A few lovely fandom imagines

Tom Branson

Hello, loves! This was requested by the lovely sheo46forever! I hope you like it because I certainly had lots of fun writing it!

Get a dog  they said. It'll be fun  they said.

Fun wouldn't exactly be your choice of word. Not right now, when it was eleven thirty at night, it was -30F (-34.4C) outside, the worst blizzard in history was raging across the streets of Boston,  and your dog had chosen this very evening to run away.

Naturally, because you were not a terrible person, you had wrapped yourself up in the warmest coat you had, which happened to be your mother's old fur coat, and bundled yourself in several woolen scarves, hats, socks, and mittens, before walking out into the storm to find your beloved pet.

It was cold. Not just your regular old shiver inducing cold, no, this kind of cold was eerie and evil. It was seeping into your bones, crawling all over your skin like some horrid spider with frost bite as its venom.

Snow was tumbling from the skies, turning the light of the oil lamps into vague spots of faraway brightness and making your path difficult as it piled up into large banks on the streets. Still, you journeyed on, for fear of finding your poor dog frozen to death, or of never even finding him at all.

The streets of Boston were turned into a foreign and frightening land by the blizzard. The snow drowned out all sounds except that of the wind, and the latter howled bitterly in the night, making futile your calls of "Here, Padfoot! Good boy! Padfooot! PADFOOT!"

You didn't know how long you had been outside. The cold had a way of making everything timeless. For all you knew it wasn't even 1925 anymore, centuries had passed during this terrible storm.  All you were certain of was that you had lost all feeling in your nose, fingers and toes and if you didn't find Padfoot soon, you would most likely suffer from hypothermia.

Your voice was quickly giving out, but you continued screaming for your dog, not wanting to give up on him. You had no idea what part of the city you were in, and were starting to berate yourself for your foolishness.

That was when you heard it. A voice, breaking through the wind, calling out. You couldn't make out what it was saying, but decided to move towards it. Through the swirling snow, you slowly edged closer to an oil lamp, and noticed a figure standing next to it. You saw it move closer to you, the sound of the voice approaching also, but it seemed the cold had finally succeeded, as you were rooted the spot, frozen in place. Your frost covered eyelashes blurred your view as you blinked slowly, your eyes closing, and suddenly everything was dark.

*A FEW MINUTES OF UNCONSCIOUSNESS LATER IN TIME AND SPACE*

"Sybie! Sybie, quick, fetch the other woolen blankets we have in the cupboard!"

You heard the pitter patter of little feet against a floor. You seemed to be lying in a warm, plush place, but you couldn't feel much. Whether that was because you were freezing or because you were well bundled up, you weren't sure. You slowly opened an eye, causing a flash of pain to head straight to your brain.

"Ow," you groaned, most eloquently.

"Are you alright?" a masculine voice asked. You groaned in pain again as a response. "Right. Stupid question," the voice said with its Irish lilt, and had you not been so frozen stiff and agonizing, you would have cracked a smile.

The pitter patter returned, and you felt a warm weight fall on top of you, followed by the high pitched voice of a child saying, "Here you go."

"Good girl, Sybie," the first voice said, most likely to the pitter patterer. "Let's get our guest some warm soup."