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whumping-valentine · 2 months

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🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 6 🦌

"Fawn and the Fog"

Content: Animal death, animal skeletons, threats, hunting, anxiety, defiant whumpee, spooked whumper, whumpee forced to kill, weird rural woodsy shit in true rural redneck fashion 💪

I may have German, Irish, and Slovak in my blood, but at the end of the day I am merely just a northeast yankee here to represent the horrors of the American woodland lol

2000 Words

Part six baby let's goooo. And only two days after part five, I'm on a roll!! If you're someone who wanted to see a more mean Hunter, especially after the last part, this is the chapter for you.

This is where the batshit paranormal stuff that I was talking about earlier starts happening. I am physically incapable of writing something grounded in reality, you guys aren't prepared for what this seemingly normal, woodsy whump series is gonna turn into.

Also shout out to you guys who leave comments on this. I appreciate the little words so much you don't even know, it really motivates me to keep going. There's only two of you atm, you know who you are. Thank you, truly.

Hope you enjoy! 💕

After a few days, Fawn began to overcome their illnesses, being oh so carefully tended to like the sickly little fawn they were. Being so busy nursing their pet back to health, Hunter had no time to gather or prepare food. They began running low on resources. Turns out feeding two people rather than one will cause you to run out of food faster. Who knew?

Now that Fawn was better, and was the very cause of their food drought in the first place, Hunter decided that it was about time they helped out around the cabin and made themself useful. They grabbed an extra gun and walked down to the basement, where Fawn was back to seeping on the old mattress.

Hunter threw the shotgun on the tattered bed. Fawn looked up at them in puzzlement.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, it’s not loaded.” Hunter said, “Though it will be, soon. You and I are going hunting.”

Fawn scoffed, “Absolutely not, you psycho.”

"That wasn't a question. Get up."

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you get up. Your choice.”

“You don’t scare me.” Fawn said, though they could feel their anxiety sparking up.

“Oh, so you’ve gotten too comfortable, have you? I can fix that.” Hunter said, leaning down as they grabbed a fistful of their hair, pulling Fawn to their feet as they yelped and winced. Hunter twisted their head to look up at them with those wide, big, deer-in-headlights eyes. They tugged on their hair, holding the gun to their chin with the other, “This is not a place to get comfortable in, or abuse my hesitance to kill you. I can be nice, so long as you're good. But be bad—” They pulled harder, “—and I’ll be your worst fucking nightmare. Got it?”

“Y-yes, Hunter.”

“Good.” They let go, “Now pick up the gun and follow me.” They turned to walk back up the stairs, and Fawn obeyed, following them meekly, their head down. They clutched the gun tightly in both of their hands, ascending the staircase. The two of them stepped outside into the crisp late Autumn air. A chill waved through the wind, an incredibly foggy and cloudy day.

The two walked through the misty woods in silence, leaves crunching beneath their feet. Fawn stuck close to Hunter, finding it incredibly hard to see.

Fawn grumbled to themself as they tried to hold back, but couldn’t help themself, and they broke the silence, “You sure picked a brilliant day to go hunting. Can’t even see a foot in front of me let alone a fucking deer.”

“Okay, smartass, you think you’re a more qualified hunter than me?”

“I think I’m smarter than you, yeah.” Fawn said, and Hunter kicked their feet out from under them, causing them to fall backwards.

“You’re not the one who gets to be sassy here, in case you’ve forgotten.”

"I can do whatever the fuck I want, I'm not your pet and I never will be. In case you've forgotten." They stood back up.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten your defiance. How could I when you make your resistance so clear? Though I do remember you were letting me hold and comfort you so softly just a few days ago."

"Oh, fuck off."

Hunter ignored them, "You turn into such a helpless baby when you're sick. You should be like that more often. But I guess your dramatics are quite entertaining."

"How in all of fucking hell have I been dramatic? I think I act perfectly fucking reasonable, all things considered."

"Oh, well firstly, I've killed people who were far less pissy than you. Secondly, a pretty thing like you should cut the swears."

"Yeah, how about you go and kill me, too, that'll fucking stop them. Maybe I'll just do it more to piss you off. Fucking shit ass bitch, suck a cock, dick."

"Don't make me wash that mouth out with soap."

"I'd be surprised if you even owned soap, you filthy dirtbag."

Hunter shot a bullet at the ground, next to their feet. Fawn yelped and jumped back as their adrenaline spiked. The boom echoed through the trees.

"I let you get away with saying a lot of shit. I'm starting to get tired of it. Have you already forgotten the little chat we had earlier? You have no idea what I’m capable of, baby. I guess I’ll need to show you later.” They said, a threat laced in their voice.

Fawn literally growled in fear and anger, “I will run off into these fucking woods! I can do it! I’ll— I’ll fucking leave!”

"Threatening to run away like some angsty teenager? Oh, no, by all means, go ahead." Hunter said, gesturing out into the misty woods, "Run off. Find your way home. I'm sure you'll be able to."

Fawn glared at them in wide-eyed hatred, biting their lip in anger. Hunter found it adorable, which only contributed to Fawn’s disdain.

“Come on,” Hunter said, roughly nudging their shoulder with the shotgun, “Keep moving.”

Fawn glared back at them, rubbing their shoulder, angry tears in their eyes. Hunter wore a smug smile, and Fawn wanted nothing more than to punch it off their stupid face. Wanted to just turn the gun around on themself and shoot. That would be better than this. But they couldn't even have the luxury of death, holding an unloaded gun. They wished there were two bullets so they could take both of them out all at once.

They continued on through the endless woods, Fawn's involuntary anxiety growing by the second. They hated that they couldn't control it. Couldn't stop their heart from beating so fast, stop that dreadful feeling in their arms and chest. They didn't want to be afraid. Anxiety is such a bitch.

“Shh, shh.” Hunter hushed suddenly as they pulled on Fawn's arm, crouching them both down into the bushes. Their eyes were locked on a beautiful doe. The same doe with a coat pattern of hearts that Fawn had fed those many weeks prior. A pit opened in their stomach.

Hunter loaded a single bullet into Fawn's gun, and guided their hands to point it at the doe, who stared down Fawn right in the eyes, almost in recognition. Fawn’s hands were trembling as Hunter held them tight, smirking as their warm breath trickled Fawn’s neck. Hunter guided their fingers to the trigger, and forced them to pull it.

A loud gunshot rang through the air, as Fawn winced and trembled. The deer was dead, and the forest ran silent. Fawn stared blankly ahead as their eyes locked onto the carcass, trembling hands still gripping the gun as Hunter went over to look at their catch.

Crows gathered around out of nowhere as they sat silently in the barren trees, as if to pay respects to the fallen, and condemn Fawn for their actions. They'd never felt guilt quite like this.

Tears welled in their eyes behind the cracked glasses they wore. The gun dropped from their hands as they shook uncontrollably. As the pure shock of the deed began to wear off, they slowly broke down into tears, and before long, they were sobbing uncontrollably.

It begins to lightly rain in a mist, and all around the massive murder of crows sat and watched in continuous silence. Though neither seemed to notice.

Hunter threw the deer over their shoulders like it was nothing. “Enough of the crying. Get up.” They kicked Fawn in the ribs with their foot.

Fawn again, growled like an angry animal, and they snapped, “Fuck you! Fuck you all the way to Hell, you bastard!” They yelled, voice cracking as tears streamed down their cheeks, “I hope you die in a fucking fire! At the edge of a cliff, covered in burns, poisoned, coughing up blood, with no one to fucking love you!!”

They buried their face into their hands as they sobbed. Hunter stared at them with a blank, neutral expression. They reached down and grabbed the scruff of their sweater, pulling them to their feet in one swift motion.

“No!” Fawn yelled, “Get away from me!” They pushed them away, falling backwards into the bush they were crouched behind. A burr bush.

Fawn had burrs all over their clothes, and in their hair. Hunter shook their head, unamused, “How many times do I have to tell you, Fawn? These are the consequences of your actions. Now get up."

“Fuck you!!”

“I won’t ask you again.”

“No!”

“Get up.”

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!!” They screamed.

“Oh, so now you’re gonna just throw a tantrum like a child. Is that what you are, a child? Keep screaming and crying, it isn’t gonna get you out of that bush or out of these woods.”

"I'd rather die in this bush!"

"Then go ahead and be my guest." Hunter said, fed up, rolling their eyes, "Stop being dramatic."

Fawn grumbled and kicked their feet as they struggled to get up, Hunter watching the pathetic act apathetically. The bush pulled on the threads of their clothes, and their hair, ruining them and causing pain. Once they were back on their feet, they held back a pout before roughly kicking Hunter in the ankle, quickly walking back the way they came. Hunter gave no reaction, following behind them in a thoughtful stalk.

Fawn stomped through the trees, angry, upset, and anxious. They hoped if they'd move fast enough, they'd lose the hunter through the fog, the deer slowing them down, where they could somehow find their way home. Though somewhere along the way, they suddenly stopped in their tracks, gripping the shotgun tightly, staring intensely through the thick blanket of white mist.

Hunter caught up to them, "What?" They asked. Fawn just stared. Hunter squinted their eyes and could faintly make out what looked to be a skeleton of some kind.

Hunter went ahead of them and approached it, only to find it wasn’t just some normal kind of animal remains, no. Not only were the bones perfectly picked clean, in perfect skeletal formation, but it was huge. Not just a large buck, either. More so the size of a car. The skull itself was almost bigger than Hunter.

“What the hell?” Hunter muttered to themself in shock. They’d lived out in these woods for years, and never had they ever seen anything like it before. They were stunned, at a loss for words, and above all else, frightened. At first they thought it might be fake, or some kind of art piece. They'd seen those before.

But something deep down inside said that wasn't the case.

They slowly backed away from it and returned to Fawn, watching it disappear through the mist. Hunter didn’t say a word, and just continued walking, trusting Fawn would follow. This caused Fawn great unease. Hunter had been out here for years. They’ve killed people. What on Earth could possibly have them spooked?

The misty rain slowly turned to gentle flakes of snow, the wind picking up as it grew colder and darker. They made it back to the cabin as the snow began to stick and fall heavier, the wind howling through the growing darkness of the late evening.

Hunter plopped the deer down on the table and turned to look at Fawn. The look on the hunter's face almost made them shiver, and not from the cold. Seeing your own captor frightened by something wasn't something you'd exactly want to see. They ran a hand through their long, messy hair, shaking their head as they pulled themself back down to earth.

“Come on,” they said, “let’s pick those nasty things off you.” They said, and led them down into the basement. Fawn was far too spooked and exhausted to fight back anymore. They stood still as Hunter meticulously picked off all the tiny brussels and burrs, until they were finally free of them.

Hunter pushed Fawn down onto the mattress roughly before locking both of them down in the basement. Hunter sat on a chair, clutching their gun tightly in their hands as it laid across their lap. They stared intensely at the door, frightened that something they couldn’t explain may come down it. Fawn looked over at them from the mattress which they slept.

They hated that their presence made them feel safer.

Taglist: @parasitebunny

If you want added or removed, lmk!

Thanks for reading !!!

#fawn and hunter #whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #rural whump

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domesticdeanwinchester · 3 years

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i know the rain like the clouds know the sky

read it on ao3 or below // 1.7k words

It must have rained last night, or maybe very early this morning.

Either way the sky is a cloudy kind of grey. Overcast with those darklight smudges of stratocumulus. It isn't ominous, though, the clouds. They're calm in the sky. Peaceful.

Peace. It isn't a feeling Dean's very used to, the last two decades of his life being the chaotic, apocalyptic, traumatic mess that they were.

But the last couple of months... they've been his first real taste of that. Of the calm after the storm. Of easy days, of settling down and moving slow, of being worry-free. Well, relatively worry-free. There may not be any big bads looming over them and the last of the apocalypses may be behind them, but he's still got a husband with a rebellious streak a mile wide, a brother and a sister-in-law who both encourage it far more than they should (and can get into a fair amount of trouble themselves too), and a once-capital-G-god-turned-four-year-old-toddler to take care of and keep entertained. So yeah, maybe not entirely worry-free.

It's good though. It's really good. For the first time in Dean's life, he's at peace with it. He's happy.

Dean stares out at the sky through the kitchen window as he waits for the coffee to brew, letting himself get lost in the matching clouds of his mind.

The staccatoed hiss of coffee dripping draws him back to the kitchen, and he watches as the drip turns steady and the pot starts to fill. When the stream comes to a stuttering stop, Dean waits for the last hesitating drop to fall from the nozzle. Once it does, he removes the pot and pours himself a cup — this chipped old thing that reads "I never dreamed I'd be a grumpy 70 year old man but here I am killin' it", with the "grumpy 70 year old man" bit in big red letters, that Claire got him as a joke, but that he secretly loves. There's still plenty of joe left, so he replaces the pot and leaves it for Castiel, knowing it won't be too long before he's up too to claim it for himself.

Dean cradles the mug in one hand and pulls his dead-guy robe tighter around his body with the other, ambling towards the back door. He slides it open and takes the mug out onto the porch.

The morning air is crisp, cool and a little bit biting, but he likes the slight sting. There's still a hint of a mist to it, too, that makes Dean think that more rain isn't too far off. It smells like the rain, like fresh earth and a hint of that residual lightning storm ozone smell that reminds him so much of Castiel.

He stands at the railing, wiggling his toes in his toasty slippers, holding the mug between both hands. It's warm against his palms, and he brings it to his lips to take a sip, letting that warmth trickle down his throat, settle in his belly, and bloom throughout the rest of him.

It's quiet outside, only the soft wisp of the breeze moving through the trees to keep him company. The rest of the world still slumbers on.

Eventually the back door creaks behind him, and the wood of the deck groans a little beneath footsteps. Dean doesn't have to turn around to know it's Castiel joining him.

A pair of strong arms slide around his waist, and Castiel hugs him from behind, pressing his warm cheek to Dean's shoulder. Castiel brings his lips to kiss the point of his shoulder blade, and even through the material of the robe Dean can feel it.

"Thought I'd find you out here," Castiel murmurs. "It's cold," he adds, burrowing closer.

Dean shifts back against Castiel, nuzzling into his hug as best he can. "I like it," he says.

"Mm, of course you do," Castiel says.

They fall into a companionable silence after that, just the quiet sounds of the world around them and their steady breathing filling the space between them.

"Come inside?" Castiel asks after a moment.

"I will," Dean answers. He doesn't move, though.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asks gently, shifting from pressing against Dean's back to burrowing into his side.

Dean doesn't answer right away this time. Instead lets the question settle, lets it bleed into his bones. He watches as a bird takes flight from a branch of one of the trees, sees the light breeze make the small patch of grass dance, admires the still surface of the lake in the distance. He thinks of Castiel, living and breathing right behind him, thinks of Jack, young for the first time in his life tucked away in the racecar bed he'd begged for with his worn in stuffed bee cuddled close, thinks of Sam and Eileen and brand new baby Maura probably starting their morning too all those miles away.

A faint smile pulls at the corner of Dean's mouth. "Yeah, I am," he tells Castiel, and he means it. He really really means it. He pulls his gaze from the lake and turns in Castiel's arms to look at him head on, to meet his eyes and hold his gaze. "I am."

A small smile graces Castiel's lips, and they just kind of stare at each other for a moment before he brings a hand up to Dean's cheek. His palm ghosts over it before settling against his jaw, cupping it softly. "Good," he says, then leans in to kiss Dean's cheek.

They stay like that for a few beats longer before Castiel runs his thumb over the arc of Dean's cheekbone. "I'm going to go back inside," Castiel says, trailing his fingertips over Dean's chip before letting his hand fall back to his side. "It's too cold out here," he adds, scrunching up his nose in a way that pulls a fond chuckle from Dean.

"Yeah yeah, go inside ya big ice cube," Dean says, rolling his eyes and turning back towards the porch railing.

"Don't be too long," Castiel tells him, moving towards the door.

"I won't," Dean assures, and takes another sip of coffee. "There's more in the pot for you, should still be warm," he adds, lifting his mug in reference.

Castiel smiles. "Thank you," he says, reaching for the handle. He opens the door halfway, then pauses. "When you come in we should make pancakes. Jack will like that."

It's Dean's turn to smile as a memory of the last time he'd made pancakes filters to the surface. Jack had been asleep that time too, but when he followed his nose into the kitchen to find Dean behind the stove, flipping a pancake the size of Jack's head he'd been so excited. And so amazed too, by how many different kinds of pancakes Dean had whipped up — chocolate chip, blueberry, cinnamon sugar. He'd even tried out a special new recipe, with fresh honey and vanilla. Jack insisted on assisting with the remaining batter, eager and insistent on helping Dean when it got time to flip the pancakes. All the flavors had been a hit, and Jack had been gleeful all morning — a sticky, syrupy, chocolatey mess, but a very happy one nonetheless.

Based on the look on Castiel's face, Dean figures he must be remembering that morning too.

"Yeah, okay," Dean agrees, giving a nod. "I'll be in soon," he promises.

Castiel nods and disappears back inside.

Dean will follow shortly, he will. He'll head back inside and he and Castiel will make stacks upon stacks of pancakes, and maybe one of them will go wake Jack, or maybe Jack will come find them laughing together over the half cooked, half gloopy pancake Castiel accidentally flipped out of the pan and onto the stove. They'll dig into their breakfast with Jack, sitting around their little table together. And later he'll call Sammy. Ask how Maura is. How Eileen is. Maybe they'll video call, and Jack will steal the phone and hold it way too close to his face, and he'll show Sam the new space in his mouth where he'd just lost his tooth. It might rain again, and if it does Jack will want to put on his ladybug rain boots and his new froggy rain hat and jump around in the puddles. They'll bundle up for it, and Dean might indulge his inner child too and jump around in the puddles with him. Castiel will watch from the porch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he'll disappear back into the house just before Dean and Jack decide to come inside to start up a batch of hot chocolate. All three of them will curl up on the couch and put a movie on. Jack will fall asleep halfway through, tired out from his day in the rain despite the sugary treat afterwards. There will be a chocolate mustache still on his lip, and Castiel will try to gently wipe it away without waking him. He'll curl into Dean's side after, right under his arm, pulling the thick knit blanket tighter around them, and Dean will kiss the top of Castiel's hair. They'll fall asleep like that, too, until Jack wakes them up rejuvenated from his nap and ready for something new. In the evening Dean will make butternut squash soup — one of Castiel's favorites, and they'll eat it with freshly baked crusty bread and some warm apple cider to boot. He and Castiel will tag team giving Jack a bath — he'll beg for bubbles and they'll indulge him, of course — and once he's wrapped up in his favorite pajamas they'll tuck him into his bed and Dean will read him two stories and then Castiel will read a third, and they'll both kiss him on the forehead and say goodnight. Dean and Castiel will take a hot shower together, no fooling around, just the warmth of the spray and their gentle hands on each other's skin, washing, cleaning, touching. They'll dry off and dress in their pajamas, then they too will climb into bed. That night, as another bout of rain pebbles soothingly against the window, they'll drift off beneath three blankets with Castiel curled around Dean. And in the morning, they'll do it all again.

But that will all come later.

For now Dean revels in the peace.

#destiel #deancas #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #toddler!jack #destiel fic #spn fic #deancas fic

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allthingshetalia · 4 years

Note

Dear Divine, May I request something of interesting taste? You can decline my dear divine. Werewolf Germany x Reader. Do whatever you wish my divine. For I am a humble simp that has to much time on my hand. Sincerely, A.Burr.

Dear requester,

I intend to fufill your request wholeheartedly and with the fever of 10 thousand men.

Sincerely your obedient servant,

A.Ham.

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

This is going to be like an imprint/mate sort of scenario.

The woods always provided you comfort. The air was fresher and gave you a chance to clear your head from city ick. You would live out here if it was possible.

The soft crunch of crisp leaves beneath your feet gave you copious amounts of serotonin. Birds would chirp loudly overhead, having their own little conversations. The only thing that happened to dampen your mood was a small rock somewhere in your boot. You even enjoyed the weight of your backpack on your shoulder as it signified an adventure.

You had only seen 2 people on the trail so far. It looked like a couple who had come out here to make out in the forest. You cringed childishly at the thought. You supposed it was better than someone making out in a restaurant.

You suddenly came to a fork in the path. The left path looked clear and didn’t have any twigs on the trail. All the trees were full and bushy and the sun filtered through the trees.

The right path was almost the complete opposite. You almost brought out your phone to take a picture. Twigs and leaves covered most of the path. The trees were still full but lacked a vibrant green color. It was almost completely cloudy.

The curious part of you made you turn towards the right path. While the logical, slightly scaredy-cat version of you ached to turn around and go down the left path. Taking a deep breath you stepped towards the right path and as soon as you did the wind slammed against you and the dark trees. You tensed and planted your feet hard against the soil so you didn’t tumble over. You looked behind you to see if anyone else witnessed it.

No one was there. Deciding to not let it deter you from your self made adventure you took a few more cautious steps. When nothing happened you took a few more, then a few more. You were at your normal walking speed, as you looked around the glim forest. The farther you went the more fog you encountered. A deer crossed your path, scaring the living hell out of you.

You blushed deeply as your scream echoed through the forest. “Relax.” You scolded to yourself. The fog started to get heavier and heavier and if you were in your right mind you would turned around, but you felt like you had something to prove. How cool would it be to tell your grand kids about the time you almost died in the forest?

You may have cursed yourself when you thought of death because a loud howl sounded off in the distance. You didn’t know there were wolves here. Well if there was prey there must be predator. “I should probably turn around.” You muttered to yourself. You stopped in your tracks and took a deep breath enjoying the musty air. Turning around your heart fell into your stomach. Sweat immediately covered your body, and your hands reached around to your backpack hoping for some form of weapon.

5 wolves descended out of the fog. The more you looked around you realized the fog seemed to clear around you, making it easy for them to spot you. Their determined brown eyes bore into your body. You tried to remember everything you had heard or seen about wolves. You knew that if you needed to scare a bear away being really loud and overwhelming their senses may help with that. You quickly screamed as loud as you could and kicked some leaves and soil at the large canines. As you flung your leg back and forth you kicked a large heavy stick hitting one of the wolves directly in the snout.

You had to stop the instant reflex to apologize. The wolves shrinked back at the loud noises and assaults. Your throat ached and you were surprised you were able to hold sound for that long. “Get back!” You shrieked. You took a few steps back wondering if it was a good idea to run. You bet they would just chase you and you knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun them. They were made to hunt.

One of the wolves in the middle who was bigger than the rest of them took a few warning steps forward. You moved forward as well as kicking more leaves and dirt into his face. The large wolf sneezed and shook out his head to get rid of the dirt. The wolf glared at you with a new determination which made you gulp.

You opened your mouth to scream again. The harsh sound scraped your throat as it exited your mouth filling the forest. A deep, powerful growl overlapped with your scream making you cut yourself off. You looked down at the wolves and watched as they stared at you with scared eyes and quickly scurried away. You would have laughed if it wasn’t for the fact that you felt eyes watching you.

You quickly spun around and your knees completely gave out. Another wolf. Except this one was different. If you stood up it’s back would almost reach the top of your head. It’s hair was a light tan color- almost blonde except for a large black spot on its chest. It had a few light scars around its legs and a deeper one on its chest.

What caught your attention the most was it’s eyes. Those eyes were nothing like the previous wolves you saw. They were a light blue and the stared at you with such deep emotion you wondered for a moment if this was actually an animal. It felt like it was staring through your sole. The animals brow was furrowed and as time went on its eyes became softer and softer, and even held in some tears that threatened to fall. The animal kept eye contact with you and you couldn’t break it even if you wanted to. You didn’t know what was going on in the animals mind but you weren’t scared.

You watched it with careful eyes as it took a few small steps towards you. It got low to the ground, causing it stomach to scrap against the forest floor. It would shuffle towards you and then stop. You realized it was trying not to scare you.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You gasped, more to yourself than the wolf. The wolf’s ears piped up and it quickly closed the gap between the two of you. It laid down directly in front of you, it’s face so close you could feel it’s gentle breaths. Even when you were sitting down the wolf was an inch or two taller than you as it laid there. “This is the weirdest day of my life.” You mumbled. The wolf jolted softly and it seemed like a wolf version of a chuckle. The wolf’s front legs were resting on either side of you, encasing you closer to its body.

“Can I pet you?” You asked. Your fingers itched to rake themselves through the thick fur. You should have been more surprised when the wolf seemed to understand you. It gently raised its head to the sky giving you full access to its neck and chest. Your hand immediately darted out and sunk into the heavenly fur. An immediate purr/groan left the wolf as it pressed itself closer against you.

A soothing shock wave fell over you making a small gasp leave your throat. Warmth flooded your body, causing your hands to leave its fur. The warmth immediately left your body. You pressed your hands against the wolf again and felt the warmth instantly flood your body. You continued this action a few time, causing the wolf to huff softly in annoyance. “Sorry.” You apologized. The wolf lowered its head and nuzzled the side of its head against you. Its head was so big it took up most of your upper half. Your body seems to melt and you rested your body against the side of its head. Your fingers scratched right behind its ear, giggling when the wolf’s back leg kicked at its stomach.

“Why aren’t I scared? And why haven’t you eaten me?” You pondered. Your fingers danced in his fur and he cut off his purrs. Its icy eye opened and it backed away from you so it could look you in the eye. You looked at the wolf curiously. The wolf leaned forward and pressed its forehead against yours. You would have questioned it but you were too deep into a blissful warmth.

‘Because this was meant to happen.’ You yelped and scrambled away from the wolf. Your eyes darted around the forest looking for the owner of that honey voice. The wolf whimpered and took a step forward but you held your hand out causing him to stop.

“Who said that?!” You stood up for the first time in about an hour and backed away from the wolf. “This has to be a dream.” The wolf shook its head, looking at you with worry. Your legs worked on their own and you stumbled backwards and the wolf walked forward ready to catch you incase you fell. Panic rose in your throat and your eyes the trees suspiciously. The oddity of the whole situation finally started to catch up to you.

A huge wolf. A euphoric warmth every time you touched. This was a wild animal. Those small wolves from before could tear you to shreds, but this wolf could eat you alive. You felt light headed, and your knees buckled from the invisible weight on your shoulders. You gripped your backpack straps and suddenly took of in a sprint.

The wolf grunted from behind you and you could barley make it anywhere when it bit your backpack causing you to fall to the ground. You flailed desperately underneath the large beast. You somehow ended on your back, the backpack making the ground even more uncomfortable. The wolf leaned forward and you knew for sure you were a goner.

Instead of taking off Your head the wolf pressed its forehead against yours once again.

‘Please calm down.’ A deep voice entered your mind. It sounded like a thought. Like when you talk to yourself in your mind. Except it wasn’t you and you can’t control what the voice says. ‘You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep freaking out.’

“Is that you?” You asked aloud, opening your eyes to look at the wolf. You quickly rolled your eyes. Wolves can’t talk.

‘We can.’ You jumped.

“Can you read my thought?” You asked. Your hands gripped at the leaves and soil under you like you could dig yourself a hole to hide in.

‘Yes and you don’t have to talk out loud.’ The wolf hummed. It’s voice had the same effect as its touch. Warm and calming.

‘How are you doing that?’ You didn’t open your mouth this time to ask that.

‘I’m going to say this and I don’t want you to freak out.’ You nodded your head in a silent agreement that you wouldn’t freak out.

‘What do you know about werewolves?” The deep voice questioned.

‘Is this a trick?’ You thought.

‘No, now answer the questioned.’ The wolf demanded. You gasped when he reminded you he could read you thoughts.

‘I watched twilight and read a few fan fictions.’ You responded. The voice chuckled and it almost lulled you to sleep. The soft vibrations of it seemed to surround your brain.

‘Well remember that baby Jacob imprints on?’ The wolfs question snapped you awake. You nodded your head to relaxed to really answer. ‘Well that’s what happened to me. I heard you screaming in while I was on a hunt and felt something inside me. I needed to help you. Then when we made eye contact, I knew it was you.’ His voice was soft and caring. He was trying not to freak you out. ‘You’re my mate or soulmate, whatever you want to call it.’ He continued. The wolf disconnected his forehead from yours so he could watch your face.

His presence left your head making your head ache slightly. It felt very empty and your body felt cold again. You leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his again, sighing in bliss when you were warm again. You couldn’t see it but that little action made him very happy and his tail wagged to prove it.

‘But that’s impossible werewolves don’t exist.’ You assured him. He huffed causing a small giggle to escape you.

‘Then how do you explain everything that has happened? I can read your thoughts and your going to tell me werewolves aren’t real. Whatever ideas you have of what exists and doesn’t let go of them. They don’t apply.’ He reasoned. He nuzzled his head against yours waiting for a response.

Your mind was lagging severely. Between being on clouds nine and having to process all this information you could barely keep up. You tried to start a sentence multiple times but just couldn’t. The wolf above you sense what was going on.

‘You aren’t use to this feeling. Let yourself sleep. I’ll take care of you.’ The wolf didn’t move even after he finished his sentence. Knowing that if he moved you would wake up and feel cold and alone. Having you sedated was easier than having to chase you down. Even if it was easy to catch you. ‘I’ve got you mein kleiner wolf.’

💕I went overboard with this but do not regret it💕

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elane-in-the-shadows · 5 years

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Red Huntress Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Find this on Wattpad and on AO3

A/N: As I promised this would be the last chapter before the epilogue, I didn’t want to break it in two parts, so this became awfully long. Please stay tuned until the end ^^°

The frozen ground cracked under her boots; the crisp wind blew with shrill cries. Diana stepped carefully, lest she lost her balance over the iced-over spots. She didn’t understand why Operative Swan would choose this February evening in coldest winter to come to the northern Lakelands, but Diana would go to Swan’s meeting no matter what.

Maybe Swan got stuck in the weather here, that’s why. At least it didn’t rain or snow.

“You okay?” asked Marcus Wolff, walking next to her.

Diana hmphed, but as he couldn’t notice her gloomy expression beneath the scarf wrapped around her head, she retorted, “I live here.”

Wolff hmphed back. He returned to his usual silence, yet a few hours before, he’d literally run into her when she’d emerged from the forest in the afternoon.

He’d grabbed her arm. “Come with me,” he’d urged. “There’s a meeting in Aerzen, with Swan. Someone from here should show up.”

“My parents …” Diana had replied, startled by the offer and his insistence.

Wolff had shaken his head. “No time, it’s 15 kilometers and we have to walk.” He’d glanced at her hunting rifle. “Leave that in my transport.”

Apparently, he’d parked his transport at Armina��s Cordes’s farm, to give the impression he was there too, as the farmer had to stay home.

Diana had enough time to ponder on all this, though she was mostly excited about the chance to see Swan again, a real and obviously important member of the Scarlet Guard. She missed the assuring weight of her rifle but agreed with the problems of showing up armed in another place.

Wolff had been right. It would’ve taken too long to search for her parents who she hadn’t seen all day. What was going on here that she didn’t fully grasp? She almost imagined Wolff picked her up specifically, not just because she’d been at hand.

What if Swan does want to meet with me?

Another gush of wind hit her face and she pulled her scarf tighter. She breathed in its woollen scent, hoping to catch a whiff of Giselle’s as well. The scarf was – among others of its kind – a present from her girlfriend. But after much use in the cold and damp weather, it had begun to smell rather of Diana, the woods and the hunt – and thus did nothing now to quell Diana’s yearning.

There had been no time to tell Giselle of her trip, either. In fact, in her parents’ absence this morning, Diana had invited Giselle over to spend the evening with her. In her bed.

It was a few weeks after their first sex. That first time had been in the darkest and shortest days of the last year, when absolutely no one wanted to be, or urged another, to go outside, that Giselle had led Diana up to her bedroom while the rest of the household sat downstairs, chatting in front of the fire.

Perhaps it really had been hesitation, a waiting for their own readiness, that had stopped them before, because now they found it so easy to sneak away and make love. Almost once a week they gave in to their fiery desires.

Diana snorted, assuming her face was already bright red from the cold, so her blush would be fully inconspicuous. The day had been grey and cloudy to begin with and the falling of dusk came early and was barely discernible. Nothing but frost would kiss her tonight.

I hope this meeting will be worth flaking on Giselle and freezing my ass off.

Operative Swan awaited them in the house of the congregation of Aerzen. Looking as formidable as ever, Swan held a speech that did make her sound like a priest. Again, Diana noticed how much Swan resembled the queen.

But no. Although she’d seen only a few images of Queen Cenra Cygnet, there was something off about their resemblance. Beneath the appearance of a veteran soldier, Diana figured, Swan tried to be charming and recruit people for the Scarlet Guard. The queen would never.

The queen has so much power already, she has no need to win over anyone else. Or just believes she doesn’t.

When Swan finished her speech, a few from the two dozens listening left the house. Diana resisted the urge to follow them – she was past being wooed or excluded. Instead, when Swan retreated into an office, Diana came along with the remaining participants who followed the operative, Wolff among them, and took a seat.

Diana’s eyes toured over the group. She didn’t know how to describe them, but they didn’t look like casual listeners who were only curious – they had experience with meetings like this.

Soon, Swan started a new conversation, a business-like one without the recruitment tone. She reported of several Scarlet Guard successes, staying somewhat vague so the others would have little to betray. Afterwards, she beckoned the group to speak about their hometowns in a similar manner, listening to what they could provide or lacked themselves – which included mentions of threats and abuse from the Silvers and the Reds in their thrall.

It was all very conspirative, and very fascinating. This is it, Diana realized, this is what I’ve waited for.

When a pause fell over the group, Swan’s gaze shifted to Diana, lingering there for a decisive, challenging moment. It was less an ask and more of a dare, and Diana was ready.

“I’m from Sieverling,” she began, taking the same approach as the other speakers and ignoring her throbbing heart. “Our harvest was poor due to the weather, and we have little reserves after the tithe paid at new year.” She swallowed, glancing around the table. “We can ration and share, and hunt for some meat, but there isn’t much game to be found now, and,” – did she sound like asking for pity and alms? – “we’ll have to make do, but it’s our turn in the greeny corvee this year, and we’ve already made bad experiences with it.” She shrugged. “It might get worse.”

The group watched her intently, Swan most of all. It was also Swan whose eyes stayed on her just a little longer, before she cleared her throat and wrote something down. “We’ll see to it,” she said simply, just how she’d replied to the other reports, although shorter and with a brusque note.

The meeting continued and ended with Swan wishing them goodbye – conspicuously devoid of conclusions or promises.

Secretive after all. Diana rose and moved out slowly. Wolff had vanished on his own, so she remained in the building, waiting for him.

It was Swan who called her after a few minutes. “Ms. Farley,” she repeated, “I’m glad you made it here.”

Diana almost saluted. She inclined her head. “So am I, ma’am,” she replied.

“You’re new to this,” Swan stated, more serious now.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Swan nodded. “Well, it’s good you’re so committed, but I think you don’t understand yet.” Her brown eyes bored into Diana’s, and Diana’s greater height meant nothing in this moment. Swan towered over her as her fingers clasped around Diana’s arm.

“You see, the Guard has to cover its expenses in some way, or we can surrender right now,” Swan said.

Diana nodded, but for a second, Swan’s grip tightened like a vice, her gaze never leaving Diana’s face. “If you ask the Guard for help, we’ll expect compensation in return.” Swan let go.

“I promise to deliver, ma’am,” Diana said, unsettled but obedient.

Swan inclined her head, her expression softening slightly. “I’m sure of it.”

“Is there … another mission for me?”

Swan crossed her arms and waved a hand. Diana didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean – besides “wait more” – then Swan sighed. “There might already be something under way. Anyway, I look forward to work with you further, Ms. Farley.”

They shook hands and Diana grasped that their conversation was about to end. Yet she wouldn’t be left hanging again. “Please wait,” she called in a firm voice.

Swan raised her eyebrows, half surprised, half affirmed.

“Will we meet again?” Diana asked.

“How would I know?” Swan sounded almost amused.

Diana frowned. “If so … I’d like to avoid wasting any more time.”

Swan cackled shortly. “Of course not.”

“I want to pledge myself to the Scarlet Guard,” Diana went on, unperturbed.

Earnestness returned to Swan’s face. It took a second at most, but Diana felt like falling until she heard Swan reply “yes”.

Rise, red as the dawn.

So simple. So fitting. So obvious. And yet, the credo filled Diana’s mind like a prayer she’d never needed before. It was done, she was the oathed member “Lamb” of the Scarlet Guard. Though it was rather a start than an achievement, she was elated.

She’d be worthy. She’d bring change. She had to admit she didn’t know how to change what, but that was why she joined the Guard, wasn’t it?

The world had kept her ignorant of what could be, but it was unable to hide its wrongness from her and so many others. It was time to step up, to rise.

Although currently, she stepped the long way home, over the icy ground and through the dark. It was almost midnight, and couldn’t be further from the red dawn.

Wolff stayed the night in Aerzen for some undisclosed reason, but thanks to her hunter’s training, she had no extraordinary problems to find her way home in the night.

She’d almost arrived.

At her home, a lantern shone. From her parents? Or Madeline? Though Diana’s sister was used to their family’s comings and goings in the dark, and would have simply retired without waiting, maybe leaving a candle in her window at most. And the light on the porch was clearly brighter than that.

Diana increased her speed, growing a little wary. But she was hit by surprise nonetheless when she heard Giselle greet her. She rushed the last steps up the porch, into the warm orange light of the lantern and Giselle’s arms.

“What are you doing here?” she muttered. “Why didn’t you go in?”

Giselle hummed instead of answering, shoving away Diana’s scarf and snuggling her face into the crook of Diana’s neck. Diana shuddered when she felt Giselle’s breath on her skin.

“I should go in?” Giselle murmured teasingly. “Who stayed outside half the night?” She chuckled, one hand on Diana’s back, hugging her tighter, her other hand searching for Diana’s cold fingers. “You’re a literal icicle.”

Diana kissed Giselle’s temple, Giselle’s squeak a proof of the coldness of Diana’s lips. Diana laughed, fumbling with her fingers so she could pull an oversized mitten over their joined hands. “You’re warming me now,” she said softly, and meant it. She hadn’t expected to see Giselle after she’d left for the meeting, and now she wished to bring Giselle up to her room and cuddle with her in her bed.

She moaned as Giselle’s hand found its way under her coat and to her bare back. They began to sway, in a manner that only marginally resembled dancing due to the hour, the temperature, their exhaustion and thick clothes. Yet Diana could easily imagine another dance of them, just as beautiful.

Eventually, Giselle went on her toes and kissed Diana on the lips. “You stood me up,” she breathed, “and I demand compensation.”

Compensation.

The word crossed through her mind as they kissed again, longer and deeper. It was the second time she heard this word tonight, and it made her consider. Was this the moment to confess? It was merely a question of time before Giselle would ask where she’d been, why she’d broken her promise, and Diana had no explanation ready but the truth.

Giselle’s fingers cradled Diana’s face but her gaze wandered, up and down and aside, in that adorable manner of hers. “I haven’t waited here for long, actually,” Giselle said. “I’ve heard something and I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

Diana lifted her eyebrows. Giselle threw back her head and laughed. “Well, I don’t know for sure, but the news is already making the round, and Ms. Cordes herself said it too, so …” she shrugged and smiled and – in Diana’s eyes – shone brighter than her lantern ever could.

“Lord Isère bought new land and wants tenants to work it,” Giselle went on. “Tenants like my family.”

Diana squeaked and embraced Giselle. She imagined sweeping her of her feet but was too tired for that by now. Excitement and joy for Giselle’s sake rushed through her bloodstream still. “Awesome!” she exclaimed. “Like you wished for.”

Giselle giggled with her, their joined laughter getting louder by the second until they had to stop to catch breath. “Indeed,” Giselle agreed, “indeed.” She quieted, fingertips brushing Diana’s cheek. “I wonder …” she began, yet drifted off.

“What?” Diana muttered as soon as it dawned on her.

“Would you come with me?” Giselle asked, chewing her lips. She sounded hopeful.

But as Diana stayed silent, trying all she could to freeze her face and give nothing away, Giselle frowned. “I … understand you’d want to finish your apprenticeship as a huntress,” she said, not sounding understanding at all. “But I don’t think the new village will have need of a hunter … “

She was still so close, having only slightly loosened their embrace, but it felt like she was flying way, leaving Diana to fall. Diana fought the sensation, lifting her hand to Giselle’s head, cradling it. “We can –”, she urged – but what? What could she offer?

All she could read in Giselle’s face was disappointment. She inched away and grabbed Diana’s arms. “I don’t get it, Diana!” she shouted. “You always said, you wanted away, you wanted change! What is here for you?”

What is here for me?

The Scarlet Guard, obviously. But that wasn’t why she hesitated. She could still fight with them from the next village over. It was that Diana knew it wouldn’t end there, the Guard would ask more and more from her because that was the one thing Swan was clear about.

And if Diana loved Giselle and wanted to be with her, she had to be open with her.

She shook her head and smiled weakly. She closed the distance between them and let their foreheads touch. The muscles in her fingers tensed, tightening her hold on Giselle’s face, and Giselle took the hand in hers and moved her head to kiss Diana’s palm. She smiled back and Diana remembered how Giselle had beamed only moments before, when she’d talked about her new future.

I have to be honest with her…, Diana thought, her lips already moving as if preparing for the words to say, looking into Giselle’s expectant eyes.

… But I also have to protect her.

She closed her eyes. Diana dreamed of the Red Dawn, but Giselle dreamed of a home in safety. And Diana couldn’t take that dream away from her.

Diana pulled away harshly and both their smiles vanished in an instant.

It wasn’t over yet. She could still go back.

She thought of all those times when Giselle had side-eyed her, full of unanswered and unasked questions. Where had Diana been? Why was she away? Why did she learn to fight?

Giselle had never asked, and Diana had preferred to believe she was just moody, like everyone was. But maybe, Giselle really didn’t want to know, nor cared about what Diana did behind her back and wished for deep down.

If they wanted to go on, they’d need to trust one another. And Diana realized she could not grant Giselle that trust.

She stepped back.

Shock spread over Giselle’s face and Diana craved to reach out, to touch her, just one last time. Instead she balled her fists, straightened her back and gave Giselle a hard gaze, engraving that final sight of Giselle into her mind – even though it was a sight of despair.

“I’m sorry,” she said tonelessly, and turned around, opening the door to her house, dashing through and locking it behind her.

She breathed heavily but bit down her tears and sobs as she sank down. She restrained her cries so much it hurt. Not to wake Madeline, she restrained them as she went to her room, as she undressed herself, put on her nightgown and laid down – and only then, pressing her face into the pillow to muffle the sound, she began to cry.

She wore the nightgown Giselle had given her on her birthday. It was a meager replacement for the real girl’s touch.

Diana fell in and out of sleep.

Madeline went over to her at some point, stroking her back and whispering soothing words until Diana was asleep again.

Later, in the early morning, Madeline chased off Papa when he came looking for her. Diana didn’t care about hunting, or telling them about the meeting. She stayed in bed until it was almost noon.

It was sunnier today, although hardly warmer. When she managed to get up, she wrapped herself in a blanket while washing her face. She looked terrible in the mirror and felt close to crying again when she noticed she wore a nightgown from Giselle, held on to a blanket Giselle had embroidered, and used soap she’d made.

So many parts of her Diana had taken for granted and now they were the only things she’d left from her.

“Stop it,” she whispered to her face in the mirror. “Stop.”

She decided to drink some tea – and realized it would be also from Giselle. But it had to stop hurting, didn’t it? Giselle wasn’t dead, and Diana had a mission waiting for her. Life would go on. The Scarlet Guard, they would be her life from now on.

Downstairs, her mother stood at the kitchen window. And she looked even worse than Diana.

The corners of Clara’s mouth twitched. “Good morning.”

“Mama!” Diana cried out, for a second unashamed of sounding like a little girl wanting her mother to comfort her and not at all like a soldier to be.

Not that she gave in to the impulse, even though she smelled Giselle’s tea, prepared by her mother, drifting over the fragrance of the burning fire. She only held on tighter to her mother, breathing heavily as Mama rubbed over her back.

When Mama pulled away, Diana was ready. Keeping her face straight, she said, “I’ve been to a Scarlet Guard meeting last night.”

Mama nodded, gesturing to the table. Diana sat down, thankful for her mother putting bread and a mug with tea in front of her. Sadness and excitement warred in her and either would make her hands shake.

“I’ve given my oath as well,” Diana continued, warming her palms with the mug and meeting her mother’s expectant gaze. Yet further words eluded her. Shouldn’t she have talked about the meeting first, before mentioning her personal success? She stared into the tea until she found her reflection in its surface –

“Hey.” Mama patted her shoulder and Diana looked up. “Congratulations, lamb,” Mama said and Diana settled back into the here and now, though irked that her old pet name and her Guard designation were the same.

Mama cleared her throat. “I knew about the meeting,” she said and took Diana’s hands. “I couldn’t go there” – she paused and blinked – “because I was on a mission myself.”

“Really?”

Mama nodded slowly, then closed her eyes. “Eleven,” she murmured.

“What?”

Mama looked up. “With last night, I’ve killed eleven Silvers by now.”

Diana was aghast. “You … you never said anything,” she stammered.

“I’m becoming the Guard’s favourite killer,” Mama mused. “Or rather their butcher.” She cackled. She turned her face to Diana who was too shocked to speak.

“Last night, it was at a Silver manor,” Mama narrated. “I was to steal coins and grain, then set a fire for distraction.” Her expression darkened. “It didn’t go as planned. There were guests, and then the house blew up.

“I took what I could, and told the same to the dozen of Red workers at the manor. Also that they should flee and hide here.”

“Here? In – “

“Yes. They’ll arrive in a few days.” Mama sighed. “It was so much, Diana. Enough money to support the Guard for months.” She shook her head. “My handler was elated. Said they can’t wait to finally deploy me on a greater scale.”

In the pregnant silence that followed, Diana grasped the implication. “They want you elsewhere?”

Mama nodded, squeezing Diana’s hands. “Papa too. They’re going to press harder for relocation now, as you’ve become a full member as well.”

So they’ve been asking her and Papa to move for a while. Diana gulped. “I had no idea.”

Her mother lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

Diana’s head sank. “No. Yes …” She looked up. “It’s obvious in hindsight, isn’t it?” She gasped as a consequence crossed her mind. “But Madeline?”

Mama shook her head.

“She won’t come with us?” Diana asked and her mother declined.

“To imagine leaving my little girl behind …” Mama sighed deeply. “You know she never had any interest. She wants to stay at my family’s farm. She isn’t like us.” A hint of accusation swung in her voice, but not for Madeline. For herself.

Diana squeezed her mother’s hand. “We can’t make her join,” she said quietly, thinking of someone else as well. “That would be worse.”

Mama pulled loose and leaned back in her chair. She stared at her hands, stretching her fingers that were worn from work. Her fingernails showed dark grey stains. From the fire last night, Diana guessed. Or from dead Silvers.

“I thought this place is only good for hiding,” Mama said slowly. “Not for living. But it’s still so hard to leave it behind.”

Diana knew. The coming farewell from her hometown soon left her with a constant ache, a fear of the uncertain future. But this ache was manageable because the future was always unclear, because it also came with a glimmer of hope.

It didn’t stop Diana from sobbing in her pillow the next night. And the next. And the next, as she saw her fate weaving a pattern that denied any option for her and Giselle to be together. She hadn’t anticipated that certainty to arrive so fast, had wished, deep down, to return to her, to give her another chance.

There couldn’t be one, so Diana cried in the dark and every time Madeline would go to comfort her for a while even though Diana didn’t explain why she was sad. It became obvious after a few days anyway, but it was also that Madeline wished to be there for her sister as long as they were together still.

It was enough that her family pampered her, Diana wouldn’t let herself be pitied by the whole village. She had enough to do, preparing their – illegal – leave and instructing the fugitive workers from the manor her mother had burned down. With them arrived resources from the Scarlet Huard, like a reward for her mother’s successful mission. Among the newcomers was a hunter boy Diana took with her to make him familiar with the lands and the forest.

There were times when she enjoyed the idea that Giselle might suspect there was something between her and the boy. At other times, she hated the image. What Giselle really thought, she had no idea. From one day to the next, she and Giselle had stopped talking, as if it was easier that way.

Maybe it was. After all, barely a month had passed when Giselle and her family moved out to Lord Isère’s new settlement; mere days before Giselle’s 17th birthday. Another thing Diana was glad about, for she couldn’t imagine to pretend it was just any other day.

It was painful enough when Giselle embraced her in farewell, like she did with every other youth they grew up with. During her turn, Diana noticed how Giselle’s joyful smile dropped just a little.

Then Diana Farley’s first love, in her best dress and with spring flowers in her hair, climbed onto a cart to leave her past, the village and the girl she’d loved behind, to seek her own path.

Madeline sat on her bed, brushing her yellow hair. It was the June morning before Sieverling’s greeny corvee, Madeline’s first.

She’ll take my place, Diana thought. It was strange to realize since, in several ways, Madeline would really take her place, at least in Sieverling. She’d stay. Diana would leave. Today, it was an order from the Scarlet Guard calling her and her father away to retrieve travel permits and other faked papers for Diana and her parents for when they were moving out of their home village to wherever the Guard wanted them.

Of course they haven’t told us anything yet.

Neither timing was optimal with the corvee coming, but as the participation lists were old, Madeline, the other kids older than ten now, and the newcomers could fill the ranks for the next few days. Unless someone with the delegated Silvers noticed the new arrivals. Unless someone wondered about those who’d recently left Sieverling for another settlement.

Diana swallowed at the thought that came so close to Giselle. She couldn’t bear it. She rose from the bed, preparing for her own trip but occasionally glancing at her sister.

The early sunlight gleamed and sparkled at her golden necklace, a family heirloom from their mother’s family. Uncle Timo had given it and another to his sister Clara as a parting gift. Diana had declined hers, and passed it on to Madeline.

“So you’ll remember us,” Diana had said, clasping the necklace around her sister’s neck.

Madeline had quirked an eyebrow. “So you’ll remember we’re still here,” she’d retorted.

Diana didn’t know if she could deal with Madeline away from her on top of everything else. She looked at her sister, taking another mental image of her. At thirteen, her sister had gotten big, so tall and long-legged. Her hair, straight and thin unlike Diana’s, had grown so long too. Yet she was still quite slight, delicate and childlike.

How can we …?

“Hey,” Madeline stood up, brushing Diana’s arm. “Help me with that?” She pointed to the necklace’s clasp.

“Ah, sure.” Diana reacted slowly, still in a slump. Sometimes she doubted she would be a help to anyone when heartbreak could shatter her like this, asked herself how much her family did only to comfort her. They’d even had a photo taken of the four of them, before they’d part ways.

“Thanks,” said Madeline as Diana placed the necklace in her hand. She looked up to her big sister, with her green eyes, her only facial feature that was more like Mama than Papa.

Madeline put the necklace in a box. “Good luck to you,” she said with a smile and Diana had to smile back. “I confess, I’m kind of excited.” Madeline’s grin widened, her voice going higher in jest. “Who knows, maybe the queen – “

“– will visit us this year?” Diana finished and they both laughed at the old joke. “I hope not.”

As Diana and her father were on their hike to the town were their papers waited in a cache, her thoughts returned to her sister’s old joke. Indeed, she was relieved she wouldn’t meet the Silvers of the greeny corvee, let alone the queen of the Lakelands. Despite her oath, she’d be tempted too much to not act against them in a rush.

Must be Mama’s killer instinct, she considered. But since she wasn’t sure she was ready for another kill, it was probably better this way.

Diana felt better in general, too. She didn’t know where it came from in that moment, but for the first time in months, she didn’t only believe, but also trusted in the cause, and walked lighter for that alone.

I have to stop pitying myself, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, Madeline had it almost right – a royal of House Cygnet granted Sieverling a visit. But it was the king, not the queen, and he didn’t come to retrieve crops, but to bring a flood.

She had been wrong to ever feel sorry about the Silver woman she’d killed; wrong to even think Silvers could be “like them.” She’d thought her ignorance about them granted the Silvers the benefit of the doubt, but if she was true to herself, every interaction with them had pointed only in the one direction.

She snorted as she strapped her boots so tight it hurt. She welcomed the pain these days, anything that distracted her from the gaping hole inside of her.

And tightly-strapped boots made it easier to get over the wet ground she was trudging through. She hated it. She hated the walk, the hour, the landscape, herself. When she glimpsed the puddles on the fields through the dark at the end of the night, a fear rose up in her, together with the memory of Sieverling – and what happened to it and everyone she knew.

He was here too, this place was also flooded, and so is …!

She pressed her eyes shut. Calm down. She chided herself, supressing the ridiculous fear along with anything else she couldn’t allow herself to feel.

She was made of stone and, clad in camouflage, invisible in the late night. The world was shades of grey and as colourless as her heart. Just the new poppy buds, about to bloom today, offered a few bright spots.

The newly-built village looked strange: too clean, almost lifeless – because drudgery simply hadn’t worn it out yet.

She arrived this early so no one would be awake yet. The village looked busy enough, with its animals grazing on pastures and plants growing on the fields. Good to know they seemed to do well.

Fortunately, the settlement wasn’t too large and the house she searched for was located on the corner she came from. She was certain enough it was the right one, with its façade painted with familiar, colourful patterns.

She produced the envelope addressed with Giselle’s name from her pocket and crouched down to shove it under the door. She laid her hands on the door. Then she rested her head against it. She breathed heavily. To know that at least Giselle slept safely, just behind this door …!

She balled her fists and got up. She had no time to linger any longer.

The letter had been short:

Dear Giselle,

I’m happy you found and arrived at the place you wished for.

In the end, we’ve left, too.

She’d struggled, laboured over these few words. But she had nothing else she could say. It had been even harder to convince herself to sign it with her name. It would be pointless to end the letter without it, and still she hated how that single signature made her feel a finality in one more than one way.

Looking over her shoulder, she sighed one last time and headed back to their camp where she hadn’t slept in for a minute.

She hurried but he already expected her, looming as serious and soldier-like as ever.

They had that in common now, like they’d begun to share so many traits. None of them were a comfort though, only necessities.

And yet he took the necklaces and even the photo, she remembered. Memories of happiness she’d decided she wouldn’t afford.

“Diana,” he said, the chiding tone unmistakeable. She ignored him. She’d learned, to her surprise, that the Scarlet Guard had made him a major, a rank unattainable to a Red in the Lakelands’ army. He was oh so proud of it and it showed.

“Diana,” he repeated, firmer now and she could no longer avoid his gaze. His sight hurt her. The scowl was the only expression he wore on his face nowadays, and it’d rip her open if she didn’t answer in kind. So she glared at him while he simply continued, “you shouldn’t have gone there. You know we have to stay hidden. Di –”

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. She watched his startlement with an icy satisfaction going down her spine.

Her voice and face were devoid of emotion and she hoped that pleased him in turn. “I’m Operative Farley of the Scarlet Guard,” she announced. “And nothing else.”

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @goldfincheli @avid-author-activist @maudthebookeater @spookymareshmallow @misslucyhutton @ghostlymaven @olivegreenolives @neyrriz @gamer670 @loveverygalaxybouquetstuff @shadykittentraveler @yjlover @blairistired @onlycosmere @lil-taco-kid @brightfairyyy @scxrletguardsdawn @sxfik @1booklover @orphic-aubade @prayforthewickedz

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huntertales · 5 years

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Part Four: Two Down, One More To Go. (Taxi Driver S08E19)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader respond to a call from a terrified Kevin who claims to hear Crowley’s voice in his head. Also with the good news that he’s discovered the second trial from the tablet—rescue an innocent soul from hell. The reader has to team up with a reaper named Ajay to complete the task, meanwhile the boys get a visit from the angel Naomi. But when things go awry, Dean must find Benny and ask him for a huge favor. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Gif Credit: thejabberwock Word Count: 4,066.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

For a second you thought Benny's shortcut out of Purgatory didn't work when you found yourself in the middle of the woods again, darkness engulfing your vision as you steadied yourself on the foreign ground. You couldn't quite see much of where you were going. The ache in your legs from all the walking you had been doing made it feel like it was impossible for you to last much longer, but you forced yourself to push through the pain. There was something different about this place from Purgatory. The air smelled fresher than before, there was the sounds of insects and nocturnal wildlife were going on about their evening. As you continued walking up a small hill that took the breath out of your lungs, the thought if the boys had made it here on time crossed your mind. You didn't even know how long you were gone. All you knew was that you wanted to get this trial done once and for all.

You hiked through a few more feet of leaves and trees to help steady yourself upwards until you saw a small opening through some branches. You stopped for a moment to catch your breath and look ahead in front of you. You squint your eyes slightly when you saw two figures ahead of you. Your grip around the demon knife tightened when you thought it might have been the very same person who nearly got you stuck in Purgatory in the first place. However you felt it loosen at the sight of two faces. You weren't sure who was more relieved to see you, all you knew for sure that you were over the moon to see the boys.

Dean appeared to be filled to the brim with anxiety, and seeing your face was the only thing he wanted most of all. Sam's head was running wild with all the things that could have gone wrong after he sent Benny off to get you. But when he saw you standing there with a smirk across your lips at how worried they looked, he felt himself breathing a little easier at seeing you back in one piece. “Miss me, boys?”

Dean wasted no time in pulling you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around your body and pressed your body against his close as possible. He wanted to make sure that you were very much real and okay. You buried your face into his chest and shut your eyes, allowing yourself for the first time in almost two days to finally relax. You felt safe in Dean's arms, the only place that felt like home wherever you went. Dean squeezed you a little harder and rocked you slightly back and forth, relieving himself of the panic running through his mind since you left.

All though he never wanted you to be putting yourself through this kind of danger in the first place, the both of you had a new sense of respect for each other. More than ever before. Dean survived a year in Purgatory, you barely managed to stay alive for two days. He never thought you were going to be able to carry yourself through just one trial. Here you were after going to Purgatory and Hell, not a single scratch on your body running straight to the finish line and into his arms.

Dean had to squeeze you one more time before he let you go to breathe. While you were allowed to inhale a few deep breaths of the crisp night air, Sam wasted no time in pulling you into his embrace. The difference between the boys hugs was that Sam sometimes forgot his own strength. You wrapped your arms around his waist as you enjoyed the feeling of him close to you, both of you enjoying the moment. Sam accidentally forgot that you weren't his size and needed to breathe for a while, causing you to let out a warning before he quickly pulled away, muttering a sorry for the accidental discomfort he caused you. You smiled at his behavior and shook your head, knowing it was a lot better than the things you just went through.

“Purgatory, right? A real garden spot, ain’t it?” Dean asked you. Both of you knew the horrors of that place was nothing to joke about, but being out of there made you quietly laugh at how he described it. While it was nice that you were back in one piece, you didn't go there to see the sights. "Did you get him out?"

You opened your mouth to answer his question, but you hesitated for a few seconds at the news you had to break to the older Winchester. “Only Bobby.”

“What?” You felt your heart sink at how all of this unfolded, wishing that it ended more differently with a positive twist. The both of you hoped that a certain vampire could have gotten a better life on the outside, but you didn’t always get what you wanted. "I mean, that's fantastic about Bobby."

“Dean, look—Benny, uh...he got us out. But a bunch of vampires showed up out of nowhere, and he used himself as bait. I got the feeling that even if it didn’t happen, he didn’t want to come back, you know?” You explained to him about the details that went down. You didn’t want for this to happen, you wished that he was back here and you could have given him a chance to make it up to him. Dean tried not to hide the disappointment at the news. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean nodded his head slowly, understanding why Benny would do such a thing. The vampire's talk about not fitting in made a lot more sense. He didn't like Purgatory, but home wasn't what he thought it was. "You're probably right."

"So, uh...Bobby," Sam found himself feeling slightly disappointed at hearing how Benny wanted to go back to that place so badly. There was a moment in time where he would have gladly sent the vampire back down there himself, because he judged him too quickly. However, maybe there was a point down the line when all of this hell business was taken care of he could return the favor. Sam smiled slightly at the mention of someone he hadn't seen in a while, for you it was even longer. He wanted to know how the reunion between the both of you went. "How'd he hold up down there?"

“He’s good. All things considered. He sure as hell gave me an earful about seeing me and what I was doing in hell. And then some. But...it felt so damn good to see him one last time.” You said. You felt yourself chuckling slightly at Bobby’s personality that never changed. Not even after all this time and some time in Hell “Oh. And he’s still ornery as hell, of course.”

“As he should be.” Dean said. “Let’s put that old man where he belongs.”

You couldn't agree more with that plan, having two people hitching a ride in your skin was more than you could handle. You pulled up the sleeve of your jacket and began speaking the words that Kevin told you to do in order for this trial to be complete. As you did so, you dragged the knife across your skin to cut it open and let Bobby's soul free from your body. You stepped back slightly and watched as his soul began to descend to the nighttime sky, his final destination of Heaven above where he would hopefully get the proper rest where he deserved.

You watched as his soul made it to the top of the trees and just there, you furrowed your brow slightly at the hitch in your plan that was stopping Bobby from going upstairs. You hadn’t done anything like this before, but you had a feeling this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. All you knew for sure that was something was going wrong from what happened next. Bobby's soul was turning into a dark cloudy sky, making you wonder for a second if you had done something to botch the trial. Maybe you pronounced a word wrong, maybe Benny's help of escaping Purgatory was what messed this up. You didn't take into consideration there was an outside force trying to put a stop to your plans.

“What the hell?” You muttered under your breath.

“Hello, boys. Kitten.” You felt your grip around the demon knife tighten at the sound of a familiar voice, along with the stupid nickname. You slowly looked away from Bobby's soul and the demon holding it in his clutches. There Crowley stood in all of his glory. He might not have been able to botch your escape from Purgatory after wrongfully smuggling yourself in there, but there was no way he was letting his favorite soul escape so easily. "Bobby Singer—I'd know you anywhere."

“Let him go, Crowley.” Dean ordered at the demon. “He doesn’t belong in Hell.”

“He does if I say he does. He’s inflicted untold damage on my kind.” Crowley said. “From where I sit, actually, hell’s too good for him.”

You suddenly found yourself overwhelmed with a new burst of energy at the things Crowley was saying which would have destroyed all the hard work you put into completing this trial. You put one foot in front of the other, getting ready to charge at him and ending the demon’s pathetic life once and for all. Before you could plunge the knife into his chest like you wanted for the past handful of years, you felt yourself being thrown backwards into the air and falling on your back, a rough landing to the ground with only dead leaves to cushion the blow. Crowley thought it would be funny to throw you around like a rag doll. You weren’t laughing at the matter.

You had to admit the fall took the breath out of your lungs and caused you to lay there for a few seconds, trying not to panic at how bad this must be for the baby. You were pretty sure being thrown around and enduring psychical endurance like this was frowned upon for women in your condition. But you pushed through the discomfort and got up to a sitting position, blinking a few times to try and make Crowley stop spinning in circles around you. For a moment the demon thought he had won this fight fair and square, little did he take into consideration there was another team player who had been watching on the sidelines, waiting for the right moment to step in when needed to do so. Sort of like when the king of hell didn’t want to play fair.

Crowley's smug look quickly fell on his face when he saw Bobby's soul was being taken out of his control, by someone that could play on his level. He looked to see it was an angel poking her nose in business where it didn't belong. "Oh, come on!"

"Let me see if I've interpreted the situated correctly." Naomi, the angel that the boys had known from their first encounter with her, decided to lend a helping hand when you needed it the most. "Y/N Y/L/N and the Winchesters have freed an innocent from Hell, to which you are wrongfully trying to return it."

“Siding with them, Naomi? You don’t know those three.” Crowley warned the angel about who she was putting her trust into. “Before they’re done, we’ll both be locked away.”

“I’m just hoping they lock you away, dear.” Naomi said. “The rest I’ll figure out.”

“Bureaucrat.” Crowley hissed at the angel. “You’re fighting outside your weight class.”

It seemed Crowley had hit a nerve inside Naomi at the insult she took personal. She lifted her hand and got ready to smite the demon once and for all, but it seemed Crowley understood that he was better to run off before he signed himself to hell with no way out. The angel smiled to herself at how easy and skittish demons could be when faced against a challenge. She wasted not a second longer freeing Bobby from the demon's clutches and the boys from their hold against the trees they had been pinned against, letting them drop to the ground. You grabbed Dean's hand that helped you up to your two feet as you watched Bobby's soul descend onto heaven, where he belonged to rest for however long it might be. You looked over at the angel you had never met before, and awfully friendly from most of her siblings you met in the past.

“I told you you could trust me.” Naomi said.

You furrowed your brow slightly at her parting words before she vanished from sight. All of what just went down made you wonder what went down with the boys while you were gone. You turned your head to give them a confused look. “What the hell was that all about?”

“We’ll tell you later.” Dean said. “Let’s just get this trial done.”

You couldn't have agreed more with the man's suggestion. You wasted no time in patting around your pockets for the piece of paper for the last spell you needed to say in order for this trial to be completed. All you remembered from completing the first trial was how much of an impact it took on your body the days following afterwards. The psychical pain that followed after saying the words of enocian vanished from your mind, but they quickly came back to remind you. When the last word fell from your lips, you were finally done with the trial. You were about to let out a sigh of relief, only the next thing that came out of your mouth was a noise from the sudden pain you felt in your right arm.

You felt your left hand grip around your other arm at the excruciating amount of pain you remembered happening before after you completed the first trial. You tried your hardest to fight through the sensation as you stumbled forward a few steps, only for your knees to give out. You bit your bottom lip at the pain, like it was turning into a burning sensation you never felt before. Your right arm was glowing...it was so strange, and yet so painful. You stared at it for a few seconds, not realizing the boys were hovering over you and shouting your name in fear at what they saw unfolding. As the pain and light began to subside, you finally were able to breathe properly for the first time since you started this journey.

“It’s okay! It’s okay! I’m fine.” You tried to reassure the boys. You looked up to their worried faces and gave them a smile, wanting them to know that you were really okay. “I’m good. We’re good.”

+ + +

You sat in the backseat of the Impala for the first time in almost two excruciating long days. After all the things you had been through, from walking around Purgatory and sneaking yourself into Hell, it came as no surprise you were in need of a long slumber. But you wanted to check up on Kevin to make sure he was okay. You stared out the window and watched as the nighttime scenery passed you by. Dean took his gaze off the road every once in a while to check up on you while Sam waited to hear any sounds of coughing. You were content for the moment. Not a single peep came out from you. Still, Dean couldn't help himself but worry at how this was going to affect your body. It wouldn’t have been the first time you lied about your health.

“You okay?” Dean couldn’t help himself but ask once again to you.

You looked away from the window and straight ahead, nodding your head. “I’ll live.”

"I buried Benny, by the way. But I didn't burn his bones. After he said he'd get try and get you out of there, it didn't seem right." Dean waited a few seconds before admitting something about the vampire that saved your life. "I know Sammy has no use for him and you don't want him in our lives anymore, but—"

"No, no, no. You know what? I get it. I do. He's a little different from what I thought." Sam admitted about his change of heart for the vampire after the selfless act he did for them. "So, go ahead and leave the door open if you want. I'm sure Y/N agrees with me. Right?"

"Totally. Hell, once this is all over I'll throw him a welcome back party." You said. You shifted around in your seat and leaned forward slightly to rub your lower back from the ache that must've appeared from the sitting you weren't used to. It must be from the fall you took earlier tonight. "First thing's first. Let's go check in with Prophet Boy and see where he stashed that tablet."

+ + +

The boys had left Kevin in a bit of a fragile state of mind after trying to reassure him once again that he was okay. You knocked on the door to the boat house, waiting a few moments for the kid to get himself out of his closet and answer the door. A minute or so passed with nothing. Not even a single noise came from the other side of the door. You let out a sigh of annoyance, deciding to go inside yourself to see what the big deal was about. You announce your arrival and stepped inside first, the boys following right after into a dark boat which wasn’t like Kevin.

You pulled out your flashlight to help guide the way as you made your way into the place, peering over every corner to see if you might be able to find Kevin hiding somewhere and away from Crowley. You called out the kid’s name a few times as you made your way into the open space where Kevin worked frequently. The flashlight scanned the entire place, but there was no trace of the prophet. Hell, there wasn’t even a trace of human life. You felt your breathing slowly turn heavier when Dean made his way around, finding the lights to turn them on. Only to show what you already had expected—the kid ran for the hills.

“He’s gone.” Sam said, coming back from his sweep around the boat to see there was no trace of anything. Not even a scrap of clothing. Kevin grabbed all of his stuff and booked it. “He took our stuff, his notes…”

“I saw this coming. Finally freaked.” Dean muttered. “Little geek made a run for it.”

“Yeah, but where?” The younger Winchester asked.

You felt your grip around the flashlight tighten, to the point where you felt your fingers might break from what was going on. The little prophet better had hid himself somewhere deep and underground. Because when you got your hands on him you were going to rip apart. There was nothing Crowley could do that would even touch the anger you were feeling right now. All he had to do was stick around for a little while longer. You had one more trial to do until this was all over. Nothing was going to stand in your way from getting what you wanted. Not the king of hell. Not even a scared little prophet. You were going to close the gates of hell. Once and for all.

+ + +

You were beyond pissed for how tonight ended up with a prophet on the loose for the second time. Right when you had a victory, life didn't waste a second knocking you down a peg to humble you and make the fight just a little bit harder. You wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep away the anger before you broke something. Tomorrow morning you were going to figure out a way to track down the kid and bring him back. But in order for your mind to work properly, you needed a decent night's sleep. And a shower to wash away the stench that came with running around Purgatory and smuggling yourself into Hell.

You weren’t sure how long you were in the shower, but you were taking advantage of the endless hot water and amazing pressure that felt like sweet relief on your lower back that was still hurting. After scrubbing every inch of your body and smelling like a rose, you got yourself out of the shower and grabbed your robe Dean had given to you shortly after moving into the bunker. Since you refused to wear a dead man’s one. You made your way over to the sinks and wiped away the fog off the mirror, taking a moment to inspect your reflection.Truth be told, you were tired. These trials weren’t a walk in the park. It showed on your face from the slight dark circles and how sluggish you were feeling.

You polished off dinner and then some when you got into the bunker, knowing you and the baby were beyond famished. You felt the ache in your back starting to grow worse. While you were debating on taking something for it, you slowly found your attention drifting away from the ache. And to the familiar tickle in the back of your throat. You let out a few short coughs before composing yourself, nothing out of the ordinary to scare you. The thought lasted for a second before you were hit with a coughing fit that look the breath out of your lungs. You leaned over the sink and coughed up something, enough for the liquid to hit the sink. Grimacing, you spit it out, making you taste it again...the blood.

You felt your breathing growing heavier at the familiar sight of the crimson color. Instead of clinging to your hand, this time you saw it clear as day when it stained the porcelain white sink. You couldn’t deny these trials were doing something to your body. Cas said they were hurting you in ways that he couldn’t heal. But you knew your body better than anyone. You slowly reached out a finger to touch a droplet of blood, getting just enough on the tip. You put out your tongue and tasted the droplet for yourself, wondering why it was different this time.

Your blood wasn’t...well, like everyone else’s. It ran with a little bit of different demons that ruined your life, who’s shared goal was for you to turn into one of them.m. You had Azazel’s, Lilith’s, possibly Ruby’s and so many other demons Lucifer slaughtered for you to turn you into what he always wanted. You were poisoned from the inside out. Sam had his own share of demon blood that made him crazy. But all of it vanished when he freed Lucifer from the cage. And he might have gotten rid of yours after a while. You couldn’t be quite sure. You would remember the taste of demon blood. It was different from than human’s. And this was it.

The blood you coughed up wasn’t rich like iron, it didn’t feel like you were sucking on pennies while you still had some lingering in your mouth. This stuff made you think back to the horrors of it sliding down your throat against your will. Trying to vomit it back up after Lilith left. Being tied down to a chair and having Lucifer hold onto your jaw, forcing you to drink down the blood of a demon he drained just for you. It was demon blood. You were coughing up the blood that was forced into you. Like your body was rejecting all the demon left in your body.

You were doing the trials to close the gates of Hell, getting rid of every aspect of it. And for you it made sense that you were coughing up the lingering ties to that place. You coughed a few more times before your lips stretched into a smile. Almost liked you were relieved. It made sense. The damage to your inside. The blood. The trials weren’t hurting you, they were healing you. God was trying to turn you into what you always wanted. A human being.

Rewrite Taglist:

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fullmetaldevil-blog · 5 years

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An Upset Stomach

This story was inspired by @zanzaflux ‘s “Fever” about Bendy getting sick and I wondered what would happen if Benny got sick.

There are descriptions of vomiting, but it is only ink so its kept pg 13.

Anyways I hope you ladies and gentlemen enjoy the short~

On with the show~!

Allison was out for a few days for a small part in a movie shoot while Tom had taken a few days off to be home for a well deserved vacation as well as to care for Benny. The toon was a bit bummed that Allison won't be home for a little while, but upon hearing that Tom was taking several days off to be home with him made him truly ecstatic. Benny more then happy to spend time with his father figure and Tom was more then happy to spend time with his little one, the man already plotting on how he should spend his vacation with his plush toy son.

Clouds hung low in the sky and despite the threatening look of the heavens there was only a small chance of rain. Seeing a clear opportunity Tom had decided to do a little fishing at a river 20 minutes from home. Benny had inquired about why the sudden urge for fishing since it was cloudy and that they should stay home, but his answer was that the bigger fish come out on cloudy rainy days or when it's dark out. The toon watched as his dad packed up two fishing rods, bait, and a cooler and loaded up the truck while he was urged to grab a raincoat and boots just in case.

The road was soon behind them as the duo headed down the highway to the forest a few miles away. Tom was thankful traffic was light due to the weather and could already spot the swiftly approaching mountains. Benny happily bounced in his seat when he saw the approaching tree line indicating the woods, causing Tom to chuckle at the excitement of the toon. Benny liked the little area that Tom and Henry discovered. It was a old quiet hiking trail that panned out to a small open area with a river that ran just beyond the tree line. No one liked coming to the spot since it was a solid 20 minute walk just to reach the site, but for the toons it was well worth it. The creeping oaks and towering pines created a perfect little hideaway encased by the soothing sounds of the river.

The 20 minute walk was spent with Benny eagerly asking Tom about what they were going to catch while riding on his dad's shoulders. Tom described all the types of fish that he and Henry spotted in the river and that at this time of year they should be more then plentiful plus if they were to catch any that he would make fish fry with them. He noted that the backfire is that patience catches fish better then haste and that once they got there that they would be spending a lot of time relaxing while waiting for the fish to bite since fishing isn't exactly a fast paced sport. Benny nodded in understanding and was more then willing to wait if it meant getting a good meal, but his patience came to an end the minute their trek to the clearing and he heard the sounds of the water lapping at the rocks beyond the trees. He tried to wiggle off Tom's shoulders to bound up to the waters edge but was stopped by the man telling him to at least put his boots and coat on while he set up.

Tom positioned himself next to a large rock right by the rivers edge and dipped his bucket into the water leaning back using the boulder as a chair and with the bucket at his side he motioned for Benny to join him. Benny was swiftly at his side dressed in his little coast and boots and Tom showed him how to tie the bait onto the hook. When the bait was secured Tom showed Benny the motions of how to cast the line before casting his own and patiently waited for Benny to do the same. The toon not wanting to disappoint cast his line with all his might and nearly cast himself in the process. Quick thinking on Tom's part kept the plushtoon from ending up in the water so Tom resorted to holding onto him while the toon cast his line. The floaters bobbed up and down blissfully in the river and Benny took the moment to relax in Tom's lap while the two idly chatted away about little things simply enjoying the others company. Benny's line was the first to get a bite and Tom showed Benny how to reel in the fish and to handle them once caught. He had Benny hold onto the fish and the poor toon was getting slapped in the face by the fish's tail, tom intervened and then it was his turn to get assaulted by the upset fish as it smacked him hard right in the nose. After some fuss and nearly dropping the fish into the river the fish was placed in a cooler filled with water for later. Several more fish later and thankfully with not nearly as much resistance as the first one, the cooler was full of the fish which was making Benny's mouth water with the thought of all the fish fry they could make.

By the end of the day Tom had pulled the fish out of the cooler one by one taking photos with Benny to capture their capture on film. The man sized all of the fish up and tossed all the fish back in the river except for two of them. Benny whined at the loss of the potential meal and Tom chuckled telling him that baby fish are let go to mature and reproduce, while older fish already reproduced and are for only caught for their needs. In short 1 fish per person to keeps things fair and to not over fish an area. Benny understood and watched the man clean and prep the fish which earned a small look of disgust from the toon pulling more chuckles out of his dad at the toons reaction. Tom buried the innards which earned another round of questions from the devildoll. He was told that the body will break down and add nutrients to the soil to help plants grow as it was a part of the natural cycle of life.

The cooler was emptied except for the 2 freshly cleaned fish and Tom carried the cooler and rods while watching Benny run around the base of the oak trees collecting the bright fall leaves and a few acorns. Tom told him to leave the acorns out in a pile for creatures like the Grey squirrels to collect for the winter months since they would need them and the toon was more then happy to oblige. A sense of serenity swept between the two on their journey back through the woods. Benny asked many questions about the forest fauna and landscape while Tom did his best to answer his questions. They occasionally stopped to look at smaller wildlife for which Benny learned that frogs scream when held scarring him and thus earning a squeaky toy scream out of him as well. Tom thought he was gonna bust a rib at hearing both the frog and Benny scream at nearly the same time and both nearly sounding the same. It took awhile for the man to calm his laughter and even more so to peel Benny off him after the encounter.

The ride home was spent with Benny singing in the car to the radio while Tom joined in on rare occasion with the promise that Benny never told Allison. The man was too embarrassed to admit that on the rare occasion he liked to sing, but found a small partner leaning into his side encouraging him to sing a little louder. The truck was a chorus of tunes as the pair lightly sang to some jazzy pieces until Benny lightly complained of being hungry, and Tom had to admit he couldn't hide his own hunger as his stomach at one point spoke louder then Benny's getting a small chuckle out of the toon and the man turning red. A quick stop at a fast food stand was in order and he pulled into a drive through to get a quick bite to eat. Benny didn't like the taste of the food since he felt something was off, but he was so hungry his didn't care and ate it anyways. Since Benny inhaled his food Tom opted to enjoy his slowly while he scooted down the road to home listening to the soft hums of the toon as he watched the world move along the road.

The truck came to a stop in the driveway and Tom stepped out pulling out the cooler from the bed of the truck, before he grabbed the fishing poles and bait Benny offered to take them into the garage while he headed into the house to start cooking the fish. The man consented and headed into the home while Benny slid the fishing equipment out of the truck and closed up the bed. He wandered out to the garage and felt a small pain in his stomach, but it wasn't a big deal so he ignored it and put all the equipment away before running back to the house. He was greeted by the smell of garlic and fish upon opening the door as Tom had garlic bread in the oven and was frying fish on the stove. Benny could hardly wait and set the table while the man worked and occasionally got his horns scratched as he passed by back and forth behind Tom.

Once the fish was ready Tom pulled them out the oil and placed them on a paper towel to cool and get rid of the excess oil before checking on the garlic bread. He slipped on a oven mitt and pulled out the bread that was dripping with garlic butter and cheese. Benny was an instant barnacle on the mans leg making the man laugh as he moved around the kitchen with his demonic anklet. He was released from the demonic bondage as soon as the klink of the plate was heard on the table and Benny materialized in his seat. Tom swore it was like the toon teleported to food.

Appreciative hums drifted through the air accompanied by the crisp crunching sound of bread being broken and the fish being cut. Benny loved Allison's cooking, but something about Tom's cooking was just as good even though the man was simple in his usage of ingredients. The toon happily ate all his food slowly to savor the taste and chatted with his dad about little things. Once the fish was all gone Benny collected his dishes and slid them into the sink while Tom washed them before passing them off to Benny to dry them. The toon winced when his stomach pains returned gaining attention from his dad.

"Benny? You ok?" Tom glancing over his shoulder at the toon whom didn't look well for a brief moment.

Benny looked up at him and put on a shaky smile "I'm fine, just a little tired."

"How about I finish up here while you head off to bed?" The man gently removed the plate from Benny's hand and placed it in the cupboard.

"Ok. Good-Night then." Benny hugged him and slowly made his way down the hall to his room. He opened the door while clutching his stomach out of Tom's sight. He wandered up to his drawer and pulled out a long night shirt and put it on before burying himself under the covers. He didn't want to admit it out loud to Tom, but his stomach felt funny and was really starting to bother him. He didn't know what was going on but he hoped whatever it was would go away soon.

Tom breathed a small sigh at finally finishing the dishes and putting everything away for the night, the kitchen restored to it's former glory. Satisfied for the evening he retired to his room to grab his night clothes and changed in the restroom after showering and brushing his teeth. He practically threw himself onto his bed with giddy eagerness. Thoughts drifted through his mind as to how he should spend the following day with Benny since he was finally getting that vacation he always wanted and yearned to spend much needed time with his toon son. Should he go to the park? The museum? Hell even just doing simple projects with the toon always made him happy.

Tom was thankful more ways then one that Benny had a simple desire: attention. The toon never asked for much, but always enjoyed being included in on whatever was going on. Neither Tom or Allison liked excluding Benny from any activity and the couple had developed a silent agreement that if children weren't allowed to go then they wouldn't go. What made it all the better was how well behaved Benny is. They were able to go almost anywhere since Benny was always quiet and on his best behavior.

Tom quietly thanked whatever god or gods that may be at Benny's sweet and quiet nature. He knew he himself as a child was a bit overzealous when it came to some things which would explain Benny's eagerness with food, but as a child Tom was rough around the edges and blunt. The man chuckled at his youth of the days he spent running around driving his own parents up a wall with how energetic he was, but he wasn't a troublemaker. His chuckle grew to a full on laughter at remembering Benny running around in the woods on the way to and from the fishing and camping site. The plushtoon was acting just like he did when he was a boy and it was endearing watching a mini version of himself in a cartoon form doing what he once did a long time ago. Is this what it felt like to be a parent, if he could call himself one, watching your kids do the same things you once did?

His laughter slowly died down and was replaced by a large grin while Tom made himself cozy for bed. He knew his parents would be kill to meet Benny, but he didn't even know if his or Allison's parents were even alive any more since being gone for 30 years. He knew his mother would have a field day with the toon while his dad would most likely wish he got a hell spawn instead to make up for all the Grey's he put on his old mans head. That would be something that would warrant investigation: to see if their folks or family members are still alive, but that would be for another time. Thoughts of potential introductions and the family he missed passed through his mind as sleep slowly took him

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

In the early morning hours long before the sun rose and a time that would make many question one's sanity for being awake Tom rustled out of his bed awoken by deep gurgling sounds and groans that drifted through the home. The man had never heard sounds like that before in his life and immediately went on the defensive suspecting someone broke into his home. First things first, protect Benny, he's not gonna let anyone mess with his little one. Tom reached around the edge of his bed pulling out his trusty base ball bat and crept across the room to his door slowly opening it part way and looked around. Confirming the coast was clear and listening to the noises better, it was concerning that it was coming from the direction of Benny's room.

Double checking that the hallway was clear of potential assailants, Tom quietly and hastily made his way to Benny's room and grew more concerned with the fact that the noises were getting louder. He hoped it wasn't from the toon, but the more he listened the more he heard the familial gurgles the toon's Ragdoll form makes. God he hoped he wasn't having a nightmare. It was always safer to view Benny from a safe distance when he was having a nightmare and in Ragdoll form for fear of him lashing out. Allison usually hummed or sang which was a from of comfort to the devildoll and would carefully tread to him avoiding his trip lines to enter his protective cocoon of his threads. Tom hoped it wouldn't come to that and hoped it wasn't anything severe.

The man's rough hand gently rested on the doorknob to Benny's room and he pressed his ear against the door to listen to the sounds within the room. The room was riddled with gurgles and groans, but what caught him by surprise was the occasional squeaky-toy like whine mixed in. Benny never made that sound in Ragdoll unless he was hurt, spurring Tom to open the door.

The sight before him made him drop his bat staring in confusion. Benny was on top his bed out of his night shirt and seemed to be in a strange half state between Ragdoll and normal. His teeth were triangular and the stitching on his face looked like it had been pulled apart with the threads by his jaw completely undone. He had a little ink dripping from the right side of his face but not enough to cover his eye like he would in Ragdoll form. However his stomach looked exactly like Ragdoll's and the toon writhed around on the bed in agony in his sleep.

Ignoring the strange state of the demondoll Tom hastily went up to Benny and rested a hand on his shoulder and started to nudge him trying to wake him.

"Benny? Benny? Ben get up." The man nudged the demon slowly stirring him as a pie cut eye opened looking up at him. Tom was surprised to see that Benny's normally solid black pie cut eyes had a yellow iris just like his Ragdoll form. The devil groaned with a prominent frown on his face as his eye looked up at Tom sleepily. "Hey little guy, feeling ok?" Tom's worried eyes looking at his distressed toon.

Benny shook his head no and softly spoke from both mouths " My StOmAcH hUrTs."

Tom looked at the devildoll worried, he didn't know if toons can actually get sick since they are living ink and in Benny's case ink and fabric. He built the machine that made the toons, but even he had no clue about their anatomy. They did all the things a normal living creature did except basic bodily functions, their bodies just seemed to turn everything consumed into energy.

Benny's groans taking Tom out of his thoughts he looked back down and gently ran a hand between the devils horns. "Hey lets go to the kitchen. Ok?"

Tom's answer was a small nod and he gently wrapped a sheet around Benny and lifted him out of his bed cradling him. The toon offered no resistance and Tom was thankful that the stitching that made up the toons body seemed to be holding together. While traversing to the kitchen Tom could feel the toon twitch every now and then and the worst area was his stomach. The area since it was in the mouth form seemed to be constantly twitching and he could hear groans escaping the second mouth while his normal was silent. He didn't know what was wrong with the toon, but hoped to figure it out quickly. The man pulled out a chair and gently sat Benny down leaning him against the counter to help support him. Tom knelt down to further examine Benny's stomach since he said it was the source of his problem and gently unraveled the sheet to reveal his chest and stomach.

Benny's stomach looked just like his Ragdoll form, but on a much smaller scale. The jagged edges were twitching slightly and seemed to be the source of most of the groans and occasional gurgles. There was a small liquid oozing on the edges of the mouth between the small teeth that caught Tom's attention. He leaned down and realized that Benny was essentially drooling ink which was far from normal for the toon. He only expels excess ink from his stomach to revert back to his normal size, not to excrete the fluid at his normal size let alone to release the fluid at more then just a constant drip.

Tom stood back up and rested a hand on Benny's cheek causing the toon to open an eye looking up at him. "I'm gonna make some soup and hopefully that will help. Ok?" Benny nodded resting against the counter while Tom turned to try and make some soup.

Tom hastily paced about the kitchen to fix up a quick soup and was more then thankful Allison bought cans of ready made soup that could just be heated. He fetched a can of tomato soup figuring it was only liquid on the off chance the toon didn't want solids and poured its contents into the pot and placed it on the stove. Just when Toms hand rest on the knob to light the stove to warm up the soup he heard a small hiccups followed by the sound of a lot of liquid splashing against the ground.

He turned around to see Benny desperately trying to contain the fluids in his mouth and was using his hands to try and keep his stomach closed, but was clearly struggling to do so. His stomach spasmed violently causing him to loose grip on his stomach as another wave of the ebony liquid escaped in copious amounts coating the floor. The toon looked at Tom completely upset and in distress at the mess he accidentally made and was continuing to make. He started to cry while trying to keep from expelling more ink but was failing to do so. Tom realized the little toon is indeed horribly ill and is trying to keep from making a mess.

"Hey it's ok." Tom bent down to attend to the sick demon. "It can easily be cleaned up, no worries." putting on a smile for the devildoll while gently petting his head.

Benny looked at him with worry and tried to speak, but instead expelled a good quantity of ink completely rendering immobile until his body was done retching the fluid. He hated that he was having such difficulty doing the most basic of things without making a mess. Each time he expelled ink, his body was racked with pain and exhaustion as the fluid was being forcibly purged from his body. He didn't know what was wrong with him and that growing frustration only added on to his level of stress making him cry even harder. The only comfort he had was the gently coaxing massages or pats Tom was giving to his back to try and comfort him and one the toon was done vomiting he mumbled a small 'sorry'.

"It's ok." Tom rubbed his back a little more before getting a mop to soak up all the ink that had accumulated on the floor. Tom was used to the ink simply disappearing when he dumps the excess he accumulates it but this time round it lingered which was very unusual. Did cartoon logic not work when the cartoon character in question was feeling ill?

The mop made quick work of the spilled ink while Benny quietly cried sitting beside the counter. He wished for whatever was making him feel so bad to stop and for his pain to subside. Each time he lost more ink his pain and exhaustion only intensified and it very much reminded him of his birth when he had so little ink and had sustained so many injuries with no way to numb the pain. The mere reminder further fueling the growing frustrations within the toon while Tom looked at the little demon with pity and concern. He had never seen the toons get sick before and for him to expel such large quantities of ink can't be healthy for him, but it was also 2:30 in the morning and he couldn't call Henry for advice. The old animator was the only other person with a toon in their care and as one whom used to create cartoons he would have more insight as to what to do.

Just as Tom set the mop to the side of the stove and was working on getting himself a cup of coffee since it was gonna be a long morning the sounds of more liquid hitting the floor man the man slightly cringe. He turned to see Benny once again trying to keep from vomiting, but his stomach betrayed his mouth and a small waterfall of the ebony fluid poured out of him along with a banjo that clattered against the floor. Tom stood flabbergasted at the sudden introduction of the banjo. He knew Benny always carried the banjo in his hammerspace, but why would he suddenly reject it? Was it because his stomach was so upset it was disturbing his hammerspace causing the two to temporarily mix? The man toyed with the idea of calling Henry even more so, and hearing the clattering of a few more objects being purged along with a considerable amount of ink spurred him to pick up the phone.

----------Henry's House----------

Henry was sound asleep when the ringing of the phone caused him to stir. Who could be calling at this hour? The man carefully reached over as to not disturb the sleeping demon against his side and picked up the phone. "Hello?" he tiredly groaned into the phone.

"I'm sorry for calling so early in the morning. It's Thomas." the mechanic on the other end sounding exhausted and worried.

Henry lifted a brow and turned over to look at his clock squinting at the numbers before picking up his reading glasses to better view the numbers and mentally cursed the hour. "This must be good for you to be calling me at this hour of the morning."

"I'm really sorry, but it's Benny. The little one is sick." Tom sighed on the line. "I don't know what to do."

This got Henry's attention and the man sat up accidentally jostling Bendy whom mumbled in protest grasping onto the blanket pulling it back over himself. "Sick how? What's wrong with him?"

A long sigh was heard on the line from the clearly tired mechanic "Well he's vomiting a lot and I mean a lot of ink. I know the toons convert the food consumed into ink to sustain themselves and with Benny's appetite he, in theory has a lot of ink, but this is crazy. I've resorted to using water basins to collect the ink and have made many trips to the restroom to pour it down the toilet. What makes it worse is not only is he tossing up the ink, but he is dumping his guts literally and figuratively. His stomach mouth is also upchucking ink and I'm guessing his stomach is so upset that his hammerspace is getting thrown in the mix and he's upchucking stuff from it as well. I'm at my wits end, I don't know what to do other then clean up after him."

"Hmmm...well did he say anything or act strangely prior to feeling ill?" Henry scratched the back of his head as he pondered the information. It sounds like when any normal human gets a stomach bug and empties their guts having little choice but to let the illness run it's course. Though what about the toons? They aren't human and lack normal bodily function, so would they suffer from food borne problems?

"He briefly complained if his stomach bothering him after we got home from an outing earlier, but that was it." There was a big of a pause on the line before Henry heard the man tiredly groan. "And he just up chucked a violin, a sewing kit and some toys from his stomach."

"Well let me let you go to clean that up, but from what I'm hearing it sounds like he ate something that is making him sick. Perhaps you gave him something he isn't used to or maybe something was off, but either way he probably got a hold of some food that wasn't right. Though at the end of the day it has to run it's course and he will eventually stop on his own, but make sure you have ink at the end of it all on the off chance he runs himself too low. I'll swing by before work in the morning to drop off ink if you need some." Henry sat up and felt small nudging on his side to see a pair of sleepy pie cut eyes looking up at him. He petted Bendy and was silently urging him to lay back down.

"Well thanks. I'll take some if you got to spare. I don't know how much more he is gonna lose and I have a feeling I'm gonna be in for a long day." Tom sighed and a small chuckle was heard on the line "Thanks Henry and sorry for waking you."

"It's ok, just focus in Benny,he needs you and I'll see you in the morning" with that Henry heard the line cut meaning Tom hung up and the nudging on his side persisted even more so. He looked down to see Bendy was more awake and was now looking at him worriedly.

"Was that Allison?" The toon inquired.

"That was Tom" Henry scratched the space between Bendy's horns getting a hum. "Benny is really sick right now and Tom is taking care of him."

Bendy tilted his head slightly "What's wrong with him? Where's Allison? Doesn't she usually take care of Benny?"

"Tom said he is vomiting a lot. The little guy probably ate something that upset his stomach, but problem is since he has an internal hammerspace alongside his stomach he is also tossing up literal objects alongside the ink. I'm guessing Allison isn't home which is why he called for advice and I wish him luck. I'll pop by in the morning to drop off some excess ink just in case and to check up on Benny." Henry laid back down allowing Bendy to curl up against his side once more.

"Can I come too?" Bendy leaned into the man's side.

"Yeah sure pal, but be on your best behavior. Benny wouldn't be up for playing right now." The man covered the both of them back up.

Bendy laid his head into Henry's side and whispered “I'll be good. I'll wait till he's feeling better and make up for it.”

Henry chuckled and made sure the toon was properly tucked in before making himself comfortable and allowed sleeps sweet embrace to take him once more.

----------Back at the Connor's----------

Tom continuously paced back and forth as Benny continued to purge ink in massive quantities alongside the last few objects contained within his hammerspace. The toon long since stopped crying and had grown more frustrated with his bodies inability to cooperate and the constant convulsions, his growing anger made his ink boil and his body contorted to his Ragdoll form. Tom initially kept his distance at seeing Ragdoll sitting in the kitchen growling in anger digging his claws into the floorboards in frustration, but when his body was racked with a series of spasms and he upchucked ink his threatening manner melted to one of exhaustion. The man looked at Ragdoll with pity and a slight twinge of annoyance since now he was twice as large as his normal form meant twice the amount of ink decorating the floor. Tom inwardly groaned and grabbed his mop cleaning around the water basin which he was thankful caught most of the ink that had been expelled. Ragdoll looked at the man with sorrow and exhaustion in his eye making a small squeaky toy whine. Tom sighed and gently rested his hand on Ragdoll's head to comfort the demon, but retracted when the demon's body violently convulsed and started dry heaving. The urges and heaves continued on for several minutes and each time the demon looked more and more exhausted and Tom realized he was completely cleaned out of any and all excess ink he accumulates along with his items in his hammerspace. The dry heaving had taken it's toll and made Ragdoll start crying again since the heaving was more painful and exhausting then when he had something to reject.

"Hey it's ok." Tom laid his hand on the side of Ragdoll's cheek looking at the demon strait in the eye. "I've been this sick before and believe me it's no fun, but it looks like whatever was in you is gone and with any luck the urges will die down." the demon nodded sleepily and leaned into the man's hand. Tom looked at the sleepy demon and smile tiredly. Benny seemed to be finally done with the worst part of being sick and now all he needs is rest. “Wanna lay down on the couch?” Ragdoll shook his head 'no', but was leaning more and more and almost slid off the chair.

“C'mon.” Tom grabbed Benny by his right arm above the elbow since it was connected to his shoulder directly and urged the demon to stand up. Ragdoll's legs horribly wobbled beneath him as sleep was rapidly catching up to him and Tom resorted to pulling the demon forward and piggy backed the oversized devildoll on his back. The man groaned and grunted from the additional weight since Benny was heavier then he looked in Ragdoll form and he slowly edged towards the living room to the couch.

He laid the demon down and soon found he couldn't move away from him. Ragdoll's threads had completely wrapped around him during the move from the kitchen to the living room and now was slowly curling up around him. The grim fact hit Tom; at night Benny curls up with his plush toys and now that he is in Ragdoll from Tom is the toy. The man wiggled and tried to free himself of Ragdoll's threads, but the more he resisted the more the threads coiled around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Soft snores drifted from the deviltoon telling Tom that Ragdoll had finally fallen asleep and that he was going nowhere. The man chuckled realizing his situation and opted to simply get comfortable until Ragdoll woke up.

----------Several Hours Later----------

Henry and Bendy stood outside the Connor residence ringing the bell several times with Henry occasionally calling out for Thomas to answer the door. The man and toon stood in the doorway confused as to why the house was so still.

"Huh that's strange." Henry turned look behind him seeing that Tom's truck was still in the driveway. "His truck is here so he should be home."

"Well Benny is still home, I can sense his ink." Bendy set his bag down and hopped up on the windowsill to try and look into the home.

Henry scratched his head while looking back at the door. "Hey bud?" Causing Bendy to look over at the animator. "Wanna let ourselves in?" The man gesturing to the door.

Bendy looked at him in confusion till a little light bulb lit above his head in realization. He hopped off the windowsill and joined Henry at the door. He lifted his left hand that dripped profusely with ink as his body stretched and grew taking on his Ink Demon form. The now towering demon grinned as an inky portal opened up on the door and a wall within leaked ink connecting the two. Bendy held out his hand to Henry in invitation and the man grabbed hold after grabbing Bendy's bag and the two stepped through the portal entering the home. Henry shrugged off the excess ink from the portal while Bendy went back to his normal toon form looking around after retrieving his bag from Henry. The house was oddly quiet except for the ink splatters that looked like searchers had been slaughtered by the dozens all over the floor and buckets and catch basins littered the floor. Bendy lifted his hand the ink pulled itself off the floors and floated around and into the buckets and basins leaving the floors spotless. His reward was a pat and scratch between his horns extracting a small whistle like hum from him in gratitude.

Henry looked back up looking down the quiet halls of the home. "Now lets see where Thomas is."

Henry let Bendy lead since the toon always seemed to know where Benny was, and the little ink demon wandered towards the living room. Bendy poked his head around the corner and waved for Henry to come not wanting to shout. The man carefully crept down the hall and looked around the corner and the sight before him immediately made him seek out the family's camera.

Tom was laying on the couch asleep with Benny in Ragdoll form curled around the man like he was a toy, large inky threads kept the man from escaping Ragdoll's clutches. At least Tom was in a comfortable position laying on his back with Ragdoll's large head resting on his chest and the toon's body wrapped around him like a black blanket. Benny had a fondness for sleeping on people's chest or lap and it seemed that even in Ragdoll form he still had that habit.

Bendy stood quietly snickering while Henry returned with the camera and he quietly paced back and forth around the couch taking photos while trying to hide his own snickering. Bendy pulled out a few pieces of paper and used his ink to draw the scene before him on the off chance they wouldn't be able to get copies of the Kodak moment before them. When Henry finally finished up he motioned to Bendy to set the ink wells down while he returned the camera back to it's original location and making a mental note to call Allison for the photo's later with the hopes that Tom wouldn't find out. He returned to the living room with Bendy waiting for him and he quietly requested a sheet of paper to leave a note before they had to go.

Hey punk,

Bendy and I popped by to drop off the ink wells for you and you were sleeping like a baby. Benny looked like he was doing better all curled up on you making a perfect little picture. Anyways I'll call later to check up on the little one. See you soon,

Henry P.S Get well soon!: Bendy

----------An Hour Later----------

Tom finally stirred but still found himself trapped beneath the Ragdoll demon. A chuckle escaping the man as he looked at the demons sleeping face. It was always so strange seeing Benny's Ragdoll form and realize that under his warped and ruined face was still the little toy demon. He gently ran his hand on the left side of the toons face that was warped and the stitching was pulled open. His skin despite his menacing appearance still felt like soft fleece fabric and small amounts of ink dripped on his right side. He was surprised that despite the severe ink loss Benny's right eye was still obstructed from the ink that always dripped down. Deciding not to dwell on the matter he needed Benny up and off him.

"Benny, Benny, C'mon get up." The man gently patting the side of Ragdoll's face getting a small growl in annoyance. "C'mon" Tom moved his had to scratch at the base of his horns getting a low purring sound. Tom continuously scratched and nudged the sleeping demon getting either small purrs or growls depending on his action.

Benny curled around Tom tighter getting annoyed at the constant prodding not realizing that he was in his Ragdoll form and that his 'stuffed toy' was his dad. After awhile his purring turned to groans as he was slowly stirring and easing up his grip on Tom. The man in question silently thanking the heavens he was allowed to breathe a bit better since Ragdoll was squeezing him a bit too hard when he was annoyed with the disturbances to his sleep. Ragdoll lifted his head and slowly opened his eye finding that not only what his right eye obstructed, but the room seemed oddly smaller.

"How are you feeling?" A gruff tired voice sounded beneath him causing the devildoll to look down and realize he was in his Ragdoll form and was curled up on top of Tom.

Ragdoll squeaked in shock, which to Tom sounded hilarious given Ragdoll's normally garbled tones. The toon in question practically jumped off the couch trying to unravel himself, but only succeeded in tying himself up further with Tom unfortunately still in the middle being dragged along for the ride. Ragdoll staggered on his feet and bumped into the coffee table knocking Henry's note onto the floor under the couch while the ink wells threatened to fall over, but didn't. The demon shook his head whining trying to better wake up, but he was still feeling weak and was struggling to unwind himself around his dad.

Tom noticed Benny's struggles with his body and calmly placed a hand on top the panicking demons head to comfort him. "Hey it's ok. Take it one step at a time, you're still feeling under the weather."

Ragdoll nodded and focused on trying to retract his threads while Tom helped keep them from getting tangled. After a few pulls and unraveling Tom was freed of Ragdoll's coil-like arms and the toon was slowly pulling himself back together. Tom watched as for once Ragdoll didn't expel a good quantity of ink to revert back and simply shrunk in size back to his normal plushtoon state. Benny's legs wobbled and he swayed on his feet and was caught by Tom before he fell over. His reverting back to normal taking more energy out of him and he gave Tom a small shaky smile while looking at him with half lidded eyes.

"Let get you a little soup." The man pulled Benny into a warm hug cradling him, and stopped briefly when the 4 inkwells on the coffee table caught his attention. 'Huh. Henry must have popped by, but he didn't leave a note. I guess I'll thank him later' Tom thought to himself while he gathered up the inkwells and retreated to the kitchen. He was thankful that he was no longer feeling any spasms unlike several hours ago when Benny's body twitched uncontrollably with the urges to vomit. With any luck the worst had passed and he can now try and get something in him to make him feel better.

Tom cradled the toon and set the inkwells on the table before retreating to the stove warming up the soup to a medium temperature where it wasn't too hot and wasn't too cold. He fetched a mug from the cupboard and scooped a small amount of the soup into the mug and set it on the table after turning off the stove. Tom pulled out a chair and he slowly sat down with Benny still in his arms and uncorked an inkwell trying to hand it to the tired toon.

Benny was hesitant for fear of expelling the ink again, but he was so worn out and exhausted he knew he needed the ink to hasten his recovery. He tried to lift his hands to grab a hold of the bottle, but found it difficult to do so. His body was just too tired from reverting back to normal. Tom smiled warmly and lifted the bottle to the toons mouth and Benny slowly started drink the liquid. Tom was patient while he had Benny drink the ink wells slowly, the toon not even arguing with the man when he kept introducing more and more ink to him. Once the ink was all gone Tom set the last bottle down and followed up with the mug of soup. It had gone cold by the time they finally got to it, but Benny didn't care, unlike Bendy, Benny didn't care too much for the taste of ink. He didn't hate the taste but wasn't fond of it either and would have preferred actual food over the art supply.

Benny slowly reached for the mug helping Tom bring it to his mouth and carefully drank the liquid, it was just simple tomato soup. He took his time drinking the fluid all the while Tom patiently watched and waited. Once Benny finished the mug letting go, tom refilled it and held it up to him again. He shook his head 'no' and the man simply set the cup down and looked at the toon whom was starting to nod off again.

A glance up at the clock told Tom that it had been a long day. He spent hours cleaning and watching Benny wishing that his vomiting sessions would subside swiftly and that he would recover. The little toon nodding off in his arm was a gentle reminder to his own levels of exhaustion. Tom set Benny gently down on the chair and cleaned up the kitchen while the toon tried to stay awake but small Z's kept persistently popping up over his head and bursting every time he shook himself awake. Tom occasionally glanced over his shoulder noting the toon refusal to sleep and set to finish cleaning the kitchen as quickly as he could. A small chuckle escaping him at Benny's stubbornness.

The kitchen was laid to rest and Tom felt he should do the same. He turned to look at Benny who finally lost the battle with the floating Z's and was completely out like a light and thankfully looked more relaxed then his fitful night and morning. Tom gently lifted Benny up as to not disturb him too much and cradled the plushtoon as he headed for his own bedroom. Feeling that whatever was bothering Benny has long since passed and Benny would be fine in his own bedroom he preferred to keep the toon in his room with him so he could better watch over him. Better safe then sorry. The man strode down the hall quietly and reached his room opening the door with care and slipped inside.

Tom pulled down the blanket of his bed and carefully laid Benny on Allison's side of the bed before crawling in himself. Once he was on the bed one hand gently pulled Benny closer to himself while the other pulled the blankets over them.

Tom looked at Benny's sleeping face and ran his hand gently on his cheek getting a small smile from him. He didn't know what it really means to be a parent, but he felt like he learned a little more of it's meaning today. Watching Benny get ill and doing anything and everything in his power to help the little toon is what a parent does for their child. A parent is someone whom cares for the child with all their being even if they are or aren't related. Even though Benny was made with a little of his blood, at the end of the day Benny made him feel he could devote his all to the little plushdevil and that's what makes him his parent. He now had a better understanding as to why his own father had so many Grey hairs on his head dealing with him growing up. Children are the most stressful, joyful things in life and they make it well worth the ride.

#batim stitched au #benny the stitched demon #benny the stitched devil #benny the stitch demon #benny #benny the stitch devil #thomas connor #batim thomas #henry stein #bendy the demon #bendy the dancing demon #bendy the devil #bendy the dancing devil #body horror #vomit mention

42 notes · View notes

flwrpotts · 6 years

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Can you do #2, #5 #25? Either of them, you can choose one or made the three it doesn't matter 😘

apparently it’s the night of aus. thank you for the prompt angel, I hope you like it!!!

i. Depending on where you start, their story begins the day that the accident happens at the mine.

It’s a Tuesday, overcast and dreary, and Jughead is explaining the plot of the latest book he had scrounged from the black market to Toni, who listens to his rambling with a goodnatured sort of boredom.

He’s just getting to the good part, where the murderer has been discovered, and then there are kids yelling, the ground reverberating around them like the one room schoolhouse is going to come down around their ears. Across the room, he watches Betty Cooper slide her pale hand into Archie Andrew’s, the packet of strawberries they had been sharing spilling to the ground underneath them.

The minute seems to last an hour, and when everything has settled the kids run to the windows, staring at the black plume of smoke that had rises up ominously from the ground. It scares him, that mushroomed cloud of coal-block smog, so big it seems like it’s going to swallow all of them up.

But while the Merchant kids press their hands against the glass, open mouthed as they watch the world collapse in on itself, the Seam kids are already running, spilling out of the ramshackle schoolhouse on skinny legs to sprint towards their homes. Jughead is in the front of the mass, sprinting towards the billows of smoke and shoving the younger kids behind him, back towards the safety of the District center. He has the longest legs, that year.

It’s a broadscale of tragedy, the sort that tears away a parent or sibling or friend from everyone, so quick it’s as if they were never there in the first place. Jughead Jones is all of eleven years old, still getting adjusted to his growth spurt and lanky limbs, and then they are pinning a medal to his chest and telling him that he’s so brave for taking on the mantle of caring for his family after the mine collapse takes his dad away. As if he has a choice.

J.B is born two weeks later, coming in the middle of the night, and the Healer is so stricken with grief over her dead husband that she can’t be roused to deliver the baby. There’s no one to do it, and it’s the most terrified Jughead has ever been, listening to his mother scream and twist in the one bedroom in their house.

It’s a long, terrible night, and Jughead spends most of it in silent tears, fetching their one towel and water from the trough. But the baby comes, finally, red and scrawling, and Jughead loves her so much he can hardly stand it, rocking her in his skinny arms and letting her suck on his finger until morning comes.

Suddenly, he’s the primary breadwinner, and there is a baby at home, and his mother is still too sick to go back to her job at the apothecary. He barters and trades whatever he can, spare parts and plants scrounged from where the forest bleeds out past the electric gates. It’s where he learns to act tough, to dig his shoulders back and jut his chin, to press Penny Peabody for the best deal he can.

Things are okay, for awhile. Hunger digs under his ribs and makes a home there, leaves him awake and aching for hours at night, never quite satisfied. But J.B continues to grow, and his mother gets stronger bit by bit, and so it doesn’t really matter if Jughead’s baby fat melts away and becomes something more ominous.

But then winter falls, freezing cold and tinged gray from the coal that seeps into everything. Jughead’s collarbone juts against his skin like it’s trying to break free, and his legs to skinny like he’s one of Toni’s stick-figure drawings. He finds himself suddenly unable to get warm, and his hunger fades away, replaced by a terrifying sort of numbness.

He’s wandering around one day, threadbare jacket wrapped tight around his shoulders, and his thin fingers pressed to his mouth, brain foggy and everything in him begging to lie down in a snowbank and fall asleep. It’s only December, and he isn’t sure how many more months of this cold he can take.

Somehow, Jughead stumbles into the Cooper’s backyard, and suddenly Betty Cooper is standing on her back porch, illuminated by the rich yellow of the lantern. He stares at her, her blue eyes fathomless and cloudy in the pale winter light. She’s so healthy, pink cheeked and golden blonde, and Jughead is a little rapt, under all the static in his brain.

She tosses something to him that lands at his feet, her aim surprisingly good. He picks it up and realizes that it’s bread, still hot from the oven, blackened at one side. The pads of his fingers press into the crust, relishing the sting from the heat.

“Elizabeth!” calls a sharp voice from the inside, and then Betty is rounding hard on her heel. A pretty, stern older woman emerges, and Jughead starts to jog away, the bread held fast between his hands.

“Elizabeth Cooper, what happened to that bread?” she asks. A moment passes, and she must catch sight of a retreating Jughead, because there’s a quick spike in octave. “And who is that boy? Did you give the burnt bread to him?”

“It won’t happen again,” Betty mumbles, and the two women disappear inside.

Jughead a bite of the bread, soft and warm on the inside, and there’s something in it that tastes a lot like hope.

ii. Depending on where you begin, their story starts the day of the Reaping.

His last Reaping is J.B’s first, in an ironic twist of events. He’s a man now, or something like it, living off the bow and arrow that he found in his father’s things in the woods. He met Sweet Pea and Fangs out there his first winter, even skinnier than him, and they learned to hunt together, splitting their game and taking care of one another’s families. There’s a sense of safety in their partnership, the knowledge that responsibility doesn’t lay solely on them.

Jughead finds old notebooks out there, too, and fills the pages with stories and memories, all the words that stack up in his brain. He can’t afford free time, but it’s the only luxury he has.

J.B grows up too, becomes an impetuous eleven year old, full of dreams and rebellions too dangerous to be voiced aloud. He worries about her, afraid she might say something that’ll get her in trouble with the Peacekeepers. But today she stands with Toni in the pen for the girls, wearing a dress that’s too big and elaborate braids that the elder girl did for her.

“Ladies first!” trills Penelope Blossom, an old District Twelve victor turned Capitol socialite. She fishes around the bowl of names, and Jughead thinks of his thirty six slips, the highest chances he’ll take on his very last year. He doesn��t even think to be terrified of his sister’s single slip.

“Jellybean Jones!” says Penelope into the microphone, like it’s some kind of fucking celebration, and Jughead’s world tips upside down, everything split into before and after. Two Peacekeepers grab her, start dragging her to the front as she kicks and screams for Jughead, and he’s crying before he knows what to do with himself, his mother with her arms wrapped tight around her waist and expression blank. She was never really the same, after his father died, something in her gone forever. This just might be enough to push her over the edge.

“Wait,” Jughead hears a voice say, faint. “Wait! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

He whips around, and then Betty Cooper is stepping forwards, shoulders squared and something blazing behind her eyes.

“Betty? Betty, no!” yells her sister, but Betty is already gone, walking towards the front of the stage like it’s a death march. The Peacekeepers let J.B go, and she sprints for Jughead, sobbing. He picks her up when she reaches him, hugging her so tightly he’s probably squishing her, blinking back tears as he presses his face into her shoulder.

“Jughead,” she sobs, and he rubs a hand up and down her back.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, but he’s once again watching Betty onstage, something unfamiliar in the pretty lines of her face.

“Now, dear, why did you decide to volunteer? Want to try your hand at winning the Games?” Penelope asks, and Betty does something that’s almost like a snide laugh, expression a little cruel.

“I didn’t think it was fair. She’s just a little girl,” Betty says, and there’s something dangerously rebellious in her tone. Jughead’s breath catches in his throat.

Betty doesn’t say anything more, and Penelope doesn’t bother to ask her any questions, already moving on to the next bright thing.

He nearly forgot they still had to pick a boy, but it’s impossible to forget when Penelope has her hand dug in the bowl, the one that got burnt to a crisp in her games and had to be reconstructed, though it was never quite the same.

“Jughead Jones!” she announces grandly, and the world bottoms out for a second time. It’s so preposterous, so absolutely unfathomable, that Jughead finds himself laughing, slightly hysterical.

Later he’ll learn all about the set up, about how his father rebelled against the Games, about how he was dangerous enough that they collapsed the mine just to make sure F.P Jones never rose up from the dust. About how his children were so much a threat that President Lodge ordered they both be put in the Games, just to be sure.

But for now, Jughead numbly makes his way to the front, untangling J.B’s skinny arms from where they’re wrapped around his torso, desperately trying to keep him with her.

He makes his way up the steps, watching as District 12 raises two fingers to them, and Betty’s hand laced tightly in his own feels like a rebellion.

iii. Depending on where you start, their story begins in the cave.

It’s damp, and freezing cold, but Betty is burning up with fever, eyes vividly blue when she looks at him. Jughead can’t feel his hands, and yet energy races through him, enough adrenaline to keep the Capitol glowing neon for an entire week. She can’t die. Not after everything.

“Juggie,” she murmurs, and he kisses her, no longer for the ratings or for anything else. It’s just a dry brush of lip on lip, none of the wet, passionate kisses that they’ve done for the cameras, but it’s the first time he really feels something.

“I’m going to take care of you, okay?” he murmurs, brushing the damp baby hairs away from her temple, and he realizes that the strange stirring in his chest is something a lot like love.

#listen I've still got a LOT of unresolved feelings about the hunger games #mine #bughead #bughead fanfiction #prompt fill

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lizartgurl · 6 years

Text

“Back To You” (Aqualad x OC)

Day One of Aqualad and Nightingale going into hiding. Things aren’t going very smooth. But what did either of them expect?

@staar-sailorr @betteonit @the-shadow-of-atlantis @lesbianstargirl

This part goes out to Clark, for their kickarse playlist that fits the ship and the story perfectly. Listen to it on Spotify.

PART THREE.

(part one) (part two)

Wildcat gave them headphones and mic to be able to communicate on the flight, but no one really talked. Wildcat wasn’t exactly the chattiest of heroes, and even if they weren’t currently exes, Emma and Kaldur wouldn’t have wanted to have a conversation that excluded him.

They landed hours later, each one blurred to the next for Emma, and as the chopper lurched to the side, all three occupants wondered how they'd made it that far.

Ted hopped out first, dragging their luggage from the secure compartment. Kaldur went after him, and offered a hand to Emma to help her down.

As she wobbled between the choice to refuse or accept his help, she stumbled out of the helicopter and into his arms.

She felt her heart beat three times- pounding painfully against her ribcage, as she took him in. He wore a dark gray Star City University hoodie- one she knew for a fact was stolen from Roy- and a navy blue beanie, the one she bought him one Christmas after her attempt to learn knitting with M'gann had gone terribly wrong.

The skin around his eyes was pale, and his eyes were more gray than green, reminding her of a cloudy day where it wasn't sunny and it wasn't rainy. Caught in the middle, unable to figure out how the day should be spent. He didn't smell too bad, though, but the sea-salty scent she was so used to from him had faded.

Wildcat threw their bags at them, refusing to carry their crap for them. Emma shouldered her bag, embarrassed at being caught like that. But she couldn't help but wonder, what did Kaldur see when he looked at her?

“Alright, kids,” Ted’s voice made both of them snap to attention. He reminded Emma vaguely of stuck-up Captain Atom.

“This is the JSA’s only safe house, so if you blow this one up, you’ll be moving in with Doctor Midnite.” The had landed at the southernmost tip of Moose Factory Island, the helicopter was situated on the only bit of ground solid enough to hold it. To their left was the river that surrounded the island merging back into one. Directly ahead was a small wooden cabin, behind it was the beginning of a forest, which arced around to their right and behind the helicopter, blocking the rest of the island from view.

“What of Batman’s safehouses?” Emma heard Kaldur speak for the first time in months.

“Don’t know which ones Demon Head knows about. Wanted to stay on the safe side,” Ted grunted. He unlocked the peeling-paint-red door before dropping the key in Emma’s hand.

“No wifi, watch your electricity, the generator’s been running for forty years now.”

Emma’s hand fisted around the key in her pocket, the hair on her fingers tingling with static electricity. Shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

“This island is owned by the Cree tribe. The only reason we’re allowed here is because I’m on good terms with most all of them. Don’t ruin that. Batman told you about credit cards?”

Emma didn’t feel like talking, so she simply held up the envelope Bruce had given her.

“There’s a trading post in town on the other side of the woods. You can buy most everything there. ‘N they’ve a landline there too, but only in emergencies. You can send messages to your little sidekick friends through letters when Midnite stops by every month with your allowance. They’ll send you letters too, I’ll bet. Least Dinah will.”

He slapped his palm down on the vanilla-colored countertop. “Map to Midnite’s is in the fridge. Memorize it.”

Emma could sense Kaldur nodded just as she did.

Wildcat sighed looking between the two of them, trying to decide if it would be more or less awkward if he left.

“Well, that’s it. Tolerate each other, don’t burn the house down, and don’t get caught.”

He propped his hat- the one with the kitty ears- back on his balding head, and the slamming door behind him echoed emptily. Neither Emma nor Kaldur made a move until the whirring of chopper blades had faded away into the crisp, autumnal air.

She turned, and Kaldur was staring at her, mouth open as if he was going to say something. “Thank you” maybe? “I’m sorry for the past year”?

He thought better of it, dragging his duffel down the hall to the first available hall.

Grumbling under her breath, Emma shouldered her own bag and went off to find the other room that Dinah had promised would be there. If Black Canary had lied to her there would be very strong words spoken between them.

Emma found the other room soon enough, thank goodness. It was sparsely furnished, a safe house wasn’t supposed to be a vacation rental, after all, but the whole house seemed to have a plaid thing going on. The front sitting room was green with the kitchen as yellow and black, both having dark brown walls to match the house exterior. The room Emma had found for herself had solid red pillows, with a red plaid comforter and a single dark brown dresser, and a white closet to match the walls and the bathroom. Emma was willing to bet that Kaldur’s room was exactly the same, only in blue. It was simple, but comfortable. She almost felt at home, if the room didn’t feel claustrophobic compared to her suite at the manor. She really needed to shed her privilege more often.

The clothes that she’d packed filled about two of the drawers, so she spread them out to make them feel of more use. She hung up the one dress and a couple of her nicer shoes, and shoved the duffel into the shelf above. She stacked her books on the shelves and paused to see Brandon Sanderson’s “Elantris”,her immediate thought being that Kaldur might like to read it.

After she did, of course. Bruce said that there was a bookshelf stocked full for electric-free fun, and although Kaldur was dyslexic, he was quite an avid reader. He’d be well occupied before Emma should take it upon herself to keep him entertained.

It wasn’t her job to keep him entertained anyway, she was there to keep him safe. Nothing more, nothing less, and she’d been guilted into that anyway.

She let herself fall face-first into the thick comforter, wishing for Justice or something to cuddle.

Her eyes fell on something bright red- brighter than the dull tones of the cabin decor. An article of clothing having fallen from her bag?

She picked it up, staring at it with disdain. It was the plush dragon that Kaldur he won her at the Happy Harbor Festival. Well, technically, he’d won her a bright green plush, with yellow wings instead of purple, to match her own, but that was lost in the chaos when the Terror Twins became more than a little ticked off at the fact that they were not allowed to enter fair grounds. The double date Emma and Kaldur had been on with M’gann and Conner was disrupted, and in the aftermath of the fight, the boothkeeper offered them his one surviving plush as a thank you for saving the rest of the festival (and keeping the Terror Twins from stealing all his sketchily-earned cash).

After Kaldur was discovered to be working with Black Manta, recently revealed to be his birth father, Emma had to admit she went a little berserk in her reaction. All his messages deleted from her phone. His letters and little gifts boxed up and given to Alfred to “get rid of them”, though if he actually did so remained a mystery. After Malina Island, she even went into his former room in Mount Justice- the first to do so in months- and eviscerated one of his pillows with her lightning. At the time, it made her feel better, but it didn’t make her less mad, and the cave smelled like burnt cotton for weeks. Until Kaldur blew it up anyway.

Out of everything, Emma rationalized keeping the dragon. It wasn’t the one Kaldur had given her, though she always felt it was meant to replace the one she lost, and she did love dragons, even if the green and yellow one had been prettier.

Emma felt her heart beat distinctly, and she held the dragon close, curled up on top of the covers.

“Thanks, Tim,” she whispered.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, back stiff, eyes red, mind numb, door open.

The next thing she knew, she smelled cookies.

Not just any cookies, Miss Martian’s cookies. Chocolate chip. Freshly baked. With extra cinnamon.

She sat up, but before she went to investigate, she hid the dragon beneath the pillows, between the mattress and the wall.

Kaldur was in the kitchen, alone, pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven, and sliding the cookies off to cool on a plate on the table with the others.

Emma stood there, just staring at the cookies for a moment, before Kaldur spotted her.

“Would you like some?”

It was the first time they had spoken directly to each other since...the summit. Three months ago.

“Yeah,” She was embarrassed that was all she could bring herself to say. No “sorry for threatening to kill you if you touched a hair on Mara, Tim, or Gar’s head,” or “I’m sorry for freaking out and being so willing to believe that you’d actually side with Manta over us.”

She shoved a cookie in her mouth to keep from embarrassing herself further. It appeared Kaldur had the same idea, but then they both started choking.

Kaldur immediately procured two glasses of water.

“It appears that I used too much cinnamon,” He lamented.

“Well, that, and I kind of forced mine down my throat,” Emma admitted sheepishly.

“”As did I,” Kaldur’s attempted to smile made Emma giggle. Just a little bit.

“Did...did M’gann teach you to make these?”

Kaldur nodded. “I have had plenty of free time as of late, while there are no missions to assign.”

Emma nodded. “Well, if we aren’t totally alienated from cinnamon at the moment, I think I still have a couple of Alfred’s cinnamon rolls, and then some potato casserole for dinner that we can heat up.”

“That sounds delicious, just let me clean up.” Kaldur placed the cover on the spicy cookies, and went about brushing the spare ingredients off the counter and into the small trash bin.

Emma bit her lip. “Need any help?”

“No, thank you. I can handle it.” Kaldur assured her.

“Alright,” Emma whispered under her breath.

She only hoped that Bruce and Aquaman could bring in those threatening Kaldur sooner. If today was any indicator, the coming weeks, maybe months, were going to be terribly painful for both of them.

#back to you #lizart writes #aqualad #kaldur'ahm #fish boy #young justice #aqualad x oc #kaldur x oc #my ocs #nightingale #young justice fanfiction #bty aquafire fic

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the-infamous-mister-gates · 6 years

Text

The Fury of Mother Bangkok

There’s a reason why you dream what you dream. It’s something you hope for, but know that you’ll never get it. It will never happen. I learned a long time ago that it wasn’t about capturing a dream…

It was about chasing it.

There was one dream I had, where I would be laying in a wide-open wheat field looking up at the orange twilight of the engulfing dusk. A spacious blue sky littered with pink clouds shaped like mythic beings: dragons, slithering in the crisp air; a mighty phoenix, its wings spread over the horizon; angel eyes made of fire, burning with intense love and mystery. The poetic existence of all these mesmerizing creatures broke into obscurity in the wake of the night.

There was nothing to chase in a peaceful dream like that. I could find books detailing symbolism, analogies, and possible meanings, but in a way that would spoil what I already have: A vivid realm different from my life that I could escape to.

. . . .

There were poets and dancers. There were male escorts and silver tongue pimps. There was the underbelly that smelled of cheap cigars, body spray fragrances, and ammonia. Neon lights reflected in marble polished columns and chrome bar counters. A jugular of festive business men stroking the legs of servers, who brought mixed refreshments poured in glittering glasses. Entertainers were situated in the center of the abyssal ballroom where masked men and women copulated in a pit of velvet ambrosia.

Many people came here to witness the cross-cultured display of feverous engorge; the execrable wonders of snakes molesting women in a pool of cloudy water. Spotlights and stage lights spraying the bodies with a gleam of patronage, unwilling to remove their ethereal stare like a perverted God in the absence of an unforgiving way of life. Off-duty cops and underage girls drinking in leather booths where stains of blood and cum reside under their feet.

I stand between it all, the lone American among the locals of a foreign city, with scars on my body hidden from sight until the audience is worthy to see them. I don’t know what year this is or what day of the week it could be, let alone the month. I did not exist for those things. I lived in the now. Not the past or the future. I traded a moment for a moment with brutality and blackouts; the occasional companion and the mornings after.

Excess, no less

Pushing fingers into flesh

Zealous, Jealous

Devil woman tell us

Heavy synth music matches my pulse as I gaze over the occupants. Some were laughing and talking, others motioning some to go under the tables and unbutton their pants. Disco ball lights and shining stars reflecting in the glass frames of an elder gentleman petting a young man with cold sores on his lips and bruises on his face.

My eyes see the truth in the complex feeding off of Mother Bangkok, the place where we go to die and be reborn in a stew of depravity. If I could cut open all these people and spill their guts, all there would be is sludge and gunk within. These incestuous machines eating and throwing up one another over candle lit tables, calling it love and nurturing, filling their wombs with worms and digesting fluids from oozing statuettes.

I can see the show in the middle conclude. A wave of applause scatters around as the horny little masked performers walk off the center stage. The custodian boys run quickly to clean the stage for the next act. I turn my head to the main bar. The man there looks at me and raises his hand displaying five fingers to remind me of the time I have left until show time. I nod to him subtlety. I walked away from the main scene to the bathrooms. I approached the urinal and relieved myself. I noticed graffiti on the rustic green wall:

Mother Superior sucked me off twice

And Daddy Vader put me in a vice

And so it all goes

Long live the show

It’s a maze and we’re the mice

I flushed the urinal and walked up to the restroom sink. My senses begin to absorb the surrounding nuances in the restroom: The flickering of the half-broken florescent bulb above my head; the buzzing of the mating flies in the top corner window; the boosted bass of the outside bar music; the vacant reflection looking back at me in the fractured mirror.

I crack my neck and my back loudly. I wash my hands thoroughly. I pull out some paper towels and dry my hands completely. I look at myself in the mirror. I flex my arms and raise them in front of my asymmetrical face. I crack my fingers and my back again. I roll my shoulders and slap my face. I smack the paper towel dispenser and walk out. I go through the back dressing rooms. The blind masseur was loosening the muscles of the performers as I walk past the dark rooms where questionable things happen all the time.

Before I walk out into the main stage, I look to my right and see her: a slim young woman in a blood red dress and dark make-up. Her southeastern Asian complexion glossed with natural shine. She looked at me worrisomely. I stared back and winked. She forced a small smile in return. At that moment, ear-encapsulating electronica music summoned my presence into the small area of the central stage where just previously, seven people were fucking each other for a hundred people to see. As I walked out, cheers and hollers of praise could be heard, accompanied with an equal amount of boos and detestable rants. I removed my suit jacket and shirt when I walked into the middle stage. The spotlight beamed down on my body like an alien ship. I rolled my head and loosened my body, revealing the gratuitous scars over my muscular definition and vascularity, inflicted from past fights and brawls.

My opponent was a massive South Korean thug for a local black market operation. He sat in a chair, infuriated and tense like some savage giant. The bartender walks into the middle and calls for us to enter the center. My opponent stands up. He’s tall, I’ll give him that, but there is no way he’s fast.

The barkeep says his name is Dae-Su. As the fight is approved, Dae-Su lunges forward and tries to grab me with both his arms. Stupid first move. I saw that coming a mile away. I duck and swoop around, planting my hard knuckles into his side. He swings around; I duck again. He grabs a chair and hurls it towards me. I raise my arms up and try to block the shattering wood. I fall over, anyone would. Dae-Su kicks me in the chest. I can hear the cheering over the booming music. You would think this happens so fast, but to me, it’s like fighting on the moon. I feel weightless and serene. The sound is muffled over the vacuum of space. Everything moves in slow motion: the blood, the fists, and the crowd; it’s beautiful.

I grab a beer bottle and break it over Dae-Su’s fat head. I see some blood fly as he yells in pain, trying to cover his face. I raise my arm up and punch him right in the left temple. He goes down but gets back up. Dae-Su stumbles like a hippo with Down syndrome. I thrust my knuckles into the side of his face and watch as a patch of skin is ripped open by the sheer velocity of my strength. I knock him to the floor. The crowd demands I finish him. They want me to fuel their bloodlust.

I was their vicarious avatar for relentless rage. They didn’t see some goon getting beat up. They saw their bosses, their daughter’s boyfriend, their wives, their school rivals, their wives’ lovers, their father, their mother, their church pastor. They even saw God there being pulverized and beaten to a pulp by me. By the time I’m done, Dae-Su’s face looks like the inside of a cherry pie.

I stand up from Dae-Su’s body. The cheering pencil-pushers and government officials soon begin to really look at what I’ve done. The voices cease into an eerie silence that welcomes the feuding guilt to twist their stomachs. Noticing the change in atmosphere, the club music of Mother Bangkok turns back on as a couple of guys take Dae-Su’s body to the back. I look over the silent faces, all blinking and coming to terms with what they just experienced and how they felt about it: They enjoyed it. They would be back for more no matter how appalled they might feel or how drunk they are.

Meretricious and vicious

Her lips so delicious

Crimson red, silky bed

Sins welcoming the dead

I pull a towel from the back room and head upstairs. I live in one of the many apartments above Mother Bangkok. In my room waiting is my little diva singer. Her red dress hung over my desk chair. She’s waiting for me on my bed. She helps me in and puts me to sleep, watching me and cleaning my wounds.

This place hidden from the all-seeing eyes, but seen from those with all views of humanity, my iron-crafted home where fury bludgeons the underground dwellers and profiteers as souls, deplete and run dry like a desert thirst.

Among Elephant Kings and She-male prostitutes, I’m a wanderer and deserter with no dreams that can soothe the painful embrace of such a hell. The diva’s touch keeps the wrath of the begging dragon at bay, but the dreams I pursue nourish my longing.

How simple a dream is to obtain when it’s the sky of your home far away. The voices of Mother Bangkok tempt and revitalize, never letting go, but infuriating my sole purpose to fight, to please and satisfy. The Diva and I, both are children to a Dragon and a Fury that birthed the cataclysmic endeavor of lost dreams and never-ending brawls.

My dream has been captured, and I go on chasing it and the ones that have claimed it.

#shortstory #contemporary #fiction #transgressive #gritty

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imhereforbvcky · 6 years

Text

Watch Me Run - Part 3

Masterlist - Series Masterpage - Part 2 - Part 4

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader… eventually. I love a slow burn okay?!)

Prompt: The nightmare comes frequently and at the same time every day - one day you manage to sleep peacefully only to be greeted with the morning news by a story of a gruesome murder. The victim is the same person that’d appeared in your dreams

Warnings: violence, murder

Word Count: 3107

Author’s Note: Okaaay, I’m kind of iffy on this part but… here it is nonetheless. A necessary step forward in the story at the very least.

The evening you’d returned from your stunt at Stark Industries you’d barely made it inside your door before another dream took you. It fell over you like an avalanche and you struggled to keep your feet as you stumbled to the couch.

By some miracle, you’d made it to the plush cushions before the snowy wave overtook you and immersed your senses completely in another world. You fell into a clouded daze where time bent around you unhinged and unimpeded by reality. This time the dream didn’t take you far at all. A cloudy vision of yourself stood in your own bathroom, just down the hall from where you now lay locked in the strange green dream with your family heirloom, glowing a bright emerald shade from within its copper casing around your neck.

The dream took over every sense as you slipped into it until reality and dream and time all melded into a singular unrelenting sight, until you were the one standing in front of that bathroom mirror, adrenaline pouring into your bloodstream. Your heart raced as unshakable fear gripped every muscle in primal fight or flight response to the violent grunts and crashes just beyond the locked door.

You jumped at the angry thud that was so close it seemed to echo off the hard tile all around. With nowhere else to go, you quickly climbed into the bathtub and pulled the curtain closed behind you. A terrifying helplessness seemed to weigh down your very bones as you sank deep into the porcelain walls of the tub.

With a splintering crack the door flew open, shards of wood splicing into the curtain above and crashing onto the tile just outside your paper thin shield. You did your best not to make a sound, breathing slowly through your mouth. Somehow, you managed to keep silent despite the sound of your heartbeat raging in your ears and the screaming burn of your lungs, begging for more air as the adrenaline coursed through your veins, demanding more oxygen, screaming, “Run! Move!”

Heavy footsteps moved around the tub and suddenly the metallic rattling of the curtain drawing back on its post rang out above your head. There, hovering over you stood a man in a crisp black suit. He was large and broad with a slightly crooked nose like it had been broken a time or two. But what really struck you was the odd blue gleam in his eyes. You knew that look. You’d seen it in your grandfather’s eyes right before he’d betrayed you to a determined-looking god from another world on a snowy field in the middle of nowhere.

This man standing over you, bruised, disheveled, and menacing, was not himself. He was a puppet.

Before you could give it another thought the man raised his gun to fire. Finding only the unsatisfying jam of an empty chamber and a spent magazine, he growled and turned the gun in his hand. As you tried to clamber out of the tub, hoping to seize the opportunity to flee, he brought the gun down in a surprisingly fast, heavy swoop, smashing the hard metal into the side of your head.

There was a blinding pain as the heel struck your temple first. The sharp, immediate pain radiated across your face and down through your neck. But worst of all was the pulsing white throbbing behind your eye. He’d shattered your zygomatic bone and the swelling had begun immediately as blood pooled beneath the soft, highly innervated skin of your cheek. It felt like your eye would explode out of the socket if you so much as sneezed. Your vision was dim, hazy from the blow and you stumbled, unable to focus on anything but the pain.

Without warning another blow cracked down on the back of your head and you were out. Everything went black and you felt the cool tile of your bathroom floor greeting your face before the gentle mercy of unconsciousness took you.

Blood seeped from your ear and from the cut on your cheek, making a gruesome crimson puzzle pattern between the tiles as you lay helpless. The swelling and redness had continued to build along your cheek and forehead, though the bruising hadn’t yet begun.

The man knelt over you and reached for the copper chain around your neck. He was here for one thing and you’d only gotten in the way. Your aunt had been right to keep you in the city, away from your grandfather and his stories and dreams. This family relic was nothing but a curse.

Before he could untangle it from your hair two clear and loud shots rang out and the man staggered back. He fell against the wall of the tub clutching at his chest, but it took only a few moments of choking gasping breath for him to expire. You had a hard time feeling much pity for him, even if his actions weren’t his own.

“Damn it,” the shooter whispered as he stepped into the room and gracefully lunged over your body. He carefully pushed your hair aside with a shining metal prosthetic arm and pushed two fingers from his other hand to your throat. He was checking for a pulse.

The journey to Stark Tower had been filled with irritable silence and unanswered questions. Your latest dream had, not surprisingly, left you tense and paranoid. So when the sleek black SUV had pulled up to your door, you were already prepared. There wouldn’t be any large strangers with crooked noses barging into your flat, thank you very much.

You’d met the imposing, unsmiling man on your porch with your FedEx box clutched tightly to your chest. He confirmed your name and asked you to come with him to speak with Mr. Stark and that was all he said. The silence was deafening when you asked where he was taking you, if you needed a lawyer, if they’d found any traces of Loki in the city. You even dared to ask if the man could even speak for all the silence your questions earned you. Eventually the weight of his silence began to intimidate you more than any answers he could have given.

Finally inside the tower, with your escort’s presence looming over your shoulder, you entered a large open office, every surface made of sleek steel and polished glass. Tony Stark sat facing you, leaning over a glowing magnifying glass, two gloved hands working on a very small circuit board. His sharp brown eyes barely flickered over you for more than a second before returning to the tiny soldering iron in his hands.

“Ah! Damn it!” he hissed, letting the tweezers fall to the table and dropping the iron into its holster with a clank that seemed to echo an incurable frustration against the hard, unforgiving walls of this room.

Suddenly, standing in this illustrious tower, clutching your beaten FedEx box with its arcane family relics, every word disappeared from your mouth, your shoulder shrunk under the weight of the situation. Where you had been so brave in the press room, you now shrunk, so small and utterly ordinary, holding an old rock on a chain before this titan of technology and power.

As you reeled at the gravity of your situation, the desperation, you took a deep steadying breath and shut your eyes. You’d been brave enough to force this meeting, you could be brave enough to step up to the table and ask for help.

Just as you stepped forward, a large hand settled between your shoulder blades, encouraging you forward. The sudden contact sent a chill across your skin and you leapt forward with a defensive shout.

“Hey! Get your hands off me!” you snapped, turning to find, not the tall, irritable foot soldier who’d brought you here, but cool blue-grey eyes and a soft mouth parted with shock at your sudden and agitated reaction

“Sorry,” he mumbled, throwing his hands up in defense. “Just thought I’d offer a lady a seat.” He gestured toward one of the chairs opposite Tony’s desk with his shining metal hand.

You could only stare in stunned silence as the Winter Soldier passed by and took the seat beside the one he’d just offered to you. Too alarmed to speak or move, your thoughts reeled. He was the shooter from your dream. An ominous dread twisted knots in your stomach as one of the players from your nightmare walked into your life.

You racked your brain for answers to a thousand questions. Did you only see dreams of death? Had you witnessed your own death already or would he find a pulse? Were the dreams strict predictions or mere possibilities? Could you change what was going to happen?

You were lost in your own head, pilfering through 20 year old memories of cryptic warnings from an old man you hardly remembered. There had to be answers. You hadn’t noticed the others filing in behind Bucky until Tony’s voice cut through your haze.

“Alright, kid,” he finally began, leaning toward you and turning a piece of paper out to the rest of you sitting across the desk. “You wanted my attention; you’ve got it.” He tapped two points on the glass screen sprawled out in front of him and two images displayed side by side between the two of you.

To your left was your drawing of your dream in vivid detail, carefully measured for accuracy, not a footprint out of place. The only additions had been Loki standing in two of those footprints, hovering over the victim: your grandfather and the time 3:28pm. You’d distributed it to Tony Stark yourself at his company’s quarterly review the day before.

The image to your right was a crime scene photo, the timestamp displayed it had been taken just hours ago. You were no art student, but it matched your drawing beautifully, down to the number of unused bullets that never made their way into the victim’s revolver, the pattern of the stab wounds, the angle of the body when you lined the camera up to match the angle of the fence. It was a perfect match.

“Coroner says the cold makes it impossible to say exactly when this happened, but he estimates between 1 and 5pm last night. How did you get this image a day before the murder?” Steve pushed the photocopy of your drawing into your hands.

You pointed at the man in the snow, the determined look in your eyes softened by the effort of holding back your grief. “Three days ago he sent me this.” You pushed the FedEx package onto the table and let them take it apart, scrutinizing the note, the album, all of it, except the eye which you wore safely hidden under your sweater.

“‘You are the guardian of the Time Stone…’” Bucky read from the card that had come with the package. “What’s the Time Stone?” he asked as he passed the note back over his shoulder to Natasha.

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged. “All I know is that when I was a little girl my grandfather used to have strange dreams. Once, he told me that they were dreams of the future. He said changing the past was dangerous and there would always be dangerous men who sought to use the stone. He made it sound like a fairytale, like he was some super hero protecting the world.” You scoffed, looking down at your hands.

“But when he dreamed, the eye would glow bright green, like someone was holding a lamp behind it,” you continued. With nervous hands you reached for the small chain pressing into the tender skin at the back of your neck. Your fingers followed it forward and pulled the heavy green and copper eye from beneath your sweater.

“The day I got the package I dreamed that he died. Horribly and painfully at the hands of this… ambitious god from another world. It felt so real… like I was right there. I felt it all…” The talisman in your hands had begun to glow softly, like it had been called awake by the memories of the dreams it had given you.

“In the dream he told me to find you.” Your eyes lifted to the man across the desk from you. Tony Stark’s attention was locked on the alien stone on your neck. “He said to show you, so I am, and I’m hoping you’ll help me. Help me keep it safe, keep… keep me alive when Loki comes for it.”

The silence in the room bound you to your seat, kept your stare locked on Tony, pleading and helpless because you were. This stone had come to you out of the blue with little explanation and no instruction. You were defenseless against the man who would take it from you. You needed their help, desperately.

“Please believe me.” Your voice was but a strained whisper now that the desperation had taken hold. Your eyes darted quickly from face to face, seeking any support, but they were all unreadable.

While the others scrutinized you and the evidence you placed at their feet, Bucky placed a cool, unyielding hand on your knee. It offered more comfort than you would have expected. Somehow the steady strength there had a soothing effect that only grew under his soft, earnest gaze. He inclined his head toward you and murmured just loud enough for you to hear, “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

It really wasn’t a committed answer. It could mean ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you because you’re taking a nice stroll down Looneytoon Lane and nobody is coming for you except for the psychiatric nurse I’m about to call.’ Or it could mean ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you because I believe you and we’ll help you.’ You smiled weakly, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Tony dropped the FedEx box back onto his desk with an overtly clumsy flourish. “I don’t know what the hell this is. This is a mess. It’s a PR nightmare at best thanks to you. And now you have to stay here while we make a public spectacle of investigating it or until you turn out to be right and that worm turns up again.” With a sigh he extended an open hand toward you, nodding toward the pendant, and the source of your apparent lunacy. “Can I see that?”

Instinctively, your hands flew to the familiar copper, guarding it.

“I’m not going to take it from you, I just… fine.” The frustration made his motions quick and abrupt, he spoke in shortened huffs. He was used to others not following how quickly his mind moved, but it became especially difficult to tolerate when even he didn’t have all the answers. “Jarvis, what’s that thing made of?”

“The chain and decorative pendant are a copper zinc alloy that is resistant to corrosion. The central stone appears to be encased in a synthetic polycarbonate not unlike the shell of the Tesseract. I cannot determine the nature of the stone itself nor the source of the energy.”

“Well isn’t that interesting,” Tony mused, eying you with a new curiosity. “Your story seems a lot more plausible. Jarvis, keep looking,” Tony snapped.

“Yes sir.” The AI answered in his prim robotic voice.

“You!” Tony pointed sharply at you, “Go pack a bag.”

“She can’t stay here,” Natasha’s cool even cadence stopped all motion as Tony turned an annoyed glance to her.

“Nat’s right,” Bucky agreed, “Where do you think is the first place he’s going to look when he comes up empty handed at her place? You have too many staff here. If he’s using that scepter for mind control, he could easily get someone here to do his dirty work.”

“A safe house,” Steve concluded. “She’ll need some kind of security. We can’t just drop her in the middle of nowhere and hope for the best.”

“Wade?” Tony suggested.

The reply came in the form of a dismissive scoff from Steve, arms crossed over his chest.

“What?” Tony insisted, “He gets the job done! And he’s not associated with us. No one will even know to look for him.”

“He’s also reckless and doesn’t follow anybody’s plans but his own,” Steve argued. “This is going to take coordination and communication.”

“I like him. That kind of tactic could work to our advantage in this situation…”

The two argued on. Loudly. The natural leader and the independence of genius would always clash, even with a united goal.

“Hey!” Natasha shouted over the tension. “She just needs to hide while we deal with Loki, right? I know someone who’s real good at hiding.” She turned with a single arched eyebrow toward Bucky who had been leaning back, content to let the others sort this out. Until now.

“No! No, no, no!” He sat up straight as the others’ eyes turned to him with determined looks he wasn’t altogether pleased to see. “I could disappear because I was alone! And trained to survive and adapt. She’s going to get herself killed in two hours!”

“Hey!” you complained. Any warmth you might have felt in response to his previous comforting gesture dissipated immediately. You might have needed help, but you weren’t an idiot.

“This is our best option, Buck,” Steve reasoned. “You’re good at this. You hid from some of the best intelligence organizations in the world for two years.”

“Yeah until they found me,” Bucky grumbled, but Steve had already placed his hands resolutely on his hips and tilted his head with a quirked eyebrow that would bear no refusal. Bucky knew that look on his best friend. There would be no talking Steve out of this truly terrible plan.

“We don’t need two years,” Natasha reasoned. “You just have to buy us some time to find Loki. We’ll set up a couple of safe houses and you pick one. That way if he does get in here with that scepter, none of us will know where you are exactly.”

He looked darker and stormier than ever as he pushed himself swiftly to his feet. “Set it up,” he grumbled before turning back to you. “C’mon, you need to pack.”

You stared after him, mouth agape. This had all happened so quickly and a half-baked plan had been laid out without a word of input from you, the keeper of this stone. Your head swiveled back to the others, pleading for some guidance.

“You asked for this, Sixth Sense. Better hurry up,” Tony urged, nodding toward the door after one very grim Bucky Barnes.

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #avengers fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #watch me run fic #watch me run part 3 #watch me run 3

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aggresivelyfriendly · 6 years

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~Meet Me In The Hallway~ Chapter 7-

On The Road Again

Harry was not going to meet us at the airport. I knew that, was acutely aware of it. It would be beyond stupid for him to come. He would get mobbed. It could cause a scene, and there was no real reason for him to be there.

I hoped though.

I was dead on my feet when I got off that plane. The intervening weeks had seen us on the phone and texting frequently, but I had avoided facetime effectively,Though I'd yawned my way through that last face time with Harry, I had not been able to sleep well that night or the ones that followed. My head had been invaded. Instead of sound sleep, my full imagination put him on a dusty 19040's airstrip in a trench coat and hat. He was made for the 40's. that jaw line should be comitted to cellulose, it was surely imbedded in my brain. I cast myself as his Lauren Bacall, beautifully crying as we said our goodbyes. The scene my dreams conjured was gorgeous, but I hoped it was not prescient. I did not want my relationship, friendship, my whatever, with Harry, to be rife with goodbyes. How little did I know then.

I was tired, and I wanted a bed. But I wanted a bed with Harry in it. That was unlikely to happen, it was 2 in the afternoon and I was fairly certain that there would be something he was supposed to be doing.

It was a long slog to the hotel, with my brother and the boy's complaining enough to get me to do their bidding. They had this habit, or maybe it was my habit they had picked up on, of running from their whining and doing the onerous task they were complaining about. I knew as soon as I got to the hotel, I would be the one standing at the desk, getting keys and hotel room numbers while they all slumped over the couches in the lobby moaning.

I was trying to overcome my own jet lag and not lay my head down on the stand the very perky blonde hostess was standing behind.

"You guys are with the rest of your party. The whole floor is reserved for you," she smiled at me and my brain was so cloudy that I asked a question I would normally not ask, for a variety of reasons.

"Which room is Harry in?" Slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it, and I could see the headlines now. I was internally berating myself and bit my lip hard. If only I had done that before I opened my big mouth. The desk girl, Holly, smiled at me conspiratorially and leaned over the desk.

"He's actually right across the hall from one of your rooms," she extended a key card towards me with a brow arched high. "This one."

"Thanks," I'm sure my voice shook, either from nerves or embarrassment. The two emotions were duking it out in my head and I was now hoping I could stay awake long enough to outlast my brother and knock on Harry's door. He was always just across the hallway. That was too far.

I walked back across the crisp white lobby, everything was pristine and mostly colorless, a collection of ecru and beige and bleached fabrics and woods with the odd moment of color. Bursts of bright cantaloupe and deep pinks. It felt like my life over the last two months. Long days, that should have been exciting, but dragged like my feet on the way to whatever activity we were engaged in, punctuated by odd moments of life and interest. Those moments always coincided with a chime on my phone with a pseudonym for its sender.

"Cmon boys," I walked over and picked up my backpack and thanked the lord above that larger suitcases always found their way upstairs for us and I didn't have to lug them. I'm sure the lazy asses I shepherded would goad me into that job too. I watched them all pull themselves up and gave a moments amusement to the different ways they moved. Some popped up oddly, first by shoulder of knee, like marionettes being controlled by someone else's fingers, others lurched, walking dead extras trying to make it to the object of their hunger, in this case, a soft bed and rest. Only myself and my brother seemed to be half or more awake. He moved past me swiftly and his sprightly stride made me think sneaking off to see harry was unlikely to happen soon. Why was he so excited?

My excitement thrummed through my veins and the heaviness of my limbs had fallen away. Instead, I was alight. I wanted to lay on the couch with Harry and watch him pinch his bottom lip while he listened intently. There was a story I could not wait to tell him. Ashton had lost his balance and fallen ass backwards off a pier, which was hilarious in its own right, but his shirt getting stuck to a post and his hanging suspended before it ripped as he made a sound like goofy on the way down was even better. There was a video somewhere, that I was sure he would see in the coming days, but I also knew that just my description could draw the laugh I loved from him. That burst of energy and sound. I wanted to watch him eat, get a bit of ketchup or whatever condiment he was favoring off his chin, or wait for him and watch him come in sweaty with clothes clinging from a session with Mark. He said in a text they were boxing and that caused an unfamiliar twitch in regions of my body mostly dormant.

Most anticipated, was climbing into the big fluffy bed all of these hotels had and facing him. His eyes would get puffy as sleep crept up on him. He'd try to maintain a conversation with me, and then all at once his eyes would be closed and his lips would fall open and his soft exhales would be snores. When that happened, I allowed myself the pleasure of really looking at him. Harry liked me Fine, I think, but, I doubted he was as invested in every mood of my face the way I was of his. In his drowsy state, I could admire the curves of his shoulder and the way his collarbones were highlighted with black ink. I'd trace his swallows with my finger tips, never touching, a hairsbreadth separating me from his warm skin. He was so warm when he slept, and he'd allow me to skim my feet onto his calves to warm my always freezing toes up. Harry would scoff and yank back a moment before he brought his legs back to me, an offering. He'd hold his breath the second time until my toes had connected. The sigh that came out of me then would draw a smile from him that I could never help but return.

Those nights, where we touched each other before he fell under were my favorite. We'd smile like we shared a secret, and then Harry would talk, and his hands would occasionally find my own. He'd play with my fingertips while he talked about his mom and Gemma. Telling me stories about dressing up and putting on shows, how being someone else felt so different from having to perform as himself.

"Do you think of the guy on stage as yourself?" I'd asked one night, we were really close, my breath must have brushed over his lips. We were laying in the dark, and the moonless night meant I felt more than saw him. Maybe that's why he was holding my hand, so he knew I was there. The darkness seemed to open the lock on his lips.

"He's me. Well, a version of me mixed with Freddie Mercury, maybe Mick, though I've grown to hate that comparison—-"

"It cracks me up that you refer to Rolling Stones by first name." I chuckled and our lips accidentally brushed. I don't count it as a kiss, but it was more thrilling than any other press of mouths i'd had before.

He inhaled deeply before he continued, "he's just a guy. Like me, you call me by my first name," he laced his fingers in between mine.

"Do you still feel like just a guy under the lights?"

"Not really, no. I feel bigger, at first it's like I'm acting, but then, I get caught up in the rush and all the waves of energy and emotion and I feel bigger, stronger, Fuller. I don't always know the things I say, it's kinda like sex in that way." He laughed at his comparison before tensing his fingers between my own, as I was suddenly rigid. "Sorry, didn't mean to be gross."

"It's not gross, I just have never experienced that," I tried to explain my discomfort. The darkness did not offer me the courage it did him. I still had things I couldn't share. "Never had an experience where I lost control and liked it."

"Is that why you don't drink often?"

"One of the reasons," I shrugged and the wrinkle of the pillow we shared made a soft sigh.

"You could let go with me," his voice was hesitant, and he smoothed our hands up out of their lock until we were palm to palm. "I got you."

"Yeah," was my reply. I knew I was safe here, with him. The only thing I wasn't safe from was my feelings, growing by the hour, minute, second. With every touch we shared and nocturnal secret emitted.

Those were the moments I wanted to go back to, the long hours of night when he was wired from a show and waiting to sleep and I got to hear him talk and watch him breathe. Those were the moments I was hoping to have more of.

My Motley Crue of puppets and zombies made it to the elevators, behind me except for the unusually peppy brother at my side. If adulthood was all about delayed gratification, it looked like today would be formative. I wasn't sure where Harry was or when I'd be able to sneak to him. Would my heart gallop in anticipation all day? I'd be exhausted surely, the beat in my chest was closer to a club banger than a slow jam. If my heart kept this up, I'd feel like I'd run a marathon.

My ticker sprinted to the finish line when the elevator opened and the 1D boys were standing waiting for it. A cry went up, lots of "oi, oi's" in a variety of accents.

My eyes were only for Harry though.

I had been in the front of the pack, just off center, staring at the off white barricade where it met at the center seam. The slide of the door revealed a mop of chocolate swirls and his head popped up too, his slightly too large eyes of moss met mine. Everyone behind me rushed out and bro hugs and shouts and back pats were exchanged. I stood and stared at Harry, until the doors started to close and he pulled from the arms around him, Luke's from the ink, to slide his hand into the closing crevasse. The doors tugged back and his hand closed around mine.

My face was hot and the breathe I took after 30 seconds of holding it was audible as he pulled me through the doors into the hallway and his arms. My left shoulder notched into his right arm pit and the loose tank top he was wearing meant my skin touched his. I exhaled big and shivered.

"Hey Melly," his breath moved my messy hair and I worried about what I smelled like. I figured I would be waiting hours to see him and that that time could include a shower. I wouldn't take it back.

"Hi Harry," the smell of his neck invaded my nostrils and I moved my nose back and forth against the warm summer skin of his neck. He clenched me tighter and I brushed my lips against him, accidentally I told myself.

He was pulled from my grasp and the welcomes continued until one of the boys minders, Paul, I think, reminded them that their car was waiting. I looked up when my boys headed down the hall and the other group moved towards the elevator. I started to hitch up the backpack I had dropped in the rush when a familiar hand found mine, the calloused tips, casualty of learning guitar, were something I had memorized.

The hard plastic slid between us, a drug dealer would be proud. "You look tired," his eyes glanced over the smudges under my eyes. "Get some rest."

I watched the doors meet again and found myself standing in the hallway long enough that the group that left had probably made it to the lobby, maybe to the car. I thought about what my pack had in it and thanked my self for thinking to have everything I'd need for a night away stashed there. If my brother was awake, I didn't want to draw attention to my packing, if he was asleep, I did not want to wait for my bags to make it upstairs.

"Would you sit the fuck down!" Michael exclaimed later. "Jesus, people are supposed to be tired after long flights, you are fucking vibrating." He ate his burger and glared at me.

"Why aren't you sleeping then?" I snarled back and sat across from him on the arm chair.

"Because my stomach was growling loud enough to wake the dead, let alone keep me up." He gestured to my untouched plate. "Are you not hungry?" His hand settled on my bouncing knee. "Quit," he grit and pointed to my plate.

I pushed the food around and ate a few fries. I was to anxious to eat.

The longest hour of my life later, my brother stretched and belched after finishing his beer. "I'm going to bed. Go to the gym or something, calm your ass down, Yeah? Tomorrow's busy."

I knew he was right, but I waited until his breathing steadied before I gathered my things and went into the shower. As I washed, I thought about Harry's boy smell, fresh from his shower — redolent of his bed time routine, and his hair as it brushed my cheek when he pulled back. He looked happy to see me. Absentmindedly, I washed my hair, and when I realized I was using body wash instead of shampoo I scoffed and pulled my head out of the fog.

I wiped the mirror and saw the dark bruises beneath my eyes. I didn't cover them though, I hoped to go to bed and now at least I was clean. I threw on some comfy shorts and one of the t shirts I had secreted away after the UK leg. My bag on my shoulder and his keycard in my hand, I tip toed across the hall. It was quiet, the 1D calcvacade was out and most of my group was asleep. I let myself into his room feeling as anxious as I had since we got off the plane. I worried my thumb ring until my skin was red.

His hotel room was empty, but his things were spread around. A guitar on the couch, the detritus from breakfast and a hoodie over the arm chair. I sighed, it felt like home. I made my way into the bedroom. The pillow smelled like his neck had and I was asleep before my head fully hollowed the pillow.

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #meet me In The Hallway #mmith #chapter 7

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