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themadlostgirl · 3 years

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When It’s Cold

*Felix simps come get y’all juice!

The hyperfixation hit me hard and because I just have to add backstory and character development to every single request I get, this one shot request is another mini-fic. I do not know how long it is going to be but I am hoping to keep it under ten. I already have like 5 chapters written now. Also, Felix deserves some multi-chapter love dang it!*

Prompt: Reader and Felix are stuck in Storybrooke together. What will happen next? Spoilers: it’s feelings and fluff and a horny teenagers being stupid.

Requested by: anon

~~~

“I blame you.” Felix said.

“How is this my fault?” I retorted. Felix and I sat on the docks of Storybrooke overlooking the water.

“You’re the one that convinced me to come to Storybrooke with you. Now look what’s happened! Pan is dead and we have no way to get back to Neverland.”

“We’ll find a way back to Neverland.”

“And how do you figure that? There is no more shadow to ferry us, we have no magic bean, or any pixie dust to fly us back. We are stuck here!”

“Will you calm down?”

“You want me to be calm? How can you expect me to be calm after everything that has happened?”

“I don’t know but you panicking is not going to help us any. Storybrooke is the only town in this realm with magic. If there is a way to cross realms we will find it here so stop worrying so much and start brainstorming. Like you said, there is no more shadow so our reliable way of getting back is gone. Magic beans are scarce if any even still exist. So our only option is to find some method of transportation that can either fly us back or we become mermaids and swim through the realms. So we gotta sprout wings or gills. Ideas?”

“Well I can’t swim worth a damn so I guess we’ll need to find a way to fly.”

“No point staying here.” I got up, “We were fine camping in the woods but that’s not going to serve us well much longer. Winter is rolling in and neither of us have ever lived somewhere that wasn’t tropical and humid all the time so I don’t think we’ll survive long on our own out in the wilderness. We need to start looking into different housing options.”

“You sound like an adult.” Felix groaned.

“I hate it too but there’s not much else we can do unless we want to freeze to death. Come on,” I held a hand out to him, “The sooner we find someplace the sooner we can start dedicating our time to finding a way out of here.”

“I’m coming,” Felix stood up, ignoring my hand. We walked all around Storybrooke looking for someplace to hole up in. My main concern was having a place with heat which left a lot of the vacant houses out since their utilities were shut off. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that there were no fireplaces so starting a fire to keep warm was also out of the question.

It was getting late and our search had yielded nothing. I had a bad feeling that if we couldn’t find somewhere suitable through our own means we would have to resort to actually paying for housing somewhere. Which meant we would need money which also meant we would need to have jobs. Paying bills, having jobs, this was a nightmare!

We shuffled back to our camp and checked the traps we had laid for any game but only caught a small rabbit. Barely big enough for one person. Better than nothing at least.

As Felix roasted the rabbit over our fire I sighed, rubbing my arms to keep off the chill of the late autumn.

“You know what I’ve noticed these past couple days?” I said.

“Hm?” Felix hummed not bothering to look up.

“This is the first time in all the years we’ve known each other that we’ve ever really hung out.”

“Guess so.” Felix shrugged.

“Is that not strange to you? We’ve known each other for decades on Neverland. We hunted together, played together, fought together with the boys but this is the first time us two have ever been alone together. How do you not find that strange?”

“It’s not like I was close to everybody on the island.” He took the rabbit off the spit and cut it in two, “Besides, you were always off galavanting with Artie and Frank. What’s it matter if we ever hung out?”

“I guess it’s just making me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Why you followed me here?” I answered as he handed me my half of our dinner. “You didn’t know that Pan had switched consciousness with that Henry kid until after we left Neverland. You could have stayed on Neverland with the other boys. You didn’t need to come with me when I asked you to. So why did you?”

“Let me ask you something,” Felix dodged around the question, “Why is it that you asked me to come with you in the first place? You had your friends on that ship already. Why take me along? Why is it that you’re roughing it in the woods with me when you have friends that are snug and cozy in that fairy monastery? Answer me that.”

“I--I--” The words were caught in my throat. Why had I asked Felix to come with me? I knew the answer lay deep in my gut but I couldn’t for the life of me bear to bring it to the surface. I bit into my rabbit with a small scowl.

Felix gave a small exhale before diving into his dinner as well. The conversation thoroughly ended. I curled up to go to sleep near the fire. Our only source of heat. I really did miss Neverland. I would deal with a million humid heat waves if it meant that I could be warm again.

Sometime during the night a gust of cold wind snapped me awake. I huddled in closer to myself trying to retain some warmth when I felt something being draped over me. I peeked an eye open and saw Felix lay down again and curled more into himself. I looked to see what he had done and realized he had draped his cloak over me. His only form of heat, thin as it was. I decided at that moment as I watched him violently shivering on the cold ground that I would gladly grow up a little and get a job if it meant we would have somewhere warm to sleep tomorrow night.

The morning came and as casually as I could gave Feilx back his cloak. I made no mention of his generosity. I knew he wouldn’t appreciate you pointing out his selflessness for whatever reason. Too proud to accept my thanks.

We went back into town and I sent Felix off to find some cheap accommodations for us while I walked along main street and hopped into every store that I could looking for work. Unfortunately it looked like no one was hiring. Dejected and pissed after the tenth shop owner denied to even let me fill out one of their ridiculous applications I stole a handful of dollars from their tip jar. At the very least I could buy us a decent meal tonight.

We met up again outside of the diner. Felix had no luck finding a place to stay either. Everyone just shrugged him off. To my delight though he had the same idea as me and produced a wallet he had pickpocketed off the landlord he had spoken to. A couple of twenties tucked safely into the worn leather. We may not have anywhere warm to sleep tonight but at least we could get a hot meal.

We entered into the diner and immediately were met with stares. It was the same stare I got from everyone I asked a job from. I tried to shrug it off and sat down with Felix at the counter. We ordered two plates of the lasagna. The waitress was kind enough but everyone else at the counter moved away from us when it was evident that we were staying.

“Felix,” I whispered, “Is it just me or is everyone--”

“They don’t want us here,” he whispered back, “They’re not saying anything but they’re making it obvious enough. The reason no one will give us a job or let us live anywhere is all for the same reason. We were here for Pan and even though he’s gone they still don’t trust us. Just eat your food and we’ll go back to camp.”

“Do you think we have enough money to maybe spend just one night at the bed and breakfast?” I asked, hopeful.

Felix shook his head. “Even if we did I think we should be saving this for food since game is proving difficult to come by.”

“You’re right,” I stabbed into my lasagna. “It just gets so cold…”

We finished our meals quickly and left just as fast. At least I was more full than yesterday. We started on our way back to camp when I noticed a trail I hadn’t seen before.

“Where are you going? Camp is that way?”

“I know but I need to see something.” I told him as I started running down the other trail.

“Wait!” Felix ran after me. I kept huffing and puffing down the trail until it opened into a large field. In the distance was a huge house. A mansion by the looks of it.

“Whoa,” Felix said as he took in the sight of the mansion. “How did we miss this?”

“I don’t know. Let’s get a closer look.” We ran across the neatly trimmed lawn and hopped over the fence onto the mansion grounds. The lights were off inside. Whoever lived here was either gone or asleep. We checked the garage and found no car. Peeking in as many windows as we could it didn’t look like anyone was home.

“Should we?” I asked Felix. The temptation was too great. “Even if someone does live here it’s so big I doubt that they would even notice us staying here as well.”

“Let’s take a look.” Felix grinned. Strangely enough the front door was left unlocked. I tried the lights and was delighted when I realized that the electricity was working, there was running water too. Even better was that there was heat! Heat and dozens of bedrooms.

The place was so clean and orderly but yet there were no signs of it being lived in. No pictures on the walls. No food in the fridge. All the doors and windows were unlocked. There was a large kitchen, dining room, multiple rooms just for sitting in, a dozen bedrooms, and even a ballroom with a beautiful crystal chandelier. All the windows had the most spectacular views of the ocean or the mansion’s garden.

“This place is amazing!” I picked up a strange cylindrical paperweight with stars painted on top of it and tossed it in the air. “Felix, I don’t want to get our hopes up but I think we found a place for us to stay.”

“And you’re sure no one lives here?” Felix gazed around the room we were standing in.

“We searched all the rooms we came across and found no one. The place has been cleaned out of food or toiletries. Either whoever lives here desperately needs to go shopping or they just don’t exist.”

“You think we’re really that lucky?”

“I think we’re owed a bit of luck. Even if someone still does live here do you really want to spend the night shivering outside or spend a night wrapped up warm in a bed and run the risk of someone chasing us out in the morning?”

“You make a compelling argument.” Felix grinned, “Race you for the master bedroom!”

“Felix!” I chased after him as he went flying up the stairs. He got to the room first and flopped down on the large king-sized bed.

“I win! Go take one of the lesser bedrooms.”

“You only won cause you have those long lanky legs.” I flopped down beside him and sighed as I sunk into the soft mattress. “I don’t think I can move from here. It’s way too comfortable.”

“Too bad. My room.” He pushed me off.

“Hey!” I laughed as I stood back up. “Fine, you can have the master bedroom but only on the condition that you find us more money to buy food and toiletries. Got it?”

“Sounds good to me,” Felix stood too, eyeing the bathroom attached to the bedroom. “Soap or not I think I am going to indulge in a hot bath.”

“That does sound heavenly.” I haven’t had a hot bath in decades. “Have a goodnight, Felix. We go grocery shopping tomorrow.”

“Night,” Felix gave a wave as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

I left the room and wandered around the hall looking for a space of my own. I found a nice bedroom that felt just as grand as the master bedroom. I went into the bathroom and drew myself a piping hot bath. I nearly moaned when I sunk down into the water. Even if this lasts for only a night I’ll be happy. One night of warmth.

After my bath I wrapped myself in a large fluffy towel and went back into the bedroom. I really didn’t want to put my old dirty clothes on my clean body. I opened the dresser drawers hoping maybe the resident left behind some old clothes but they were all empty. I crept out of my room and checked the other guest rooms surrounding me but all their drawers were empty too. There was one place I hadn’t checked. If the owner did leave something behind it would probably be in the master bedroom. I glanced down at my towel with a grimace. It covers everything at least. I tentatively knocked on the door but was met with no answer. I cracked it open and sighed with relief when I saw no Felix in sight. He must still be in the bath.

I went to the dressers and, “Nothing? Really?!” I slammed the dresser shut again. How is it that there isn’t so much as a single shirt in this house?

“Why are you making so much noise?” Felix stepped out of the bathroom in a billow of steam. My throat went dry when I caught sight of him. Completely naked except for the towel hanging from his hips and still dripping went. His blonde hair that usually hung in his face was brushed back opening his face up more. His torso had an array of scars I never knew he had before. That wet chest that was impressively chiseled…

I shot to my feet clutching to the towel covering me. “Sorry! I was just looking for some clean clothes.”

Felix gaze swept me up and down. He took a deep breath and grabbed something from inside the bathroom and tossed it to me. It was a fluffy white robe with a monogrammed M on the breast. “There.”

“Thanks.” I slid the robe on over my towel. “Anything else in there?”

“Nope. Just that one.” Felix turned away from me. His face looked red and I could only guess he was angry at me for barging in. “Now scurry back to your own room.”

“Right. Thanks.” I rushed back to my room, my heart hammering in my chest. That was certainly new. I never thought I would see that much of Felix. I mean why would I ever want to see his wet, practically naked, and not so shockingly buff body? No! Bad! Impure thoughts I should not be having about my...my…

Huh. What was Felix to me? On Neverland we were Lost Ones but that didn’t really fit here. I don’t know if I could exactly call us friends either. Roommates? Was that what we were now? We have been living together at our crappy camp all this time and now we’re staying in this mansion together. I guess that’s what we would call one another. Roommates.

I dropped my towel and pulled the clean robe tighter around me. My thumb traced over the M stitched on the breast. This house has no food, no toiletries, no clothes, not a single photo on any wall but yet there was a single monogrammed robe. Who was M? Who had lived here?

Those were questions for the morning. I sunk into bed and this time I did moan as I cuddled under the many thick blankets. Finally warm at last.

---

(Next)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #request #peter pan ouat #roommate au #i'm just gonna put this in the tags since it doesn't actually matter to the story but #they are in the sorcerer's mansion introduced at the start of season 4 #the place where they find all the blank story books and rumple and belle have their honeymoon #that's it. just let my kiddos have a warm place to sleep. they deserve it.

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dannypuro · 4 years

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Okay but what was the heinous spelling error Enj made 200ish years ago and was it really as bad as he said it was ?

Also I am here to further scream over your fics and flail about how Good they are and how On Point your characterization is and how I am still thinking about them all. All at once. No exceptions

THANk YOU VERY MUCH AND GOOD NIGHT :^D (the nose is there for Grantaire reasons) - boom-goes-the-canon because Tumblr disallows sending asks from side blogs like governments ban personal lives

( Something Telling verse, post-chapter 9 (aka time-zapped Enjolras, modern-era). also THANK YOU!! HELLO!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!! GOOD JOB ON YOUR MOST RECENT FIC I ADORE. to everyone else... send me prompts/questions/thoughts. i shall respond to them. thank u)

Feuilly and Bahorel come over for brunch on a Sunday in December. Grantaire makes a quiche, sets the table all nice, and everything, and then realizes, ten minutes before they’re supposed to arrive, that they ran out of coffee the day before.

“Fuck,” he hisses, as he stares down into the empty bag and wishes that for once in his fucking life he could have just a tiny bit of forethought. “Fuck.”

Enjolras hums from where he sits on the kitchen counter, where he’s been steadily working his way through a truly impressive number of clementines. “Something is wrong?” He asks; he passes Grantaire a piece of clementine, as he says it. (God, Grantaire fucking loves him.)

“Yeah,” he says, but his heart’s not really in it, anymore--it’s hard to keep up any semblance of anger past annoyance when Enjolras is doing things like- like feeding him orange segments, and shit like that. “We- I forgot we’re out of coffee. And Baz and Feuilly’ll be here in, like, a second, and the quiche is still in the oven and I don’t-” he doesn’t have time, and he has never been a shitty brunch host but brunch without coffee is a shitty brunch, and-

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says firmly. He hops down off of the counter, takes a second to frame Grantaire’s face in his hands. “Please do not panic over brunch. I shall go and buy some more coffee.”

Like it’s simple. Fuck, it is simple, and Grantaire loves him, and he’s not going to be a shitty brunch host, and-

“God, I love you,” he says.

Enjolras smiles, leans up for a quick kiss. “I love you, as well. Now, mind your cookery--I shall return before the hour, and all will be well.”

He leaves, and Grantaire repeats it to himself--All will be well--and as soon as he’s done that, there’s a crack of thunder, and it starts pouring, icy and relentless, outside the kitchen window. And. Well. So much for that mantra, then. But oh, God, it’s raining, and Enjolras never takes an umbrella with him, and if he had any sense he’d just turn back and come back to the apartment, damn the coffee, but Grantaire knows him, and he knows that he doesn’t have any sense, most of the time, so he stares out the window and wills the rain to stop before his boyfriend freezes to death.

No such luck. By the time Enjolras gets back, coffee in hand, he’s soaked to the bones, and he’s got an equally-as-sopping Feuilly and Bahorel in tow.

“R!” Bahorel crows. “Found your boy!”

Grantaire sets the quiche down on the table and looks them over. Feuilly’s teeth are chattering. They’re all three of them dripping on his carpet. Enjolras is wearing Grantaire’s hoodie instead of a coat and beaming.

Right. A change of plans, then.

They eat brunch on the couch, once Grantaire’s thrown all of their clothes into the dryer and they’ve changed into some of Grantaire’s spare sweatpants. Of course, Baz and Feuilly borrow his clothes because they need to; Enjolras borrows his clothes because he’s fundamentally ridiculous. (Grantaire loves him so fucking much.)

“You know,” Grantaire says, over couch quiche, despite the fact that he already knows that Enjolras does, in fact, know, “You could have just changed into your own clothes. If you wanted to. Since you live here, and all.”

Enjolras gives him a very, very pointed look. And you know what? Fair.

They eat brunch.

“I did have a question about your essays, actually,” Feuilly says, once they’ve finished the quiche and moved on to coffee and coffee alone. He’s tucked under the same quilt as Enjolras--one of Jehan’s, bright and warm.

Enjolras nods, snuggles back against Grantaire, where Grantaire’s got an arm wrapped around his chest, where he leans up against him in an awkward half-pivot. “Of course,” he says. “Anything you require, easily.”

“Awesome, great,” Feuilly says, with a smile. “What’s lacrity?”

Grantaire can feel Enjolras tense against him, freeze. Which is… not what he was expecting. “You jest,” he manages, eventually, and Grantaire holds him a little tighter, never mind that he doesn’t know why.

Feuilly frowns. “Um. No? I mean, I looked it up, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Enjolras is breathing a little faster, now; he takes Feuilly’s hands in his own. “Feuilly, my dear fellow,” he says, and his voice shakes. “Tell me you jest.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

Feuilly looks just about as confused as Grantaire feels. He reaches into his bag, pulls out a book--Enjolras’s book, a little thing, six essays bound in public-domain paper. He opens it to his bookmark, hands it over. “Lacrity,” he says, and then he reads, “It is only through lacrity and fortitude that the people of this nation might ever be free; it stands testament to the chance of man, then, that itis lacrity and fortitude both which comprise the foundation of the citizen’s heart. It’s in the fifth one?”

Enjolras stares down at the book. He clears his throat. “Alacrity,” he says, very, very softly.

“Uh, yeah,” Bahorel says, from where he sits with an arm thrown over Feuilly’s shoulders. “A lacrity. But, like, what is it?”

A pained noise rises at the back of his throat that Grantaire can feel, up against his chest. “You misunderstand me,” he manages. “I- This is a nightmare.” His heart is beating just a little too fast for Grantaire’s comfort.

“Enj?” he tries. “Are you-”

“Excuse me,” he blurts out. “I- Excuse me.” He’s on his feet in an instant, making off for the bedroom before anyone can stop him. Grantaire’s side feels pretty fucking cold, without him.

Feuilly looks stricken. “I don’t- Did I say something?” Grantaire’s feeling pretty stricken, himself--he doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know what could have gone on in Enjolras’s head that would make him talk to Feuilly with anything other than kindness edging on reverence.

“I’m gonna go see if he’s-” he gestures towards the bedroom. Bahorel and Feuilly nod. He goes.

Enjolras is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands.

Oh, Jesus.

“Enj?” he hazards.

He doesn’t look up. “This is mortifying,” he mumbles into his palms. “I have been personally wronged by every single editor who has ever lain their hands upon my essays.”

Grantaire still doesn’t- doesn’t really know where they’re going, here. He sits down beside him on the bed. “Did-”

“Lacrity,” Enjolras grits out, half frantic, and finally, he turns to face Grantaire. “Lacrity is not a word. It is- It- Alacrity. Which I did not know when I wrote those essays, because I was twenty-two years of age and a fool. And this is something which, despite the fact that he was paid to do so, my editor did not deem necessary to correct!”

Ah.

Um.

Grantaire doesn’t really know that he’s qualified to offer comfort on 200-year-old publishing woes, but fuck, he’ll try. “I’m sure-”

Enjolras holds a hand up to stop him. He stops. “This was bad enough. I was already aware of this injustice. What I cannot abide is the fact that evidently, in the two hundred years since its unfortunate publication, nobody has taken pity enough to correct it! And now Feuilly thinks that I am a fool! Grantaire, this is humiliating!”

He’s looking pretty genuinely distressed; Grantaire can’t bear to do anything but to pull him into a hug, firm and solid. Enjolras, for all his bristle, folds in against his chest. “Feuilly doesn’t think you’re a fool,” he says, into his curls. “Feuilly thinks you’re awesome.”

He lets out a pained groan. “I shall never recover.”

Yeah, okay. Grantaire holds him a little tighter. Only- “Hey, why don’t you care about me or Baz thinking you’re a fool?”

Enjolras snorts a laugh against his chest. “I have personally witnessed Bahorel misspell his own profession. I hold little concern that his regard for me will be impacted.”

Honestly? Fair. “But-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, and he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to Grantaire’s. (Grantaire’s heart thrums.) “We live together. We are courting. If you do not already know that I am a fool, I worry that you never will.”

“You’re not-” he says, on impulse, and then he thinks about, like, actually living with Enjolras, fucking wonderful thing, and he grins. “Well. Maybe a little,” he admits.

Enjolras smiles back, still half-shaky. “Perhaps a little,” he says.

“Feuilly doesn’t think you’re a fool,” Grantaire reminds him, firm. “Feuilly likes you no matter how many typos you made when you were twenty-two.”

He sighs. “Oh, I suppose so.”

Grantaire kisses him, because he can. Enjolras takes a minute to kiss him back, then stands with a sigh.

“I suppose that I had better explain my pitiable situation to Feuilly, then,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

“Guess so,” Grantaire says, and he lets Enjolras tug him to his feet and press a kiss to his cheek, before they go.

#enjoltaire #enjoltaire fanfiction #exr #exr fanfiction #les miserables #something telling #les miserables fanfiction #les mis #writing #Anonymous

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clumsyclifford · 4 years

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i won’t forget you (but i may forget your name)

this is unforgivably stupid and entirely the fault of @reveriesofawriter who pointed out that because duke’s name was originally luke, if calum hadn’t changed his name, luke would’ve had to have been known as human luke. i have no explanation other than that. this is a gen fic i didn’t proofread it at all and all you need to know is that duke’s name is never changed to duke. the name luke is in this fic an obscene amount of times

i’m also so fucking sorry for giving this an actual title i really was just going to call it human luke but then i remembered this lyric from i’m ready by ajr so instead it’s being called that

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: the human luke fic aka five times someone called luke human luke and one time he did it to himself

read it here on ao3

“What’s his name?” Luke asks.

Calum smirks. “Luke.”

“What?”

“His name.”

“Yeah, that’s what I asked you for, dipshit.”

“And I’m telling you, dipshit, his name is Luke.”

Luke stares through the phone screen. “No it’s not.”

“It is.”

“But you’re going to change it, right? You’re not going to keep a dog named Luke when you already have a best friend named Luke?”

“Quick to assume you’re my best friend,” Calum says airily. “Not very fair to Michael, I’ve known him longer.”

“You’re going to rename the dog, right?” Luke repeats emphatically.

Calum scrunches up his face. “But he looks like a Luke, Luke! It’s the perfect name for him.”

“We are in a band together!” Luke says, feeling vaguely hysterical and also kind of like this is some kind of fever dream, or possibly nightmare. “You see me every single day! You can’t just have a dog named Luke! You could rename him so easily!”

“But it’s about the vibes,” Calum says.

“Change the dog’s name, bro.”

“No, bro. The dog is Luke. You’ll just have to be Human Luke.”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Luke says. “Under no circumstances are you calling me Human Luke. I was here first. The dog can be Dog Luke.”

“He’s already used to the name Luke, though,” Calum says, glancing off-screen at something. His features immediately soften, and he shifts for a moment, then sets his phone down. Luke frowns. When Calum’s face returns, it’s accompanied by a dog’s face.

Luke hates the dog on instinct, but he has to admit this soon-to-be-renamed Luke is super cute. His tiny snout takes up most of the screen, white with a black streak that climbs up onto his black head. He has a little beard, or whatever, tan fluff under his little cheeks and chin. Luke forces himself not to awww. This dog is causing problems.

“I’m already used to the name Luke,” Luke says, ignoring the way Calum is cooing over Dog Luke and kissing his adorable face.

“Yes, but it’s much easier to make you understand that you’re Human Luke than to make him have to learn a whole new name. Look at this face, Luke.” Calum brings the camera closer to Dog Luke’s snout. The dog’s deep black eyes stare innocently into it. “Just look at him. You wouldn’t deny this face his name, would you?”

“Easily,” Luke grumbles. “Easily I would. I am not being Human Luke.”

Calum gives him a look of sympathy. “Sorry, mate.”

Luke is not being Human Luke.

“So I went over to Calum’s house,” Ashton explains, “and Luke was just sat in the kitchen, and I was like, when the hell did you get a tiny dog?”

Everyone laughs, except Luke, who had momentarily zoned out only to be pulled back in by being mentioned by name. And they’re not even talking about him.

“Not Human Luke,” Calum adds, giggling. “My dog, Luke.”

“That must get confusing,” Elvis Duran says. “Having a dog named Luke and also a bandmate.”

“Yeah, you would think, wouldn’t you?” Luke puts in, shooting a glare to Calum, who’s decidedly ignoring him. “You would think maybe if you were in a band with a bloke called Luke you wouldn’t get a dog with the same name?”

Elvis chuckles, although Luke really hadn’t been joking. “So how do you guys tell them apart?” he asks, which is kind of rude. It’s not like Luke and Dog Luke look alike. “Or do you guys just say Luke and go with whichever one answers first?”

“Oh, we call Human Luke, well, Human Luke,” Ashton says, grinning at Luke’s put out expression. “He’s not a fan.”

“I maintain that I was here first!” Luke insists, as the entire studio breaks into laughs.

“Human Luke seems like it would work,” Elvis agrees.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Luke says warningly. He says it like he’s joking so that he doesn’t get in trouble, but Elvis is grinning. “Yeah, the boys have begun their efforts to force me out of the band by bullying, but I won’t go down easy.”

“I don’t know,” Michael says thoughtfully. “He really doesn’t like being called Human Luke.”

“I’m the original Luke!”

Nobody will stop laughing long enough to let Luke defend himself any longer, and the interview moves on.

Calum posts a picture of Luke and Dog Luke on Instagram. Luke gets no warning, hadn’t even known about the existence of the photo. It’s a really cute picture, a candid taken from earlier in the week, when Luke had come over to Calum’s place and they’d had a swim together. The photo shows Luke cradling Dog Luke, standing waist-deep in the pool, nose buried in Dog Luke’s neck.

The caption reads: Luke and Human Luke, my two best friends <3 #cake.

Luke is going to kill Calum.

“You can’t just call me Human Luke!” Luke says when they’re in the studio later in the day. Calum smirks and says nothing.

“Move on,” Michael calls from the other end of the table, where he and Ashton have been plotting, heads together. “You’re already Human Luke. You can’t escape it. You may as well own it.”

“Never,” Luke says. “I’ll fight this until my dying day. And you,” he jabs a finger at Calum, “are the worst friend ever.”

“I called you my best friend!” Calum protests.

“If I was your best friend, you’d have changed your fucking dog’s name.”

“Think of it like this,” Calum says, placatingly. Luke already senses he won’t like what Calum is about to say. “You’re called Luke, and you’re cute. And he’s cute, so it makes sense to call him Luke.”

“But he,” Luke points out, forcefully, “is a dog.”

Calum shakes his head, like Luke’s entirely missing the point. From the other end of the table, Michael snorts. “Can you take the compliment, please? I’m making the best of a bad situation.”

“You’re living for this,” Luke accuses. “You fucking love this. You all love calling me Human Luke. Sadists, all of you. I’m getting a new band.”

“Good luck finding anyone else who will put up with you as much as we do,” Michael says. “We’ve been in the studio for an hour and all you’ll talk about is being called Human Luke.”

“Maybe you should write a song about it,” Ashton suggests. “Get your frustrations out.”

“Or you could just accept it,” Calum offers, slinging an arm over Luke’s shoulders. “It gives you character. Luke wishes he could have as much character as Human Luke has.”

“Worst friend on the planet,” Luke repeats.

Ashton FaceTimes while Luke is making dinner with Jack — not his decision, but Jack’s, determined that Luke learn to make at least something for himself, never mind that he can make scrambled eggs just fine, kind of, thank you very much — but they’ve just put the lasagna in the oven, so Luke picks up.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Ashton says, beaming. When Jack appears beside Luke, Ashton adds, “Jack, man, what’s up!”

“Just teaching this guy to cook,” Jack says good-naturedly. Luke passes his phone off to Jack so they can chat. “How are you, man? It’s been a minute.”

“I’m good,” Ashton says, grinning wide. “I’m good, yeah. Spent some time today with Luke and Calum, tried to get some writing done but Luke wouldn’t stop, like, trying to climb onto the couch and walking all over the pages and stuff. Eventually we just gave up and played with him.”

Jack’s face goes through several stages of confusion. “Uh, what?”

“Oh, obviously not Human Luke,” Ashton says, and Luke glances at Jack and sees sheer glee building itself on his face. “Calum’s dog, Luke.”

“Calum got a dog,” Jack repeats, a slow smile stretching the corners of his mouth out, “and named it Luke, and now my brother is Human Luke?”

“The dog was already called Luke,” Luke grumbles. “And don’t get any fucking ideas, you arse. If you call me Human Luke even once I will put all of your worst secrets on the internet.” He glares at Ashton. “See what you’ve done?”

Ashton doesn’t look even slightly regretful. “I can’t believe you don’t know about Luke,” he says to Jack. “He’s basically the only thing on Calum’s Instagram these days.”

“I don’t go on Instagram a lot,” Jack says. “You really call Luke Human Luke?”

“Enough of this!” Luke says loudly, wrenching his phone out of Jack’s hands. “I’m going to go catch up with Ashton, and you can call me when you need me to, like, whatever you need from me.”

“Have a good catch-up,” Jack bids him, smirking, as Luke leaves the kitchen. “Human Luke.”

“Twitter’s just begging to know about you bringing your teddy bear to uni!”

“Twitter doesn’t give a shit about me!” Jack calls back. “Tell them I’m only calling you Human Luke from now on!”

Ashton laughs. Luke gives him a piercing glare.

“You’re a shithead,” he declares. “You’re all shitheads. I need new friends. And a new family.”

“But you love us so much,” Ashton says, giggling. “You’re the only Human Luke I’ve got, buddy.”

“I will seriously hang up on you.”

Luke’s phone buzzes. He briefly swipes down from the top to read a text from Ben:

Ben Hemmings: YOUR BAND CALLS YOU HUMAN LUKE???????????

For fuck’s sake.

When Alex texts Luke asking if any of his band wants to grab a coffee this weekend, Luke is quick to accept. It’s been too long since he’s seen Alex, and they’re intersecting one weekend in L.A., so Luke sends out the invite to his bandmates.

On Saturday afternoon, Luke and Michael wander into a coffee shop somewhere in the mysteriously secluded part of downtown Los Angeles, eyes searching until they land on Alex and Jack.

“What’s going on?” Alex says, grinning and getting to his feet. He pulls Michael into a hug first, and then Luke. Jack does the same. “Feels like it’s been forever.”

“Well, you’ve been busy with Last Young Renegade, haven’t you?” Michael says as they all sit. “And we’ve got Youngblood coming out.”

“Yeah, suspiciously close release date you guys chose, there,” Jack says, narrowing his eyes playfully at Michael. “We know you’re, like, a million times more successful than us, but did you need to show us up like that?”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “We did, yeah.” He turns to Luke. “Wanna get us drinks?”

Luke stands. “What do you want?”

“Iced caramel coffee,” Michael says. “Honestly, Luke, you should know my coffee order by now, This is terrible for our image. We’re supposed to live in each other’s pockets.”

“Fuck you,” Luke argues. “It changes, like, every month.”

“Or maybe you’re just a terrible friend.”

Luke rolls his eyes and Alex and Jack chuckle, and he ambles over to the register to order for himself and Michael.

When he returns to the table, Michael’s mid-story. Luke slides back into his seat and passes Michael’s drink to him, and Michael takes it without breaking in his narrative. “So Calum is wasted, and Luke — Human Luke, I mean — is basically passed out, almost, and I’m just trying to get Calum’s fucking door open. This bitch,” he jerks his chin at Luke, “is heavy.”

“I’m just tall!”

“I basically had to feel Calum up to get the key out of his pocket,” Michael says gravely. “But we got inside. And then Luke wouldn’t stop making noise, of course, because he was so excited to see us after we’d been out for hours. You wouldn’t think such a small dog could make such a racket, but there you are.”

“Oh, Luke!” Alex says excitedly, and Luke thinks, for a second, that Alex means him, but of course he doesn’t. Nobody does, these days. “I keep seeing him on Calum’s Instagram. He’s so fucking cute.”

“Absolutely adorable,” Michael agrees.

“Did you just call Luke Human Luke?” Jack asks. Luke buries his face in his hands.

“Don’t even start,” he mutters. “They won’t stop.”

“That’s kinda hilarious,” Jack says. “Imagine if I got a dog and just called it Alex.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Alex says. “Alex is the best name ever.”

“Actually, if I was going to name it after anyone in the band, it’d be Alex, probably,” Jack concedes. “Zack’s kinda, like, too human. And Rian’s name is spelled weird, so obviously it couldn’t be that.”

“You have my blessing,” Alex tells him. “In fact, I dare you.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Luke says stubbornly. He takes a drink from his own iced coffee. “I’m being made into a mockery. I’m a serious musician.”

“So is Lil Dicky,” Jack points out, “and he’s called Lil Dicky. Like, on purpose. You could do way worse than Human Luke.”

“Human Luke would actually be a pretty sick rap name,” Alex says, laughing.

“It’s a futile effort, guys,” Michael says. “He’s dead set on being pissed off about it.”

“I’m the original Luke,” Luke says despondently. He’s said that so many times in the past couple of month he’s beginning to feel like a broken record. “I came first!”

“Aw, don’t worry,” Alex says, reaching over the table to pat Luke’s cheeks reassuringly. “You’ll always be plain old Luke to me.”

“Not me,” Jack says, smirking. “I’m calling you Human Luke now, for sure.”

“I’ll delete your number,” Luke threatens.

“You will not.”

Luke won’t — he’s not about to delete Jack Barakat’s number — but he sure wishes he could, just to make a statement.

Dog Luke is super cute. There’s no way around it.

It’s just, okay, his snout. It’s his snout! And his tiny paws, and his floppy little ears, and his soulful eyes. And, he can smile. He’s a dog who can smile, okay, how could you not find him just absolutely precious? Luke would challenge anyone to look at Dog Luke for five seconds and not fall immediately in love.

He and Calum are playing Fifa, but Calum’s just gone to the bathroom when Dog Luke stretches out. He’d been curled up, snoozing on the floor. Now he shakes himself out and pushes himself onto his hind legs, front paws on the couch, gazing at Luke.

Luke huffs. “Only ‘til Cal gets back.” He picks Dog Luke up and hugs him close to his chest. Dog Luke nuzzles his nose into Luke’s neck. Luke smiles despite himself. He actually loves this dog, whatever bitterness he might spread around. It’s impossible not to.

“Alright, let’s have a little chat, you and I,” Luke decides, laying down and cuddling Dog Luke up in his arms. “I don’t hate you, you know. I just hate your owner. Calum’s a shithead. You’re alright. It’s not your fault you’re called Luke.”

Dog Luke squirms in Luke’s arms, and Luke drops a kiss on the top of his head. This seems to satisfy him, enough to stop him moving. “I bet it gets confusing for you, though, having me here?” Luke hums, scratching mindlessly behind Dog Luke’s ears. “That’s why I have to be Human Luke, because that doesn’t sound like Luke. You’re Luke. When we’re in the same room, anyway. I forgive you for that. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or a new name. Or anything new, really.”

Dog Luke just sneezes.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Luke,” Luke says. “I’m Human Luke. I’ll go by Human Luke for you.”

“About fucking time!” Calum crows, and Luke, startled, jolts upright. Dog Luke loses his balance and Luke only just manages to catch him from falling off the couch.

“What the fuck, Calum, a little fucking warning,” Luke says, heart still pounding from the shock. “Jesus Christ.”

“You just called yourself Human Luke!” Calum says triumphantly, crossing to the couch and taking Dog Luke in his arms. “Hi, cutie. Did Human Luke finally accept his name?”

“That was conditional,” Luke feels it necessary to add. “I just don’t want to confuse the dog.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Calum grins. “You’re so full of shit, Luke. Human Luke.”

“I wasn’t talking to you! That was for the dog!”

“You were talking to Luke,” Calum sing-songs, “and you agreed to be called Human Luke, and I won’t ever forget about it, and am going to absolutely tell that story next time we get asked about Luke in an interview.”

“I hate you,” Luke announces loudly. “I hate you, I hate you, you’re the worst friend ever and I hate you —”

Calum just hands Dog Luke back to Luke, and Luke can’t very well be scathing while he’s holding about fifteen pounds of pure sweetness.

“You’re perfect,” Luke informs Dog Luke. “I forgive you. I will never forgive Calum, but that’s something that you and I are going to have to move past if we’re going to be friends.”

Calum laughs.

#calum hood #luke hemmings #duke hood #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #THISSSSSS IS SOOOOOOOOOOO FUCKING STUPID THISI S THE DUMBEST THIGN IN THE WORLDDDD #DUMBEST THING ON THE PLANETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT #IT'S ALMOST 4AM!!!!!!! JESUS HCHRISTTTTT #this is the kind of shit i get up to when i do one (1) assignment #and this is meghna's fault and i LITERALLY cant bleieve i wrote this #i wish helen had written it she'd have done it so much better #but anyway heres this. here it is. i sure did write it. and now it exists. and now you can read it #and i HATEEEEEEEEE MYSELRFFFFF #not really i dont hate myself BUT this is so super dumb and stupid genuinely #muke!gelphie has been unseated. this fic claims the crown as dumbest thing ive written #win!!#ANYWAY

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heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

This Is Love (Chapter Eleven): Angels of Doubt, Bearing Broken Halos

Notes; The chapter title is pretentious as fuck, but I don’t care. I’m very happy with the beginning of this chapter so I’m very excite to finally let y’all read it fully. Overall, this chapter definitely is more of the build up that this uhhhh nice little religious family mayyyyyhaps be a bit less nice than originally thought.

Word Count: 10451

Chapter Warnings: Cult Angels, Animal Death (in the context of dangerous wildlife needing to be put down), A Judge Wolf, Indoctrination, Assault, Me Awkwardly trying to write himbo Nick Rye for the first time

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

They don’t go to The Spread Eagle that night, staying too late making plans. But it’s all for the best in the end, Casey would be more busy in the evening and if she’s interrupting his work, he’ll be less likely to listen. It’ll be easier to talk to him tomorrow just as the bar opens, before anyone arrives and during down time. Regardless, when she comes back to the trailer park. She breaks next to the registration building, checking her mailbox in case Cassie or Joseph had wrote her back, but no such luck. Maybe it will take a while for them to even get it?

A breeze passes through as she leaves the building, that familiar flower smell itching at her nose. The trailer park has fields of those white flowers surrounding it, the delicate petals seem ghostly in the moonlight. Moonflowers, the trailer park has to be named after them, these flowers that haunt her in her dreams. A shift of movement, far back in the expanse of flowers catches her eye. Someone tending to the flowers with a hoe, but she doesn’t know anyone in the trailer park who takes care of the flowers. Surely, if they had a grounds keeper, they’d start with the trash within area; not the flowers surrounding it.

Dahlia decides to park her bike before investigating, not wanting to leave it in the open while she journeys through the flowers. She pulls out her phone once she’s parked, tucking one earbud in. If only to ease her nerves as she walks to confront the odd stranger.

“When you told me I should text your brother.

I was walking with a blunt in my hand.

Double Jameson was in the other.

I was drinking like a spiritual man.”

She stands at the edge of the field of flowers, little the scent tickle her nose, watching the…person in the distance. Their gender, or at least presentation of it, unidentifiable. She blinks her eyes, when did she start seeing spots? Her tension eases, body and mind relaxing.

“I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room.

I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room”

And she walks further through the flowers, brushing through them, fractals blurring her vision with every step. Her head swims and floats away, fuzzy as the smell surrounds her. She drags her fingers along the blossoms as she walks, grounding herself with their velvet touch, the contrast of her black painted fingernails against them.

“And I could barely stand

He said, "Get some water, man"

'Cause they don't understand

I'm not what they think I am”

As she nears them with every unsteady step, she sees them more clearly. And truly they’re a ghastly sight. Shaved head and dirty white clothes; the smell of the flowers strengthens as she nears them, turning acrid with an edge. That smell comes from them, like they’d bathed in chemicals infused with the flowers. The mask latched around their grime coated face, covering their mouth is marked with the Eden’s Gate symbol. They pay her no mind, focused on tending to the moonflowers, their eyes are glazed nearly white and milky. Like Dahlia’s eyes looked her first night in Hope County, when she dreamed of Faith despite having never met her.

“They can never ever understand me, no

What I came from, what I was before”

“Are you…okay?” She asks them, despite her own swimming vision and weak knees.

“HelpmeFaithhelpmeFaithshieldmefromsorrow.”

They grumble, not sing, the lyrics to one of Eden’s Gate’s songs. Their voice a rasp as if they can hardly breathe, each word running into the other, energy manic. The moonlight shining on gaunt cheeks and white eyes makes them look dead, a walking corpse before her. She reaches out, gingerly touching their shoulder, hoping touch can break through whatever state they’re in.

And then they scream, swing the garden hoe and bashing it against the side of Dahlia’s head. She’s knocked to the ground, head hitting rock and dirt. The creature screams out and jumps on her, trying to maul her. Vacant eyes staring down at her, her body and head too fuzzy to even give it the reaction it deserves. She should be scared, she should be terrified, but she isn’t.

Gently, she puts her hands on each side of the person’s neck, applying pressure, not enough to strangle but to hold it at slight distance. It tries to dig dirty fingers into her flesh through her jacket, screaming mangled cries of pain or anger, she can’t tell as she looks over its face. The haunting glow of moonlight on their dirty face.

“How you get to heaven with a broke halo?

How you get to heaven with a broke halo?”

“Help me, Faith,” Dahlia sings the song it used to soothe itself, “help me Faith, shield me from sorrow… From fear of tomorrow…”

And a switch has been flipped, it stops screaming. Body going lax, fingers no longer trying to tear her apart as she sings the church song, own voice overlapping the contrasting melody of her music.

“Help me Faith, help me Faith, shield me from sadness…From worry and madness…”

And it’s slipping out of her loosening hold and climbing off her, resuming it’s gardening work, as if she never existed at all. On trembling legs and with her vision still blurring, she leaves, not sure of what else to do. A part of her knows she should be more panicked, more concerned, more anything, but then she takes another inhale the floral scent around her and she can’t find the energy. It fades as she leaves the flowers and their scent behind, vision steadying as she enters her trailer, the full reality dawning on her just as she shuts the door behind her.

“What the actual fuck!?” She screams at her empty living room, because what the actual fuck did she just see? Her mouth is dry and her brain a mess as distress finally shines through the haze.

Dahlia digs her phone out, shutting off her music and doing a search. Her vision is still fuzzy with prisms of shifting colors, body still light and floaty. They were there the first time she saw Faith, they constantly itch her nose and make her eyes see things. The church compound was covered in bushels of them.

Moonflowers, she searches, and sure enough the images show the white trumpet shaped blossoms. Also called datura, angel trumpets and it’s down a rabbit hole. They’re toxic and hallucinogenic, can be harvested for either medication or poison. Scopolamine and atropine are in them; Dahlia does not even remotely know jack shit about chemistry. But a quick search shows scopolamine has been used in everything from nausea medicine to truth serum. So…she may have just hallucinated the person? From the flowers… but when she touches her forehead, where the person stuck her, blood stains her fingers. She really did get hurt…

Dahlia grabs her sketchbook, sitting down on the floor before her coffee table as she’s done so many times before, and she draws what she saw. Painstakingly she tries to recreate them, to draw the gaunt of their cheeks and the grime on their skin. To catch the white emptiness of their eyes. And she dates the drawing, scratching out the date in as neatly as she can. And on the next page she draws her first weird dream, sketching herself vomiting flowers and blood, those moonflowers. She adds the rough date she remembers it happening in the corner when she’s satisfied. Then she draws herself burnt and marred with flowers blooming from her mangled remains, hand moving of it’s own accord to match the details, shutting out the rest of the world as she works to carefully craft every line. She dates it as well and then draws the newest one, smears of ink on bare skin with flowers blooming from them.

Once each image is created with a date etched in its corner, she sits back and rakes a hand through her hair. She’s had nightmares before this, certainly, but never as frequent or vivid as these. Flowers are the recurring theme and she’s not sure why; maybe the datura are doing it? The scent of them always present, making her sleeping brain conjure odd images. She already has a list of things to do; the apple festival is the highest priority, but she still wants to know what each flower means and what on earth is working in those flower fields, what connection it has to Eden’s Gate.

She’s exhausted, graphite from her pencil smudged and sticking to her hand. But she feels more at ease having put her demons into art, having created something out of this. There’s still a lot of questions in her mind. This constant back in forth of trusting the church only to doubt them again is frustrating.

Dahlia barely manages not to fall asleep in the shower that night, exhaustion clinging heavy to her leaden muscles and pulling at her eyelids when she lays down on her couch.

The junior deputy is running on two hours of sleep, coffee, and an energy drink the next morning. But that doesn’t stop her from swinging into The Spread Eagle as soon as it opens, Pratt in tow since they’re technically on shift.

“Something wrong, deputies?” Mary May asks when they stride in, Dahlia can already see Casey through the kitchen window, prepping food for the later in the evening.

“No, we actually just wanted to talk to you and Casey about something.”

“What’s up?” Mary May raises an eyebrow and the chef’s head perks up.

Dahlia explains Debbie and Doug’s situation, that John is trying to buy them out, at the very mention of the Seed sibling’s name she can see Mary May tense. But the tension lessens, smiles on the bartender and cook’s face when the deputy mentions their plans for an apple festival.

“I know we could use more cooks selling food there and Debbie mentioned you work with the Testy Festy, Casey.”

“Plus, figured the band that plays here, might be willing to work a night or two if you talked to ‘em Mary May.”

“Look, you had me at pissing off John Seed,” Mary May says, grinning, “I’ll talk to the band and Casey, you damn well better help them out.”

“Come around here, sister,” Casey calls out, voice deep and booming as she walks around into the kitchen already warm as starts prepping food, he spares her a glance as he minces vegetables, “your destiny hangs off you like a coat, the soul of a warrior, and the heart of a hero.”

Dahlia blinks, taken aback by his unabashed and weirdly soulful compliments. She doesn’t really believe in destiny nor does she see herself as a warrior or hero, but she certainly appreciates the thought. Her heart, that of a hero apparently, warms and she smiles after another second.

“So…you’ll help?”

“It’s important for people to gather, to bond, and feel a sense of community. I’ll call Deb and Doug to offer any help I can.”

“Thank you so much!” Dahlia grins: Casey is definitely an odd duck, but he cares about the community and willing to help. So, a fantastic guy in her book.

“Happy to help, sister.”

First two people dragged into their plan, Pratt and Dahlia give some friendly goodbyes before being on their way. This is already coming together and Stray is nearly vibrating with excitement as they leave the bar.

The pair continue to do their patrol while swinging in to talk with folks about the festival. They swing by Lorna’s Truck Stop, Dahlia unable to resist snapping a picture of the giant cheesy cow statue outside of it before they walk in, door chiming. An older woman is talking to someone in a green hood, the woman with chubby cheeks and blue eyes pushing a little bag of mini pies into the hooded person’s bruised hands.

“Here you go, Jess, on the house as always.”

“Thanks,” the hooded girl responds, an awkward gruff to the words before she leaves. When Dahlia catches a sight of her, Jess has a face of mottled bruises and cuts.

“Anything I do for you, Deputies?”

“We were hoping you could help us out, Lorna,” Pratt starts.

And just like Casey and Mary May; Lorna’s all bright smiles and kind eyes, happy to help. Even pushing bags of the free small handmade pies into the deputy’s hands before they go. There is something undeniably heartwarming at everyone’s willingness to help. She crams one of the little pasties into her mouth, sugary berries on her tongue as they get back into the cruiser.

The shift passes by with ticketing traffic violations and stopping in to rope people into helping out. Hudson and Brennan sending texts letting Dahlia know that Grace has agreed to help and Adelaide will too if only so her boytoy Xander can have a smoothie stand during the festival. Riding through the valley, Dahlia sees a billboard advertising gun lubricant, Grace Armstrong’s face plastered on it, though her eyes on the board seem off. Dahlia too far away to put her finger on it, but it looks like that part of the advert has been damaged. An award-winning sniper and veteran; well loved in the community. Dahlia only saw a glimpse of her at the barbecue, talking with Hudson, but it seems clear just how important she is to the county.

Within an hour of their shift ending, Doug and Debbie have them called out to the orchard. Their smiles are bright, the middle-aged couple holding each when the deputies pull in. Pratt’s still trying to pretend to have a grumpy face but there’s still a slight smile pulling at his lips as they get out of the cruiser.

Arms are wrapping around Dahlia in a second, Debbie pulling her into a tight hug, the young deputy tenses hands hovering awkwardly at the woman’s sides.

“Thank you, so much,” Debbie says, pulling away but her hands still on Dahlia’s shoulders, “we’ve been getting calls all day, everyone wants to help us do this, thank you so much.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s no problem…just happy to help,” Dahlia flusters under the attention, proud of what she’s done, but squirming under the weight of gratitude.

“Well, we certainly appreciate it,” Doug tells her with a smile, “but we called you out ‘cause we got some flyers made, figure’d it help advertise, though word of mouth already seems to be doing us a lot of good.”

“We could definitely hand them out, see if some places are willing to hang them up too.”

“And now we’re the flyer brigade,” Pratt grumbles under his breath and Dahlia jabs her elbow into his side.

“I’ve already been coming up with everything I wanna sell at the festival, but if you two have some free time Sunday, I could use some taste testers too,” Debbie offers, with a smile, “least I can do is feed you for all your help.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dahlia agrees readily.

“I…could probably swing by.” Pratt tries so hard to sound above it all, but free apple pie can apparently draw even him in.

“Can’t wait to see you both then!”

They wave goodbye to the couple, Dahlia packing the flyers with her into the cruiser car. The ending hours of their shift and the day is spent finding places to hang them up. Mary May posting them in The Spread Eagle, hanging in the window of the garage and general store, Whitehorse even letting it be posted up in the window of the department. Dahlia’s ride home that night takes longer as she stops at places to ask if they’d hang up the advertisement; after getting Lorna’s Truck Stop and Audrey’s Diner to put them up. Dahlia stops at the Hollyhock Saloon, bartender agreeing to hang it up in the small bar, the rookie deputy giving a quick hello to Brennan and some of the other officers gathered at his table. The 8-bit Pizza bar hangs them up without any question, happy to help, and Dahlia manages to convince Darcy to hang it up in the registration building of the trailer park before she heads in for the night. Dahlia crashes easily that night, sleep finding her as soon as she hits the couch.

The next day Stray is hit with déjà vu as they’re called out to deal with Eden’s Gate blocking another road. She’s still not sure why this is apparently a thing they do. And to her misfortune it’s not Waylon or members of the church she likes waiting behind the cement block when they pull up this time; but Theodore and Lonny. Because of course.

“Deputies,” Lonny forces a smile, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Well, you’re breaking the law, so there’s that,” Pratt says with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, heard you two gave some of our members a hard time about blocking off a road,” Theodore comments, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll refer you back to the fact it’s against the law,” Dahlia grumbles, “why on earth are you blocking the road anyway?”

“Got some property nearby that needs some work.”

“The church own a lot a property?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, that was Waylon’s reasoning too.

“Soon to be even more when John secures the orchard for us,” Lonny has too wide of a grin as he looks Dahlia over, “though rumor has it some little cop is trying to get in the way.”

“Irrelevant, you’re breaking the law. Just scram and there won’t be any issues.”

“Look, h-“

“We’ll be going then, deputy,” Theodore puts a hand on Lonny’s back, reigning him in. Though the way Lonny sneers tells Dahlia that their conflict is only resolved for the moment.

Regardless, Pratt and her watch as the men yet again pack away the blocks and clear the road out. Dahlia still can’t quite figure out why on earth they’d need to or would want to block the roads. Between that and the strange person she saw in the flowers, bearing the churches symbol, things just seem to get weirder and weirder. She considers for a moment asking the church members there about the person with the shaved head, but she has a feeling asking more questions will just put her higher up on Lonny and Theodore’s shit-lists.

“Still don’t get why they keep blocking the roads,” Dahlia comments when they get back in the patrol car.

“They’re assholes, what more reason they need.” Pratt shrugs before starting the cruiser engine and Dahlia just doesn’t feel like it’s that simple.

“Well, if they do it again, we don’t really have a choice but to arrest ‘em do we?”

“Can’t let them get away with shit forever; three strikes seem fair.”

Questions still run through her mind; but there’s no way of getting answers at the moment, left to bury her curiosity as they leave back down the winding roads. Hours pass and bright blues shift to pastel pinks as the sun sets upon Hope County.

That evening at The Spread Eagle, she’s listening to Pratt and Hudson argue about something; she can’t even be sure what but she’s just amused to not be at the butt of the humor tonight. She’s cramming fries into her mouth when she feels eyes on her.

“That’d be her right there,” Mary May says, pointed out at Dahlia as she talks to a man the young officer has only seen in passing. Shaggy dark hair under a cap and beard on his face, though the last time she saw him he’d been wearing glasses. She thinks it’s Nick, only having seen a glance of him at his own barbecue.

“If I’m in some sort of trouble, I’d like fair warning, Mary May.” Dahlia comments, unsure why anyone would be trying to find her in a crowd. The blonde’s smile eases her nerves as she comes across the bar, the man walking Dahlia’s way.

“No trouble, Deputy, Nick here was just wanting to know which one of you started the apple festival. He’s going fly a banner ad around for Debbie and Doug.”

“Oh, that’s awesome.”

“I just wanted to find out who was helping them out, Nick Rye,” he introduces himself, sticking his hand out for her to shake.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ve been crop dusting for Doug and Debbie for years, last thing anyone needs is for John to get his hands on that place.”

“That seems to be most people’s sentiment.”

“Told ya just about everyone is sick of his shit,” Mary May says with a shake of her head, “it’s about time he doesn’t get what he wants.”

“That son of a bitch has been hounding me and Kim for months now, trying to buy our place.” Nick’s jaw clenches, irritation coming off him in waves.

“I know Kim damn near broke his nose for it.”

“Wait what?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow; how often does John harass people?

“Listen to this,” Nick gesture emphatically, now sitting down next to Dahlia, “asshole shows up to the house while I’m gone, trying to bully Kim into selling the damn place, while she’s pregnant. What kind of sick fuck shows up at a man’s house while he’s gone and tries to strongarm his wife into signing the place over. Fuckers lucky I wasn’t home.”

“You not being home was kind of the point of when he showed up.,” Mary May reminds him, “besides, no offense, but even ready to pop I think I trust Kim’s right hook protected her more than yours ever could.”

“Now, that’s just mean,” Nick says with a slight pout to his face, reminding Dahlia of a tall puppy dog.

“It’s okay Nick, anything you lack in strength you make up for in…” Mary May seems to have to search for the next word, normally brains would be the natural contrast, “well, you just keep being you.”

“Never really thought about being anyone else; well except maybe an eagle, but I don’t think that counts.”

“No, it doesn’t really count, Nick,” Mary May says with a slight laugh.

Dahlia stifles her own laugh raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous turn of the conversation. Nick is sweet and willing to help out with the festival, so she won’t spend too much time questioning his desire to be an eagle. It’s not long before Pratt and Hudson fall into conversation with the pilot; allowing Dahlia to comfortably settle into the background as the night winds down.

It’s not even the noon the following day before things around Hope County manage to pick up pace. Sirens and lights flashing as Pratt rushes them up north towards the mountain; there’s a palpable tension. Crisis situations are rare; most days filled with handing out traffic tickets and dealing with roadblocks. Hell, the county is boring enough that the sheriff would allow them to actively work on a festival during shift hours. So, a call requesting EMS, all deputies and units, and the F.A.N.G Center; is definitely out of the normal.

They see the gathering of people as they pull up, Whitehorse is talking with workers in F.A.N.G Center shirts, Hudson and other officers gathered around and EMS workers carrying someone into the back of an ambulance.

“Pratt, Rookie; over here now!” The sheriff calls out for them and they rush over.

“What’s going on?” Pratt is the one to ask.

“Wolf, possibly rabid, but we don’t know. It attacked a pair of hikers. We tried to tranq it but nothing is bringing it down, we gotta find it and put it down before it hurts anyone else.” The F.A.N.G Center employee explains to them.

“No way to get around killing it?” Dahlia asks, she understands it can’t always be avoided, but she would prefer not to.

“We hit that damn thing with enough tranq to take down an elephant and it still tried to maul us before running off; tried to get it with a snare pole and it broke it. We can’t rehabilitate an animal we can’t get near and if we let it go; it’ll hurt someone else.”

“You heard the man, alright,” Whitehorse’s voice booms as he starts addressing everyone, commanding attention “we got a wolf to find, grown wolf, white fur and aggressive. I want everyone to stay in groups; we have tranquilizers, snare poles, and what’s used to put ‘em down. We want to try to do it as humanely as possible but protect yourselves and keep an ear to your radio. We need to make sure the trails are safe and can’t let anyone else get bit; move out!”

The deputies are given tranquilizer guns, the snare poles, and syringes filled with pentobarbital. Though, given what they’ve been told, she’s not completely sure how effective any of it will be. If the wolf has enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant in it already and is still moving; as well as having previously broken one of the snare poles, then how on earth is any of this suppose to work?

But she doesn’t voice these concerns as she follows after Pratt, Hudson, and another police officer tagging along so they can maintain a decent sized group per Whitehorse’s instructions.

The mountains are beautiful, she thought that when she’s gone hiking before, but even during this tense situation she finds herself amazed by how gorgeous it is. Bright green summer grass and towering trees as far as the eye can see. Mountains that reach up to kiss the bright blue sky.

Dahlia stays at the back of the group, letting Pratt and Hudson lead as she keeps her ears and eyes peeled for anything suspicious. The sneer pole is across her shoulders, her wrists on top and holding it there as she walks. She half listens to Pratt and Hudson talk; something about people making up werewolf rumors because the wolves have been acting wilder and wilder lately. She’s reminded of her meal at the Grill Steak, that man who warned a group of people about wolves. He claimed they were trained by Eden’s Gate; but those still just sound like conspiracy theories.

Tension crawls up Stray’s spine, skin forming goosebumps at the sensation of being watched, then the sound of snapping branches coming from forests that surround the trail she walks along. She moves without thinking, leaving the trail and her group behind, following where she heard the noise.

Branches and brush scratch at her arms as she ventures deeper into the wooded area; then she sees his back. Jacob Seed, why does there always seem to be a member of their family just around the corner when trouble happens?

“Something you need,” he says, not bothering to turn and face her, examining his red rifle.

“You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I shouldn’t be,” he spares her a glance over his shoulder, blue eyes rife with condescension, “last time I checked it’s a free country, ain’t it?”

“That’s not what I mean. There’s a wolf running around; possibly rabid. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.”

And he laughs; dry and deep, the sound making her raise her eyebrows. Why is the idea of being mauled by a rabid wolf so funny to him?

“You worrying about me?” He asks, finally turning to face her in full, shifting the bright red gun to the holster on his back.

“I mean, yes? My job is keeping the public safe and you are a member of the public.”

“Pfff, you’re just a pup,” he says walking past her, “be better off watching out for yourself.”

His hand is large and rough as it ruffles her hair while he walks by; his palm and fingers nearly encompassing the entire top of her head. His hand is probably bigger than her face she realizes, heat flushing up her face though she’s not sure of why. He’s so condescending and patronizing and fucking giant; the last point isn’t entirely relevant but it’s still true.

“I’m a deputy, don’t patronize me.” She says, reaching up to grab his hand from her head, capturing it in her own. His rough scarred hand is nearly double the size of her own; warm calloused skin against her own.

“You having fun there?” He asks, when she doesn’t let go of his hand right away, instead pressing her small hand back against his palm, comparing the immense size difference. He really could probably wrap one hand around her entire head.

“Your hands are so big, wow.”

“’Preciate it pup.”

And he laughs again, still dry and brief in it’s sound, pulling his giant hand from her smaller one before he leaves. She glares at his back; corded muscle shifting beneath his black tee shirt. Despite her pout, she can understand why he’d see her unable to defend herself in comparison to him. She’s been confident in her physical abilities for a while; but she imagines a man like Jacob isn’t scared of anything.

“Rook, where the hell are you?” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio as Jacob walks off.

“There was a hunter out here, I was warning him about the wolf,” Dahlia explains herself, she wasn’t suppose to leave the group per Whitehorse’s orders, but no one could blame her for warning a civilian. There’s something odd about thinking of Jacob as just a hunter or civilian; though she’s not quite sure why.

“We’re in the woods near the Visitor’s Center, get over here, you pain in the ass.”

The radio crackles out and Dahlia gets on her way; she knows the Visitor’s Center is south of where she is. Though she has no sense of direction, so that has little bearing on her ability to find it. She hikes down, feeling that’s the closest approximation to south that she can get, sticking a little closer to the woods than the paths. She prefers the shade and atmosphere of being surrounded by the trees.

But the further she travels down, the sparser the trees grow, exposing Dahlia to the sun. Green grass and branches crushing underfoot as she stumbles down the terrain. She can just imagine Pratt and Hudson’s frustration, but warning someone about a rabid wolf is certainly understandable.

A drawn-out howl echoes through the woods, making the deputy freeze. Sunlight is warm on her face and stinging at her eyes as she turns towards the sound. A spire of craggy rocks coming off the mountain; the silhouette of a wolf howling with the sun behind it. She uses her hand to shield from the sunlight, straining to see more detail. Seven distinct darts stick from the wolves back; tranquilizers.

Dahlia quickly tugs her uniform shirt off from over her black tank top, wrapping the fabric around her forearm. Not quite the cushioned guard they use for training police dogs, but it will provide some barrier between it’s bite and her skin. Worse case scenario, she’ll be taking rabies shots once everything is done. She holds the syringe of pentobarbital in one hand, she has her firearm too if that’s unable to bring the wolf down, but she prefers to let it go peacefully if she can.

She stays crouched down as she approaches the peaked edge of the mountain, craggy rock building up to a spire, levels to climb up to reach the clearing where the wolf sits. Dahlia stays low as she climbs, moving as quietly as she can, using a blue grappling hook handle to help lift herself up to the final level. There’s a gap in the clearing; a log showing a passage between craggy rock to craggy rock; boulders surrounded by grass. She can see the wolf, but it’s yet to noticed her, another howl echoing out as it cries out to the sky.

It’s beautiful and she’s all at once ashamed that it has to be put down. Matted white fur with a black nose and lips; it’s eyes are luminously silver, like moonlight. Red is mottled across it’s face, red frothing around it’s mouth, as well as a brighter crimson stroked across it’s brow and down it’s nose. Across it’s furred shoulder blade and spine are seven different tranquilizer darts that were shot at it, how has it not passed out? It doesn’t see her not right away, then it’s nostrils twitch and it’s lips pull back to snarl, red tinged drool dripping down it’s maw. Then it’s gaze is on her, growling and baring it’s teeth.

And then it pounces.

She puts up her cloth wrapped forearm, the force of it’s body hitting hers knocks her onto her back. It’s teeth snap into the fabric, as it tries to chew through her arm, the edges of fangs just grazing the flesh beneath. One large paw presses against her wrist, attempting to pin her limb down so it can rip the meat off her bones.

Dahlia pulls back the plunger on the syringe before slamming the needle into the thick of the wolves neck, sinking through fur and flesh before she pushes the chemical through. The wolf snarls through it’s bite on it, then she watches that shine in it’s silver eyes die. It’s mouth goes slack and then it’s body falls limp on top of her.

The deputy pushes the wolves dead weight off of her, getting up onto her feet, she touches the torn shirt wrapped around her forearm. Drool and blood has stained the green, small damage done to her skin under. It stings but nothing she can’t deal with; the idea of getting rabies shots worries her more. She crouches over the wolf and looks at it’s face, the red around it’s mouth is darker, rusted and clearly blood. But the brighter more purposeful crimson looks like paint.

She remembers the warnings she overheard in the Grill Steak before; someone warning conservationists about wolves owned by Eden’s Gate. Though, he called them a cult. It’s not for sure or a real connection; conspiracy theories and paint. But, who could have gotten close enough to paint the wolf’s face? Who would want to?

“Rookie,” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio.

“Pratt…”

“Rook, if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Hudson threatens in the background.

“Please, she’d probably like that.”

Dahlia’s face flushes at Pratt’s teasing, she can’t say he’s completely wrong, but that’s not the point. She hefts the wolf’s corpse up onto her shoulder, carrying it’s heavy weight, the head of the furry creature beside her head. It’s fur is soft and thick despite the matted nature. She’s not big on hunting culture, but the wolf would make a nice rug.

“I got the wolf,” she says into her radio, holding it in one hand while the other keeps the carcass steady on her shoulder as she carefully makes her way down the craggy rocks.

“What?”

“I got the wolf,” she repeats to Pratt’s flat question.

“What? Wh-where the fuck are you?.”

“I’m on a big ass like spirally mountain thing.”

“That tells us literally nothing,” Hudson informs her.

“Uhhhh,” Dahlia looks over the edge, of the elevated mountainside, “I think I see a helipad nearby?”

“Fuck, I know where you are, stay put. Okay, do not approach the wolf.”

“Uhhh, I think you misunderstood me.”

“What do you mean?” Pratt asks and she can just imagine his raised eyebrow.

“I mean, I got the wolf, I already put it down. We can call off the search, but, uh, I think we have bigger issues.”

“Did you get hurt again?”

“Hey,” she objects to his tone, “you make it sound like I’m always getting hurt.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No, I did not get…seriously hurt.”

“Oh lord,” Hudson grumbles in the background.

“Look, that’s not the issue, alright. Just get up here and let Whitehorse know what’s going on, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dahlia finds a steady rock in the clearing to pull herself up onto as she waits, since apparently Hudson and Pratt have figured out where she is. She tries to look for anything else on the wolf that could indicate it being owned; but nothing. Dahlia does find herself wondering why it’s fur is white? Aren’t white wolves usually those in snowy climates, for camouflage?

She doubts she’ll receive any answers, so she tries to quiet her mind. The sun warms her skin where she sits on the rock, white wolf still up on her shoulder, ripped uniform shirt still wrapped around her forearm. It all forms an odd picture, she’s certain.

It’s less than an hour or so before she hears the rustle of footsteps; Hudson and Pratt along with the other officer walking up the way to her. Pratt just stops a second and shakes his head, Hudson is rolling her eyes.

“Hello,” Dahlia says with a soft wave.

“What the actual fuck, Rook?”

And she cracks up; unable to help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation and Hudson’s flat response. She may have already hit the highlight of her career here.

“Stop laughing; it’s not funny, you could have gotten seriously hurt!” Pratt tries to scold her but he’s laughing through his words, the oddity of it all must be hitting him as well. Dahlia presses a hand to mouth to try and stifle her laughter as Hudson gets her radio out.

The senior deputy radios Whitehorse, letting him know they’ve gotten the wolf. He tells them where to meet him with the body, so the veterinarian and F.A.N.G Center workers can examine it. Dahlia will be reliant on actually listening and following obediently behind the older deputies.

“C’mon, Rookie, let go.”

“Alright.” Dahlia hops down from her rock and starts to follow after them down the mountain.

“You need help packing that?” Pratt offers, probably because the wolf is nearly the length of her entire body.

“Nah.”

“You just feel cool packing the wolf on your back, don’t you?” Hudson is the one to call her out, raising her eyebrow with a soft smirk on her lips, looking entirely too pretty.

“Uhhh….”

“God, you’re a dork.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” Dahlia admits with a red face and shrug of her shoulders, happy to see Pratt and Hudson smiling at her dorkiness.

“What happened with the hunter you were warning?” Pratt asks after a beat of silence as they keep walking, helping her over a craggy step with a hand on her hip to keep her steady as the weight of the wolf limits her movements.

“Uh, asshole just patronized me and left. I don’t know why I still talk to him, he’s always a dick,” she says, rolling her eyes when she thinks about Jacob calling her a pup. He likes to comment on her being a puppy a lot.

“Someone you knew?” Hudson asks, offering a hand to help Dahlia get over a large branch in the way of the path. The ease at which the two older deputies silently help her, makes a soft smile pull at Dahlia’s lips. Silently grateful for them as she answers their questions.

“Jacob Seed.”

“Seriously?’

“What?”

“You don’t find it a little fuckin’ weird how the Seeds are always around you?”

“I mean, they’re not around me anymore than anyone else.”

“They really fucking are; you went to the barbecue, John jumped at the chance to rope you into that.”

“Churches like new blood, it’s n-“

“You’ve apparently talked to Jacob more than once; I didn’t even know he could talk,” Hudson says rolling her eyes, “all he ever does at anyone outside the church is glare.”

“She’s talked to Faith a lot too, apparently.”

“I still don’t even know where she fucking came from.”

“I’m still not fully convinced she isn’t a ghost,” Pratt tells Hudson.

“She’s not a ghost,” Dahlia says with a roll of her eyes.

“And you would know, because they cling to you like leeches, right?”

“Shut up.”

“You know what I think it is,” Hudson says after a moment, “you put up with Joseph’s creepy ass speeches and they realized you’d put up with anything.”

“He’s not….that…creepy…” Dahlia says with zero conviction, because, well. He’s definitely off, but despite all the weird little red flags, he did help her and Cassie. So, he can’t be all bad. Even if his brother is taking people’s shit…and well…she still doesn’t know what the hell was up with the shaved head person.

“You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

“Look, we’ve had run ins with him before, he’s the weirdest creepiest person in this whole damn county and that is saying something,” Hudson shudders, “I’d take Zip lecturing me on being a government shill for nine hours over Joseph even looking at me for even a second.”

“His stare is weirdly intense…”

“All of them are weird; John’s skeevy, Jacob looks like he skins people alive in his spare time…Faith’s kinda cute, but at what cost,” Pratt tells her and eh, Faith’s not really her type. The Church Mouse is pretty, but a bit too delicate for the young deputy to really get those weird stomach feelings she gets around women like Hudson or Mary May.

“Really, I didn’t think you liked women who are taller than you?” Hudson asks.

“Faith is like barely taller than me,” Dahlia says with a snort, watching the pure look of offense on Pratt’s face, how could she be taller than Pratt?

“How short do you think I am, Joey?’

“What?” Hudson raises an eyebrow, confused by their confusion, “ heard she was like six foot something with black hair.”

“She’s like this tall,” Pratt puts his hand maybe two inches above Dahlia’s head, “and blonde.”

“Kinda blonde,” Dahlia corrects, thinking of the youngest Seed siblings dirty blonde hair that fades to a slightly light color at the ends. It toes the line between brown and blonde fairly well.

“Whatever.”

“Someone told me she was taller than John, I know they did, am I losing my mind?” Hudson tries to think for a moment; gears visibly turning behind her green eyes.

“Did you ever really have it?” Pratt taunts her.

“Keep it up, asshole, see what fuckin’ happens.”

The trio makes it down to where the sheriff asked, a parking place within the northern area of the county with little gas pumps but not much else. The F.A.N.G Center employees and the veterinarian with a stethoscope around his neck waiting for them as they make their way over. A worker with the center helps get the stiffening wolf off of Dahlia’s back, putting it into the back of a van so they can take it to be examined.

“Good work, Deputies,” Whitehorse congratulates them and Dahlia grins at the praise.

“To be completely fair,” Hudson interjects, “it was Rook who was able to get him.”

“Hey, we helped…move the body…” Pratt jokes, in their own ways they’re both ensuring Dahlia gets her due credit and she can’t help but smile.

“Well, outstanding work, Rookie.”

“Thanks, but uh, I’m kind worried about something.”

“What’s that?’ The sheriff asks, the attention of him, the veterinarian, and center workers all falling on Dahlia.

“The wolf has paint on it’s face, like a cross or something…which kinda makes me think someone owned it or…something?’

“Yeah, that’s definitely not all blood.” A worker looking over the wolf’s face in the van confirms.

“There’s nothing else on it, but we definitely will have to keep that in mind.”

“But, uh, what happens from here?” Dahlia asks.

“I’ll test to see if it’s rabid or if anything else might be the cause for the aggression,” the veterinarian, his name tag she finally catches says Dr. Charles Lindsay, “I’ll let the hospital know and if needed, the hiker will get treated for rabies.”

“Ah, uhh, is there any possible way you could let us know at the same time…well let me know…?”

“Why…?”

“I may have been slightly bit.”

“Slightly?” Pratt is the one to yell out, incredulous at Dahlia’s description of her injury.

“Just a little bit,” She brings two fingers close together in front of her for added effect.

“Jesus fuck, can you just not get hurt for like a week?”

“No, clearly not.”

“Pratt, take her out to the clinic,” Whitehorse says with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Yes, you do. Even if the bite ain’t too bad, you never know if it’s infected. Not only could the wolf be carrying something, but it had someone else’s blood in it’s mouth. This isn’t optional, Rookie, you’re going to the clinic and that’s an order.”

Dahlia can’t and won’t argue with the sheriff on that. Instead shrinking slightly at the realization that her own disregard for her own safety has gotten her scolded despite her accomplishment. She doesn’t think about risks to herself; she needed the wolf put down to save others and if the worst case scenario is her own well-being being sacrificed, that’s worth it to help others, isn’t it?

“C’mon, Wolf-Bait lets get going,” Pratt says, giving her a light smack on the shoulder to follow him.

“I’m coming, asshole.”

She follows behind Pratt, back to the cruiser where they parked at the beginning of this day. The sun has long since set, the moon now bright and high in the sky as she climbs into the passenger side seat. Unable to stop herself from pouting slightly that she’s being forced to go to the clinic again. Even if she understands why.

“Hey,” Pratt gets her attention as he starts up the cruiser engine, “if it makes you feel any better. I’ll be happy to put you out of your misery if it turns out to be a werewolf.”

“Fuck you!” She yells out through a laugh; his dumb joke bringing a smile back to her face as they go off to the clinic.

She’s at the clinic late that night, her injury doesn’t need stitches just some bandaging, some bloodwork and tests done to account for anything that could be wrong. Then she’s sent home with antibiotics; the entire time Pratt making jokes about werewolves and silver bullets like a nerd. All that’s left is crashing for the night and eventually hearing if she has rabies.

Dahlia sleeps easily that night; thanks to her adrenaline crashing down. She sleeps in the night morning, Saturday never being such a blissful treat for her as she manages to not wake up until around noon.

The young deputy takes her time when she gets up, eating cereal and grabbing a shower. Faith mentioned her being able to see Cassie at the convent this weekend spending a day together, so that’s her plan on top of doing the rounds on roping folks into the Apple Festival.

The Convent isn’t far from the trailer park, two buildings seated before the edge of a cliff with craggy staggered mountain range covered in trees beside it. So many mountains and cliffs within the county. The larger of the buildings has dark roofing, a smaller white church with white latticing canopies between them. Like the material used to construct a gazebo and fields upon fields of the white moonflowers.

Before Dahlia can step too far onto the property, a woman with long baby blonde hair with flower tattoos spiraling up her arms and the sin of GREED across her chest runs up to stop her.

“Hello, is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, I was here to see Cassie.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but our sister Cassandra is busy today.”

“Sister?” Dahlia asks, blood running cold for a moment. She can’t seriously mean…Cassie wasn’t interested in joining, she just needed shelter.

“Well yes, she’s opened her heart to the Father, a child of Eden’s Gate now.”

“Interesting…” Dahlia clenches her jaw, “Faith said that I could come see her today.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible, she’s been busy with finding salvation. She’s with herald John, giving her confession, she can’t possibly be bothered right now.”

“I-”

“Deputy~!” Faith’s sing song voice rings out and Dahlia can’t help but still feel angry, they were supposed to help Cassie, not convert her. The youngest Seed sibling rushes over, nearly floating with the ethereal energy only she can manage. Her white floral dress of the day has a halter neckline and flowers are woven into her braided hair.

“Faith…”

“I’m so sorry; I heard, I know you were excited to spend time with me and Cassie today, but I’m afraid things just became too busy with her deciding to join us here.”

“Yeah…what the fuck?”

“Excuse me?” Faith says, her pretty little smile fading for a moment.

“Cassie needed shelter, not Jesus, so I reiterate…what the fuck?” Dahlia gestures wildly, anger tinging her words. Her blood pressure rising and heat crawling up under her skin like pins and needles.

“Cassie is an adult, she made a choice to join us. Surely, you can’t deny her that freedom, deputy?” Faith’s face pulls into a pout, making Dahlia feel unreasonable all at once, but Cassie was never interested in the religion aspect.

“Yes, she’s an adult, but she was vulnerable, and I don’t think leaping into a religion when you’re in a shitty place is the best move. I-I wanna talk to her myself.”

“Well, I’m afraid that can’t happen, not today. But, maybe next weekend or you could write a letter of course.”

“She still hasn’t responded to my last letter…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Faith puts a hand on Dahlia’s shoulder, meant to be comforting but the deputy flinches away, “as I said, it’s been impossibly busy, she’s been studying our beliefs and methods of joining. It’s a long process at times, very time consuming, but I assure you…Cassie opening her heart to the Father doesn’t mean it’s been closed to you.”

“Yeah, sure, just too busy.”

“Well, you’ve certainly been busy too, haven’t you?” She tilts her head delicately to the side, still smiling.

“I have?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow.

“Mmm hmm, John’s already learned of you helping put together an apple festival.”

“Oh, yeah, Debbie and Doug wanna save that place so why not, I figure.”

“Yes, we’ve been hearing all about it, John’s not exactly thrilled.”

“Nothing personal to it…”

“I figured, I’m not upset, I promise,” Faith offers a soft smile, “the orchard will end up in the rightful hands no matter what. John just worries a lot about getting land for our church, after all we’re growing by the day and need space for our people.”

“And Debbie and Doug worry a lot about keeping their livelihood, ya know?”

“Like, I said, I have no ill will over it, I’m just interested to see you’re so full of surprises.”

“I am?”

“Mmm hmm,” she giggles, but offers no more information, like she knows a secret that Dahlia doesn’t. But before Dahlia can ask another question, a sight among the convent makes her breath catch in her throat.

Shaved head men and women; tending to fields of those flowers, masks across their face. So, they’re definitely with Eden’s Gate as if she really had to question. They work silently, tending to the fields of moonflowers in their white sweaters.

“Who are they?” Dahlia asks, giving Faith a pointed look. The girl’s eyes move back and forth from the deputy to the workers.

“Oh, those are our angels,” she answers, grinning, “they’re high ranking members of our church, so devoted to The Father they’ve taken vows of silence and dedicate their lives to helping The Project. Amazing, aren’t they?”

“Vows of silence, huh?” Dahlia says, more to herself than Faith. Then why did they mumble lyrics and scream out…why would they attack Dahlia? Is Faith lying to her, she’s got to be, right?

“You know, deputy, if you’re so interested in The Project, The Father would still happily let you join our family.”

“Hmmm, I’m sure, didn’t realize there was a huge process to it though…” Dahlia comments, hoping Faith will elaborate, what the hell kind of hoops did Cassie jump through? Confession, is all she really knows.

“Well, “ Faith grabs both of Dahlia’s hands in her own, smiling, “we ask for our new family members to prove they see the truth of our faith, to prove their dedication, rid themselves of their sins and make sacrifices in order to truly cut their ties with sin.”

“That’s-“

“Faith, there’s a call from the conservatory!” Someone calls out and Dahlia’s words die on her lips; the notion that Faith’s description is vague and generally unhelpful.

“I’ll be right there, see you later deputy, hopefully we can meet with Cassie next weekend.” Faith waves her goodbye and then leaves.

Stray straightens her jacket before leaving the convent, a flood of unanswered questions and doubts in her mind. Everyday something new worries her about Eden’s Gate. If Faith’s lying…that’s fucking bullshit. She doesn’t want to imagine that Faith would lie to her face like that. But, why would their oh so special angels, even the name makes her roll her eyes, be screaming and murmuring despite vows of silences? Why would they attack her?

The rest of her Saturday is spent speaking to people about the Apple Festival, roping Chad from the Grill Steak into it. At least, she believes she did, she’s not completely sure of anything he says. His dialect unintelligible, so she just upped her cajun dialect until she barely knew what she was saying either. Its good busy work, getting places to hang up advertisements, though her heart and mind are somewhere else the entire time. She’s thankful that most people are just genuinely invested in helping; because she certainly isn’t getting by on her charisma.

Her night is spent with trying to distract herself, but thoughts always coming back to the weirdness of Eden’s Gate, to her doubts. Wondering what exactly led to Cassie’s conversion… She’s being silly, she tells herself time and time again, but something just doesn’t feel right lately. Maybe she’s overeating; seeing connections and red flags where none exists. But, the case remains that no tv, manga, music, or drawing can distract her that night.

There’s still a slight cloud looming over Dahlia when she arrives at the orchard Sunday, ready to taste Debbie’s baked apple goods. The sun is high in sky and the smell of apples lifts her mood slightly; but she finds herself still distracted as she parks her bike.

“Deputy!” Debbie greets her and Dahlia gives the warmest smile she can muster. The older woman’s smile helping lift some of that cloud.

“Hey.”

“Staci’s already here, c’mon, we’ll sit in the market stall,” Debbie gushes bring Dahlia over to the picnic tables that are under the covering; where they first talked about the festival.

Pratt is already there; the smell of baked sugar and apples hits Dahlia’s nose before she even sees the array of food Debbie’s put out. Apple pie, apple dumplings, apple scones, and she’s sure that’s just the beginning.

“Hey dumbass,” Pratt greets her around a mouthful of apple pie as she sits down next to him.

“You couldn’t wait like five minutes?”

“Nope.”

“Ass.”

The deputy’s feedback is predominantly noises of happiness; neither really food critics but happy to be shoving it in their mouths. The gloomy cloud is starting to lift by the time they’ve finished off a pie; cinnamon, sugar, and apples warm on her tongue. Apple dumplings settle warm in her stomach and she forgets why she was ever upset. The scones are munched down next; cream sticking to her fingers and lips as she eats.

“God you’re a mess,” Pratt taunts and she sputters a laugh when she turns to face him.

“You have food in your beard, asshole.”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and starts wiping at his face.

The stuff their faces for a long while longer; strudel, apple cake, apple cobbler, candy apples, and fritters. Pratt leans back from the table, pressing a hand to his face after a while.

“You alright?” Dahlia asks, raising her eyebrow.

“Debbie is gonna have to roll me out of here at this rate; are you not fuckin’ full yet?”

“…No…” She pauses, before shoving more cobbler and whip cream in her mouth. Debbie and Dough are off rushing to get more goodies.

“Jesus fuck, Rook.”

“You’re just a baby.”

“Shut up,” he leans back away from the table and runs a hand back into his hair, “hey, Rook?”

“Hmm?”

“You ever gonna shoot your shot with Joey?”

“What?!” She chokes on her food, just barely stopping it from flying out of her mouth, where the actual fuck did that come from?

“Your little crush on her, you ever gonna do something about it?”

“Like what?”

“Ask her out, you know, like people do.”

“Yeah…why the fuck would I do that?” She cannot grasp his logic here.

“I don’t know how to explain to you that when people have crushes; they ask the person out.”

“I don’t know how to explain to you that that would be really fucking stupid.”

“Why?”

“Because I already know the answer, there’s no way she’d say yes, and frankly if she did I’d be concerned.”

“Concerned?”

“Yeah, who in their right fuckin’ mind would say yes to me?!”

“So, you wanna act weird around her forever and never deal with it?”

“That was the plan.”

“I’m just saying the sooner you rip the band-aid off, the quicker you can act like a normal person around her.”

Dahlia sighs, she doesn’t want to act like a freak around Hudson for the rest of her life or for her little crush or whatever to get the way of life. Pratt knows more about this crap than her, because everyone does. So, if he’s saying this would help, maybe it would? But, her brain still is struggling.

“But I already know she’s gonna say no, you know she’s gonna say no, literally anyone with a functioning braincell knows she’d say no. So, why would hearing her say no make a difference?”

“Its like closure and shit; I think it’d help.”

“Ugh, just sounds like an excuse to make an idiot out of myself.”

“Compared to the genius you usually are?”

“Fuck off.”

She swallows down a mouthful of strudel before the conversation can continue, but Pratt’s words stick with her. It’s not as if she needed any more on her mind, but she got it anyway. The two continue taste testing for Debbie, though the subject of Hudson never comes up. She’s not sure why Pratt is suddenly so keen on helping her work through her little crush, a friendly gesture, she figures. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could stop turning into a red-faced mess around the oldest deputy.

It’s late when they finally finish tasting everything; Dahlia giving friendly goodbyes to Pratt and the couple before she goes back home. Her weekend coming to a close with her falling asleep with a stomach full of baked apples.

She’s woken up to her phone ringing; instead of her alarm. Dahlia already knows well that despite shift hours, the nature of their work and the higher level of being deputy means that being called out at odd hours is expected. But her blood runs cold when she sees sheriff Whitehorse is the one calling, something is wrong.

“Sheriff?” She answers, sitting up on the couch.

“Rook; I already called Pratt and Hudson, I want you all at the clinic now! It’s an emergency!”

And that’s all she gets before the call ends. She throws on a uniform and runs out the door, jumping on her motorcycle. Mind racing with each passing second. The hurried and frantic tone in Whitehorse’s voice flaring anxiety inside of her. A million possibilities shooting through her mind as she rides towards the clinic; is it about the wolf? Has there been a murder? Is someone she knows hurt? Could it be an officer?

She’s practically tripping over herself as she climbs off her bike, running into the clinic. The staff is a mess, nurses rushing frantically to attend to someone. Words of transferring, stabilizing, blood transfusion. Something is wrong. Each word swims around her head, but she doesn’t know who they’re talking about. Then she sees Whitehorse, Hudson, and Pratt at the front desk. The three living closer than her.

“What’s wrong?” Dahlia asks running over; all three’s expressions are tense. Pratt shaking his leg, Hudson digging her nails into her arms until her knuckles turn white, and Whitehorse looking a moment away from collapsing.

“It’s Pastor Jerome,” Whitehorse tells her, “someone attacked him.”

“Left for fucking dead,” Hudson interjects, a crack in her voice that Dahlia’s never heard before.

“They’re trying to stabilize him long enough to transfer him to a hospital in Missoula. We need to make sure it stays secure, no telling if whoever did this won’t try to do something again, and we need to be there to ask questions once he’s out of the woods. I don’t want this slipping through the cracks, Jerome’s a good man and he damn well deserves our best effort.”

“Got it,” Dahlia nods in agreement to the sheriffs words.

Images of the man in the priest collar coming to mind. She’s seen him in passing, never a conversation between the two. But she saw him speak with Whitehorse; Pratt implied that both him and Hudson went to Jerome’s church as kids. He means something to them all and that’s clear in just how serious it’s being taken; obvious in how shaken up they all seem to be.

She stands next to Pratt, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort, wishing she could offer more. He tries to give her a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, too worried about the pastor.

Why would anyone attack him? His church is modest, nearly dying out from everything she’s been told, it wouldn’t make sense to rob him. Hope County has some less than accepting residents; but the idea of a potential hate crime is a hard pill to swallow…

All Dahlia can do is wait with her coworkers, listening to the frantic yells of nurses struggling to save a man’s life. Heart in her throat, anxiety telling her that any second this will become a murder investigation as she watches the hands on a clock ticking away…

#far cry 5 #fc5 #jacob seed #staci pratt #faith seed #uhhh they're the most prevalent this chapter

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bitchardhendricks · 4 years

Text

Well I’ve Never Been to Heaven (But I’ve Been to Oklahoma) pt 17

I know it’s been a terribly long time since I last updated - to be frank, the last couple of weeks have been almost too full to bear. Wife and I foster dogs through a local shelter, and our most recent was a hospice foster whom we had for the last 6 months (aka all of quarantine and beyond). He finally declined to the point that we had to make the call, and we said goodbye to him last weekend and honestly? I’ve been too sad to do much writing or thinking about writing, because this loss, even though it was an expected one, has left a massive hole in my heart. Unrelated, but I am now in the remote wilderness of Colorado in a cabin for Wife’s 30th birthday - essentially sheltering in place, but with a hot tub and mountain views. It finally feels a little easier to breathe and the getaway has done me a lot of good. Here’s an extra-long update of Tulsa fic for an extra-long wait. I hope you all are taking care of yourselves out there and giving yourself breaks where you can. Catch up on past entries here, and come say hi and tell me about the pets that you’ve loved.

***

When Richard opens his eyes on Saturday morning with his face smushed against his pillow he suffers a dizzying moment of time travel - he’s in his childhood bedroom wearing one of his old high school t-shirts and seeing his Ninja Turtle sleeping bags rolled up on the floor. But there’s no Big Head playing N64 at the foot of his bed, and his sheets smell like detergent and some familiar floral scent he can’t quite place, not spilled Red Bull and teen boy sweat.

He flops over onto his back and closes his eyes for a moment, breathes deeply through his nose. Hears his sister’s voice, teasing but not mean: mooning over someone, that’s what he looks like. His mother’s voice. He’s a million miles away, like always. Jared’s voice, hushed in the dark. All I wanted was to find a place that I belonged, where I was wanted. Isn’t that what Richard always wanted too? Jesus, how many nights did he spend in this room, in this bed counting down the days until he could finally fucking escape, trying with all his might to think himself away from this place. “Creation is an act of sheer will,” after all.

And what did you create, Richie?

You made a shitty music player that no one fucking wanted, and you gave away your one good idea to your competition. What does that leave you with - a great company name? Shit, if Jared hadn't seen the potential of the algorithm, you wouldn't even have a company. Jared sparked the idea for middle-out. Without him, you wouldn't have middle-out, you wouldn't be a CEO. You wouldn't have anything at all.

Maybe Jared knows what he's talking about.

***

Diane’s already awake, a coffee cup cradled in her hands at the kitchen table, when Jared carefully and quietly emerges from Richard’s bedroom and shuts the door.

“Mornin’ sugar,” she whispers and gestures for Jared to sit next to her, which he does. "I didn't expect anyone to be awake yet on a Saturday. You must be an early riser, like me. Here, sit you a spell, lemme grab you some coffee. Did you sleep well?” she asks, as she gets up to fetch him a mug of his own. This force of Diane's maternal energy continues to catch him off guard, and he reaches for an answer like a man in an unfamiliar hotel room groping for the light.

“Oh yes, they were all nightmares I’ve had before so I knew my escape routes. I feel fresh as a daisy!”

“Mm, that’s good,” she replies, sounding far away as she rummages through a cabinet and pulls out a mug, then pads over to the coffee pot to fill it. “You take cream and sugar, sweetheart?”

“Black is fine,” Jared says, and gratefully accepts the cup she offers him. It says HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY in comic sans font surrounding a faded photo of the entire Hendricks family, sometime in the mid-90s from the look of the boldly patterned oversize knit sweater on Steven and the perms sported by both Diane and Caitlyn. They’re standing in a verdant field in front of a split rail fence, Steven and Diane in the back, Caitlyn and Richard in front; Richard is a skinny, coltish boy, those auburn curls still a riot around his head, his father’s hand clapped firm over his left shoulder.

“Somethin’ wrong, sugar?” Diane asks him, and Jared startles from his reverie. He shakes his head, quickly takes a sip, “Mm, no. This is good, thank you, Diane.” He tries very hard not to think about his strange, alien presence in the warmth of this woman’s home, with her powder blue terrycloth robe and her commissioned family mugs. They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the birds chirping outside the kitchen window.

“Jared, honey, can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course,” Jared says, caught off guard. His fingers play with the collar of his plain white t-shirt.

“Richard has always been...sensitive. He acts standoffish, but he - he takes things hard, you know? I thought he might grow out of it. He was such a sweet little boy...used to pick dandelions for me on the way home from school, almost every day. Can you believe that?”

Jared looks at the unabashed grin on 9-year-old Richard’s face, standing in a field and squinting into the sun, laughing with his family. He can believe it. “Yes,” he says, but Diane doesn’t seem to really hear him as she continues.

“But you know, high school and hormones, and my lord did that boy get moody!” She laughs a little, but it sounds sad. “I just...ever since he went off to college, I feel him slippin’ further and further away from me. Does he - well, what does he say about us, exactly? Does he ever talk about us?”

Jared’s expression must reveal more than he intended, because she nods before he can speak. “Ah. That’s what I thought.”

“But it’s not,” Jared hurries to reassure her, “I don’t think it is what you think. Richard doesn’t talk about his past really, or anything altogether personal.” Except this weekend, his mind whispers and he tries not to flush. He’s full of stories this weekend. And those long nights in the garage, in the bathtub, in bathrooms of VC offices; all those fears, all those anxieties. It feels so terribly personal, but listen to what his own mother is telling you and give up all those fantasies that it could be anything else - it’s just business, Donald. He rushes on, “You have to understand, Diane, the tremendous pressure he’s under. There’s not really time or, or room for - “ but he falters, unsure how to proceed when he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying.

“Oh I know, he’s busy, always so busy. Off being a big shot CEO, I get it. I just wish...” she shakes her head, looks down into her coffee mug.

“I know you must miss him terribly,” Jared says, grimly picturing the ragged hole in his chest that would remain if Richard ever left him behind.

“Sometimes I wonder if...does he hate me, Jared? Is that why he won’t come home?”

“Oh gosh in heaven, no!” Heedless of houseguest decorum, he places one of his hands over her smaller one on the table and squeezes in an attempt to comfort her. Her only crime is loving Richard too much, an infraction he is all too familiar with. He can’t help but offer her a balm to soothe, even if it’s not his place. “He misses you, and he loves you. I think...I think Richard is someone who tends to live inside himself a great deal, and doesn’t always pay attention to the effect he can have on other people.” Jared can feel his ears pinking, but he soldiers on. “He’s like a shark, always moving forward, never pausing to rest because he has to attack the next problem and the next. And while that means he can stay focused on creating wonderful things, it also means he doesn’t always notice the little remoras swimming around him, taking care of him so that he can keep on swimming and avoid deadly parasitic infections.”

Diane looks at Jared, her face drawn and tight, an expression so like her son’s face when he’s working out a problem. Her eyes search his, and for a moment, Jared has the terrible urge to shrink before her, a child under scrutiny. “And is there someone,” her voice falters, “takin’ care of him?”

He’s caught, his heart thrumming like a rabbit’s in a snare, but he’s helpless against those wild blue eyes, and he nods.

“And is he happy?” She has turned her hand so that her fingers are now clutching at Jared’s, feverish. A woman holding onto a lifeline.

Jared wants to say yes, wants to say it’s terrifying and exhausting and every day is an uphill climb but we are building something magical together and he wants to say I am doing everything I can to make him happy because he said no to Gavin’s money and I didn’t know people could do that. What he actually says is, “I - I want him to be.”

She searches his face, her expression unreadable, then releases Jared’s hand immediately as Caitlyn pads down the hallway in an oversized OKC Thunder t-shirt and plaid sleep pants, yawning loudly. “Hey, mama, did you make coffee?”

#silicon valley hbo #sv squad #jarrich #jarrich fic #jared dunn #richard hendricks #sv fic #my sv fic #Well I've never been to Heaven

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logicalbookthief · 4 years

Note

ʌ: for clown movie

^: comfort after a nightmare

Wow this took a lot longer than I thought, I apologize! Work has been blegh lately and my writer’s block was strong. Nevertheless, I thank you for the prompt and hope you enjoy!

It’s a sort of sequel to my fic “Placebo” that isn’t necessary to read before this but would definitely help. All you really need to know is that it takes place in a universe where Eddie is Carrie White’s cousin and has the same telekinetic powers.

"I'm not afraid."

For once, it’s the truth. Eddie has never felt more powerful than he does here, among the ruins of It’s hiding place, where It lurked for centuries, millennia, gnawing on the bones of children, biding its time for the day It would feed again. The memory of this place terrified him for years-- even when he couldn’t remember, the fear was embedded in his mind.

Now it’s shattering under the strength of Eddie’s will, destroyed by the sheer force of his mind, and the feeling is-- he can’t describe--

The weak, shriveled form of the clown tries to rally. Eddie squares his jaw, focuses on pinning It down, harder, merciless, refusing to give an inch. "I’m not afraid,” he repeats, the taste of blood in his mouth, hot as it slips down his face. “Not of you."

The clown laughs-- it’s a raspy, death rattle. Still, Eddie tenses, a sense of doubt creeping past the smolder of anger, the self-righteous flaring through his whole body.

"Even now I can feel it, that delicious reek of fear,” It smirks, a lopsided grimace turned smug. “Not of me, no. I already know what you are.”

Gulping, Eddie falters. Only for a moment, the flare dousing to a mere spark.

"I’ve always known,” It croaks, hoarse and almost unheard above the sound of the cavern as it crumbles. “But do they know, Eddie?”

Carrie, her hair a tangled mass of flames, her dress a flowing wave of red. Her eyes are nearly electric, a frenzied flash of light that-- and, suddenly, Eddie’s staring at a reflection of himself, manic and panting, bathed in the blood of his tormentor.

“Do they know what you are?”

Eddie springs up, dislodging the sheets curled around his body, gasping for the air caught in his throat. His heart jackhammers against his ribcage, trying to claw out from under the heavy weight atop his chest.

Beside of him in bed, Richie stirs with a low, drowsy groan. Ridiculously long legs disentangle under the blanket. He’s amazed they manage to fit together most nights, what with how much of Richie there is to fit, and how Eddie tends to sprawl if not contained by his boyfriend's octopus-like embrace.

His boyfriend. Now there’s a word he never thought he’d be able to use sincerely. However, there’s no mistaking the realness of Richie as he shifts closer in search of Eddie, even in his half-asleep state.

"Eds?" he calls in that scratchy voice reserved for the early hours of the morning. Frankly, a freshly-woken Richie is a sight to behold. Even as kids waking up in the Denbroughs’ den, Eddie’s guilty pleasure was waking before his best friend so as to catch a glimpse of Richie as he roused.

With his glasses askew, his tousled hair a mess, his mouth slightly parted in the memory of a snore. As an adult, the sight’s no less appealing -- if anything, that half-lidded gaze staggers him more, now that he’s aware of the soft, unguarded affection that lingers behind it.

"You okay?" Richie persists, squinting without his glasses.

"Mhm," Eddie replies, muffled by his fingers as they scrub at his face, clearing the remnants of the nightmare.

Unconvinced, Richie struggles into a sitting position. Propped against the headboard, he sizes up Eddie far too easily for someone who can barely see. "Bad dream?"

Too exhausted to form an answer, Eddie slumps backwards, colliding with Richie’s chest. Flush against each other, he can hear Richie’s breath stutter over the shell of his ear. Six months since Eddie moved in to Richie’s sunny LA apartment, the Derry hospital discharge band still around his wrist and Bev’s divorce lawyer saved to his phone, and sometimes they forget that this is allowed -- this closeness. This idea they can finally have what they want and not be hurt by it, by anyone.

Loving Richie is muscle memory, so natural it may as well be encoded in his DNA. Knowing that he has Richie, and can love Richie freely without hiding who he is, well-- that’s still a wonder, no matter how often Richie whispers the words against his skin.

Eddie knows this, not only in his mind but in his heart, and yet... He’s perplexed. Besides the Losers, he’s never known a love without conditions. A love that wasn’t dependent on his willingness, his obedience. It’s easy with Richie and harder for the same reason.

Once it registers that he’s got an lapful of a boyfriend, Richie winds an arm around Eddie and crushes him to the broad expanse of his chest. Hooks his chin over his shoulder and nuzzles his cheek like an over-excited dog.

“Baby, you’re kind of warm,” he murmurs, two-days worth of stubble scraping fondly over Eddie’s cheek.

The attention sends a shiver down his spine, but it ends in a shudder as Eddie remembers the heat of the flames as they licked his face, smoke curling into his lungs. Was it his face -- or hers? -- the fire a distant heat compared to the warm blood soaking her dress, her clothes, eyes listless as they carnage rages around her, the destruction she -- or he, was it him? -- the cavern collapsing around him as It huffed out its last, dismal breath--

His lungs expand, vainly searching for space to breathe. Eddie wriggles out of Richie’s hold, trying to hide the desperate beat of his pulse. “Fucking California heat,” he mumbles, evasively. “Has me all.. Sweaty.”

New York contains many, many years worth of bad memories, but if there’s one thing he misses, it’s the cold nights. Though if he had to choose between the lonely dark of the guestroom where he slept instead of aside his wife or the comfort of Richie’s bed -- well, that’s hardly even a question.

“Did you wanna, ah..." Flummoxed, Richie wavers over his next words. "Talk?"

It's a song and dance they've done before. A sliver of guilt pierces Eddie through the shields he’s barricaded around this particular issue. How many times has he startled awake and dragged Richie out of sleep -- and then, to add insult to injury, decline the invitation to talk?

After Richie barred his soul and revealed the initials he carved into the Kissing Bridge, despite the threat of bullies and rejection, it seems hypocritical to keeps his darkest secrets under lock and key.

Not for the first time, Eddie aches for his pills. He’s kicked the habit, endured the worst of the withdrawal, bears the occasional migraine with no complaint. But in moments like these the urge is almost too much to ignore.

You’ll feel better, Dr. Silas cajoles, a venomous promise in his ear. Don’t you want to be normal?

It triggers a memory-- the pills in his palm, his mouth parted to swallow, but the desperation of Richie’s screams, the horror in the eyes of his friends. No, Eddie snaps. Of course he wants to be normal. Wants to have a normal life with his boyfriend.

But he wants it to be real. No more placebos.

"Oh-kay. If you’re sure," Richie sounds uncertain, but he’s unwilling to cross the boundaries Eddie has firmly set. Eddie falls a little bit more in love with him for that. "Then it’s back to bed with you, guvnah!”

Usually the British voice anywhere near the vicinity of their bed drew a protest from Eddie -- it catches in his throat when Richie him swings him flat on his back, the bulk of his body sprawled between Eddie’s legs. He blushes to the roots of his hair, clutching at the wide expanse of Richie’s shoulders, fingers digging into soft skin and the tendons of muscle underneath.

If he scowls, it’s a dismal attempt to hide how hopelessly turned on he is by every aspect of this ridiculous man.

"Otherwise, you'll be bitchy as fuck for the flight tomorrow.” His sigh blows against Eddie's hair. "And you know how much that turns me on."

Eddie sputters.

"God, you ever travel for upwards of six hours with a boner? Would not recommend, 0/10."

"Rich!" he scolds, which is hard to do when you're spasming with laughter.

"Unless," Richie continues, slyly, "Eds, you minx. You want to join the Mile-High club with me?"

"Richie," Eddie coughs, truly on his way to a ruptured lung. Hopelessly fond as he orders, "Shut up and go to sleep."

He waits until the chuckles peter out, eventually replaced by soft, even breaths. Carefully, Eddie twists out of Richie’s embrace. The soles of his slippers drag along the carpet as he shuffles to the kitchen.

The piles of dishes Richie convinced him to leave for later in favor of more amorous activities -- and to be perfectly honest, Eddie was easy to convince -- sits in the sink. Picking up the dish soap, Eddie figures he may as well be proactive in his insomnia.

Aunt Margaret used to say, Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. It was maybe the single coherent, non-hateful advice she ever gave.

He’s halfway through the mess and elbow deep in sudsy water when Richie wanders in, stretching. “I thought we had an agreement,” he yawns. “Whoever isn’t accosted by trauma-fueled nightmares gets to make breakfast.”

Ducking his head around a smile, Eddie shrugs. “Too restless to sleep. The thought of you forgetting to pack underwear on this trip haunted my dreams.”

"Ooh, say that again," Richie moans, slotting their hips together from behind. Despite his playful tone, Eddie feels the half-stir of morning wood. "Slower this time."

Eddie shoves playfully at his chin. "Seriously," he huffs. "Our flight's only in a couple of hours and I know you haven't finished packing!"

"Our flight's in eight hours," Richie points out, which is met by a dubious eyebrow raise. "That is plenty of--"

"How many pairs of underwear do you currently have in your suitcase?"

There’s a long, unconscionable pause.

"Fuck!" Richie snaps his fingers. "Knew there was something I forgot."

One of those rare instances where he isn't joking.

"You're pushing me toward an asthma attack," Eddie deadpans. "Please go pack."

Richie leaves a wet, slobbering kiss on his cheek that Eddie only half-pretends to hate. “Anything you say, darling."

Once he’s gone, Eddie can focus at the task at hand. He glances sidelong at a coffee mug that’s slightly out of reach. Retrieving it isn’t a hassle so much as an inconvenience, since his hands are damp with dishwater and the closest rag is across the room.

You could do it another way, reminds the quiet voice in back of his head that Eddie’s spent the last twenty-years trying to suppress. Long before that, really. Since the day his mother told him what his cousin-- what Eddie was.

Do you know what you are?

Eddie bristles. Fuck that clown. Fuck the idea that It has any lingering sway over his life. His mother, too. And those doctors, all those doctors and their tests, their experiments, their pills. Nobody can choose for him anymore. He’s in control of his life.

Despite this conviction, Eddie dawdles. Strains his ears. He can hear Richie clunking around in their bedroom, a safe distance away. I’m alone, he thinks bracingly. I’m alone, so there’s no harm in...

He shuts his eyes, concentrating. The mug rattles, as though gently prodded by an unseen force. Slowly, carefully, Eddie relinquishes the vice-like grip of the leash wrapped tight around his mind, bit by bit.

The mug slides along the counter, until it hovers over the edge. It does not fall. Eddie feels a prick of satisfaction tingle at the base of his neck.

I’m not afraid, Eddie thinks with a rush of spite. Remembering his dream, the clown’s laughter a fresh in his memory, he pushes the mug faster. I am not--

"Hey, Eds, did you-?"

The mug smashes against the ground, shattering. Pieces fly out, scattering across the floor. All sharp edges.

"Shit!" Eddie panics. "Don't step over here, the shards–"

Hastily, he reaches for a handful of glass, as if cleaning up the evidence will hide what he’s done.

What were you thinking, you freak? You could've hurt him or--

"Eddie.” That’s Richie's voice calling to him, soft and urgent.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll--” He’s babbling, the words choked, constricted, while sweat pools at the base of his neck and his hands shake with the effort to shove it all down, deep, deep down where nobody can see--

"Eddie!" Richie shouts. His face comes into focus near inches from his, eyes, wild with worry. "Calm down, it's okay. It's okay, see? Just a stupid mess.”

A mess you made, Eddie thinks viciously. Now he's seen, he's seen and he'll run, he'll leave, because you're a–

"C'mon, Eds,” Richie murmurs, both a plea and a demand. Trembling fingers tangle with his own, the bite of Richie’s knuckles as he presses their palms against his ribcage steadying Eddie in the present. “You've got to breathe for me.”

Only then does Eddie realize how rapidly it’s rising, and how difficult it is to inhale. Buoyed by the constant stream of Richie’s assurances, Eddie begins to count his breaths, focuses on the movement of his and Richie’s hands as he breathes once twice, in and out. He judges his success by the tightness of Richie’s frown.

"Sorry," Eddie croaks once he can speak again. It feels as if the shards are lodged in his throat.

"Don't apologize," says Richie, a furrow nestling between his brows. He keeps his tone level, likely more worried than he lets on, but the lack of panic is what’s grounding Eddie and he’s appreciates it more than words will convey. "Do you need me to-- What do you need?”

Eddie shakes his head. Tears prick at his eyes and he bites down on the tide of pleas that threaten to overwhelm him. You, I need you. I need you not to leave me once you figure out what I am.

"You know I don't care if you use your Matilda whammy." Richie makes a show of squinting his eyes. Eddie chokes on a stilted laugh. Richie seems to sag in relief

"It doesn’t change a thing for me,” he reminds, nudging Eddie softly. “You understand, right?"

Eddie swallows, thickly. He doesn't trust his voice, so he nods, the reply burrowed into Richie's chest. He kisses his clavicle once, twice in gratitude.

"What were you going to ask before?"

"Uh," Richie hedges. "Do you know where all my clean underwear is?"

Again, Eddie laughs. Helplessly. "Fucking Christ, Rich, I told you: a man needs more than seven pairs of underwear."

"I resent that. I have more," Richie sniffs. "They're just not as sexy as my gluteus maximoose pair. Which, as you know, I reserve for all special occasions."

"You're fucking ridiculous, is what you are," Eddie chuckles. "I'll fold the laundry after I clean this up."

"Let me do that,” Richie insists, shooing him toward the bedroom. “You can shower first.”

Chewing his lip, Eddie hesitates.

"Are you wearing shoes?" Richie gestures impatiently at his moccasins. "Alright... Just be careful with the glass."

“Like you were?” Catching Eddie by the wrist, Richie frowns down at his palm. A thin slice below his thumb, the blood a steady ooze.

"Oh," says Eddie, woozily. The prick of pain didn't even register. "I'll go, um. Wash this in the bathroom."

He ignores the feeling of Richie’s eyes on his back as he hustles the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. He’s ignored a lot of things, lately.

The familiar yet nameless numbers on the cellphone he ultimately chucked. The decreasing amount of frantic calls from his ex-wife. The urge to tell Richie and the Losers every awful truth Eddie’s spent his entire adult life burying so deep that not even he has to confront it, ever.

At the sink, Eddie avoids his own reflection. Under the spray of water, the blood washes off effortlessly. As if it never happened. Wash your hands, Eddie. Like a good boy. His mother always repeated the order, ad nauseam. Like if he scrubbed hard enough, it would be as if the all the dirty, unclean parts of him she feared had never existed.

For all her lies, Eddie wishes it was that easy.

#reddie #reddie fic #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it chapter 2 #carrie white #hurt/comfort #aceyanaheim #prompt fic

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camillemontespan · 4 years

Text

the hero of the story [drake walker; a lily one shot]

Last year, one of my first fics focused on this kind of story but I deleted it because I thought it was rubbish. I’ve since re-written it and I hope it’s better! Quite short, some Lily fluff.

@moonlightgem7 @emichelle @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic

@mskaneko @msjr0119 @pedudley @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @dcbbw @saivilo

********************************************

Lily came home from school far from her usual self. The energy that infused her every fibre seemed to have been drained and she wasn’t smiling or bouncing with joy that she was home. Instead, she let her father, Drake, cuddle her before traipsing upstairs to her room to play with her dolls.

At dinner, she played with her food and ignored her baby sister, Luna, who was desperate for her attention. Her mother, Camille, tried to talk to her but Lily wouldn’t speak. Drake made awful dad jokes in a bid to make her smile but to no avail.

When it was time for bed, Lily went upstairs without complaint. She burrowed under her duvet, holding her teddy bear tightly, the night light casting a blue glow through the room. She heard the bedroom door open and she had to convince herself it wasn’t a monster; no, the monster lived under her bed and he was sleeping at the moment.

‘Baby?’

It was Camille.

Camille sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘My bed bug has to be somewhere..’ she mused. ‘Hmm.. let me search.. Where is my little bed bug Lily?’

Lily stayed silent.

‘Baby, what’s wong?’ Camille asked gently. ‘What’s bothering you?’

Lily sighed and pulled the covers away from her face so she could look at her mother. ‘Miss Henderson told me that daddy nearly died!’

Camille’s eyes widened. ‘She said what?!’

Tears poured down Lily’s face as she finally admitted what was bothering her. Camille listened in horror as her six year old daughter told her that today in class, they had a small history lesson about Cordonia. Apparently, Miss Henderson thought it would be nice for the class to find out that Lily’s father had been shot during an assassination attempt. Definitely not appropriate for school kids and absolutely not appropriate for Lily; Drake and Camille had kept their past a secret from their daughter. They hadn’t wanted her to get upset. They wanted to keep her life full of joy, happiness and most importantly, peace.

Camille realised that protecting their daughter hadn’t worked in this instance.

‘So daddy nearly died!’ Lily wailed, her bottom lip trembling. ‘I don’t want daddy to die!’

‘Shh, honey, it’s okay,’ Camille whispered, pulling her in for a cuddle. ‘Your daddy is okay, he’s still here-’

‘But he was in danger!’ Lily cried, clenching Camille’s sweater tightly. Camille held her little girl as her entire body shook, trying her best to keep her whole. She made a silent note to visit Miss Henderson tomorrow morning and complain. How dare she tell Lily about something so scary? Her job was to teach Lily about numbers, letters and life skills. She had overstepped. That wasn’t her responsibility. That wasn’t her job.

Camille knew she had a part to play in this too. She should have known something like this would happen; of course her little girl would find out about the assassination attempt one day. Camille just wished that she had prepared her. She had hoped to sit her and Luna down when they were older; she felt like that had now been taken from her.

Holding her daughter close, Camille made a decision. She would rewrite the narrative. She would tell Lily the truth but she would tell it in a way that Lily would understand and not have nightmares as a result. She would take ownership of the story.

‘Lily, baby, listen to me,’ Camille said gently. Lily looked at her mother and rubbed her eyes harshly.

‘What?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘I’m going to tell you what happened,’ Camille said. ‘And this is the story that is true. Okay?’

‘But daddy-’

‘Daddy is going to sit with us,’ Camille interrupted. Standing up, she moved to the bedroom door and called out for Drake to join them. He had been waiting at the foot of the stairs, ready to jump in to support his wife if necessary.

As soon as Drake entered the room, Lily’s shoulders dropped; relief spread over her face. The love that she and Drake had for each other was one that couldn’t be replicated. It was a deep, deep love. Lily adored her father; he was her favourite person in the world.

Drake wrapped Lily in cotton wool and treated her like precious cargo. His life was his daughters. He was a father, that was his job. Father and husband first, Duke second. Always.

‘Hey Little Lady,’ he murmured, giving her a smile. He shot Camille a look; he had overheard Lily. He was not happy with her teacher. Damn right he was going down to the school tomorrow with Camille to tell that bitch exactly what he thought.

Lily reached out for him. Drake scooped her up in his arms and settled back against the headboard with Lily curled up on his lap. He rested his chin on top of her head, twirling a little curl of her hair around his finger.

Camille sat cross legged on the bed and faced them. ‘Now, this is what happened, alright?’

**********************************

The kingdom of Cordonia was a peaceful and prosperous one. The old king, Constantine, had sadly passed away at the hands of an enemy, which thrust the kingdom into a time of darkness. However, within that darkness, there were little glimmers of light.

His son, Liam, your uncle, rose up to become King. He planned to be a good king, a kind king. Of course, those enemies were not content with what they had done and so planned to target Liam and his kingdom. But Liam had the best friends he could ask for to help keep him safe. He had Aunt Olivia, his most loyal and protective friend. She had skills with daggers and terrified all men! He also had Uncle Maxwell who was always there to hold dance parties and keep everyone happy. he had Auntie Hana who is the most clever person ever. But most importantly, Liam’s best best friend was Drake, your father.

Drake was so kind and loyal! And so strong! He was the best friend ever! He was also in love with the most beautiful maiden of the realm-

***************************

‘Camille.’

Camille blinked, interrupted. She saw Drake was looking at her with an eyebrow raised. ‘Yes?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Most beautiful maiden of the realm?’ Drake repeated, chuckling.

‘Do you dispute it?’ Camille asked.

Drake rolled his eyes. ‘No-’

‘Well, then, shh! This is our story!’ Camille said, sticking her tongue out at her husband. Lily giggled and snuggled into Drake, sticking her tongue out at him too.

‘Okay, continue, most beautiful maiden of the realm,’ Drake said, unable to stop the smile forming on his face. Camille gave him a wink and continued with the story.

******************************

‘So, Drake was in love with the most beautiful maiden of the realm, whose name was Camille! And she loved him too, deeply. They were happy. They planned their future and imagined having beautiful little daughters. Everything looked like it was going to be okay. As long as Liam had his friends, all would be well.

But one night, at a ball, the enemy attacked. They wanted to hurt Camille for silly reasons, but don’t worry, these enemies were stupid. They didn’t realise that Drake was there! The strongest, most brave man in the kingdom.

Lily, never underestimate people. They underestimated Drake and it was their mistake. Yes, they tried to hurt Camille, but Drake saved her. But like all heroes in the story, he got hurt while saving his love. Like Eugene from Tangled. The Beast. Meg from Hercules. Mulan. But you know what you have to remember about those stories? The heroes always live to tell the tale.

Just because they get hurt doesn’t mean they are weak. It means they were brave enough to stand up and defend something when nobody else would.

Drake was a hero that day and he is remembered for his bravery. He saved the love of his life and now he lives in a beautiful house with his two beautiful daughters. He is happy and well. He is the bravest man in all of Cordonia. He is here now, with you, safe and happy. Do you think he would have let himself leave this world without meeting you? Not a chance! Your daddy knew that his future was going to be bright and he fought hard to be part of it. He isn’t going anywhere, sweetie. Your daddy is the hero of this story and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

************************************

Lily threw herself onto Drake when Camille finished speaking. Drake smiled and held her close. ‘I’m here, baby, I’m here.’

They stayed like that for a long time with Lily refusing to leave his side. But she was smiling now, more at peace. Together, Drake and Camille got her ready for bed and kissed her goodnight, leaving her to dream of happy kingdoms and brave fathers.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Drake poured Camille a glass of wine and himself a glass of whiskey.

‘So, first thing tomorrow?’ he asked after a long silence.

Camille sipped her wine. ‘We’re meeting that damn teacher.’

#drake walker

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

⁂ Flaws (Jirou Akutagawa) [1 of 4]

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Mafia AU, Dark, Crossover ☁

Word Count: 1,458 ☁

Pairing: High School Reader x Jirou ☁

World: Prince of Tennis & Katekyo Hitman Reborn! ☁

WARNING: This fic contains mentions of rape/sexual assault and has dark themes such as murder and gore. Reader discretion is advised.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Can you forgive my flaws?

Your eyes widened in fear as they stared into the brown eyes of your boyfriend. They were as wide as yours but filled with more than just fear.

Terror, disbelief, horror.

Those were the most prominent, the ones that stood out the most to you. He had every right to be terrified, you knew, but what killed you was that you didn’t know if he was terrified of you or of what he had seen. If you had to guess, you’d say it was a little bit of both.

Something like that… it’s something the young boy could never have imagined, even in his wildest of dreams, but he was seeing it now, before his very eyes.

And he knew it wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare.

8 Hours Earlier

“Y/N,” Reborn’s suave voice echoed through the Sawada household which was currently empty aside from the aforementioned man and yourself. He sipped his coffee as he waited, listening closely to the sound of your footsteps as you descended the stairs.

“What’s up, Reborn?” You asked as you grabbed a bottle of soda from the refrigerator.

“I have a new job for you. The request came in this morning.” He slid a manila folder across the table.

You blinked, setting the drink down. There was only a single sheet of paper inside the folder, bearing all of the information you needed for the new mission, including a picture of the man you were after. Your eyes slid across the lines of words, picking up a few keywords that made you realize how serious this job really was.

Rape. Murder. Child. Brutal.

Your eyes hardened as your grip tightened on the folder.

Reborn lifted his head just enough for his dark eyes to land on you, shining with infinite knowledge. “Will you accept?”

“I’ll handle it. An undercover mission isn’t something I prefer, but I have no problem with doing so. Is there a specific persona I should take on?” You threw the folder on the table in order to grab the soda.

“Dress professionally. A suit would do fine.” He sipped his coffee, his fedora pulled back down to shadow his eyes. “He will think that you’re there to tip him off to a group of young girls. When you see the opportunity to strike, do so.”

“Does Tsuna know about this?”

“…”

“I didn’t think so.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I won’t do it without his approval, Reborn. You know that.”

The corner of his lips twitched, wanting to turn into a smirk, but he held it back. “That’s fine. And while you’re waiting for Tsuna to return from his vacation in a week, think of how many innocent girls that man could have in that time. He works fast, I hear.”

Your body tensed, hand frozen in mid-air and the bottle inches from your lips which were now pressed into a fine line. Your eyes narrowed at the older man, knowing that he was messing with your mind. Even so, he was right. Men like that… they wasted no time. There’s no telling how many victims would have appeared by the time Tsuna returned.

You closed your eyes and breathed out slowly, not even realizing that you had been holding your breath.

“You’ll do it, then?” He pressed.

“Fine, I’m in. When and where?”

“Five thirty this afternoon, Hyde park.”

“I’ll be there.”

Reborn smirked as you left the kitchen.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

After getting your mission from Reborn, you returned to your own home to gather the things you’d need. Your mind was so focused on the task at hand that you were thoroughly surprised to find your boyfriend standing outside your house, waiting for you to return home.

Jirou smiled brightly when you stopped in front of him, pushing away from the door to greet you. “Hiya, Y/N-chan~!”

“Jirou… what are you doing here?”

“Oh. Well, Atobe-buchou let us out of practice early today because he had something to do. So~ I decided to come and see you!” He wrapped his arms around you, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. Feeling you tense beneath him he pulled back enough to look at your face, a frown marring his features. “You’re not busy, are you?”

“No, not at all!” You responded quickly. ‘Maybe a little too quick’, you thought when his brow furrowed. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all. I’m free until tonight.”

“Do you mind if I stay with you until then?” He asked softly, head tilting to the side. He was so adorable, you couldn’t say no even if you wanted to. Which you didn’t.

You set your hand on his cheek with a smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I don’t mind, Jirou~”

He grinned brightly, grip tightening as he nuzzled your neck again. The mission temporarily forgotten, you let your arms snake around his torso, bringing his body closer to your own.

The relationship you had with Jirou was complicated on every level, even if it didn’t seem like it at first glance. First off, there was the age difference. You were eighteen years old, fresh out of high school. Jirou had only just started high school.

You couldn’t go so far as to say he’s as innocent as his teammate, Choutarou, but he was pretty close. He was ignorant of the real horror that lie hidden within this world. He could so easily be corrupted… and that terrified you.

You were, after all, a hit-person in the strongest family in all of Japan and Italy. You killed people for a living, drew blood and put blades and knives through people’s hearts. They were all scumbags who didn’t deserve to live, but it was murder either way. Your hands were tainted with blood, but Jirou didn’t know that.

He probably didn’t even know that the mafia really existed. You didn’t want him to find out – about any of it. You didn’t want to scare him away, you didn’t want him to think that you were a monster, even if you were in reality. Your biggest fear was losing Jirou, the love of your life.

You had managed to hide it from him so far, but… just how long would that last? The thought terrified you, which was saying something considering you looked death in the face every day of your life.

“Why don’t you come inside, Jirou? It’s pretty chilly out here,” You suggested, gently pushing the younger male away before heading toward the front door. Jirou followed behind closely as you entered the silent home, heading for the kitchen. “Would you like anything to drink?”

He shook his head. “No thank you,”

“To eat, then?” You glanced at him over your shoulder before rifling through the fridge.

“Nope~”

You glanced at him again before shutting the door. “Alright then. Did you have anything in mind for us?”

His cheeks gained a little color as he looked away, grinning sheepishly. “Umm… I thought that, maybe if you wanted to, we could…” he shook his head violently before looking at you, his hands held out in front of him. “No, never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Jirou,” you called softly before approaching him. “Nothing you say is stupid. Tell me?”

He looked down at his hands in defeat. “Fine~ I was hoping we could get Fuuta-kun and go to the park. We… we had a lot of fun last time…”

“Why would that be stupid?” You blinked in confusion.

“It’s, umm…” he glanced at you before quickly looking the other way, “…really childish.”

You smiled, almost bitterly, as you placed your hand on his cheek, forcing the boy to look at you. “Who cares if it’s childish? You should enjoy your youth as long as you can, Jirou, because once you lose it… it’s gone forever.”

“Okay!” He sprung up, throwing his arms around you and bringing his lips to your own.

It was a simple, chaste kiss, but you found herself melting in it as his arms tightened, bringing your bodies closer. With that single kiss, you actually felt like things would turn out okay, but you knew that was a false sense of security. It was a lie, a bold-faced lie that liked to taunt you every time your lips met his.

But even if it was a lie, full of spite and with a bitterness that even you couldn’t believe, you would welcome it fully, because it might just be the only thing that’s keeping you sane.

All too soon, the kiss ended and Jirou was left beaming, waiting for you.

You smiled, putting your coat back on.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You sat back on the park bench, watching Fuuta and Jirou chasing each other through the trees. Seeing the two smiling and laughing, so innocent and happy; it warmed your heart and almost made you forget about who you are the sins you’ve committed. It was short-lived, though, as a scream pierced the Autumn air. You reacted on instinct, rushing toward the direction of the sound. What you found enraged you.

A young girl, maybe around fourteen or fifteen years old, was on the ground crying.

Blood dripped from an open gash on your forehead. A man much older than herself was ordering her to be quiet in hushed whispers as he held her wrist tightly.

Seeing the sight sent fury coursing through your veins. You could feel the anger beginning to take over. Blood pumped loudly in your ears, blocking out the cries of the girl and the yells of the man. Your movements were automatic, as if someone else were controlling your body. Your hand grabbed the back of the man’s dirty jacket and ripped him away from the girl.

“What the hel -”

His words were cut short when your fist connected with his face. You could feel the crunch of his nose as the bone shattered into pieces. Blood poured from his face, but you were far from done with him.

“You think this is okay?!” You punched him again, busting open his lip with your Vongola ring. “Huh?! You think it’s okay to attack someone?!” Your fist reached his gut with such a force that his feet left the ground. “She’s a fucking child!” Your last punch sent the man flying, landing flat on his back a few feet away. “You won’t hurt anyone else, mother fucker.” You pulled out a pistol from the back of your jeans and aimed it at his head.

“Please! Please! I swear I wasn’t gonna do anything! I just wanted a feel!” The man started to sob, his tears mixing with the blood that covered his face.

“And that makes it okay?” You growled out, cocking the gun. It clicked and the man started to shake.

“I’ll never do it again! I swear! I’ll change!”

Your eyes scanned the man’s face before narrowing. It was a bit difficult to tell through the blood and tears covering his face, but that was definitely the same man from the file Reborn had given her. He’s wanted for various sex acts, most of which are against minors, along with various other offenses. You remembered the conversation with Reborn and glanced at the watch on your wrist.

Five-forty in the afternoon.

Reborn knew that this guy would be here around five-thirty. You had completely forgotten about it after speaking with Jirou, who always made you forget about the horror of your job.

“Please…” The man whimpered.

“I’m supposed to bring you in alive.” You slowly lowered the gun. “But your actions are unforgivable!” As quick as lightning, you raised it again and fired.

The man’s crotch exploded in a mess of blood and skin. His screams were high pitched, grating against your head.

“Enjoy your trip to hell, asshole,” You growled before pulling the trigger once more. The bullet ripped through the air before piercing the center of his forehead.

The park was now silent. His screams stopped as soon as the bullet hit him – an instant kill. A pool of blood formed below his body at this point, slowly dripping towards you. With a scoff, you turned away from the mess only to freeze, the weapon falling from your hand. The sound echoed in your brain as it clattered on the pavement.

Your eyes widened in fear as you stared into the brown eyes of your boyfriend. They were as wide as yours but filled with more than just fear.

Terror, disbelief, horror. Those were the most prominent; the ones that stood out the most to you. He had every right to be terrified, you knew, but what killed you was that you didn’t know if he was terrified of you or of what he had seen. If you had to guess, you’d say it was a mixture of both.

Something like that… it’s something the young boy could never have imagined, even in his wildest of dreams, but he was seeing it now, before his very eyes.

And he knew it was not a dream, it was a nightmare.

“Jirou…” You swallowed hard, taking a step forward.

He only shook his head and backed away. “What have you done?”

“Let me explain. Please!”

He took off running, tears spilling from his eyes. It felt like your heart shattered into a million pieces, and he just ran off with them all. You couldn’t move; it felt as if your feet were glued to the ground as a heavy weight pushed down on your shoulders.

You honestly wanted to die.

A soft sob snapped you out of your daze and you remembered the present situation. You made your way over to the young girl who was shaking violently; though you couldn’t be sure if it was caused by your attack on the man or the attack on her by the man.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” You spoke softly, making sure to stop a foot away from her. You kneeled down and held your hand out like you were approaching a frightened animal. “You’re safe now,”

The girl only stared at you for a moment before pushing off the ground and almost flying into your arms. A new round of sobs escaped the girl’s throat, growing louder as her brain processed the situation. You wrapped your arms tightly around the girl, whispering softly into her ear in an attempt to calm her.

At the same time, you were trying very hard not to break down yourself.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

▸Part 2 of 4

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

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sixqueendom · 4 years

Text

New Fanfic: If Only You Would Listen, Chapter 3

So, after having a few requests to, I’ve decided to post my new fic on here as well as AO3. If you would prefer to read on AO3, I have included the link below! No real warnings for this one. Just the usual angst I'm sure you've grown accustomed to with my fics if you’ve read any of my previous work!

A huge thank you to Phoebe (@theatergirl06), Lilac (@timetoriseabove) and Blue (@pen-and-a-microphone) for beta-reading this fic! You guys are the best! AO3 ----------

By the time Anna returned, the house had descended into a new kind of chaos. But, instead of being fueled by the rise in tensions, it was much more frantic. The sound of the door had Jane racing down the stairs, her face full of hope, as Cathy popped her head out of the lounge, her shoulders slumping. Anna looked up as she removed her jacket, raising an eyebrow at the commotion. She hadn’t been gone long enough to provoke concern. She watched as Jane visibly deflated, lines etching her face as she frowned. Anna’s expression must have faltered, as she was quick to apologise.

“Sorry, Anna...We were hoping it was Kitty.”

Anna simply blinked, before Cathy mumbled an explanation despondently. “She left. We don’t know how long after you.”

The fact that Kitty had also walked out didn’t spark any real concern for Anna. For her, walking was her go-to when she needed headspace, so it wasn’t unfeasible to think Kitty would do the same, especially when she wasn’t used to confrontation.

“Maybe she just took a walk, like I did?” Anna glanced at her phone. 9.30pm. It wasn’t that late.

That was when Anne came downstairs, making her presence known, landing at the bottom with a louder stomp than was necessary. “Or maybe she decided to listen to your great advice?” she spat, bitterly. She folded her arms, glaring accusingly at the other Queen.

Anna felt another pang of guilt. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if Kitty had been driven to do something drastic because of what she’d said. But then, Anne’s words also made her fingers twitch in irritation.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” she insisted, maintaining her composure. She wasn’t about to give Anne the satisfaction of seeing her lose her cool.

“But she doesn’t know that! She thinks we hate her!” Anne cried in exasperation, her voice faltering as sobs began to escape from her throat. “She ran away because we made her feel like she doesn’t belong, like she doesn’t mean anything to us! We shut her out, Anna!”

Anne crumpled onto the bottom step, burying her head in her hands. Jane crouched down beside her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. But Anne hadn’t finished with Anna. After a few seconds, she lifted her head once more, her anger having resurfaced, eyes narrowing into a threatening glare.

“If anything happens to her-” she growled.

“Shouting and pinning blame is not going to help anyone!” Catherine emerged from the kitchen and strode into the middle of the hallway, arms folded, unimpressed. “We need to think where she might have gone.”

“Kit hates being alone. She’s probably terrified.” Anne clamped her eyes shut at the thought of her cousin out there, feeling abandoned and lost, driven out of her own home. She couldn’t bear it.

“But if she’s frightened she might come back here,” Cathy reassured, leaning against the wall. “Anna could be right, she might have only gone out for a breather. It would explain why she’s left her phone.”

Anne sniffed, wiping her tears away briskly. “Or, she could have run away and left it so we can’t find her.”

The insinuation made them all shift in discomfort, exchanging worried glances. After a moment, their gazes turned to Catherine, searching for guidance from the older and, arguably, wiser Queen.

“We should split up and search the places Kitty considers ‘safe spots’. Someone should also stay here in case she comes back.” Catherine’s eyes fell on Anne.

Anne was the obvious choice by elimination. Kitty was far less likely to be spooked into fleeing if she was greeted by her own cousin, someone she usually depended on to be on her side. Catherine had already ruled both herself and Anna out, given how they’d lashed out. Jane was too heavily involved; after all, Kitty had accused her of being too clingy and overbearing, and by the time she returned she might be feeling guilty. Which left Cathy and Anne. Cathy had admitted she'd made a small comment about the situation, but nothing that would necessarily provoke Kitty to be worried or scared to approach her. Yet, Anne had the upper hand. She was family.

Anne nodded in agreement, desperately trying to think of the places she frequented with Kitty.

“You should try the park...maybe the bridge? Um...she might also have gone to the Starbucks down the road, although it’ll be closing soon?”

With that, Anne prepared herself for an anxious wait at home alone in front of the TV, listening intently for any sign of her cousin returning home, whilst the other Queens scoured the local Starbucks and park for any sign of their younger counterpart.

------------------------

Having had no success with Anne’s suggestions, the group broadened their search to the surrounding streets and walking routes, but to no avail. Disheartened and tired, Catherine reluctantly called the search off at midnight. They were no use to Kitty if they were all exhausted.

As always, Cathy stayed awake long after the others had retired to bed. But tonight, she just couldn’t focus on writing. The thought of the young girl wandering the streets cold and feeling unwanted, swirled around in her head, distracting her from her work. As much as Kitty desperately wanted to be treated like the adult she was, Cathy couldn’t deny that she was vulnerable out there. Consumed with worry, Cathy gave a sigh and abandoned her desk, realising this wasn’t going to be a productive evening until she knew that Kitty was safe. She decided to make one last coffee trip downstairs, when, to her surprise, she found Anna at the kitchen table. The other Queen was staring vacantly into space, completely unaware of Cathy’s presence.

“Hey,” Cathy said softly, lingering in the doorway for a second. “You okay?”

Anna didn’t look up, merely shaking her head. “I should never have said what I did.”

Cathy gave a sigh, flicking on the kettle before joining Anna at the table, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“It’s not your fault,” she reassured. “Kit hasn’t run away because of what you said, she’s run away because of what we did. We’re all responsible for this. This isn’t your burden to bear alone, okay?”

Anne’s accusation earlier had clearly affected Anna, whittling away at her resolve like a knife. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was solely responsible for Kitty running away; that she probably wouldn’t have done it had she not been so harsh. Anne’s condemnation had only served to rub salt in the wound.

“What kind of friend says that?” Anna persisted, the guilt burning away in her chest. Her eyes pricked with tears, but she was determined not to let them fall.

Cathy poured them both a coffee, setting a mug down in front of Anna before settling back down beside her, the warmth of her mug comforting in her hands.

“Anna, listen to me. You were the first to speak against the idea of us keeping things quiet around Kit. You were being a good friend, trying to see things from her perspective. We should have spent more time considering both sides before rushing into a decision. After all, you know her better than most. That has to mean something.”

Anna finally lifted her eyes to meet the writer’s gaze, giving a watery smile. Cathy wrapped her arms around her. Despite the German usually shrinking away from hugs, she felt Anna sink into her embrace as she took a shaky breath.

“Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

-------------------------

Earlier, Jane had decided to check in on Anne before trying to sleep. She found her curled up in bed, wide awake, scrolling mindlessly through photos on her phone. Her eyes fell onto Kitty’s favourite pink teddy bear, tucked under her arm. Jane gently perched herself on the edge of the bed.

“You should try and get a little bit of rest, love,” she said softly. “You’ll need it for the morning.”

“How can I possibly sleep when she’s out there, alone and scared?” Anne’s phone slipped from her hand as she struggled to fight off the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her again. “What if she has a nightmare? There’s nobody to comfort her.”

Jane took the younger Queen’s hand in hers, stroking it soothingly with her thumb. She’d had time to contemplate her treatment of Kitty, and had come to the conclusion that perhaps she had unintentionally infantilised and underestimated her. She took a deep breath.

“I think Kitty is a lot stronger than any of us realise,” Jane admitted. “She’s a bright girl, with a good head on her shoulders…” She hesitated as Anne gave a laugh through her tears at the unintended pun, clearing her throat. “What I’m trying to say is...perhaps she’s doing this to prove a point? That she is capable of being independent and not needing someone’s hand to hold all the time.”

Jane dropped her gaze, her voice lowered to a murmur. “I guess, it’s kind of my fault. I was just...too wrapped up in trying to be a mother figure to her that I forgot all that. I guess I was just so desperate for her to stay younger for as long as possible because-” She broke off, her lip quivering at the threat of fresh tears.

It made sense. Every parent wants their child to stay young for as long as possible to cherish those special moments and milestones for longer. They dread the day their little one becomes an adult and no longer needs them, spending less time with them as a result. Suddenly, all the quality time spent painting or building forts in the living room become just memories, never to be experienced again. Not only that, but in Jane’s case, she’d never gotten the chance to see her son grow, so it was only natural that she wanted to fuss over Kitty for as long as possible, whilst she still could. Jane was clinging steadfast to what little remained of the child in Kitty, the part Kitty was desperate to detach from.

Anne immediately sat up to console the older woman, throwing her arms around her.

“Don’t ever blame yourself for that, Jane,” she said firmly. “If there’s one thing I understand, it’s that maternal instincts don’t ever go away. They are always there. There’s not a day I don’t miss Elizabeth and wish I could go back and relive those precious days with her as a little girl.”

Suddenly, Anne was in the garden at Greenwich Palace, the summer air filled with her little girl’s bubbly laughter as she tumbled and played. It was a sound Anne heard frequently in her dreams, one that she missed so dearly. Pulling away from Jane and shaking her head to dispel the memory, Anne composed herself.

“It’s okay to want to try and experience what you didn’t get to with Edward. Just...maybe be mindful that perhaps Kitty doesn’t quite understand how you feel? You love her so much, you’d have to be blind to not see that. Maybe Kitty just needs some space every now and then? To do her own thing.”

Jane gave a weak smile, nodding in acknowledgement, her eyes cast down to her lap. After a moment, she looked up at Anne again. “Would you like some company?”

Anne’s shoulders fell as she bit her lip. Shaking her head, she gave Jane an apologetic look, before having second thoughts. “Unless…?” came her weak reply.

Now it was Jane’s turn to shake her head, giving the younger Queen a reassuring smile, though Anne could see it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“No, no, I’m fine, love. I just wanted to pop in and make sure you were okay, that’s all.”

At that, the older woman planted a kiss on Anne’s forehead before bidding her goodnight, closing the door behind her.

As Anne curled back up in bed, a sinking feeling of guilt filled her chest. The truth was, she had only declined Jane’s offer in case Kitty came home during the night. She wanted her cousin to know that she could always rely on her for a safe space, that there was always room for her.

Clutching Kitty’s teddy bear tightly to her chest, Anne prayed that she was safe.

#six fanfiction

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hannigramficrecs · 4 years

Text

A/B/O

Alpha Mine by slashyrogue [words: 2,308]

Hannibal had always thought of his second gender as a weapon until he met Will Graham or Omega Hannibal has the hots for Will Graham who's too much of a gentleman to notice until it's too late.

Truly, Madly, Deeply by slashyrogue [words: 52,811]

They meet by chance at a Christmas Party and share a kiss that seals their fate.

Wage Your War by Della19 [words: 57,669]

A fic about omega Will Graham manipulating alpha Hannibal Lecter into getting exactly what he wants.

Arrangement by YouAreMyDesign [words: 11,185]

It's been a while since he was able to move within his house without listening to Abigail fussing, for any number of reasons. Desperation would make her hungry enough to take the occasional bottle, but he can't fight the feeling of supreme relief he feels, hearing a quiet house, knowing that his daughter will be well-fed and taken care of by such a sweet, young omega, with evident powerful maternal instincts.

Tender Loving Care by extremelyperturbed [words: 2,424]

AU in which Alphas during their Rut are as weak as Omegas in Heat. Driven by pheromones, they have only one thing on their mind and forget completely about water, food and sleep, and their Omegas have to care about them, feed them, calm them and make them rest.

Surrogacy by anon [words: 12,966]

Will is broke, unable to afford college. Instead of working multiple jobs or in something he would not appreciate, he decides to sign up at a surrogate agency. He meets the Lecter's, an alpha/alpha relationship where Alana is unable to have children, yet Hannibal wishes to carry on his lineage. They meet with Will, finding him exactly what they want in a surrogate. Only, it is not as simple as having Hannibal's child.

Railroad Track by rainbowdracul: [words: 19,942]

Will is an omega rendered undesirable by his vivid nightmares, sleepwalking, and hysteria. He's certain he's going to die a miserable spinster.Then he meets the handsome, successful Doctor Hannibal Lecter, who is instantly smitten and sweeps Will away. At first ecstatic, Will's visions slowly grow darker and focus on the serial killer known as the Chesapeake Ripper, as cracks begin to appear in his "perfect" mate.

Child Bride by IcarusFeathers [words: 4,378]

When Hannibal Lecter first met his intended, his child bride had asked rather innocently "are you my new daddy?" and he hadn't wanted to disappoint.

Tribe Mother by YouAreMyDesign [words: 19,071]

"I ask for his head and you bring me his whole body," Will murmurs. "I wonder if I should expect the same in all aspects of our life together."Hannibal smiles, not pausing from his work. "Ask me for a bite to eat and I will bring you a feast," he promises. "A river in place of a glass of water. Endless hours of pleasure when commanded to give a single kiss."

Dahlia by YouAreMyDesign [words: 12,435]

Hannibal merely stares at him, and wonders if the lamb's wool was hiding this wolf all along. "I know what you did to me. What you've done to all those omegas in the press. Butchered, childless, discarded like the trash they are."

Chesapeake Mafia by Anna_Jay [words: 21,704]

Hannibal is the leader of the mafia organization that continually evade capture from Agent Jack Crawford. However, when Jack catches wind of who the leader's mate is, he does whatever he can to take Hannibal down. Will, who is Hannibal's pregnant mate is not too keen on the idea of being used as bait.

Dissolving Like the Setting Sun by PKA [words: 3,422]

In this universe, Will doesn't suffer from encephalitis, but from a prolonged heat sickness. When he visits Hannibal with Abel Gideon in tow, things escalate.

A Keepsake by HigherMagic [words: 3,318]

As Alpha, when they'd mated, Will was legally his property, to do with as he sees fit – a set of laws Hannibal despises, and Will knows he despises, for they are equals in all things and no bite mark, no ability to knot, no ability to bear young, will change that.But the fact of the matter remains that their past was a product of Hannibal's designs. Now it's Will's turn.

Knot Me, Please by anon [words: 5,285]

Will is a young rescue omega that was saved from a mill, and Bedelia acquires him to breed and have pups with her pedigree alpha, Hannibal, once his first heat hits.

Footprints in Snow by scorpiobabylon [words: 12,509]

Hannibal is held at gunpoint by a pregnant omega in the woods. They fall in love, of course, on the omega's terms.

Marks by FireFleshAndBlood [words: 4,414]

The details of a case overwhelm Will's better judgment and he finds himself craving what he thought he never wanted.

Au Jus by canis_m [words: 2,311]

On the hunt for the Minnesota Shrike, Will goes into heat early. Good thing there's a doctor on call.

Imbalanced Perfection by Watermelonsmellinfellon [words: 7,276]

Will Graham was an Omega. However, there was something wrong internally. His instincts as an Omega were nonexistent due to an imbalance of chemicals in the body, meaning he felt no need to submit to Alphas, and disliked being ordered around. While his Heats were ever present and surely something he dealt with each year, he wasn’t considered ‘good enough’ and wasn’t wanted by anyone. Then Hannibal came along.

Shadowing by stratumgermanitivum and YouAreMyDesign [words: 12,725]

“I’m very strict with my interns,” the doctor says slowly, his eyes on Will’s, never drifting. “In fact, I had asked them not to assign me any more. Unfortunately, I was the only surgeon available to take on extra duties. My expectations for you and your behavior will be high. I have fired interns before, and while I didn’t relish the experience, I won’t hesitate to do so again.”

Sick Day by sku7314977 [words: 26,944]

Will misses his scheduled appointment and Hannibal visits Wolf Trap to see what’s keeping his favorite not-patient from visiting his office. When he comes by Will’s house expecting to find the assumed Beta curled in bed sick he’s caught off guard by the thick musk of hormones attacking his olfactory telling him of an unexpected Omega in heat.

More or Less by acheforhim [words: 6,696]

Will imprints on Lecter as soon as he meets him.

Sweet As Peaches On the Tongue by Dangereuse [words: 8,452]

Hannibal finds omega Will much younger than anyone suspected.

Feral by stratumgermanitivum [words: 2,397]

“Will,” Jack Crawford growls down the line, “Tell me Hannibal Lecter never confided in you that he was an Omega.” “Oh, shit.” “Oh, shit,” Jack agrees.

Predicaments by stratumgermanitivum [words: 3,865]

The good thing about being bonded was that eventually, your cycles synced up. Heats and ruts could still be triggered by outside circumstances, but generally, both you and your partner suffered together, instead of alone. Will had always been more or less regular, heats coming every three months, give or take a few days. Hannibal was like clockwork, a perfectly scheduled three-day weekend every three months. When they got together, they synchronized almost immediately. Will was busy, however. He didn’t always remember to track his heat- he had Hannibal for that. He didn’t realize he was late until he came home to a red-eyed Alpha growling at him from the doorway of the kitchen.

Wrong by HotMolasses [words: 4,257]

Will roughly rubbed his arm across his mouth again, trying to rub it off. Rub off the scent of Alana, after they’d kissed. After she’d kissed him. Or he’d kissed her? It was mutual. Until it wasn’t. Until Will breathed in her scent, so familiar, so Alpha, so…wrong. He’d pulled back forcibly, unable to hide the expression of revulsion on his face. “I…I need to go.” he said, sweeping his coat off the back of a chair on his way towards the door. “Lock up when you leave.” The weather was crap, and it probably wasn’t smart to drive in the snow while he was in pre-heat, but Will didn’t know what else to do. He needed to figure this out, he needed to talk to the only person who understood him. He needed to talk to Hannibal.

1 (25/25)

#hannibal fic rec #hannigram #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal #hannigram fanfiction #abo

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technicallysideacc · 4 years

Text

I was tagged by @theleavesoflorien and @stronghaz to do a couple of memes (Thank youuu <3333 I love doing these things!)

Song titles

Rules: only using song titles from one artist/band, cleverly answer the questions and tag 10 people

Artist: Paul McCartney

What’s your gender? Mrs. Vandebilt

How are you feeling? Hope for the future

If you could go anywhere? London Town

Favourite mode of transportation? I Don’t Know

Your best friend? My Valentine

Favourite time of day? Beautiful Night

If your life was a tv show? My Brave Face

Relationship status? No words (for my love)

50 questions you’ve never been asked

1. What is the colour of your hairbrush? grey and boring

2. A food you never eat? I never eat fish (which I should but... ) or seafood, I just hate the taste!

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? I tend to get cold easier (but I always bear it with more dignity than when I get too warm hahaha)

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? I was just finishing work while I drank some tea! I was correcting some Writing assignments from 6th graders, and then sending a couple audio messages to another teacher to properly coordinate.

5. What is your favourite candy bar? “Kinder Bueno”❤️

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports event? Yeah, several times! When I was 12-13 I was really into football, so I went to lots of matches in the Camp Nou (the Barça stadium) both of Barça and the national team. I also attended to several rugby matches, even if I didn’t really like it, because my dad was a city council worker and all of them had free passes, for some reason... and it quickly became “our thing”.

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? I said “but that’s awfuuul and I hate iiiit”, because the other teacher had just told me that we’re supposed to keep correcting assignments simply indicating the mistakes so that the kids can find the correct way of saying things themselves, and that this process can be repeated as many times as it takes for the kid to find the solution.

8. What is your favourite ice cream? Mint chocolate chip! 🌿😍

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? A cup of black tea with a dash of milk

10. Do you like your wallet? Yes! It’s a colourful one that my parents bought me for my birthday, a couple years ago!

11. What was the last thing you ate? It was a banana, as a desert! (I had lunch a couple hours ago)

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? Hahaha not really! Since the quarantine situation happened, I haven’t been able to leave my home and all shops are closed, so...

13. The last sporting event you watched? Ugh, honestly, who knows?😂 It must’ve been a long time ago, but most likely a football match during the last World cup?

14. What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? Salted popcorn all the way! I worked in a popcorn stand back when I was 16, and it was the worst work experience of my life, I still get war-flashbacks! Since then I’ve hated sweet popcorn with a passion, it’s like my brain still remembers what a nightmare it was to clean the machine that made them 😂

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to? It was another workmate - a teacher with whom I need to organise preschool activities.

16. Ever go camping? I’ve never done it, no!

17. Do you take vitamins? Not right now, but I usually have to take some to help strengthen my throat area, since I get lots of sore throats during the school year.

18. Do you go to church every sunday? Hahaha not really, no! I only do it for special occasions - weddings, comunions, all that!

19. Do you have a tan? I’m probably one of the less tanned people to ever live in Spain😂

20. Do you prefer chinese food or pizza? Both are GREAT, but if I really have to choose, I’d go with pizza

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw? No, unless I’m at the cinema and I’ve got one of those plastic containers!

22. What colour socks do you usually wear? I like my socks colourful, and sometimes with cute patterns, so all colours, really!

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? I’ve never driven a car, so no!

24. What terrifies you? Almost everything, probably! A huge phobia to bees and wasps stands out, though!

25. Look to your left, what do you see? The empty cup of tea, a pen and a paper with some handwritten notes related to work.

26. What chore do you hate? Sweeping is the thing that I hate the most, it’s so boring and as soon as you’ve done it, everything is dirty again 😂

27. What do you think of when you hear an australian accent? Not a lot, really! I’m not that good at recognising Australian accents if I’m honest!

28. What’s your favourite soda? Coca-cola!

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? Since I don’t drive, I usually go and eat it in the fast food place. But I’m not big on fast food in general :)

30. Who’s the last person you talked to? That teacher I was sending the furious audio message to 😂

31. Favourite cut of beef? I don’t really have one!

32. Last song you listened to? Oh Love - Green Day 🥰🎸

33. Last book you read? It’s been a while since I read anything other than fics really hahaha

34. Favourite day of the week? Friday!

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards? Probably I could, if I focused on it enough!

36. How do you like your coffee? Half coffee, half milk, two spoons of sugar!

37. Favourite pair of shoes? A nice pair of ballet flats I bought some months ago. So cute and comfy at the same time!

38. At what time do you normally go to bed? In a normal routine, between 11 and 12. Right now, around 2 am.

39. At what time do you normally get up? In a normal routine, at 6. Right now, around 9 am.

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Sunsets!

41. How many blankets are on your bed? Only one. But I always put one of those hot water bottles to stay warm ❤️

42. Describe your kitchen plates? They’re a very nice shade of pastel green! We bought them when we moved to this flat 6 years ago!

43. Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? Gin&tonic all the way!!! But I also love white wine and baileys

44. Do you play cards? Not really!

45. What colour is your car? I don’t have a car haha (so many car-related questions!)

46. Can you change a tire? aksfhakfsjhkashf I’m sure I would NEVER be able to do that, for the life of me. Like, I wouldn’t even know how to start hahaha

47. What is your favourite state/province? Catalonia, of course ❤️

48. Favourite job you’ve ever had? Some years ago, I worked as an English teacher in an academy. It was a job that, in terms of personal development, was leading nowhere and I was also not being paid a lot, that’s why I eventually quit and went on to work at the school, which is my current one... but it was such a nice job. So fullfilling, with such nice work environment. I remember laughing SO MUCH every day! I still miss it, to this day❤️

49. How did you get your biggest scar? I was around 7-8 years old, and I was playing in the house with my sis. We were pretending to be frogs and jumping all around, and apparently at one point I jumped into a very pointy corner of one of those old computer tables (you know, the ones that have wheels so that you could move the computer from one room to the other), which caused a really big gash on the side of my upperbody. They stitched me, but it left a pretty big scar, unfortunatelly.

50. What did you do today that made someone else happy? I tried to be kind and encouraging when answering to the kids who were sending me their assignments. I don’t know if that made them happy, but it definitely was my intention :)

I haven’t been able to keep track on who has already did these, so if anyone wants to do any of these memes, consider this your tag! 🥰

#memes #personal #about me

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melissatreglia · 4 years

Text

Date Night

(This was originally a Tumblr RP between @southerndragontamer and myself that occurred in January 2018. The two of us spent the evening yesterday editing it into a fic format. The dialogue included here is also what @ellynore-moonwood‘s “Meaning of Love” audio was based on.

I hope you enjoy this little piece, just in time for Valentine’s Day, of the Hellgod and His beloved Grace spending a little quality time together. Also: You’re pretty much guaranteed to get cavities from this sweetness. Enjoy! :D )

Melissa ran into the living room at the sound of a brief, almost polite, horn beep. Peering through the front window’s curtains, she saw a brand-new black with silver detailing Chrysler 300C pull up to the curb.

Nice set of wheels. She couldn’t deny the blatant jealousy she felt at someone else driving her dream car.

Of course, she already knew who the driver was, waiting in that vehicle. And He wasn’t looking for her. Thankfully. Hell, this wasn’t even her apartment. She was just here to housesit while while her friend took a much-deserved night off.

“Gracie!” Melissa called in the general direction of the bedroom, hoping she was done with nervously double-checking herself in the mirror. “Your ride’s here!”

Hearing Melissa’s call, Grace took a deep breath, smoothing out the red dress stenciled with black roses she was wearing. She grabbed the black over-the-shoulder purse and headed downstairs.

The two women gave each other a quick hug.

“Thanks, Melissa, see you later.” Grace headed out the door, a smile breaking onto her face when she saw Dark.

“Hello again, My King,” she said, a rush of nerves hitting her. I hope He likes the dress, she thought. She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear, showing off black diamond studs.

“You look handsome, Dark. I hope I measure up.”

Dark met her halfway along the front walk, looking rather smart Himself in black. But then again, He did have a flair for style.

“You look ravishing tonight, dearest,” He told Grace, placing a gentle kiss against her cheek. Then He offered her His arm to lead her to the car.

She blushed deeply at the compliment, and the sweet gesture. He always knows how to make me blush. Smiling, she took Dark’s arm so He could lead her to the car. I may not know much about cars, but this is a beautiful machine.

Once they were at the vehicle, He opened the front passenger door so she could make herself comfortable. The door was shut, and He walked around the nose of the car, and had gotten into the driver’s seat. The usual matter of seatbelts – and in Grace’s case, a seat adjustment – were dealt with. She made herself comfortable, leaning her legs against the door. As her dress came to her calves, it left her scar visible.

Now that the two of them were relatively alone, He looked over to her in the passenger seat, a tender expression softening His severe features. “I thought we could enjoy a quiet dinner tonight, just the two of us, so I made reservations at a lovely restaurant that serves French cuisine. Are you ready?”

The tender expression on Dark’s face made her heart beat faster. She smiled softly. “It sounds wonderful, My King. Thank You.”

The car pulled away from the curb, and they headed to the restaurant. He held her hand as He drove them there, with one hand on the wheel.

“I have to admit,” He said conversationally. “There is something to be said for traveling in this manner. The sights of the world around us passing by… It’s rather pleasant.”

She nodded in agreement, squeezing His hand. She watched as the lights overhead played over Dark’s face through the driver side window and blushed.

“Yes, there are certainly some beautiful sights.” She winked at Dark, smiling softly.

He glanced at her out of the corner of His eye, a slight smirk playing on His face.

She blushed at Dark’s smirk, inwardly breathing in relief. Okay, first-time flirting went well. Now to try again, and hopefully not fall flat on my face, later.

The drive didn’t take long, and He found a rather convenient place to park, right in front of the establishment. It’s name, Printemps, was in elegant script on the rather ornate-looking sign in front.

As the restaurant came into view, her eyes widened. This is one of the best places in town! Oh boy, hope I don’t stick out much, she thought, tugging at her sleeve nervously.

The restaurant didn’t seem to be busy. In fact, when He ushered her in, it appeared to be completely empty. The fact the place is empty, threw her for a loop, as it’s usually almost packed on the weekend. When He had said He made reservations, that had clearly been an understatement.

“I reserved the entirety of the establishment in your honour,” He said. “So we could dine in privacy and comfort.”

Grace’s jaw dropped. “D-Dark I, this is…. I have no words for how amazed and touched I am, that You did this.”

“I would give you all the worlds I have ever known on a diamond chain, if you asked it of Me.” He smiled at her. “But I know you would not ask. So, allow Me this indulgence, My love.”

The admission threw Grace for another loop, even as His smile made her blush. He’s completely serious! How did I ever find anyone this perfect? she wondered and nodded, trying to shake off the amazement so she could speak. “Oh… Okay. Thank You.”

He ushered her to a comfortable seating arrangement, offering a view of the greenery of the local park outside. Though, arguably the best seating was literally anywhere and everywhere, as they had the entire building’s floor plan to choose from.

But the menus were already there, waiting for them. Grace stared at her menu, the prices swirling around in her head, and she bit her lip in dismay. I know I don’t have to worry, she thought. But I still don’t want to spend too much.

Finally, she took a deep breath and set it down. Grace tucked a lock of hair behind an ear and asked shyly, “Dark, I’m a bit out of my element here. Um, would You mind ordering for me?”

The waiter came up to them, bearing a bottle of fine wine in a bucket of ice. She cringed slightly inwardly upon seeing the wine bottle.

“Sorry, um I don’t drink. Can I have some water, please?”

“Of course, darling,” Dark replied, glancing up from His own menu. “Anything you want.” He glanced at the waiter, after the wine had been poured in Dark’s wine glass. “You heard the lady.”

“Yes, Sir,” the young man replied. “Shall I also give you both time to decide?”

“That would be advisable, yes.”

“Very well, Sir.” The waiter gave a nod that was closer to a shallow bow and, turning smartly on his heel, headed towards the kitchen.

“Is there anything in particular you enjoy, My dear Grace?”

She smiled at Dark. “Thank You, My King.”

As the young server left, Grace bit her lip again. Well dangit. This is where my southern upbringing kicks me a little in the behind, I have no clue about this kind of cuisine, she thought and laughed, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly.

“Dark, to tell the truth I have no idea about French cuisine. I’m uh, flying blind as it were.” Hesitating only a second, she reached over the table and held her palm out, a mirror of Dark, on their first date. “I trust You to guide me, My King.”

He chuckled and grasped her hand briefly. Blushing at His chuckle, she smiled and squeezed His hand gently in return.

With His free hand, He flipped through the menu, deciding relatively quickly. “Ah, I think I have a notion of what you might like.”

The waiter returned with the ice water Grace requested, and Dark signaled to him. “You are ready to order, Sir?”

“The lady will have the coq au vin and soupe à l’oignon. And I will have the boeuf tartare and blanquette de veau.”

Grace’s eyes widened when He spoke the French words so fluidly. Why did I have to have a thing for deep voices, and foreign languages?!

The waiter took the menus away. “Your order will arrive shortly, Sir,” he said, before disappearing into the kitchen again.

Dark looked at Grace for a long moment, His near-onyx eyes seemed to probe. “You seem troubled, My dear. I know there has been quite a bit going on in your life, but you know you can talk to Me about it, whenever you like.”

She squirmed slightly under Dark’s onyx eyes. Feels like He can see into my soul, and that wouldn’t be far from the truth. She sighed, smiling weakly. If anyone would notice, of course it would be You, My King. She took a small drink of her water to steady her nerves, squeezing His hand once again.

“For the past little while… I-I’ve been having nightmares. I had one again just last night a-and it was bad.” Grace shuddered, the horrible images flashing back the forefront of her mind.

“I am so sorry to hear that, My Grace.” He gently placed His other hand atop hers, so that her small hand is gently captured between both of His larger ones. “Do you wish to discuss it?”

She smiled as she heard the honesty in His voice, as she felt His hands covering hers, the protective and gentle gesture soothing the images away.

She bit her lip a moment. I want to tell Him. I know He’s seen, heard and done worse then what happened in my nightmare, but can I handle seeing it again, this soon? She wondered to herself, though part of her already knew the answer. “I-I want to tell You Dark, honest. I-I just it was really bad for me. Then again that’s why they’re called nightmares, I suppose.” Another shudder occurred as the nightmare flashes to the forefront again. She took a drink of water and said softly, deciding to give a cliff notes version.

“To put it simply, I-I saw, I saw Reaper take away everyone, everything I cared about. A-And I couldn’t do anything to stop them. I-I’d say more but I don’t know if I can take seeing it again in my head. Not this soon at any rate, but I actually wrote it down, afterwards as a kind of release. I can show You later, if You want to see it?”

“I understand, dearest. We don’t have to talk about it right this moment.” He gently patted her hand, with the one covering it. ”But know that I will do everything within My power to set this matter right.”

She smiled softly. “I know You will, My King. Thank You,” she squeezed His Hand, the one that she was holding in gratitude. Grace then smiled teasingly and asked, remembering their first date. “Could You lean over a moment, Dark? I can’t reach You from here.”

He gave a deep, quiet laugh. She grinned at Dark’s laugh, even as it made her blush. They’ve played this little game before.

He leaned His tall frame over the table, enough for her to easily reach Him. She leaned forward the rest of the way, minimizing the space between them, and kissed Him sweetly.

Dark’s lips met with hers in a gentle moment of affection. He placed His hand at the back of her head, fingers partly laced within her hair, to prolong the kiss. She whimpered softly, grabbing at His suit, instinctively wanting to pull Him closer.

There was an awkward throat-clearing beside them. Dark glanced away and, seeing their waiter, stifled a groan.

“I… uh, have your meals. Sir. Ma’am.”

Dark sighed and pulled away from Grace, sitting back in His seat. “Fine.”

Grace sat back down as well, smiling apologetically at the waiter. “I’m sorry if we just scarred you.”

Dark snorted at that. Doubtful.

She giggled. I’m still not used to Him sounding so human sometimes.

The waiter replied briskly, “Of course not, ma’am. I’m sorry for… uh, interrupting.”

Grace gave the young server a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. You’re just doing your job. Thank you.”

Dark raised an eyebrow, but what would be a murderous expression was considerably softened, into something only those who really knew Him would realize was less fierce.

She smiled a little wider. Maybe I’m rubbing off on Him a bit, too.

The waiter quickly and efficiently provided them with the dishes of their meals, and added his hope that they enjoyed before walking away from them.

Her gaze switched between the soup and chicken, unsure of which to go for first. Then Grace shrugged and decided to eat alternately.

Both quietly enjoyed their meals. Though there wasn't much talking over the dinner table, there was a comfortable sense of companionship.

As they finished the meal, a curiosity came back to her. Grace asked, tilting her head in a catlike fashion. “My King, can humans learn to speak in demon language?”

“It is very difficult to speak, as the human voice is not equipped to emulate all the aural sounds that demonkind can produce. But some simple words can be learned,” He replied.

She grinned excitedly, feeling like a kid on Christmas. “Would You teach me what’s possible for a human to learn? Please, Dark?”

“What words would you like to know?”

She bit her lip nervously. Oh boy, here we go… she thought and took a deep breath.

“I-I actually have two reasons for asking this of You. The first is I just honestly want to learn. It seems like a fascinating language. And the second reason is, um...” She took a drink of water and another deep breath.

“Dark, do You remember the translator You gave me, for when You laid a very much earned and very satisfying to read, smackdown on Reaper? There were a few words that didn’t translate fully, and I understand why. Like You said it isn’t a perfect method. I ran the words that couldn’t be translated a second time, on their own, to try to figure them out. Two of them got no results... but one of them did. Would You like to know which one?”

He nodded. “I know My language was rather harsh that day, but I will not mind hearing what piqued your interest.”

Grace smirked, chuckling. “Your language was well-earned, and very satisfying to read. It made me feel better with how angry I had been at the time.” Her nerves came back and she smiled weakly. “Um, sorry if I mangle this, My King. I’m just saying how it seems to be spelled.” She took a deep breath and repeated the word, hoping He wouldn’t mind her awkward guess at the pronunciation. “Zoqa.”

He glanced away for a moment, as if hesitant to speak.

She blushed, in embarrassment this time. I hope I didn’t mangle it horribly.

“Zoqa,” He finally said, pronouncing it as ‘zah-kuh’. “It is one of relatively few kind words in demonic language for a loved one, specifically for an intimate companion. It is used to refer to one’s Mate.

“You see, My kind rarely find such love. But, when we do, it is for life. The word zoqa encompasses every tender feeling that one has for their most cherished beloved.”

Her jaw dropped. Holy crap, I-I knew it meant Mate, b-but this?! Oh. My. God. Her eyes widened. That means H-He-! Her thoughts became a whirl at the realization. She took a long drink of water, a deep breath and placed her other hand, on top of His.

“Dark, I never dreamed that I would find anyone. Especially anyone like You, who would want me. But I did, by some miracle of chance I found You. This relationship is a two way street. You're leading me down it, and it’s my job to make sure You don’t trip, right? We can look after each other.” She squeezed His hands, smiling softly. Then she swallowed hard.

“Dark, I-I’ve felt this way about You, for a really long time. Since Raspy Hill, I think. Though I had no clue what I was feeling and mostly ignored it. But, by the time I found Melissa’s blog, I realized what it was.” Grace took another breath and closed her eyes a moment, preparing herself for something she never thought she’d say.

It’s too late to stop now. This is it. Her voice was soft and full of the emotion she was confessing. “Dark, I-I love You.”

He closed His eyes, breathed in as if to savour a bouquet of fragrance contained in this moment, in those words she told Him.

“There are so many words in human languages to describe the depth of one’s feeling for another. But only this one word from My world truly describes how I feel for you.” He took her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it in a courtly fashion. “I have not felt this way in some time, and I thought I never would again.

“I know not from where it came, or how it happened, but I know this one thing. Now that I have found you, I could not bear to lose you.”

Happy tears gathered in Grace’s eyes as she smiled at Him. Her heart felt full to bursting with all the emotion that she held for the Hellgod in front of her. He feels the same. Holy Hell. I-I never thought-I never imagined. I’m so lucky.

She blushed at the sweet gesture and squeezed His hands, gently. “I don’t want to lose you either, Dark. I-I don’t think I could bear it, either.”

He smiled back at her, and reached a hand up to brush away her tears. Grace couldn’t seem to stop smiling as Dark wiped her tears away, careful of her glasses. She laughed softly, idly noting that her cheeks hurt.

“I have not been so happy in a very long time, My love, as I am tonight.”

“I don’t think I have either, My King.” I never knew that you could feel this happy. Guess that’s why they say love is like a drug. It causes bliss.

He then sighed. “Regrettably, this idyll we are sharing cannot last forever. The hour grows late, and no doubt you need to rest.”

She nodded sheepishly, seeing the time. “It is getting late it seems, though I’m a little leery of more nightmares waiting for me, when I go to bed.”

Slowly, reluctantly, He stood. “Shall I take you home then, darling?”

She nodded and stood, taking Dark’s arm. “Please do, My King.”

With the payment and a sizable tip left on the table, they departed the quiet establishment and headed for His car. Outside, the winter chill picked up, swirling around them. Grace began to shiver, rubbing her arms for warmth, as the cold air seemed to seep right into her marrow. Downsides of a dress? Thin fabric.

Seeing her shiver, He immediately took His jacket off and placed it over her shoulders in gentlemanly fashion. “I won’t have you catch your death of cold now, darling.”

She was charmed by the gesture, and clutched at the coat tightly, surprised to find it warm despite the apparent chill of Dark’s Vessel. She smiled at Him, nuzzling a little into the coat. “Thank You, Dark.”

A stray, curious thought came to mind, and she snapped her mouth shut before she could blurt it out to Him. The blush returned to her pale features.

“You are quite welcome.” He chuckles at the renewed flush to her features. “And you are blushing again, My beauty. Tell Me, what has you so flustered?”

Frick, of course He’d ask! She began to fiddle with the sleeves of the coat, and stammered, her ears, face and throat burning from keen embarrassment. “Um I-I w-was gonna ask, um i-if You wanted t-to, put Your tie around my neck, t-too. B-But I-I realized h-how it sounded, so I-I didn’t.”

He laughed quietly. “Well, that can be taken in many, many ways, My dear. I sometimes forget that, in some respects, you are an innocent.”

He easily removed His tie, and gently twined it around her neck as if it were a scarf. “I imagine that’s what you want, to be as warm as possible, rather than some other choices.”

His laugh made her blush somehow get deeper. My body and soul are innocent, my mind not so much. She trembled softly, as His fingers ghosted around her neck. His tie like His suit seemed to be, and probably was, silk. So soft, dang. No wonder people make it into pajamas.

Hyper-aware of the softness around her neck, trying not to let her mind wander into the same place as earlier, she stammered, “Th-Thank You, My King.”

She took Dark’s arm, resting her head on it and tried to get her blush to go down. Chills suddenly went down her spine, and the hair on the back of her neck rose. Uh oh.

She whispered softly. “Dark, is there someone following us? Or watching us? I just got a bad feeling.”

“There is, indeed,“ He said very quietly. “But keep walking. I will handle this.” He let go of her arm. The car was only a few short feet away, and He hit the button on the key fob to unlock the doors, so she could get in.

Understanding, she nodded. Not the time to try and help. You can’t really fight in this dress, Grace, and Dark can handle Himself. She whispered, “Please be careful, My King.” She kept walking to the car, pace picking up slightly. Grace quickly got in, and buckled the seat belt. She watched Dark from the front view window, biting her lip nervously.

Dark turned in the fashion of someone who hadn’t a care in the world to the two men who had been following them. The fact that it was only two muggers was reassuring to Grace. At least it wasn’t a gang, that may have potentially given Dark problems.

One of the men was carrying a tire iron and, though iron would still burn Him, He blocked the swing with His forearm. Twisting the implement away from the man, He took a solid swing with the iron, knocking the man to the ground.

The iron dropped from Dark’s scalded hand.

Grace bit back a worried cry. Fuck that’s not good! Iron is one of the few things that hurts Him! She wanted to simultaneously yell and slap Him. Dark, don’t You dare hurt Yourself! DARK, NO! Oh, You stubborn Hellgod!

The second man, out of anger for his injured associate, began to run forward in an attempt to close the gap. Dark made a flourish with His uninjured hand in the empty air like an orchestra conductor, and the man’s neck snapped like a twig.

When the man dropped like a puppet whose strings were cut, she cringed, realizing what had happened. Sorry. You picked the wrong person, the wrong couple, to try and rob. But I hope you find peace.

Dark glanced at the first man, the surviving member of the pair of muggers. His voice carried the demonic echo He’d been holding back all night. “If you value your life, run.”

Dark’s voice, His real voice made her tremble. She could feel it rumbling through the car.

The mugger didn’t have to be told twice. He ran as if the Devil were hot at his heels. Which wouldn’t be too terribly far from the truth.

Dark gave the moment no more thought than brief annoyance at the injury to His hand, and headed for the driver’s side of His car.

When Dark opened the door, and got in, she saw His hand. She gasped, eyes widening. It’s a bad burn, she would guess second, almost third degree, already blistering and peeling.

“Dark, Your hand! It’s worse than I thought!” Grace took it, very gently in both of hers. Careful to keep her fingers away from the injury

“How bad does it hurt, My King?”

He gave a quiet hiss as He flexed His hand, as if to try to reassure Himself that there’s still feeling in the digits. “It is not as painful as it could be,” He said.

Grace fixed Dark with a glare, chocolate eyes hard and serious, then she took one hand away from His injured one. And slapped His arm.

“This is why we do not pick up iron pipes! This looks bad, Dark. If You were human, I would have You drive to a hospital. As is, I have another idea.” She fished into her bag and speed dialed home.

“Hey Melissa? Get the first aid kit. No! No, no I’m fine! I promise! It’s Dark, the stubborn Hellgod...He picked up an iron pipe. He confronted a couple muggers, yes, I’m sure I’m fine. Uh huh, yeah we’re leaving now. Yes, I’ll keep hold of His hand so He won’t make it worse. Thank you Melissa, see you soon.” She hung up, and breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, one part done, now the other. She took Dark’s injured hand with her free one again and fixed Him with another glare.

“Dark, don’t You DARE endanger Yourself like that again! I know, it was just a pipe, But what if they had had a gun, instead of a pipe?! I-I couldn’t stand to see You shot, not again. I-I know it isn’t fatal to You, but it took You so long to heal, the last time. I-I-” She cut myself off, throat tight with the remembered pain. She clutched His injured hand tighter, still careful not to touch the burn. She whispered, heart aching at the thought of Dark being hurt.“I-I couldn’t stand it, if You were hurt that bad again Dark. Please, be more careful, My King?”

Dark accepted the thorough dressing-down with the dignity of one who is facing the inevitable. He’d hardly blinked at the slap to His arm. “Understood, My dear.”

Grace smirked and chirped.“Good! Glad we understand each other.” She giggled and teased, “I’ll be the voice of reason, in Your normal insanity.”

He then smirked. “But that is why I have you, I suppose. To prevent Me from overestimating the durability of this Vessel, or of becoming overconfident in My abilities where caution is more advisable. And, failing that, to pick up the pieces of My own foolhardy self from the pavement.”

She cringed at the image her mind conjured of seeing Dark drop to the ground, in pain and bleeding. Calling out for her, for help. She gave Him a pleading look. “Don’t joke like that, not right now, please?” Don’t start crying Grace, not now. You can when you get home. “Let’s get home Dark, we have to see about Your hand.”

His smile faded, and His voice became soft. His sobered expression seemed almost earnest.

“My apologies, zoqa. It is not My intention to cause you to fret.” He glanced back down at His injured hand, that she was clinging to now, however gently. “And you are right, of course. This wound cannot be allowed to fester.”

He started the car and was capable of guiding it with His uninjured hand back to Grace’s apartment.

The endearment sent a powerful warmth through her body, that chased away the painful images of Dark that her mind conjured in protective worry and fear.

And it made her blush softly, Grace sniffled again, sending Him a soft smile.

“It’s alright, My King. I know You didn’t mean to make me worry. I’m just being protective again. And a bit of a worrywart.” And isn’t that ironic? The human’s the one worried over the demon. She breathed a sigh of relief, and her smile widened.

“Thank You, My King. For letting me and Melissa help You.”

Melissa was there with the emergency kit when Dark and Grace walked in through the door.

Grace smiled. “Thank you, Melissa.” She guided Dark to the couch and gently pushed Him into sitting down, setting His injured hand palm out on His knee. Now, the hard part. Getting Dark to stay still while He’s being treated.

“Now, You stay right here, My King. And don’t move Your hand, I know this stuff doesn’t feel the best. But please, don’t pull away from this.”

Dark allowed Himself to be guided, only offering a token resistance to the gentle nudge. He arranged Himself comfortably on the couch, giving Grace a small smile. “I do believe I have been told by a certain beloved of mine to be more careful.”

Grace nodded, blushing softly at His smile. ”Yes, You have. And I want You to keep that in mind My King, before You pull stunts like this again.” She turned to Melissa. “Do you need me to get anything else, before we start?”

Melissa shook her head and opened the emergency kit, readying cotton balls with rubbing alcohol. “This is gonna sting a bit,” she warned. And though Melissa personally didn’t like Him, she did her best to be gentle. He gave a quiet hiss in pain but didn’t pull away, keeping His hand still as she tended to it

Hearing His quiet hiss of pain, she grabbed Dark’s uninjured hand in both of hers. “Squeeze my hand if it hurts.”

Though she wasn’t the the fastest gun in the West exactly, Melissa was able to patch Him up in relatively short order because He was cooperating. Then again, bandaging a wound isn’t exactly hard when you’ve spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals like she had.

Melissa took a breath as she prepared to unload one heck of a verbal bomb. But He’s been on our side this time around, so He has a right to know. “You should know, Dark, that that Reaper idiot has threatened Grace multiple times, and has been mocking her feelings for You.” She cleared her throat, adding, “And, as far as we know, Silver’s still in a coma.” She glanced at Grace. “Is that everything, or did I miss a few?”

Ooh boy, here we go. Grace winced inwardly. As she took a deep breath, Grace nodded and took over the explanation. “Actually, um, yeah... you did. Reaper has another personality, er, well... multiple actually. We’ve only met one so far, I call them Ryuk. They’re like an abused kid.

“Ryuk wants to be free, wants it to stop hurting and they believe Reaper can do that. Which is not true. Reaper’s said they hate the balance, I-I think they’re going to put Ryuk, into Silver and then either, kill Silver themselves, or get Ryuk to kill themselves. Thus being rid of Ryuk. Though, that leaves them with the other, unknown number of other personalities, still.”

It was hard to miss that Dark gently grasped her hand after Melissa finished bandaging. “I promise you, My Grace. This matter will be dealt with. Continue trying to solve the puzzles. I will attempt to locate them through other means.” His voice became a growl. “This insult will not stand.”

She gently grasped Dark’s hand in return, the possessive use of her name and the following rumble of His growl made her blush just a little despite the circumstances.

“We’ll do our best, My King. Just... please be careful, whatever means You use?”

“I will, dearest. I will see you again soon.” He placed a quick but loving kiss on her lips.

Grace sighed softly into the quick kiss and nodded. “See you again soon, My King.”

As He left, she felt something wiggling at the back of her mind. Wait, I feel I’m forgetting something…. Grace looked down at herself and it hit her. Dark didn’t get His coat or tie back! And, somehow it’s still warm, and it has His scent, still.

Grace looked at Melissa, who was giving her a cat-like smirk, like any older sibling that caught onto teasing material. Grace blushed crimson, and spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t. Say. A. Word!”

Apparently, she wasn’t scary enough, and her friend burst out laughing. Grace scrambled for a pillow to throw at her. Oh, Ash is going to be just as bad, when he finds out!

Throwing a pillow from the couch at her laughing friend. It hit Melissa, momentarily muffling her elation. Grace grinned, despite the embarrassment that was common among good friends and siblings and as the pillow fell to the floor, laughed along.

#markiplier fanfiction #darkiplier fanfiction #markiplier fandom #darkiplier fandom #darkiplier #author insert #dark x grace #edited from a rp #fan fiction #my writing #collaboration #january 2018 #throwback #tw: violence #he protecc #he attacc #but most importantly #he loves her bacc

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loulougoingsolo · 4 years

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Triangles and twisted tongues

I remember back in the 80s and 90s, in the times before mobile phones, whenever you wanted to call a friend, you had to call their land line, and chances were, someone other than your friend was the one to pick up the phone. For some insane reason, everybody seemed to think it was ok to answer the phone only by the family name instead of actually saying which family member was on the phone.

One friend I called most frequently (which wasn’t that often, because I don’t like calling anyone) had the exact same voice as her siblings, and even her mom, and every time I called her I had to try to figure out if it was her I was talking to, or someone else. Usually, I came to the wrong conclusion, and ended up saying something awkward.

In today’s GMM, awkward is expected. Based on a scientific study done in the university of Montreal, it takes only 4 spoken syllables to recognize the voice of a family member or close friend (my friend’s last name had exactly 4 syllables, so I must be the exception to the rule - or I just lack the sophisticated sensory memory required). But if the voice is altered, would it still be possible to recognize the person behind the voice? This is what Rhett and Link want to figure out in the very scientific experiment conducted by the Mythical team.

The experiment turned dating show “Voice Recorder Dating Game” brings us Rhett and Link who must figure out the identities of the four crew members (Chase, Emily, Zack and Ellie) hiding behind a wall. The voices of the crew members are altered to something more or less robotic with the help of fancy technology.

I’ve never seen the original Dating Game show, but apparently, I’ve watched the Finnish version of it back in the day, and for what I recall, the cringe factor was strong, when the chosen date partners were revealed at the end. Unlike in the tv Dating Game, the goal on GMM is not to get the perfect date, but to simply identify the crew members through a series of revealing questions.

Round #1 is called “Get To Know Ya”. We learn that Zack’s favourite store at the mall is Auntie Anne’s, and that Chase has a birthmark in the shape of an isosceles triangle on his upper thigh. I was delighted to see that this episode has closed captions in it, because otherwise I’d be lost at this point - but based on this first round, I think I know which contestants are the most compatible to go on a date. These two:

Oh, no, wait, this was not about dating. Well, the guys both guess Chase is number 1, but Rhett is the first one to say it aloud, so he gets the points (does anyone actually follow the points?). Link gets my points for bringing up the fact that he, indeed, has seen Chase naked on his desk.

After Chase’s identity has been revealed, we hear Emily’s take on food trends, and learn that Ellie is not a fan of toe socks. I personally am a fan of toe socks, I like to give each of my toes some personal space. But okay, I love Ellie’s real voice, but since she has a robot voice now, I don’t have to agree with her opinions.

The second round of “Rhythm and Cadence” gives the guys a chance to try to identify specific speech patterns of the mystery crew members. While Stevie explains the point of the round, she intentionally puts the emphasis of the word emphasis on the wrong syllable, and it’s killing me - even when she clearly did it on purpose.

Link asks Ellie to repeat the phrase “I saw a kitten eating chicken in the kitchen” three times, and based on what he hears, he goes on to guess that contestant number 4 is David Hill. When you think about it, David does have a similar speech pattern, and the changed voice version of Ellie sounds nothing like her.

Rhett then goes on to ask Emily to repeat “So is this the sushi chef?” three times (I don’t know if that is the sushi chef, but the phrase IS a tongue twister, for sure. I’m so glad Finnish tongue twisters only have one kind of S sounds: “Vesihiisi sihisi hississä.” Say THAT three times fast!).

I don’t think what Link asks Zack (contestant number 3) to repeat is in any official tongue twister lists, but I’m pretty sure that it makes an excellent prompt for a fic (I wouldn’t be surprised if this fic already existed when this episode was filmed. Has Link been studying on his own?). “Caramelize me, caramel daddy.” Dude, no, wrong episode! (Also, that would get really sticky, really fast, wouldn’t it?)

Now that we know what is going through Link’s mind, it’s understandable that he is not doing that great in this game. Ellie manages to keep her identity a secret even after repeating “If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie, wipe the seatie”.

The final and third round of the game is “Emotion and Inflection”. Zack, doing his best Link’s mom impression, asks the guys to stop eating so many genitalia on the internet, and it seems that both Rhett and Link have no clue of his identity. However, when Ellie gives her emotional take on Pizza Hut’s lack of sit-down restaurants, Rhett is confident enough to make a guess - and he gets the points. Link is probably still thinking about candle wax and hot caramel.

Link can’t win the game anymore, but Rhett takes even the last points by guessing Emily’s identity in the special hint round - and wins a massive storage of tampons from Emily’s desk - for 28 days or so.

I remember completely cracking up at the viral video of the lady with the Chewbacca mask. What we learn in GMMore is that the best thing about that video wasn’t the lady’s infectious laughter and pure joy of doing something silly just for her self (ok, those were the best things about it, but bear with me), but the actual mask. I lost it when Rhett put that mask on, and by the time he started giving birth to the Darth Vader helmet, I was basically applauding the guys in the comfort of my home. But I think the helmet was in breech...

Chase’s comment on how none of the chins but Rhett’s could fit in the mask was pretty brutal, but they DO make fun of Link’s flaws, too, so no hard feelings, right?

Link isn’t nearly as convincing as Darth Vader, but that’s the mask’s fault. I do love his overly dramatic hand gestures when he tries to act out the pre-recorded quotes. I don’t think Darth Vader was quite as expressive on Star Wars? This is more like Star Wars, the Musical (also, Darth Vader doing finger guns is hilarious):

I couldn’t really follow Rhett’s narrative either, while he was testing the unmasked voice modulator, and Link’s device wasn’t any better, but I think I’m guaranteed to get at least a few nightmares out of Rhett wearing the transformer mask and speaking in a gentle, soft transformer voice. Imagine waking up at night to see this beside your bed:

#gmm #gmmore #gmm 1701 #rhett and link #voice changer dating game #who's voice is that?#voice changers #chewbacca mask #expressive darth vader #rhett as the gentle but creepy transformer

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gimmebuckysloveorelse · 5 years

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Forget me Not

Bucky x Reader (Oneshot)

Warnings: Angst. Pure angst

Word count:4,606

Y/N: your name

Summary: Heartbreak is always something worth forgetting. Forget the pain, the sorrow, him. But what happends when you forget too much?

A/N: I have been working on this fic for the longest at the request of @castawayrejects She has been so patient with the making of this and I am very grateful for it all. This is my first fic in a long time so I hope everyone enjoys.

•●•

“I see no reason to why you always shut me out… we don’t even hold hands or sleep in the same bed anymore. It’s almost as if I don’t exist.” You say quietly but loud enough for Bucky and the others to hear at the table.

You and Bucky had rarely ever fought throughout your whole 2 years of being in a relationship, but Bucky had abruptly shut you out one day with no explanation as to why. Every day was worse than the next. First you could see the smile you loved so much disappear as days went by, and then he would keep you from touching him. You just thought he needed space, yet he had started to seek console from everyone else but you. When you would try and talk about it with him he would just ignore you, or grunt. Today however was the last straw, he completely gave you the cold-shoulder in front of the whole team during your birthday dinner.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Bucky said, foiled through his gritted teeth.

“I know you don’t but I think now would be a good time to explain what I have done to get this kind of treatment from you? I’ve been nothing but patient with you Bucky and it seems that you don’t want me anymore.” You were never one to scream and make a scene since you were such a shy person, so speaking loudly was never an option for you.

Granted this would be the last place you would want to argue with Bucky at, but all of this built up strain was making it hard for you to stop pushing Bucky into telling you what was wrong.

The room was silent for a second, no one even bothered to breathe as they waited for Bucky’s response.

He scoffed looking up from his hands, and stared daggers right at you. “Looks like you finally got the hint.”

You stood there, completely stunned by what he had just said. Everything started to blur, as you let the stream of tears flow down from your eyes. ‘Run, hide, cry in your room, not here, anywhere but here.’ you thought to yourself, but you stood there dumfounded. You felt your body shudder and started to have trouble breathing. It felt as if your legs were going to give out, and when they did Tony was there to catch you before you hit the ground. You sprint to the ends of your heart seeking answers, going through every memory exhausting your rationality. The rest of the team was probably more shocked then you were. You two love each other, well loved, and the whole team knew it. Before you could even ask what you did wrong, Tony picked you up and left the dining room desperately trying to get you anywhere but with Bucky.

“It was my fault, I wasn’t good enough.” You said in a hushed voice while covering your mouth trying not to stop yourself from crying too loud. By doing this it made your throat feel as if it was being tightened by barbed wire that only gripped harder with every small breath. Tony opened your room door and set you on your bed.

“It’s not your fault Y/N, if anyone is at fault its Bucky.” He looked down at his hands and swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you ever tell us Y/N? We could’ve helped you.” Tony said, as he gripped both of his hands tightly interlocked with one another feeling as if this was all his fault for never asking how you were doing.

You put your hand on his, gave a poor excuse for a smile and replied. “It wasn’t anyone else’s burden to bear.”

Tony started to speak again, but you could barely comprehend a word he said as you were slowly slipping away into your own thoughts that coated your mind like thick hot oil. All you could think about was Bucky’s cold eyes, the eyes that were once filled with love, hope, and trust, turn completely bitter.

•●•

You must’ve cried yourself to sleep, because you had no memory of ever dozing off. Part of you hoped that it was all a horrible nightmare. Bucky still loved you, he had to right? But all hope diminished once you saw Tony sleeping on your chair, tears started to coat your face again. Despair coursed through your veins, your heart was spasming out of your chest. Your eyes stung as if putting alcohol on an open wound. Your mouth was completely dry and being that it was about six o’clock in the morning, you decided to get water guessing that everyone was still sleeping.

Once you quietly got out of bed, you headed to kitchen. The sun was barley rising so you tried to make it quick before anyone woke up. Once you got to the kitchen you opened up the cabinet and grabbed one of the glass cups. You caught a glimpse of yourself through the reflection of the clear glass. Your eyes bloodshot red, lips semi chapped, and hair a complete mess. You were about to take out the water from the fridge, until you heard someone walk in.

“Y/N? What are you doing up this early?” Steve asked with a bat in his hand to replace his shield.

“Oh Steve, it’s just you. I was just about to... I actually don’t know.” You knew that you came down here for a reason, but what was it? You stood there dumbly as you waited for the lost thought to come back to you.

“Well you do have a glass cup in your hand, water maybe?” Steve said, as he pointed to your hand.

“Oh yeah, thanks.” You made your way to the fridge, and filled up your cup with water. When you were making your way to the hallway, Steve grabbed a hold of your arm.

“Y/N I just wanted to say-.”

“Listen Steve, I know what you’re going to say. Now isn’t really a good time, I just want to sleep.” You said in a stale voice, and Steve put his head down and nodded. You gently shrugged off his hand, and made way to your room.

As the days went on, it didn’t get any easier. You went through all of the feelings that came with heartbreak. Anger, bargaining, and depression, and acceptance was yet to come. You never left your room, you only ever allowed Natasha, or Wanda inside so they could bring food or water. Your mind was a complete hurricane, sometimes you would even forget why you were depressed. But then you would remember Bucky, and it would all come clashing back into your memory. Love is a toxin, you told yourself. How could you have been so stupid to let it get so far? Your heart ached each time you thought of him, no torture on earth could compare to this.

Days turned into weeks, you would only go out to train or sneak food. The team didn’t have the heart to ask you to go on missions with them. And you were thankful for that, if you went you wouldn’t have your head in the game. You noticed that things started to slip your mind easier. Forgetting where your room was the most common. Sometimes you would read the same page over and over again, you had thought that maybe this is what happens when one is heartbroken. ‘Just forget, forget it all.” you always told yourself.

But one day it all just faded. No more heartache, no more pain.

•●•

You made your way to where everyone was having breakfast. They all seemed to be too involved in their conversation to see you walk in. So making your way to the table, you sat down right in between Vision, and Clint. The chatting stopped, and everyone had their eyes fixed on you. You looked around the table noticing all of their faces painted with shock. Not knowing why everyone was so stunned you just brushed it off.

“Good morning everyone, would anyone like to tell me what we’re having for breakfast?” You asked as you leaned over to grab one of the pre-heated plates from the table. It took a second for them to respond.

“Bacon, pancakes, hash browns, and eggs.” Steve said with a wide smile handing you the bowl of crisp bacon, knowing that you can eat it all in one gulp.

“Yummy, thanks, can you pass the syrup?” After a couple more minutes of talking with Steve everyone went back to their conversation.

During that time you had with the team, you felt whole for some reason. You couldn’t help but laugh at Tony making fun of Thor for not knowing how to use the can of whip cream. It was one thunderous laugh that caught your attention. You turned to look at the end of the table, where Bucky and Sam sat laughing at their own joke. You felt a sting in your chest for some reason, but the pain left as fast as it came.

Were you mad at Bucky? Lost in your trail of thought, you didn’t notice Bruce calling your name.

“Earth to Y/N?” He snapped his fingers in front of your face to make you come out of your daze. Everyone’s eyes were again fixated on you, even Bucky was looking. You just shook your head, and smiled once more.

“I’m sorry Bruce, what were you saying?” You said as you tried to hide your confusion, it seemed good enough to fool almost everyone.

With a smile on his face he reached out, and picked up your empty plate. “I have a new project to work on, and was wondering if you’d like to help?”

Snapping out of your daze, you responded. “Yeah, I think that would be fun.” Maybe going will give you time to think of why everyone is acting so weird.

After breakfast, you and Bruce headed to his lab to work on this new project of his. Once you made it past the double glass doors Bruce asked if you could sit down. Once you sat comfortably in one of his 360 spinning chairs, you waited for him to tell you what to do.

“So Y/N, are you okay? You seemed kind of out of it at breakfast.” Bruce reached out and grabbed a hold of your hand.

“I was just about to ask you that regarding the team, but I'm fine Bruce, no need to worry about me. I've just been forgetting things easily is all.” You gave him the best smile you could without seeming off.

“Forgetting? What have you been forgetful of lately?” Bruce let go of your hand to grab his notepad that he kept in his left pocket.

“Why are you writing this down? I came to help you, not to get a checkup.” As much as you needed one, Bruce wasn't always good at keeping secrets, if something was actually wrong with you he would be the first to choke it up to the team.

“Y/N, you've been cooped up in your room for two weeks now. And since I didn't get to check up on you from the previous mission, now would be the time. So tell me, what have you been forgetting?”

But the last mission you went on was close to four weeks ago? Maybe you estimated it wrong? But I also went to Nat’s house last week. Bruce probably thought that you stayed home since you two snuck out. You wanted to argue about it more, but it’s better to know now then later. Plus, Bruce wouldn’t get off your back if you didn’t tell him.

“Fine, I just don't know why but I felt this pain in my chest when I saw Bucky this morning. I don't remember why, or what happened, but it must've been important if I'm feeling this right?” You played with your fingers as you waited for Bruce to respond.

“Wait, so you don't remember you and Bucky breaking up?” He quirked an eyebrow, looked at you with curiosity.

“What do you mean? We were never-.” You paused, no this can’t be right you and Bucky have been friends for the longest, no way-. Flashes of memory started to flood back, piece, by piece. “Wait no, we were together. But I don’t remember breaking up.” You said, as you looked up at Bruce waiting for his response.

The stunned look he was giving you left chills running down your spine. With eyes wide he started to write down on his notepad rather quickly.

“Y/N, what’s todays date?”

This question took you by surprise. What did the date have to do with anything? But you decided to brush it aside and answer anyway. “Probably what, October 10th, 2016?”

Bruce rose his head up, once again with his eyes wide.

“For goodness sake Bruce, don’t look at me like that. You’re scaring me, what’s wrong?” Anxiety started to replace calmness.

He reached out and took a hold of your hand. “Y/N… It’s the 6th of January, 2018.” He said, in the most calming voice he could muster.

Your heart sank. No it was 2016, you couldn’t be wrong. You started to look for your phone to confirm, but couldn’t find it. “Where is my phone? I always keep it on me!” You started to panickly feel all over your body trying to feel where it might be hiding.

“Y/N, you lost it when you were on a mission a couple of weeks ago…”

“No I’m dreaming, yeah it’s all one big nightmare! I just need to wake up.” You quickly got up and started to rummage through the papers on the desk, trying to find some sort of date to confirm if what Bruce was saying was true or if this was just some sick idea of a joke. And when you did, you started to hyperventilate, and pulled hardly at the roots of your hair. “WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” You screamed from the top of your lungs. This couldn’t be happening!

Bruce tried to calm you down as best as he could. But once he hugged you, you harshly pushed him off, causing him to hit the desk behind him. You fell down and pulled up your knees to your face, you sobbed, wanting to ever so much wake up from this horror movie. Bruce got up without much struggle, as he made his way back to you slower than before. He sat next to you, and hugged you once more, and you let him.

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t tell anyone Bruce. Swear you won’t.” You cried out as you pulled his shirt your face as a way of begging him.

Bruce let out a big sigh and held you tighter. “Y/N you know you can’t hide this forever. I want to help you get better, but they have to know.”

You tried to be mad, but you knew Bruce was right. You pulled away and wiped off your tears. “Let’s just keep it a secret until we know for sure. Okay?”

•●•

Before you and Bruce told the team, he decided to run tests to know for sure. When the results came back, you both gathered the whole team in the conference room, and Bruce told them straight out.

“What do you mean she has Alzheimer’s?!” Tony, and Natasha yelled loudly in unison.

“Apparently the symptoms started to show a few months ago, but it never had much of an effect on Y/N until now. She’s forgotten two years of memory so far. This is very rare for her to get it so young in age.” Bruce said as he showed the charts on the screen.

You stared down at the floor the whole time, you were too afraid to look up. Bruce continued on explaining to the team what would happen if you kept on forgetting. You heard someone stand up suddenly. It was Bucky.

“Is there anything that can be done Bruce?” He looked, upset? Concerned?

Bruce went silent for a while, causing everyone to tense up. Even you were scared, what would happen? Endless thoughts flooded through your mind as you awaited for Bruce’s response.

“Y/N will need treatment. I will need time to figure this out. There is no found cure for Alzheimer’s yet, the only things that can be done is medication and some management strategies.” He paused again. “Or testing’s done by surgeries, but let’s hope it'll never come to that. I also can’t guarantee that Y/N will ever remember again. But that’s why we’re here to help her remember and get through this.”

Bucky loudly sat up once more and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Everyone looked at one another, but quickly went back to the situation.

Everyone agreed and all set up a plan for you. Since you have forgotten such a big amount of time in as little as a week, everyone had to keep an eye on you to make sure that you didn’t forget why you’re in a tower with a bunch of super heroes. Everyone had to also take turns when it came to missions.

You felt like a child, always having to be watched and followed to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or break anything. You tried to convince Tony and Bruce that you didn’t need surveillance 24/7, and when they let you roam for a day, you got lost. Now you have no choice but to hear Sam talk about WWE all day long.

“Sam I’m going to get some air, care to join?” You sat up from the couch and headed for the elevator.

“Yeah let me get my coat-“As Sam was about to get up he was seated back down by a certain super soldier.

“I’ll go.” Bucky walked over to get his coat and scarf from the rack and followed you to the elevator. You glanced at Sam silently asking for him to come along, but he just put his hands up in defeat. Nat and Wanda had updated you on what happened with Bucky, so even though you didn’t remember it it still made you feel uncomfortable. You mouthed ‘Coward’ to him and reluctantly went into the elevator.

The whole ride down was quiet, too quiet for your liking. When the doors opened you headed to the rotating doors and Bucky followed behind you outside.

“Where’s your scarf?” You looked at him and saw him staring at the ground, rocking his foot back and forth against the icy gravel.

“I didn’t bring one, it’s not that cold.” You started to walk again but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to face him.

“Here, it’s too cold for you to be scarf less. Or do you want to get sick?” Bucky said, as he took off his blue plaid scarf and wrapped it around your neck. His breath was so warm against your nose. The sensation felt familiar, but as much as you wanted to hold onto and remember this feeling, he moved.

You nodded as a thanks and started walking along the sidewalk again. Bucky said that there was a coffee shop nearby, so you decided to go there.

As you walked, you felt Bucky’s eyes on you. As you turned to look back at him he quickly diverted his gaze.

“How bad was it?” You asked walking a little bit slower. You saw Bucky tense up at the question.

“How bad was what?” He asked conscientiously. His hand shook a bit as he moved to put it in his pocket.

“Bruce, Nat, and Wanda told me that you and I were together. But we broke up. How bad was it? And why? Did I do something wrong?” You started to feel a pain in your chest again, like the day when you saw him at breakfast. Something in your brain told you that you didn’t want to hear the answer to that question, but the curiosity has been devouring you.

Bucky let out a long breath, causing it to come out in cigarette like smoke. “You didn’t do anything wrong Y/N.” He shuffled around his thick long hair before continuing. “You never did anything wrong, I was the one who did everything, I hurt you.”

You stopped walking as you waited for him to give you more pieces to put together this puzzle that you call a brain.

He turned to you but still didn’t make eye contact with you but instead gave a glazed stare to the frozen sidewalk.

“You were always so kind a-and perfect…” His voice started to crack with pain as he continued. “You never yelled at me when I would get you mad, but me..I would always yell at you and make you feel small. It frustrated me that you were always so together and accepting with me. I wanted you to yell and scream at me, to show more emotion. But you didn’t, I know it was a stupid reason but you were perfect, and I felt like I didn’t deserve you…so I decided to do what I thought was best. And now you can’t even remember anything.” He started to cry as he fell to his knees slowly grabbing your jeans with both hands. “The last thing I ever told you was that I didn’t love you. It’s not fair, you didn’t deserve to be hurt by me. To be in pain having to re-remember everything I did every time you forgot. I left when you needed me most, and I hate myself for it-.”

You shushed him as you put your hands on top of his head and slowly started to lower yourself to where he was crouched. “Bucky” You said as your hands slowly drifted down to his tear stained cheeks. “James look at me.”

He slowly started to look up and leaned his head into the warmth of your touch.

You wiped his tears away from eyes and slowly started to caress his cheek with your thumb “Bucky, I know that I can't remember what happened, but I know that the me that does remember would've forgiven you. You are everything and more James, never think that you're any less then what you are. We all make mistakes James, but those mistakes help us grow and help us sculpt a bigger and brighter future. You being yourself is what me and forgetful me fell in love with.”

Bucky started to sob and pulled you into his embrace and tucked his face into your neck. “I love you so much Doll, so so much.” He held you tighter. “I don't want you to forget me.”

Tears started to slowly roll down your eyes as you held him just as tight and replied. “I can't guarantee that I won't forget you” You cried. “But even if I do forget…know that you can't erase the feelings you have when you create those memories. Those stay forever.”

•●•

Bucky’s POV

After a couple of weeks Y/N had lost 3 years worth of memories. Every day we were always afraid that she might just run away during the day or night time since we never knew when she'd forget us fully and tried to escape. Bruce never knew that this would escalate so quickly, and knowing that the medicine wasn't working, he tried to find different ways to cure Y/N.

Day#38

Y/N has so far forgotten Clint’s family, the streets in the city, and even Peter Parker. We’re trying to talk to her more and she has even begun writing journals.

Day#40

Everyone cried today. Y/N woke up and greeted Tony with a hug and started to ask what the next mission was…Y/N forgot who he was three hours later.

Day#42

Bruce has suggested that he might be able to perform a surgery that might stop her from forgetting quickly. There is no way to know if she will survive.

Day#45

Only Cap and I are able to calm Y/N now since she’s known us the longest. The surgery is scheduled four days from now.

Day #47

Y/N has officially forgotten all of us.

•●•

Day#49: Day of surgery

“Let me go! I don't know any of you!” You screamed while thrashing and kicking hoping that someone from the outside would hear and help you.

“Y/N calm down we're your friends, remember I'm Tony” Tony had you by the legs to try and keep you from kicking him in the face while Thor held your arms down.

“You all are crazy! Help! Someone help me!!” The more you screamed the more unknown people began to come into the room. One of them was in a doctor’s coat holding a needle with a liquid in it. You froze not knowing what to do. As man in coat came closer quickly he injected you with the liquid and you yelped. You slowly began to feel drowsy, but as one more person walked in, you noticed his face.

“Bucky? Bucky!! Help me! I don't know these people and they're holding me down.” You slurred. “It hurts and I'm scared!” You were sobbing loudly and you felt the grip on your wrists and legs loosen. As you opened your eyes you saw everyone with a blank stare. Not trying to get held down again you quickly set aside their glances and drowsily started to crawl towards him since you were too weak to stand. “Bucky” You finally said reaching out your hand before your vision turned black.

•●•

One week later

You looked through every room in the building trying to find Bucky. It took you a couple of minutes to find him in the very last room.

“There you are. What are you doing here all alone?” You came in and stood in front of him.

“Doll…hi” He smiled with tears already coming down from his face.

“Why are you crying James? Everything is all better now.” You said as started to well up with tears.

“I want you to stay with me.” He said in a low voice with tears still streaming down his face.

“But baby, I am with you.” You reached out to put your hand on his face and smiled.

He put his head down and tried to hold back a sob. “How much longer are you able to stay?”

You paused and let out a sigh as you released more tears onto the floor. “Only for a little while longer. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

He let out a loud shaky breath and hugged you. “I love you so much Y/n. Let’s go together yeah? I don’t want you to go alone.” He started to cry onto your shoulder and you pulled his back to look him in the face.

“I love you too, but no I’m not going alone, I have our memories to keep me company. I’m happy baby, I’m free.” You gave him a kiss on the lips and he nodded. “Now go, the others are waiting for you and I’m all out of time... I love you.”

Bucky held you tightly silently begging you not to go. The words I love you slowly started to repeat and fade slowly. His hands slowly started to hold onto nothing but air. Before he could even register that you weren’t there anymore the others walked in with their matching black suits and dresses. Steve went up to the casket making sure it was closed and secured before turning back to Bucky.

“It’s time.”

Thank you all for reading and I’m always open for feedback! Love you all! Hoped it was worth your time <3 tags and requests are open

Permanant Tags: @girl-obsessed-with-things @melconnor2007

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