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alphacrone · 7 years

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TW: one not graphic description of a wolf catching and eating prey, a dog abandoned in a car (but isn't hurt)

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When Jack awoke, he was in a strange bed in a strange house.

This would have worried him more if his head hadn’t felt so fuzzy, but, as it was, all he could focus on was the unbearable ache in his bones, the weakness of his breaths. There would be time to worry when he could remember more than his name.

The bedroom door creaked open and a man peeked inside. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said, so softly Jack could barely hear him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Bad,” Jack grunted, struggling—and failing—to sit up. The man hurried across the room, hands outstretched. Jack watched those hands as they pressed against his chest, easing him back down onto the pillow. They were beautiful hands, tanned and bruised and strong—he could see the muscle in them, the rough strength. Jack let himself be tucked in by this strange man and his lovely hands. “Where am I?” He remembered to ask as the man lightly touched his forehead, checking for fever.

“The Coop,” the man said, voice louder now. “If you mean specifically, you’re just outside Syracuse. We found you tangled up in our fence. Big drinker?” He asked, voice both amused and concerned.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. He immediately regretted this as the room began to spin violently. “Been sober two years.”

“Well, something made you wild last night,” the man said matter-of-factly, smoothing down the quilt that covered Jack’s naked torso. “But we’ll worry about that later. Are you hungry? I’ve got breakfast cooking downstairs.”

“No,” Jack said, a little too gruffly. He wasn’t hungry, despite it being late morning, and even felt full, the sickly kind of full that came from eating too much and too richly. “Water?”

“Here, Ransom left a water bottle on the bedside table after they carried you here.” The man grabbed the dented, metal thing off the table and handed it to Jack, who felt thirstier than he ever had in his life. He chugged several mouthfuls before the man said, “Slow down, you’ll be sick.”

Jack did slow down, and after the burn in his throat subsided he asked, “Who are you?”

The man smiled and extended a hand. “Eric Bittle, at your service. The boys call me Bitty. And you are…?”

“Jack.”

“Well, Jack, I suppose you aren’t from around here. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

Jack took another sip of water and thought hard for a moment. “I was visiting a friend. And then I was travelling- Blue .”

Eric looked startled. “Blue?”

“My dog,” Jack hissed. He braced both hands on the lumpy mattress and pushed himself up, grunting in pain as every muscle and joint in his body screamed in protest. “She was in my car- we were driving- I need to find her-”

“Jack, Jack,” Eric gripped Jack’s shoulders and struggled to hold him still. “You are in no state to go looking for Blue. I’ll send the boys out, we’ll find her. Tell me what we’re looking for.”

Jack described his car and his dog, anxiety tightening in his chest like a screw. Everything hurt, everything shook, and all Jack knew was that Blue had probably spent the night trapped in his car alone and afraid and very, very cold.

“You sit here, I’ll round up the troops,” Eric said. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her. Drink water and lie back down, okay? You need rest.”

Jack did as he was told, but only very reluctantly. Eric slipped from the room and Jack could hear voices from downstairs. Then a door opened and slammed somewhere, and outside a car rumbled to life. Jack could hear the crunch of gravel beneath wheels, the soft, sock-padded steps of someone walking up stairs, even the creak and groan of the mattress under his infinitesimal shifts and movements. He took a slow, deep breath and tried to relax, despite the wave of fear now crashing down on him.

Eric came back into the room holding a plate of toast. “Rans and Holster are out looking for Blue now. I’ve texted Shitty and he and Lards’ll go looking after the market. We’ll find your baby girl, don’t you worry about it.”

“Why am I here?” Jack asked, frowning. “Why not just drop me off at the hospital? Where did you even find me?”

Eric shrugged. “Rans is a paramedic, he thought you were fine, apart from the cuts and bruises and dehydration. You didn’t show signs of alcohol poisoning, or any sort of aggressive or self-destructive behavior. Maybe it was a bad call,” he added, toying nervously with a loose thread on the quilt. “But here you get toast and far fewer needles.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “But where-?”

“Like I said, you were tangled up on our fence,” Eric said, face darkening. “You’d tried to crawl under, like the coydogs do, but passed out and got stuck.”

“Eric,” Jack said, voice growing thick. “I don’t- I don’t drink. I haven’t touched anything- anything like that in years. What...why can’t I remember what happened? Why was even here?”

“I don’t know,” Eric said softly, brushing a piece of hair from Jack’s brow. “But we’ll figure it out. Maybe we should take you to the doctor today. That bite on your arm isn’t looking too good, maybe it’s infected.”

“Bite?” Jack frowned. “The little nip I got from Ken- my friend’s neighbor’s dog? I thought that had scabbed over.”

He pulled his arm from the blanket to look at the bite he’d gotten a few days prior. The dog had been scared and it really hadn’t hurt much, so Kent had poured some antiseptic on it and bandaged it up and they’d called it a day. Yesterday, it had been a scab. Today, it looked almost fresh, red and irritated and aching. “Huh,” he said. “Maybe.”

“Try and get some sleep,” Eric said, calloused hand brushing over Jack’s shoulder for a second. “Everything will make more sense when you wake up.”

Jack nodded, weariness coming over him again, and he let himself drift off, the phantom touch of Eric’s hand the last thing on his mind.

Jack was running.

Running, and smelling, and smelling prey, and running, and chasing, and running, and lunging, and tearing, and howling, and-

Jack bolted up in bed, gasping for air. The sheets tangled around his body were soaked through with sweat, cold and damp against his bare skin. His throat hurt, ached, and he shakily reached for the mostly-empty water bottle at his bedside.

“Jack?” Eric rushed into the room, eyes wide with concern. “You were screaming, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Jack swallowed roughly and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Dream.”

Eric moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He was handsome, now that Jack looked at him again, with boyish features and large, expressive eyes. “Bad one, I reckon.”

“I dreamt I was a wolf,” Jack whispered. “I was howling.”

“Full moon’s got you in her grips, huh?” Eric laughed softly. “She does that. Well, I know something that’ll make you feel better.” When Jack tilted his head in confusion, Eric nodded towards the window. “The boys found Blue, asleep in your car. She’s out there now playing fetch with them and Apple and Peaches. Our dogs,” he added. “They already seem mighty fond of her. And the dogs think she’s okay, too.”

Jack laughed, though it hurt his chest. “I picked her up outside Odessa. Thought she was a coyote, she was so thin and dirty, but the vet thinks she’s mostly Blue Heeler.”

“Good companions,” Eric said with a nod. “Ours are pitbull mixes, so I hope she likes to play all day. They’re useless guard dogs, really, but great at playing.”

Relief flooded Jack’s body, loosening all of the tension he’d been holding. “Was she scared?” He asked, feeling even more comforted as Eric scooted closer to fuss with Jack’s damp pillows.

“Yes,” Eric said softly. “And there’s a bit of a mess that needs to be cleaned up properly in your back seat, but she’s eaten and relieved herself on every tree in the yard and is probably very anxious to see you.”

Jack nodded. “I should get dressed and get out of your hair-” He started, but Eric cut him off with an incredulous scoff.

“Oh, no, you are having at least one meal with us, mister. You are clearly in no state to drive, and Miss Blue has to finish her rousing game of fetch. I brought up one of your bags, so you should shower and change, and then we’ll figure out what happened and if you need to see a doctor.”

Jack sighed and nodded. "If you insist," he said reluctantly.

"I do," Eric said. "And we're having stew tonight," he added as he walked towards the door. "I hope you like beef."

Jack's stomach grumbled in answer for him. "Sounds great," he said, smiling at Eric.

"Good." Eric beamed back. "We'll get you back in tip-top shape, don't you worry, Jack. You'll see."

[My incomplete writing masterpost]

#anna writes things #check please!#zimbits #werewolf tag #zimbits fanfiction

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geneshaven · 7 years

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In A Terrific Place

Kudos to Stephen Amell for his spoiler and for the title of this piece. Also kudos to @it-was-a-red-heeler who suggested to me that whenever I have a craving to start smoking again (of which I’ve been without for 4 days now) I should write an Olicity scene instead. It worked and I live to fight another day.

After sharing love with Felicity, Oliver stayed awake in the darkness of their old bedroom at the Loft. Felicity had fallen asleep some time ago, clutching onto him as if he was a conduit for the dreams now filling her mind and heart. He could feel her breathing against his body, a steady rise and fall of her chest meting out a slumberous rhythm of rest and contentment. He remembered his mother told him once that there is safety in dreams. She said they could be a wonderland of possibilities and enchantment, a place where only the dreamer can shape and define that landscape. Lies become truth, regrets turn to redemption, hate is love and fear emboldens strength. Her description brought calmness to his nine year old mind, making the depths of his sleep seem less formidable.

Oliver stared into the darkness of the bedroom and felt blessed with Felicity by his side. She brought all that wonderment to his life and more. Their date last night was awesome in its simplicity. Riasa agreed to stay overnight with William at Oliver’s apartment, a residence that both he and Felicity agreed was prudent---mostly for William’s sake. Oliver did not want to confuse or upset his son with the happiness he felt by him and Felicity finding their way back to one another. So he moved into the apartment and Felicity stayed at the Loft. Yes, both homes were on the opposite sides of the city, but distance was not an issue between them anymore. They had finally learned to love one another without barriers. It was a mindset and the beating of two hearts casting out any doubts that might be able to separate them again.

So, they had their date nights. And they were deliriously happy spending that time together. Oliver made them dinner last night, a tasty seafood casserole with asparagus spears lining the edges of their plates like harpoons, drizzled in a rich, creamy white sauce. He added a couple bottles of white wine to enhance their palates. For dessert, Oliver was perplexed by that decision. He wanted to make Felicity a soufflé, but he felt it might be too soon to bring up that memory. So he settled for Baked Alaska smothered in a sweet caramel and brandy confection. Oliver was enjoying cooking for her again, and every time he did, his heart was always the main ingredient. After the meal, they cuddled on the couch---tender and vibrant. Then it turned into foreplay as shirts and shoes and bras went flying everywhere. There was a promising moment on the stairs leading up to the bed; then there was nowhere else for them to go but the bed---naked and filled with love.

Oliver was so grateful that Felicity gave him these new, happy memories. There had been to many dark ones over the years, pain and lose that defined him, that swirled in his life like a murderous hurricane blowing havoc and destruction. The arduous road he started down since those first moments on the island was one of pain and hopelessness, a road that led to ruin and tragedy. It left him lost in a maelstrom of suffering, of despair. He set his life upon it, not knowing if there was a final destination ahead, one that he could live with.

Felicity suddenly detangled herself from Oliver and rolled over on her other side, as if turning her back on this part of Oliver’s memories. Her sleep seemed to deepen, and once again, Oliver hoped her dreams were soft and safe and magical.

Oliver still sometimes felt small traces of fault and guilt for giving her so many nightmares since she came into his life. It seemed to him that she had sacrificed her innocence and purity by being with him, as if he had drained her of that essence she exuded in pursuit of his own misguided needs. At the beginning of their relationship, Oliver didn’t understand that she wanted, by her own choice, to be in his life in a non-professional way. He was instead focused on honoring his father, honoring Yao Fe and Shadoe, Tommy and Sara and his mother. He was unable or just not open enough to read the signals Felicity was putting out. He was fond of her and she became a familiar presence in his mission and in his life. He recognized her abilities and her passions; her desire to make a difference was at the same level as his. But he wasn’t at a place yet in his heart, mind and soul to accept the possibilities she brought. It was the same kind of denial he incorporated in his life on LIan Yu, in Hong Kong and Russia. Felicity was like a flower, beautiful and fragrant, but he could not allow himself to reach out and touch her, to breathe her in.

But as time went by, she helped him find the part inside of him craving love and hope and desire. She showed him another road he could travel, one without pain and loss, a comfort and peace that his monster smothered and devoured. She wanted to make his journey, their journey, less rocky and more stable. She taught Oliver it was okay to love someone and not be consumed by guilt and self-abashment.

Oliver slid over and put his feet on the floor. He moved softly, not wanting to disturb Felicity’s dreams. He found his shorts where he dropped them earlier and stepped back into them. Then he quietly moved over to the stairs and was about to climb down them when Felicity let out a small moan and turned over to face Oliver.

“Hey,” she said with sleep in her voice. “Where are you going?”

Oliver looked back to the bed and saw her staring at him. She wasn’t worried that he was leaving her alone. She wanted to know if anything was wrong. “Hey,” he answered. “I’m just…I’m going down to get some water.”

“Oliver, what’s wrong?” She knew right away that water wasn’t what he was after. She pulled herself up in the bed, leaning back on her pillows. Then realization crossed her face and she softened her concern. “You’re going downstairs to be alone, aren’t you?”

“Felicity…”

“Oliver, it’s okay. If you need to be alone…I’m not upset or anything. Not anymore” She gave him a smile that seemed to illuminate the darkness in the bedroom. “I would love for you to come back to bed, but it’s not like you’re flying off to some remote part of the world.”

Oliver smiled back at her. “Felicity, I love you. But sometimes…well, sometimes I still wonder why you want to be with me.”

Felicity’s smile brightened. “Well…” she replied, sticking a bare leg out from beneath the covers.

“Felicity, I won’t be long,” he told her. Oliver looked longingly at her leg. “Besides, I want to find out what else you got under there.”

Felicity tucked her leg back beneath the blankets. She grabbed Oliver’s pillow and hugged it to her body. “Oliver, take as long as you need.”

Oliver turned away and went downstairs, taking his solitude with him. Felicity watched him go and thought about falling back to sleep. Instead, she lay there in the bed and stared into the darkness. She was happy, as if everything her and Oliver had gone through, all that they endured---it was like all her good dreams were coming true.

@it-was-a-red-heeler @hope-for-olicity @louiseblue1 @almondblossomme @flowerandsunshine @scu11y22 @angelalafan @tdgal1 @dmichellewrites @memcjo @lovelycssefan @c0bra5nak3

#olicity

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