that used to annoy him had been making him happy lately, even Pinky's rambling bedtime stories. It delighted him even while it made him ache inside.
There was a flicker in pink eyes, deep inside, as he looked away from the condensation art to the snowfall beyond. "There was a baby in the snow," he whispered. "With a pretty pink ribbon." There was another flicker as he turned, giving the taller mouse a perplexed look. "Pinky, where's Cici?"
As cold as it was outside, the lanky mouse felt warm and cozy inside his heart. The snow had given them a good day amongst all the angry X's on Pinky's calendar.
010. Without (358)
He was reading, running his finger along the page and quietly humming to himself. He was going on a walk with his great-great-granddaughter soon; the little girl enjoyed the gardens as much as he did. Neither of them could see it clearly, of course, the girl's eyesight so faded that she may as well have been blind. He understood living on that cusp, could remember it though it had been years since his vision had blackened entirely.
He could still see his husband's golden eyes if he thought about it, decided to then and smiled to himself. The most beautiful eyes he never needed to see again. He could feel the lines fanning from them now when they were snuggled together in bed at night, or when he just felt the urge to reach out and touch. His husband was so cute.
There was a sudden, blinding pain in his head that had him seeing white for a sharp moment. He cried out, lifting a hand to his head... and then it was gone. Feta blinked rapidly, looked down at his book, and continued to read. That had been... odd.
He heard a shout a few minutes later, looked up and saw the little brown and gray mouse with a little patch of yellow that covered one ear and part of her face. Oh, just like Teddy. That was... He could see her. Feta blinked rapidly. He could see.
But it wasn't until Teddy rushed in a few minutes later, wobbling on his cane in his haste, that Feta realized he could see, but he wasn't seeing the whole picture. He looked over slowly when his husband dropped to his knees, the stethoscope shoved into his ears and desperately pressing against another mouse's chest. A white, fluffy mouse who was sprawled over a Braille book.
Feta's heart, or what felt like a heart, pounded painfully, so he lifted his hand to his chest and rubbed. "Oh, Teddy," he whispered, resting a hand on his husband's shoulder. Their eyes met for just a moment, holding, and the white mouse smiled because those eyes were even better than he remembered.
Next time:
Inspiration, You, Confused, Affection, Joy