#Oh and about Ollie’s voice it’s not really his voice itself that reminds me of Alex but something in his delivery | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hopeaterart · 3 years

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PMTOK HORROR AU: INTRO

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOO! Nearly four thousand words! (I’m trying to get back into writing, so if you guys want to see another part of the games translated into the Horror AU, send me an ask!)

The circle was completed.

The Craftsman took a deep breath, raising up and putting the vial of Blue Paint on his nightstand. The blue lines were glowing slightly on his floor, the circle just big enough for one person.

Good enough for him, it was an emergency anyway. The Sailor was already too late by a few days. He walked to it’s middle, bit his thumb, and let the blood drip upon the lines. They glowed brighter. “Flipflopside.” He muttered, and his world was engulfed in blue.

When colors came back to him, he was at the gate of the town. He entered town, and sighed as he recognized the decorations all around. Had circumstances been better, this festival would’ve been Olly’s first exposure to the outside world.

But Olly having disappeared a week ago, along with some very important supplies, was the reason the Craftsman had scrambled to gather and create the necessary blue paint to teleport.

He stopped at the town square. Where... was everyone? He frowned at all the decorations strewn around. It was like an hurricane had gone through town. He groaned in exasperation, before continuing his way toward the Lady’s Castle. If the town was having problems, then she would be too busy to offer help with finding his son.

He... honestly doubted anyone would’ve been generous enough to help in the first place, which is why he had prepared arguments about why his worry over his son going missing wasn’t just a parent thing (which it wasn’t, but it was the main reason, and they didn’t need to know that), but rumors had it that the current human lord- or in this case, lady- was a generous and kind one.

Yeah, if she was anything like her uncle, then he wasn’t holding onto hope.

He finally arrived to it’s front door, knocking once. He was expecting to have to knock more, and then for someone to come open the door. Instead, the door grinded open, having obviously been left as such. He hummed in concern, looking around, before entering, on-guard.

And just as he entered, the door slammed behind him, making him jump. He hurriedly turned back toward it, trying to open it again in vain. Door locked. He groaned in exasperation. He was getting rusty.

He slowly walked through the corridor, his footsteps echoing around him as he looked around. The place was strangely... dark and silent. For some reason, he felt like he was the only one there. He reached the end of the corridor, opening another door (this one properly closed, but not locked) and arrived at what he could only assume was the lobby.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and out came the Lady. Long blonde hair, dark skin, and pink eyes... yep, no doubt, it was her, even if there was something... off about her that he wasn’t sure he could place. He had never formally met her, after all.

“How good... to see you...” She said in a discordant voice, and that immediately squashed any doubts the Craftsman had about this being her normal self. There was, at least, hypnosis involved.

“Answer me this... shouldn’t this miserable kingdom be unfolded... and be refolded unto glory?...” He shook his head, a hand reaching into his apron to get his paper scoring tool, the sharper end gleaming like a shiv. Better safe then sorry.

“And what of those... humans?” The venom dripping from her voice surprised him, even if he wasn’t a fan of other humans himself. “Shouldn’t they be silenced forever?” Oh, he didn’t like were this was going. Whoever was pulling the strings on her, they were the kind of scum that would make even the former Count recoil in horror.

“... I see... Last question.” She started as he grind his teeth together. “Will you crease yourself and be reborn, like me-”

“Lady of humans,” He started as he took a step forward. She didn’t react at that, freezing and keeping lifeless pink eyes on him. “You’re not in your right mind right now. Please, let me try to undo whatever magic is making you act like this-”

“Wrong answer.” She started, and the Craftsman realized he had made a mistake. “Right answer. It matters not.” She said, tilting her head in a stilted manner that exposed her shoulder and the thick silver lines on it. No doubt, powerful binding magic was at work. “Your replies are all paper thin.”

The floor suddenly opened under him, a discordant goodbye accompanying the fall. And then his world was wrapped in pain and darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on a cold ground, and five faces -or at least what he assumed where faces, what’s with the loss of his glasses- were looking down on him. “Oh, he’s waking up, he’s waking up!” One of them said, making the four others back up as he sat up.

He blinked, blurry. “Have any of you seen my glasses?” He asked. “They’re round with black frames. Their lenses are thick, and they have a retainer with purple and yellow beads.” The retainer was especially important to him, a reminder of the only relationship he remembered fondly. “If any of you are well-versed in magic, they’re also imbued with some pretty powerful protection spells.”

“Is that why they didn’t break?” Someone asked, handing him an object that shone under the dingy dungeons light.

He nodded, taking them in hand on pushing them up his nose. “Yes, thank you.” He then blinked as he regained vision, and looked around. All of those people... “You’re all monsters?”

One of them flinched at that, while another took a defensive stance. “Is that a problem, old man?”

“No, of course not.” He answered, bringing his knees to his chest. “If anything, I sympathize more with monsters than humans. We’re terrible.”

One of the monsters, who looked pretty young, came nearer. “So you don’t hate us?”

The Craftsman chuckled, patting the little plant monster’s head. “When you get my age, you don’t have much energy left for hating everything in sight. So I keep it for people who are truly deserving.” Like the chucklefuck who broke into his home, kidnapped Olly, stole most of his magical supplies and half of his Origami ones.

Suddenly, the door opened. More monsters, but those ones moving just as stiffly as the Lady earlier, entered. “Come with us...” The one standing at the front, who wore a ancient demon mask, ordered. The Craftsman got up, groaning as some of his bones popped, as everyone exited the room. He was about to follow them, when the masked monster held a hand up. Restrained fury was radiating off of the monster. “Not you.”

And just like that, he was alone again. He sighed, sitting down on the ground. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? The wall over there seemed pretty brittle...

He got up the inspect it, gently dragging his palm across it. Hello? A little voice suddenly asked, making him jump back in surprise. Oh no, please don’t leave! It said again. Was it coming... from the wall?

He caressed the wall again, frowning. “Are you... trapped inside?” He asked, feeling dimensional magic weaved into the wall.

Oh, yes I am! The voice of the young girl started again. I’m in a very strange place, like I’m trapped in-between dimensions!

“You will be delighted to hear to your situation is nowhere that severe, then.” He snarked. “You’re merely the victim of a dimensional spell. Nothing that can’t be broken.”

Really!? The voice exclaimed, it’s (her?) happiness evident. I think there’s some Paint nearby, could you use it to draw a magic circle? I can use my own magic for the rest. He hummed non-committedly as he got up, heading for the boxes pilled in a corner.

After a strong enough push, they toppled, their content spilling. Mostly empty vials of Paint, beside one that seemed to hold enough for one circle. But more importantly, a crack in the wall that was big enough for him to slip through if he tried was there. But just as he was about to leave, the little voice made itself known again. You... you’re not leaving, are you? She asked in a tearful tone.

He stayed frozen for a moment, before groaning in exasperation and turning back toward the wall. He quickly made his way there, emptying the vial over his fingers and drawing a circle around himself. It then started glowing a golden color, the image of a hand appearing within it. “Shapeshifting magic, uh?” He picked at the wound on his finger, opening it again and letting blood drip once more.

The Craftsman watched, bewildered, as his arms flattened and folded like accordions. He then gathered himself, and ripped the wall away, shaking his arm back to normal as whoever was trapped in the wall detached herself. “Whoo! I’m finally free from the wall!” She exclaimed cheerfully as the Craftsman’s eyes widened in disbelief. Blonde hair, golden hair, the hat with two points... and those eyes... “Hi, my name’s Olivia! You-”

“I know who you are, girl.” The Craftsman interrupted, bringing a hand up. “I’m the one who designed you.” That seemed to shock her, her hat flying of her head as her eyes sifted sizes.

“What!?”

“And I must admit, whoever folded you did an excellent job. Almost makes me jealous.” He wasn’t jealous, but fucking furious, but not at her, and that wasn’t important right now.

“But- you- I-”

“Look, for now, let’s focus on getting out of here before those guys come back, alright?” He proposed, grabbing Olivia’s small hand and squeezing them gently. She nodded, an adorably determined pout on her face as they went through the secret passage. “Stay behind me, don’t make a noise, and above all else, do not tell anyone your name, got it?”

Olivia nodded, following the Craftsman as they slipped through the crack. They quickly walked out of the cell, both of their eyes shifting around to make sure no one was coming. The corridor seemed closed off, magic keeping the dungeon isolated from the rest of the castle.

“Unhand me!” As they heard a voice come from the other room, they quickly hid amongst the boxes near said room. The Craftsman flushed himself against the wall near a small crack, chuckling to himself as Olivia imitated him, before peering inside

The sight of the notorious Count folded into what was basically a wet floor sign would’ve made the Craftsman laugh if it wasn’t for the implications behind the type of magic needed to restrain him. There was also the fact that he was being held up by multiple clothespin, and the shadows. Two of the deformed monsters were holding up another above their head, the creature obviously struggling.

And then it stopped moving, almost flattened as it was folded, powerful magic shifting and contorting it’s body. And then it was brought to a truly humongous shadow, a beast that opened it’s mouth with a mechanical sound. The outline of two sharp fangs was visible as the poor soul was placed within it’s mouth. And then...

KA-CHICK

The Craftsman looked away just as the beast closed it’s mouth, a metallic sound similar to the one of a stapler stapling sounding out. Well, at least he knew where that binding magic came from now, and where one of his supplies went. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to enchant a stapler!?

Poor Olivia was shivering in fear next to him, and he offered her a hand to hold just as the door opened. A horde of monsters, the last one being the demon-mask wearing one, got out. “Alright.” He started. “That was the last of them. Now, there’s only that old bastard left...”

As they left the corridor to go “fetch” him, he quickly made his way inside the room, relieved to find the door unlocked with Olivia still holding his hand. He made his way to the folded up Count, who had a miserable expression on his face. “Sir?” He asked.

The Count opened his red eyes. “Oh, a human!” He exclaimed, a surprised lilt to his voice. “My apologies, with all the chaos happening around here, I forgot that my beloved’s castle was on human grounds.”

“Your beloved’s castle is the middle of Flipflopside.” The Craftsman remarked with a raised eyebrow as he neared, taking the clothespins off. “If she wanted to live amongst humans, this wouldn’t be the place.”

“Ah, touché...” The Count commented as he fell to the ground, quickly figuring out a way to move. He then turned toward Olivia with squinted, and she squeaked. “And this young lady would be...?”

“My daughter.” The Craftsman hissed, not missing the sudden animosity in the Count’s tone.

To his credit, the Count immediately backed off. “... My apologies. Now, I do believe there’s another exit here,” he started, turning toward the other end of the room “but it’s hidden by an illusion spell. I would dispel it myself, but...” He shuffled a bit.

“I’m on it!” Olivia cheerfully declared, floating up to the wall and gently caressing it. Immediately, the surface fell away into Paint particles (which the Count was quick to waddle to and absorb, no doubt he wanted to collect enough magic to try and break out of his binds) as the young girl turned toward the two men.

The Craftsman nodded in approval as Count congratulated her, waddling up to her. “Incredible job, miss! Now, we can get out!” Olivia beamed, bouncing up and down in the air to a rhythm only she could hear as they made their way to a spiral staircase.

Just before they started climbing, the folded monster turned toward the Craftsman. The older man frowned. “What?”

“You have a very talented daughter.” The Count answered him as he started making his way up the stairs as fast as his body let him. The Craftsman smiled to himself.

“I know.” He started making his way up the stairs, Olivia’s hand back in his, when he noticed that she seemed unfocused. He stopped. “Is there a problem, girl?” He asked, turning toward her.

The younger girl looked up at .him, smiling. “I’m your daughter?”

A few seconds, then a shrug. “If you want to be,” He wasn’t the one who had folded her, but he was the one who had made the initial plan and cut out a piece of his soul for her, and he couldn’t be much worse than Olly’s kidnapper.

They finally made it back outside, the Craftsman shielding his eyes from the sudden light. They walked along the long balcony for a bit, until another door opened. Out walked the monster from earlier, the one with the demon mask, and the Lady. He heard the Count gasp behind him.

“Why are you still so... flat?” The brainwashed woman asked him. “Why won’t you join me in folded glory...” She weakly reached her hands out to them. “Come, we can reshape you...” The fear shining through her eyes was yelling at them to run, run as far as you can, and never turn back.

The Craftsman was very tempted to follow that message, ready to grab Olivia and jump over the balcony fence, before the masked monster opened their mouth. “Patience, Lady. This will do just fine. So...” They turned toward the Craftsman. “Why did you come to this castle, Craftsman?”

His eyes narrowed, pulling the paper scorer out again. “Someone stole what’s mine. I came here to ask help to get it back.” And it seems I’ve found my thief.

The masked monster made a sneering sound. “Is that how you see your son? A mere possession?”

“Wha- don’t talk about what you don’t know!” The Craftsman snapped, hand tightening around the tool in his hand.

“... Last chance, Craftsman.” The monster started. “Volunteer yourself to my cause, and let me fold you into something greater. Simple offer. Yes, or no.” The only thing that stopped the old man from going ‘go fuck yourself’ was Olivia’s presence. He instead shook his head. “Of course, I didn’t expect any less. And I wouldn’t have it any other way...” The monster snapped his fingers.

Another mind-controlled monster came into view. The Craftsman recognized him as one of the monsters from earlier. The Count snarled behind him, a surge of powerful magic catching him off-guard. “What have you done to my people!?”

“Folding them to my will. Look at your precious Lady.” The monster started, gesturing to her. “She’s better this way, don’t you think.” The only answer was a hiss. “Now...” The mask-wearing monster turned back toward the Craftsman, one violet eye glowing. “Prepare to be Folded!”

The monster jumped the Craftsman, hissing and snarling. Caught off-guard, he went down like a sack of potato, falling on his back and barely keeping the monster off-of him. He dropped the scorer, weakly moving his legs as his arms came up to hold the monster’s claws away from him. Olivia gasped in horror. “Dad!”

“Wait, miss.” The Count started as he watched the Craftsman successfully move one of his hand to the monster’s throat. “I do believe that your father as the situation in hand.”

The Craftsman continued to hold the monster away from him, his hand tightening around his throat, before grabbing the paper scorer and stabbing the monster through his eye. Dark purple blood stained his hand as a pained noise came out of the monster, the scorer getting wringed out.

The monster was then knee-d into the stomach, the Craftsman successfully throwing the monster off of him and over the fence. He got back up, groaning and doing his best to ignore Olivia’s horrified look. “Is that all you got?” He asked the masked monster, who sighed.

“Of course, how stupid of me. You did go by Mercenary when you were younger.” The masked monster noted as he started floating ominously. “I suppose there’s no point in maintaining this charade any longer...”

The monster shook, his arms raising in the air, before suddenly flattening and unfolding. Colors faded away as the illusion spell was uncast, revealing violets and yellows as a little boy wearing a crown revealed himself. The Craftsman’s eyes widened in disbelief, the Count made a noise of confusion, and Olivia gasped. “BROTHER!”

No... no, no, no, NO! It couldn’t be... “Wh- what are you doing here?” The Craftsman asked, putting his scorer back in his apron as Olivia started shaking.

“Please, brother...” She sobbed. “How many times have I told you you needed to stop? Please! You can’t do this!”

The boy simply sighed. “Why couldn’t the Craftsman have simply left you in that wall where I put you... Sister, I am afraid that if you stand in the way of my ambition, we will not be able to share my glory as family.”

“Brother-”

“I am not your brother anymore.” He stated, flipping his hair. “I am KING OLLY!” He then floated up and out of reach, floating in the sky as he cast a disdainful look to Flipflopside. “By the time I’m done, all those miserable humans will be folded... and those flimsy monster subjects shall be reborn as Folded Soldiers, serving me!” He then turned his look upon the Craftsman and Olivia. “And I shall fold, crease and bend this world to my whim... the birth of an Origami Kingdom!”

Olly snapped his fingers, a bright violet light emanating from his hand. It took a moment for the Craftsman to realize that was a signal, but he quickly dragged Olivia to the floor when he realized. And just in time too, as something yellow and charged with magic razed right past where his head used to be a second ago.

He quickly got up, scanning his surroundings as Olivia held onto him for dear life, the Count screeching right behind him. Streams of binding magic surrounded them, all controlled by Olly, all coming from different directions. “Follow me, you two!” The Count yelled over the rush of magic, hopping on the fence and then on a lower part of the roof. The Craftsman quickly followed him, hand tight around Olivia’s.

“GRA-BLAGH!” The Craftsman turned toward the voice, confused as he saw what was possibly one of the ugliest man he’s ever seen come to them at high speed in a rocket-propelled hot-hair balloon. The Count quickly jumped in, followed by the Craftsman and Olivia. “A’m ‘ere, Count!”

“Thank you, Warrior.” The Count started, smiling for what was probably the first time today. The Craftsman decided to give them as much privacy as he could as he turned toward the Lady’s castle.

There was five streams of magic in total. The red one came from the North, the blue one East, the yellow one South, and the purple one West. As for the green one, it seemed to come from the clouds. They seemed to take material form as they tightened over the castle, similar to shiny ribbons.

To his horror, the Castle was then ripped right off of the ground, the stone floors breaking away with it as it was lifted in the hair and above them. He blankly registered something lilac and yellow falling off of the castle as the other man with them (the Warrior, he thinks?) and the Count shrieked.

He sat on the floor, Olivia joining him and hugging him close as the Warrior yelled something incomprehensible. They then felt the machine machine shake. “What’s going on?” He asked the Count, who had slid next to them.

“They magic streams ur giein’ use some problems.” The Warrior answered for him. “Sae hing oan tiiiiIIAAAAAH!” The machine had collided with the red ribbon, making the Craftsman, Olivia and the Count fly out, with only the last one getting caught by the Warrior. He then tried to reach for the other two, but they were already too far away.

And as they fell, the Craftsman could only look as the ribbons carried the castle away. He closed his eyes as he saw it being placed upon the top of the dormant Sulfur Crater, a single thought circling in his head.

What the fuck did I get myself into this time!?

#writing #My writing #pmtok #pmtok horror au #pmtok olivia #king olly #origami craftsman #count bleck #lady timpani #paper mario #Paper Mario The Origami King #tw violence #tw blood #tw death

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sopxhiea · 4 years

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Constellation

Summary: Alfie pays a visit to the new head of the company and finds something he didn’t quite expect.

Alfie Solomons X Reader

One

“Miss, you have a visitor-”

“Who is it?”

He’s got flour on his shoes again, smelling of rum and vanilla. You know the smell all too well, you know it’s him. He drags his feet, boots thudding against the surface as you look at the surface of the table, watching the smoke coming from the mug.

“Joe-”

“’ello, luv.”

He’s charismatic, he walks inside with a charming smile that doesn’t quite faze you. Your assistants lets him in, too scared to blow him off like you did a couple days back when he showed up with some baked goods.

You’re mentally not prepared to talk to him.

There’s a big business chain waiting for you to rule it, there are people looking at you and watching your every move. Even though the pressure is staggering, your head is still held up high, eyes scanning the baker while you let the assistant go.

Your uncle had a deal with the infamous gangster, you intend to continue the deal.

The room is quiet as he walks in, makes himself comfortable. His hand is absent from the cane today, he feels better since the storm. He feels young when he sees you, watching the way you watch him like an eagle waiting on its prey to make a move.

Your face is straight out of a painting, he thinks.

He looks at the pile of files, paper and work surrounding you. There’s a sharp smell of coffee that has taken over your natural smell, you don’t look tired.

“Quite busy, eh?”

“What do you need, Mr. Solomons?” he sits down at last, his bear like figure occupying the space on the chair in front of your desk.

You look at him through your glasses.

“Yeah..” he nods, it’s genuine. “You, right, weren’t ‘ere the other day..”

“I was out on business.” you cut him off, he likes to take his time while getting to the point, you have no time as you scan the paper in front of you.

It had been a month since you’d taken on the business, four weeks of absolute madness. You’d seen too many immature man with thick heads who threatened to drop a deal your uncle had. They didn’t know who they were dealing with.

“You’re quite the hard worker, eh?” he spoke, eyeing your figure as your eyes didn’t waver. “I ‘eard things, yeah, I did.” his hand meets his beard.

There was word going around about you, how you were the smartest woman this town had seen and how you had learned everything so quickly. You had to, the empire wouldn’t run by itself.

“I still do not know why you’re here..” you spoke, uninterested in the man before you as you looked through a pile of papers for a certain document.

He can see the elegance in you, in the way you present yourself and the sophistication you carry within yourself. It comes from education, he thinks.

It’s been carved into who you are.

“Your uncle and I worked together..” he spoke, waving his hand through the air as you eye his rings.

“I’m aware of that...”

“Yeah yeah...” he dismisses you, filling your eyes with fire again. “I ‘eard you’ve been ‘round, making business with the rest of the town...” he spoke, and you had been doing exactly that.

Your eyes finally met his, not an ounce of fear or hesitation as you looked directly into his eyes.

“I have.” you speak, not occupied anymore now that you feel a threat coming your way.

“I’m here to ask, right, why the fuck you ‘aven’t visited me bakery yet...” he speaks with a harsh tone and you watch him in his natural stance.

He looks better with his beard trimmed.

“I was busy.” you look at him with stern eyes as he watches your every move, there’s no fear oozing from you like the other people he works with. “.. but now that you’re here, let’s talk about it.” you offer, he’s angry.

He’s worked hard to be where he is, he knows you understand him in this regard so he can’t pinpoint why you’re being so impossible. He knew you had a reason for not coming to his place, you had visited every other associate your uncle had, sometimes more than once. He needs for you to tell him why, but also knows you won’t.

“’s not how you do this fuc-” he raises his voice, angry but he doesn’t know just how much of a threat you can be, you cut him off.

“I know about you, Solomons. I know plenty to know how you do this fucking business. Do not come in here in my dead uncle’s office without a reason and insult the way I do this.” you sit up, fire in your eyes while he watches you light up, he’s never seen a better sight.

You know how to do business around here, you learned from the fucking best.

“Your uncle said t’ protect his jewel, yeah, ‘m startin’ to think ‘e meant the fuckin’ business, not you.”

You got up, frustration evident in your face as he watched you, you looked lovely today. The papers were long forgotten, unlike what you had thought, Alfie was just as thick as the other men around.

“’m not fucking insultin’ you, pet, yeah. ‘m just sayin’, a deal ‘s a deal.”

He walks closer to you, you’re much shorter than he is and he looks taller than he did at the funeral. You smell him first, he’s way too close. You don’t blink, holding a breath that’s to be released soon.

“I think y’ kno’ how to do this, yeah, y’ know it fuckin’ well.” he speaks, you feel his breath on your face. You blink up to see him staring down at you.

“A deal ‘s a fuckin’ deal.”

(a week later)

The echo of your heels against the surface is all the men hear, it’s not everyday a woman comes in to their workplace. You don’t glance around but follow your assistant, the one you hired after you had to take over a fucking empire.

You’ve learned that sleep isn’t so necessary anymore, nor is food. Coffee runs through your veins while you remember where you are, there are whispers around.

Two big doors, wooden and steel, open up to his office. The room is placed far from the entrance, the smell reeks of rum and sweat. Ollie lets you in, his boss skimming through papers he’d long forgotten.

There’s no flour on his sleeves this time.

He’s dressed in a white button shirt, it’s cotton from what you can tell. His glasses rest at the bridge of his nose, he’s uninterested in who just walked in until he smells the perfume. It’s french.

“‘ello, doll.”

There’s a new nickname every time he sees you, you’re used to it at this point. Your eyes meet his, he looks less threatening in his office, less like an eagle preying on a wounded animal. He looks warm.

“Is this a bad time?” you ask, nice enough to keep manners in hand.

There’s two guns resting on top of his desk, both loaded and you’re once reminded of the wicked things your uncle used to do. He was a nice man but not a good guy, the reason why you’re knees deep in this mess of a place.

“Oh.” he exhales, nodding his head while getting rid of the papers in front of him. “No, ‘s good.

Ollie leaves along with your assistant, leaving the two of you alone to get to business. There are things even the closest person to you can’t know and business with Alfie Solomons is one of them.

“To what do I owe ‘is pleasure, eh?” he speaks, the accent is thick but you somehow come to enjoy it.

He watches you take your gloves off, the fabric is transparent, he can see the rings on your fingers as they shine with every move you make.

“The deal.” you speak, ice cold.

You’re quite new to the business but you know just how daft and thick these man can be, they’re vague and shallow most of the time. You’ve grown up with one of them until he was put in a casket in front of you just a couple of months back.

There’s no sign of tolerance in your eyes, you want to get things done and leave. He wants something a little more different.

You get your papers out, he watches you move almost out of habit. He likes to observe you, the way you move is somehow captivating to him.

It’s different-changed from the little girl he once knew when you came around your uncle’s place. There’s no smile on your face anymore, it’s rare that your cheeks form into the shape. The cruelty of the world is shaping you into a tougher soul right in front of him but it’s the fire in your eyes that he’s fascinated with.

“Right.”

He takes the papers while stealing a glance, he’s amused. He reads them once while you take a look around the place, it’s been lived in as far as you can tell. It reminds you of him.

“You’ve changed it, yeah?” he asks, throwing the papers on his desk while he leans back on the chair.

“I did.”

“You’re a clever little thing, ya’ know ‘hat?” he says, you can see the sparks in his eyes.

It’s no surprise to him that you’re brilliant, he knows of your education and similar sense of business to your uncle, that’s why he had left you the business after all. It’s the wicked sense you seem to have that captivates him, he has seen no one like you in this line of business before and you pull it off exceptionally well.

“That’s nice of you, Mr. Solomons.” you speak up, a hint of smile on your lips and he dies to see it, he wonders when you’ll finally give him that angelic smile of yours but you’re not amused.

“Alfie, luv, yeah, just call me Alfie.”

Your hair isn’t in its usual place anymore, it’s pulled up, he can see your face. He thinks, and maybe it’s the light, you glisten. Maybe you are the jewel your uncle had told Alfie about.

You eye the pen, waiting for him to sign the damn papers so you can just leave, it has been a long day after all.

“Look, luv..” he speaks, dropping his glasses while you watch him like a kid watches a magician, amazed but scared. “’s a good deal, yeah, fucking brilliant if y’ ask me..”

He’s unpredictable you think. With every grumpy man you’ve worked with in the last two months, he’s the first one to not sign it or the one to have a reasonable reaction.

“But why are you really here, eh?” he asks, the inevitable question.

He knows you could’ve sent your assistant or just a worker for him to have a look over the papers but there you are, in all your glory sitting on the chair in front of him and his question finally brings a smile to your lips, he’s amazed at how innocent you look with a lovely smile on your face.

But it’s just as wicked.

You don’t chuckle but almost roll your eyes.

“After that visit, I got to see how you conducted your end of the business..” you speak, shaking one leg as if to say you weren’t so threatened by him. He nods.

“I’ve gathered the information I needed and your visit just proved me that you needed my uncle’s enterprise to move to the next stage..” you breathe out, you knew he was trying to expand things for himself but your business was vital for him due to its size and prestige.

“..my enterprise..” you correct yourself as there’s a wavering of shock in his eyes, you are way smarter than he’d thought, even more sly.

“Cheeky minx..” he speaks, it’s more like a low whisper but you hear it, loud and clear.

“If I were you, I would watch my words, Alfie..”

He watches you intently, you have the upper hand now, he always has the upper hand. He doesn’t chuckle, he’s calculating something but you’re running out of time.

You get up, leaving the papers along with your gloves, you know he’ll return to your place soon. He won’t miss the opportunity.

He watches as you get up, you are free of any emotion but pride as you feel the man put the missing pieces of the puzzle together.

This had always been your uncle’s plan, now Alfie’s business was dependent on yours, in the hands of a young lady trained to do what was necessary.

You give him a generous smile once again, knowing you’ll see him very soon.

“Remember to bring me some of your famous pastries when you pay me your next visit.” you breathe out, you’re even more wicked than he thought.

And just like that, you’re gone.

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vanchlo · 3 years

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The Partner / Chapter Twelve, "The Resolute"

Word Count: 8.4k / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Song: Hold Me While You Wait by Lewis Capaldi (click to listen) / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death, grief, and miscarriage

"I never know when I will miss you. I can't ever predict just what will grip my heart with the reminder that you are gone. It could be anything. Anytime. Anywhere. You are everywhere and nowhere all at once. When the days are bright, I am blinded by your presence and even when the world is dark I still manage to find you. In laughter, I hear the echo of losing you. Your presence is overflowing in the tears that fall. Now that your body is gone, everything holds your being. I miss you in the cold depths of winter and I long for you in the thick summer breeze. You are my first rising thought in the morning and my last notion as I sink into the heaviness of the night. I thought we ran out of moments together, but every moment seems to belong to you. How can you be everywhere when you are nowhere to be seen? I used to worry about facing the world because I didn't know what would trigger my heartache. I used to be afraid of every feeling, every memory, every moment because I didn't know which ones held you. Now I know you are everywhere and I think that I know why. You're everywhere because you're somewhere inside of who I am. I am the bearer of your life and your memory. I am the keeper of your existence. Even though you're gone, I never really have to search for you. I never know where I'll find you but you are always there. I never know when I will miss you and it happens all the time"

- Rachel Whalen

I had lost count of how many times I had fallen back asleep since he had left for another day of work, the second time in the last few days. I’d be telling a lie if I said that I didn’t miss him, because like he’d confessed when he thought I was sleeping, I missed him all of the time too. The difference was that I felt it now when he was gone. I wasn’t sure why I’d bitten his head off that night about going back to work. I did but couldn’t think about it after the way he broke down in front of me and I just stood there. I didn’t do a thing. Instead, I shook my head and pushed him away. God, how could I do that to him? I thought he’d moved on . . . That’s how it went. I’d wake up to an empty, cold bed and the guilt would come in crashing waves. The hot tears would follow and eventually, I’d fall back into another fitful sleep. Nightmares were almost always guaranteed, but for the first time in our relationship, I comforted myself back to sleep. Somehow, they didn’t wake him like before, but last night when he woke with a gasp that melted into tears, I think I knew because he was busy with his own.

At first, I thought I’d been imagining it, or maybe that was just my coping mechanism by now. Denial and pretending. No, it really was and it went around like a circle. Denying the denial. But when the knocking on the door turned into the dinging of the doorbell, I knew that it was real. It didn’t stop after a few times, like the mailman would. No, this person was persistent, and I definitely was not. I couldn’t even find the strength to move to look at the alarm clock to see the time. By then, it had stopped. He’d only been gone an hour now and I missed him deeply, finding it hard to not pick up the phone to ask him to come home. I did but in my own way, and not one he’d understand, despite how he knew every page of my book.

I hope work is going well

Only a few minutes passed before a reply came in with a silent vibration.

thanks it is, just meetings again and an interview

Sounds boring. I know how you hate both. New hire?

possibly. i forgot to tell u gwen left. i hope ur getting some rest

No, you hadn’t but that’s ok. I think I only talked to her like 5 times. I’m trying.

ya she was good, just kept 2 herself. want me 2 pick up anything for lunch? anything soundin good? Starbucks? pizza? u can have whatever u want

You can pick

At that, I heard my phone lock before placing it face down onto the bedside table, not able to continue a conversation about food any longer. Another wave of irrational tears came at missing him and wanting normalcy back, but the fitful sleep didn’t follow. I wasn’t sure if I was regretful or not when I peeled back the covers, shocked by the sudden cold.

The chilling silence filling the house hit me in the face when I stepped out into the hallway. It had been choking at times, mostly at night when things were at their worst. During the day, like now, it was never this quiet. Something on the tv was always playing, and I soon found myself in front of it, watching the end of a Marvel movie Harry and I once watched.

Its sequel was nearing the halfway point by the time the doorbell rang again. It was on its fourth time now and the person still hadn’t stopped. The surprise on their face was just as strong as that of mine when I found myself at the door, in front of Harry’s grandmother.

“Hi, Becky,” she said softly, a warm cadence to her words like always. I may have been biased towards grandmas, but Harry’s checked all of the points and more. I couldn’t help the squeeze of my heart at the mere sight of her, a melancholy smile spreading on her lips.

“Claire. Um, hi. Harry isn’t here right now, he had to go into work this morning,” I rush, unsure of why I’m telling her this, except for I know why. I hadn’t spoken to another human being that wasn’t Harry or my doctor since . . since it had happened. Sure, texts to Skye, my dad, and Robbie. It was the only way to placate them from telling them I didn’t want to see them. Can I blame them, though?

“Oh, that’s okay. I was uh, hoping I could come in,” she suggests. I stand there, taken aback by her request. I had come to love this woman like she was my own grandmother, and yet here I am, not opening the door for her. “Maybe we could wait for him together with some brookies.”

Dropping my eyes, I watch as she lifts a saran wrapped plate of chocolatey looking cookies. I didn’t need to look any longer to know what they were. Her famous brownie cookies that Harry had compared any cookie or brownie of mine to over the years, and I eventually had found out why.

“You know I can’t turn those down,” I mumble, feeling the first hints of a smile. She grins for me instead, following me into the house that somehow feels even emptier when we step inside. Awkwardly, I closed the door behind her, pulling my hands back into the oversized King’s College crewneck of Harry’s I’d stolen long ago. “Can I . . Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Tea?” I stumble, watching as she takes a seat at the island, setting down one of those cloth bags beside her.

“Coffee would be fine, honey,” she says, and always with a smile. I welcome the distraction, feeling as if I’d forgotten how to talk to another person. No, I know that I have. I hadn’t even been able to carry on a conversation with Harry, nonetheless his grandmother.

At times, I still felt uncomfortable around his parents, especially his dad. If there was one of them that I felt the easiest around, it was Claire. I’m reminded of the bouquet of black eyed susans probably now wilting on the table when she notes the array of flowers taking up space over there. I nod at her words while closing the lid of the instant coffee machine, placing a tall mug underneath the spout. The compassionate words scribbled in her cursive with its accompanying card come back to me, and suddenly, the steaming coffee grows blurry before my eyes. Sometimes, I wondered if she had a feeling about things like me, because as the first tear fell, she speaks an apology.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced. I had let Harry know I was in town and would stop by today, but he must have forgotten to mention it to you,” she begins in a low volume, a Harry-like molasses shining in her voice. I mumble an ‘it’s okay’ while watching the coffee continue to fill the mug. It’s almost done, but then what will I do to distract myself? “Harry had said your fridge was quite full, but I couldn’t help but make a few of your favorites to bring you both. Times like these, cooking feels like the last thing you want to do.”

“A lot of things do,” I find myself saying, surprising her I’m sure and especially myself. I hadn’t even been able to find it in myself to put that feeling into words and say them to Harry. It was a blessing and a curse how we could read each other so well, but I know I’d closed myself off from him a long time ago. On accident and then, on purpose.

Ripples form across the surface of the liquid as the last few drops plummet into the dark abyss. I wait, staring at the steam rising from the mug, unsure as to why. A silence had embedded itself into these walls so long ago I couldn’t remember, and it sat between us now too. I still didn’t know how to broach it, and there was no nudging the switch that would let me talk about her. I truly didn’t know how to, not even to her father. Sometimes, I wanted to forget her so I’d stop hurting, but that felt like an impossibility and then a crime. Gulping, I wipe at my cheeks and thread my fingers through the ceramic handle.

“Those are a beautiful assortment of flowers,” she comments again when I set the drink down in front of her. A forced ‘thank you’ leaves my lips when I turn around and walk towards the fridge. “You and Harry are so loved, and so was your baby.”

I’d opened this fridge how many times over the years, and now as the handle sits in my palm, I can’t find it in myself to do it. The forgotten coupons, lists, photographs, drawings from Harper and Ollie, and magnets grew hazy before my eyes. The hum of the coffee machine cooling down wasn’t enough to mask the whimper that escaped my lips, no matter how desperately I tried to shove it down. After breathing in and out a few times, it still didn’t help, but I was able to open the door and grab what I’d needed.

Keeping my head down, I set the coffee creamer in front of her, not spending a second more facing her with the damage on my cheeks. As the spoon clinks against the sides of her mug, I distract myself by finding room in the fridge for the filled tupperware containers she’d taken from the bag. Scribbled labels adorn the top of each one, but I look past them as I stack them on a shelf. From the corner of my eye, I saw her stand from her seat to look at the flowers, thumbing at the typed messages. It’s not until the last one is snug against a container of yogurt and strawberries that somebody says something.

“They always say the same things, don’t they?” she murmurs with an out of place scoff, sounding like a hum from her lips. The tears had dried up as I thought about how to fit a container of beef stroganoff amongst tater tot casserole, but when I turned around, her face still falls. “It was the same with Steven too. They all say that they understand, but there’s no way that they can. They hadn’t lost their spouse, or . . their baby.” This roots me to the spot and we spend the next few moments looking at each other as her Soft Rose lipsticked lips fall.

“I didn’t want to come, Becky, because I know that when I lost my loves, I wanted to be alone. But that was where my demons lied in wait, and I don’t want you to go through the same thing I did when I lost my baby,” she continues. I couldn’t tell if it was the light or the way my eyes deceive me with a returning wetness, but a similar glint appears in hers. It holds my attention for a mere moment until my heart starts to pound against my ribs. “Steven and I were a little younger than you and Harry when we lost our baby at four months.”

There could be no saving my throat nor my eyes as I gulp against the dryness, feeling all of the wetness detour down my face. Her words ricochet inside of me, bouncing off walls. For the first time in too long, they sink in and make me feel something. I resist at first, not wanting to let my chest shake or my heart race, but there’s no stopping it. Staring back at her, she quietly sits back down and takes a sip from her coffee. Looking back to me, a corner of her mouth twitches as a gleaming droplet beads at her chin.

“What has it been now? Fifty five years and I still miss them . . my little baby,” the blood pounds in my ears as I stare at her in what, amazement? Horror? Complete and utter surprise? Probably, all of them.

“Gran, I-I never knew,” a voice says from behind me. Turning, another wave of shock courses through me at the sight of Harry with his hand on the door to the garage.

“I never told anybody, except for my immediate family when it had happened . . The thing was, the taboo around miscarriages and infertility hasn’t changed a whole lot since then. It disappoints me really . . Back then, you didn’t talk about it. Now, sometimes you talk about it, but it’s just the same. It’s near to impossible to speak about. Friends and family want to say something, but they don’t know how to without hurting you. So, instead of mentioning the loved one you lost, people don’t when they think of them, and they’re forgotten. That’s always been my worst fear, and I don’t want either of you to go through that- I cried when your mother told me what had happened, Harry. My heart breaks for the both of you, knowing that you’re going through the same nightmare that my Steven and I did.”

A puff leaves his lips and I can almost hear him gulp as sound evades us. Words haven’t been a friend to my lips in what feels like months, and right now isn’t an exception.

“I’m so sorry, Gran.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Harry. I’m so sorry that you lost your baby . . I heard it was a girl, your daughter,” her words are ginger and slow. Somehow, another piece joins the puzzle, but it still leaves me staring at the floor as tidal waves crash inside of me. “It was a long time ago, but I still miss them and wonder who they’d be. I’m sorry to say that never goes away, and that the whole b-s of ‘time heals all wounds’ isn’t entirely true. You just build up scar tissue to it, but some days are worse than others. I miss Steven terribly some days, like the day you announced your engagement, and your pregnancy. When your mother told me over the phone three weeks ago, I wished he could’ve been there too, for you to talk to about fathers losing a child. Men are still pressured to not show emotions but it was just as hard on him to lose our baby, and sometimes fathers are forgotten.”

A mess of emotions roils inside of me, flipping my stomach upside down. My heart too, arguably. The last sound that I make out is a sniffle of his before I’m bringing my hands to my eyes, and sobbing against them. It felt like I stood there for minutes before escaping down the hall, when it was only a few seconds in reality.

I wasn’t certain if they knew what I did. That I could hear them from the bedroom down the hall, the place I’d come to retreat to instead of Harry’s arms. I felt him coming towards me just moments ago, but I couldn’t do it. I think I’d almost forgotten what his touch felt like. If they thought I could hear them, they probably had mistaken me for being asleep or for not listening. I think they tried to keep their voices down, but despite Harry being a closet musician, there wasn’t much for treatment to these walls. He’d joked before about having sex one night his mom stayed here but I pushed him away, chalking it up to thin walls.

Now, the memory wasn’t that funny to me as I heard their conversation. I almost felt guilty, as if I was cheating by hearing them, but this was the only way I could take part in a conversation I know I should be part of. I didn’t think that I could even speak if I had wanted to, because of the hiccuped sobs that filled my chest, making it hard to speak. I know that I made the right decision when my head rests against the door upon hearing about what they say next, about me.

“I can hardly get her to have a conversation with me, Gran. Let alone about . . about the baby.”

“Oh, Harry. You just have to give her time.”

“I know and I have, but it’s becoming all the harder to feel as time passes. She’s getting worse and I’m barely staying put together. It scares me so much, because I don’t want to lose her too. If I did, I’d lose everything I have to live for.”

At last, the sound of my choked sobs drowned out that of their voices. By the time my lungs calmed down and my heart hardened once more, it was quiet. I missed his voice despite how it had almost betrayed me to another, and made me hurt. My rumbling stomach ultimately won the race and it was what led me down the hall, and without knowing, back to her. I blamed it on the appetizing smell wafting from the kitchen.

I’d already seen her and had decided to keep going, but upon passing the island where she sat again, I heard her intake of breath. Harry wasn’t anywhere to be seen, despite the wiped clean plate in the sink with the large fork and an empty can. He was the only one who used them and who drank the sparkling waters that I thought tasted like bug spray.

“I’m so sorry, Becky. The last thing I wanted was to upset you, honey.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Frankly, I’m rather tired of people saying those two words, but thank you,” I return, a steadiness arriving in my voice that I didn’t know I’d missed. “Can I-?”

“Of course, it’s all yours,” she insists with a smile. Nodding, I pick up the serving spoon and a plate, feeling my stomach grow happy at the sight and smell of her famous homemade lasagna. “There’s garlic bread in the oven and salad in the fridge. I’m just going to use the little girl’s room.”

I almost smile, realizing that I’ve missed her and just maybe, I feel okay enough to talk about it. I’d found a seat at the island beside her empty cup of coffee, already digging into the lasagna. An almost embarrassing moan left my lips at the taste of the layers of cheese, pasta, and bolognese sauce.

“Leave it to Claire to find the way to your heart,” somebody comments. Turning, I find Harry walking towards me with a tilt to his lips. He unrolls the hem of a Queen Bohemian Rhapsody shirt, looking more like himself now that he’s out of a suit. Sometimes, I still catch myself thinking that it was always the opposite, seeing how I’d know him to always be in suits for so long.

To my surprise, I don’t flinch or pull back when his hand arrives on my shoulder as I wipe my mouth with a napkin.

“You don’t know how happy it makes me to see you eating, and enjoying it . . I’m surprised you haven’t broken into that plate of brookies yet,” he comments. Something happy buds on my lips when his lips sponge a kiss to my temple.

“So am I,” I reply, cutting myself another bite of the food. To my happiness, his arm comes around my shoulder and stays there. I welcome it and feel a warmth grow in my gut upon finding the courage to meet his eyes. They hold something that I learn to be mischief when he plucks one of the cookies off the plate. “Hey, save some for me.”

“Don’t worry, they’re all yours. Well, except a few for me. Maybe we could split them down the middle. Half for me and half for you,” he suggests with a cocky shrug to his broad shoulders. It surprises us both when my lips spill a few second giggle. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed that sound.”

“I’ve missed you,” it’s but a squeak and still, I know he hears it by the sad curl of his lips. “I’m going to try.”

“Thank you, my lovebug. That’s all I can ask for,” he smiles, stealing a quick peck from my lips. It catches me off guard and I find myself staring at him while he manages to take a bite that’s half of the cookie. He winks at me and I turn away, shoveling a large bite of cheesy pasta past my lips.

Another bite had donned my fork by the time Claire found her seat beside us. I’d made a dent in my garlic bread by now as Harry worked on his second cookie.

Swallowing, I loaded my fork with a scrap of melted cheese and bolognese sauce. “Claire. How . . How did you do it? Be okay again after losing your baby? It . . It feels impossible,” the words seem to come from nowhere at first.

After a few moments, I know where they stem from, and just how much importance they hold. It looks back at me in Harry’s eyes when I peer up at him, smiling back when he thumbs away a tear below my eye. As her response hits our ears, I reach my arm out and across his back, holding tightly onto his side. I didn’t let go once as we cried together with his grandma about our lost babies, and neither did he.

I went to bed with a hope in my heart, thinking that tomorrow would be different. Alas, I woke up to an empty bed and it wasn’t. I wasn’t surprised but sure, I was let down. I knew that somebody else would be much more disappointed than I was, if that were possible.

It wasn’t long after my waking realization that there was a knock on the door anda creak, “Hey, buggie. I’m making french toast. How many pieces do you want?” The rest of the night had been uneventful, for once. His grandma stayed for another hour or two as we ate cookies and I finally talked about it. Her. Now, lying with my back to Harry, I didn’t know how to do that again. To talk. “Wakey wakey, it’s nearly noon.”

His voice was closer now as his hands settled on my shoulders from behind. The feeling of his thumbs kneading the tissue made me want to let him drive away the intrusive thoughts. To let him win, but I didn’t know how. Yesterday had seemed like a fluke, as I looked back on it. Even if he was her father, how could I explain to him the hollowness that had filled me when I remembered that my child had died inside of me? No, that wasn’t something he could understand, nor could he hear how much I wished he had been there that morning. That the fact he wasn’t there had changed everything. I couldn’t tell him that and I never wanted to, but I’d gotten close. At the times his nagging and hovering drove me up the wall, my tongue itched to deal the worst blows just to get him off my back. I knew it was wrong, so much of it was but I didn’t know how to stop. All I knew how to do was to drown myself in my regret afterwards. Sometimes, I was mad that we couldn’t keep alcohol around, but at others, I was glad for it.

His molasses voice murmurs my name once more, another time that I ignore, until I can’t. “No thanks.”

“I can bring it in here for you. There’s bacon and strawberries too. Orange juice, as well.”

Shaking my head, I bury my face deeper into the pillow, finding that it has his smell. At one time, he had been my safety blanket, but now it was his smell that could calm me down. I wanted to feel guilty about it but I didn’t have the energy to feel guilt because of anything else as it was all focused on one thing.

“I’ll have a little bit,” I surrender, listening to his hopeful response before leaving. For once, he let me eat alone in the bedroom. But he still inspected my plate, and I could tell that he was biting back a remark as he read the paper at the island.

“Can we talk?”

“What about?” I replied, bending over to place my dishes in the dishwasher. Standing back up, I fail at readying myself for his next onslaught of questions. The ones that I can’t answer.

“You know . . About Phoebe,” he answers. I hear it, the way he has to shove the words past his lips in order to get them out. I only know because I’ve done it a thousand times, and often with him. You do it when it’s too hard to say, but you know that it has to be done regardless.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Becks,” he sighs, annoyance clear in his voice. “I thought you said that you were going to try. Last night went so well and you did great, I-.”

“I just can’t do it today. Okay, Harry?” I retort tearfully, catching the sagging of his features when I lock eyes with him. Sighing, I forget the cookie I’d picked up, placing the saran wrap back over it.

“So what, we need to schedule a fricken time to talk about it?”

I’d begun my retreat, but I wasn’t far enough yet. No, if I was in earshot of Harry, it wasn’t over yet. It had always been that way, ever since the beginning.

“Harry, please,” my words start, decorated with tears that drag my words underwater.

“We got pregnant and we . . we had a miscarriage, Becks. It’s nearly been a month now, but what comes next? When do we get back to normal?”

I hadn’t even been facing him and the words felt like a slap in the face. The look on mine must have felt similar to him, because when I turn around to look at him through blurry eyes, he melts into a puddle of regret.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Becks. Not-.”

“Not what way, Harry? That we should just forget about it and move on with our lives? God, you’re sounding like the doctor the other day who said that we can start trying again whenever we want. But I don’t want to try again yet, Harry, because I’m too scared that we’d lose another one- I mean, what if I can’t have kids? And- I don’t want to forget her or replace her,” but he didn’t hear the last part and I hadn’t decided if I’d wanted him to.

“You don’t know that, Becks, and that’s not what I meant at all. I promise,” he interrupts. The legs of his oversized sweatpants sag down to his ankles when he stands. “I didn’t say we had to get pregnant again right away. I’m fucking scared too. I just mean that I want us to get better. Collectively and on our own. I hate seeing you so upset all of the time, and just want you to be happy. We’re supposed to get married sometime this year and I still don’t know when that’s going to happen. The house is going to be ready in a few months, and I wanted to bring you there one day to look at the progress.”

I had begun to shake my head long before he’d stopped talking. It brought an edge to his words and an annoyance that I didn’t like, despite inciting it. A loud puff passes his lips and he returns to the chair, raking a hand through his hair. That either meant annoyance or boredom, or both. Like I tend to do, I take it personally and figure he’s both annoyed and bored of me, not that it was anything new lately.

“I can’t do that, Harry. I-I can’t,” fumbling with my words, my hand gets caught in my hair as I avoid his eyes. It doesn’t stop him from retorting an inquisitive ‘why not?’ “How am I supposed to go and see the house we’re building that has five extra bedrooms, Harry? How do you expect me to look at the rooms we planned out for o-our kids, and one for . . for Phoebe’s nursery when she’s not coming anymore?”

“Becks,” the nickname leaves his lips like that one breath that’s knocked out of you when you fall. The wrinkles that are rarely there above his eyes return as his eyebrows fall deeply. “I didn’t . . I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry.”

“And so am I, but . . I just can’t do that right now, o-or talk about her. I’m sorry,” I say with haste to my words and in my actions. The sad sound from his lips follows me to the couch where I perch, pretending to watch the tv. He doesn’t join me and after a while of pretending, my eyes start to droop.

The image of Shrek and Fiona making animal balloons falls away until a sound wakes me. Time had passed because now Fiona stands in front of Lord Farquad and Shrek is nowhere to be seen.

“I’m going to run an errand. Is there um, anything you need, bug?” he murmurs, the jangling of keys adorning his words.

“No thanks.”

“Okay, I won’t be long- Becks?” he speaks up, clearing his throat at last. I call back a question and wait as he idles. “I really am sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean anything insensitively or to upset you. I’d never want to do that.”

“I know, Harry. It’s okay,” are the last words that pass between us before he bids me a goodbye. I welcome the lack of silence but curl into the couch more, pulling the blanket around me as the movie continues.

My head throbbed when I stood up, but it had been happening a lot lately. I knew it was because I hadn’t been eating much, and as I think about that, my feet lead me to the fridge.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt full after eating, and still wanting a cookie afterwards. Like I do now. Licking the crumbs from my fingers after the last bite, the wooden floor is cold against my bare feet. For a reason I don’t know, I soon am staring up the staircase, and in that direction. It pulls at me to climb the stairs, but something deep down throbs in denial.

Instead, my attention is stolen when my ringtone blares from the couch. I lose my phone half of the time these days and so calls went unanswered. Assuming it was Harry with a grocery question, I picked it up without looking at who it was.

“Hi, Boops.”

“Dad,” I almost sigh, but I was unsure as to why. Was it the bombardment of talking to my dad on the phone for the first time in almost a month? Most likely. Or was it the homesickness that grew in my gut at the sound of his voice. “Daddy.”

“Hi, honey. I was hoping you’d answer. I’ve missed your voice.”

Sinking onto the couch, my bottom lip quivers as I try to breathe in slowly, but my heart won’t listen. It hasn’t for a while now.

“I’ve missed yours, Daddy.”

“Oh, baby girl,” he says in an exhale. Already, I know that he hears what my voice is dipped in, but I don’t hide it. It was too late for that. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“I’m getting really sick of that word, but thanks, Dad.”

His classical chuckle begins its opening but it falters there, and so did any chance at mine. Silence had rarely been uncomfortable with my Dad. That was only when I’d gotten into trouble or when I was trying to tell him about something that had happened with my Mom, which usually went hand in hand. Over the years, I could hardly count the times silence had grown awkward between us, until it did now.

“What are you doing?” he decides to say, lifting my eyes to the tv screen where it appears Fiona and Farquaad will get their Happily Ever After. I knew without needing to think what would happen next. They wouldn’t, because it never really happens that way. No, it’s not that easy or immediate.

“Watching Shrek on the couch.”

“Is Harry there?” he murmurs a question.

“No, he went to do something not long ago. I don��t know what,” I answer, wrapping the tassels of the blanket around my finger until it hurts. “I think he’s mad at me. I can’t tell anymore, it seems like he always is.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, honey.”

Shaking my head for nobody to see, I taste blood when pressing my lips together to hold back the whimpering. Sniffling, I breathe in raggedly before speaking, “I think it is . . I can’t blame him, because I’ve been so horrible to him, Dad. H-He was supposed to be a Daddy and I’ve forgotten that he’s g-going through all of this too. I’ve been in my own little world being sad a-about the baby, and I forgot about him, Dad. I’m supposed to marry him soon, and I don’t even wear my ring anymore, and I can’t go upstairs, and-,” he doesn’t cut me off. I leave that honor for myself as I watch the color drain from my finger when I unwrap the tassel. I’d slowly come to hate the color red, even refusing to eat strawberries at first. It’d become the color I’d hated most after . . after that morning.

“I’m sure that he understands, Ree, or he’s at least trying to. I’ve spoken to him a few times now, and he’s not mad at you. He’s just frustrated and overwhelmed. Harry hates to see you unhappy, it’s always been that way with you too, and vice versa. He wants to fix everything, but I told him that’s not always possible. You can’t fix another person . . . and neither can you, Boops. You’re doing your best and so is he, and after a while-.”

“But I’m not, Dad. I’m hardly trying, only when I feel like it. I . . I don’t know how to do any of this and I don’t want to. I don’t want her to be gone. I was supposed to be a Mom. Her Mom,” I weep, pressing the handful of blanket against my eyes, catching my tears.

“I wish I could make it all better for you too, honey. Ever since you were little, I wanted to kiss the owies better and tell off the kids who were mean to you, but . . . you have to do it yourself and when you can, Becky. You can’t rush this. Grief, it doesn’t have a timetable or a road map- and, honey, you are a Mom. You’re Phoebe’s Mom. Nothing will ever change that,” somehow, I cry harder at his last words, melting into the couch.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I cry into the phone, wishing it was his shoulder, instead. It’s a few moments filled with the sound of my tears and his own sniffles, before I speak again. “But how do I . . how do I let Harry back in? I pushed him away without meaning to and now we’re so far apart, Dad.”

“I think that you need to remember that he’s grieving the loss of a child too. Your child together, Ree, and that he’s feeling the exact same feelings that you are. He’s devastated at not getting to be a father to Phoebe, to meet her, watch her grow up into a person, and do all of the things that you’re grieving the loss of too. You’re a team, honey, and you need to give each other some grace too. There aren’t any rules to this and maybe I shouldn’t talk because I’m divorced, but the first reason you’re there with each other is because you love each other. You have to remember that too, honey. Hey, I’m sorry, I think I’m burning my dinner in the oven. Can I call you back later, sweetie?”

“Yeah, Dad. Of course. Um, thank you. That really helped me,” I reply, swiping at my tears with the dry side of the blanket.

“I’m glad to hear it. I love you, Boops.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” and he’s gone. All I hear is the silence of the dead call and Shrek’s voice on the tv as he yells at Lord Farquaad. It’s what fills my ears and distracts my mind when I lay my head on the pillow, resting my hand on my belly without thinking. But unlike every other time I’d found myself doing it since . . since I was actually holding my baby, I let it stay there, wildly wishing she could be here watching Shrek with me.

I heard him come in when the credits of the movie are switching to the opening of its sequel. It was arguably the best, in my opinion, but it was something Harry and I had always disagreed upon. The memory sparks an invitation for him on my tongue, but upon raising my head, I watch him disappear down the hallway.

My ears aren’t sure what to focus on, the sound of his parting footsteps, the racing of my heart, or guitar strings soon being plucked from down the hall. It wasn’t much of a choice, because my feet were already leading me towards his study. A place where he had been spending a lot of time recently. I find myself gravitating towards the sound and wanting to hear more, but I stop outside the door nervously. My heart pulls me forward, despite the way it gallops, making me feel sick to my stomach. Standing there, I wonder why this is something I’m nervous about, but nothing is the same anymore. I hadn’t felt this way for what had it been now, years? There hadn’t been a time since the beginning that I was nervous to talk to Harry, and yet, here I stood doing just that.

His playing stopped and I perked up, making out the scribbling of pen on paper. Was he writing a song, I wondered quietly and wished I could ask. I didn’t know how to, and that was something I’d thought too many times lately. How to get out of bed. To eat a whole plate of food. Talk to my family and friends. I hardly even knew how to talk to Harry anymore. That’s what was holding me back, wasn’t it? Sure, if you wanted to sum it up.

“I know you’re standing outside the door . . Did you need something?” Harry murmurs, an edge to his voice. It was one that had appeared out of the blue and refused to leave. I only knew because I’d felt my voice change like that too.

There’s the creaking of the floor before I press the ajar door open enough for me to fit through. I find him sitting back down on his office chair, but he faces away from me, a guitar propped on his lap.

“How’d you know?” I ask softly, still awkwardly standing in the doorway. His eyes flit to mine and I’m unsure of why I look away, except that I can’t face him. No, not when mine are still wet and I’m sure they aren't going to dry up anytime soon. Not after what I’m about to say.

“You forget how long I’ve known you,” he mumbles, peering down at the moleskin journal he scribbles in. “Four years, give or take. You learn their cues and the sounds they make when you come to know somebody for that long. That’s how I heard you at the door, it was your footsteps.”

“Oh,” I respond flatly, feeling dumb. His tone doesn’t imply it and nor do his words, but the embarrassment has run rampant already.

Watching him write and escape to his own little world had always been one of my favorite things to observe. Even his handwriting was something that brought me . . comfort. I blamed it on the familiarity, but as it pours from his pen, it makes my heart slow down a few ticks.

“My Dad called and we talked for a little bit.”

Harry hums a reply, crossing something out on the piece of paper. Scratching his head, he sighs whilst staring at the writing. I can’t make it out from here, but once again, the silence finds its old spot. Remembering his initial question when he heard me at the door, I worry that I’m bothering him. Gulping past the nervousness and doubt, I pedal forward.

“Was that yours?” I ask warily, noting his head rising so he can meet my eyes for a split second. They hold a question in them, perhaps dozens. “The song. It . . It was really pretty.”

“Yeah . . It’s just something I’ve been playing around with,” his answer comes out in a pillowy tone. It has changed ever since . . since I’d run away from him, and I hear it now as he speaks his reply.

“I really . . really like it,” I comment, looking towards the ceiling when his grandfather’s Gibson acoustic grows hazy in my eyes.

“Thank . . you. Hey, what is it? Did your dad say something that upset you?” it had been so long since I’d heard that steely edge absent from his voice. I don’t know why I mourned it, because it was my fault it had ever arrived in the first place. Wasn’t it? “Becks.”

“Yeah, he said a lot of things th-that made sense, actually,” I confess, dropping my head to stare at my fingers that I wring. I’m unable to ignore the feeling of my lips trembling against each other, despite busying myself with adjusting my rings. They stop when I arrive at the one that speaks volumes, and how deeply I’d ignored it.

Braving the storm, I finally look at him. His greens are patient and soft, something neither of our eyes have been for the other for awhile now. Without breaking eye contact, he settles his guitar onto its stand and discards the pad of paper.

“Harry, c-can I have a hug?” slowly, the overdue question comes.

“Of course,” he responds, a corner of his mouth quirking up. Already, he’s holding his arms out towards me. “You’ve never needed to ask, buggie.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling the air whoosh out of me when my body touches his. Somehow, my chest shakes harder with a new sob. It only worsens when his hands come under my thighs, lifting me up to sit on his lap.

“It’s been so long since we’ve hugged,” I know he doesn’t mean to, but it feels like a chasm through my chest when he says that. The guilt that had arrived at my dad’s words increases by tenfold.

“I’m sorry,” it’s but a whisper against his neck, my favorite place for hide and seek. But it was always him seeking me, it had been for months now, and I hadn’t let him win. Not once.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry for everything, Harry,” I repeat, pulling back to find his greens swarmed by tears. Swiping my thumb under them, I catch the way that they leak with sadness. “For how horribly I’ve treated you this last month, and how . . how I forgot that you- you lost our baby too.”

“Oh, honey. You don’t have to-,” he begins, adamant in his apology. One that I won’t accept.

“No, but I do have to apologize,” I sob, surprised at the way I’m shocked by the rough feeling of his cheeks. It had been so long since I’d touched him like this, despite watching him grow his beard out. “My dad, he . . he put it into perspective for me. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, I hate myself for that, for-.”

“Hey, don’t hate yourself for anything. This last month has been a Hell we never thought we’d have to endure. Something we shouldn’t have to deal with, and one that isn’t our fault,” he insists, thumbing at the place where a dimple would usually fall in my left cheek. I’d forgotten it was there, just like I’d done the same to him.

“But all you’ve been doing is trying to take care of me, and I made that so hard for you,” comes my cry against his palm, feeling the way he holds me together from breaking for the thousandth time. No, that would imply I’d have been put back together, but that wasn’t something I’d done. “You tried to make me eat and I fought you on it until you stopped talking about it. I argued with you and ignored you when you were just trying to keep the world going, but you never stopped, even though I did. You didn’t stop living and loving me when I stopped.”

“Becks, it’s okay,” he repeats, the words sliding into my ears as my hand wanders to his neck. A hoodie with cartoons from our childhoods dons his upper half, tattoos peeking out from the color. I found the charm of his necklace instantaneously, something I could do in the dark.

“But it’s not, Harry. It’s not okay how I treated you. I forgot you and that you’ve been mourning the loss of your child too. Our b-baby,” I whimper, sniffling when I inhale uneasily. My fingers shake before me until he takes hold of my hand, surrounding it with his own before pressing it to his lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you, Becks. I always will,” Harry says, tucking his chin over my head when I melt against him. “I meant it that first night after we came home and you disappeared on me . . We lost our baby, our child, and I can’t . . I can’t lose you too, Rebecca. I have, time and time again, and I can’t do it again. I’ve hardly stayed pieced together lately being so far away from each other like we have . . God, the only thing that kept me going was just thinking, ‘one more day’ for so many days.”

Hiccuping, my hands brace themselves against his taut back, feeling his own drift along my spine. Shaking my head against the crook of his neck, I struggle to breathe, let alone speak, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I can’t believe how awful I was to you. We’re supposed to get married soon, and I can’t even live up to that in sickness and health part of the vows.”

He continued to murmur assurances that everything was okay, and for the first time in a long while, I found myself believing him. Crying against his neck, I heard his own shed tears onto mine as my hands rubbed circles into his shoulders.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you that day for going to work, even though you asked me and I said it was okay . . And-.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that, Becks,” he assures me, pressing a kiss to my head. Again, I believe him, and it feels easier to breathe. Just in the slightest.

“I was such a bitch to you.”

Something sparks inside of my chest at the sound I hear next, one that had been lost along the way. His laugh. His song.

“I’ve been known to be quite the dick on one or two occasions, as well,” I savor the glint that appears in his eyes upon pulling away. It had been one of the first times I was able to lift my head since before all of this had happened, because it had been better just to hide. No, not now.

The quirk to his lips is a full on tilt now, and through them, I’m reminded of what drew me to this man in the first place. It was those eyes and that smile that made me melt upon impact. Well, then there’s the sunshine they share, and how I taste it when his lips meet mine for really the first time in what, a month. Emotion pulls at me from somewhere underneath at the thought, but he makes me forget rather quickly. He’s always been good at that.

His peppermint chapstick sticks to my lips after he’s pulled away several seconds later, trying to catch his breath. The cobwebs have been dusted away in more ways than one, and it feels weird at first, wrong almost, but I laugh. It catches him by surprise too and his eyes focus on me, and only grow brighter.

“I’ve missed kissing you, and laughing with you,” Harry grins, pressing one more to my lips before brushing his nose against mine.

“So have I. I’m s-.”

“I swear, if you say that word one more time,” he tuts, shaking his head with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to figure out something,” he says, sighing for the dramatic effect. I giggle along with him a moment later, remembering the flecks of gold hidden in his eyes. I remember a lot, too much almost, and the gold is gone as my eyes flood once more. “I know it’s hard, Becks. Something has never been this difficult for me . . for you either. But we have to talk, and I’ve been aching for ages now to talk to you . . I don’t want to ignore it, because they shouldn’t be forgotten. Our daughter. We need to talk about them, about her,” I’m nodding before he can finish, feeling his warm lips against my forehead as I focus on my breaths. “In and out, bug. In and out. We can do this. We’ll start slow.”

I haven’t stopped nodding, but once my lungs start to work again, I pull away and find his eyes once more. It comes to me and I can’t hold it back in anymore, knowing I need to say it first. To tell him.

“Okay, let’s talk about o-our daughter,” I begin, cringing at the sound of my voice breaking already. He nods, cupping my face in his palm, the sweetest of looks on his face.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles alternate universe #one direction fanfiction #one direction #fanfic #wattpad #harry styles wattpad #writing #vanchlo writes #heck yes #becky x harry #tempestad #elmundodebecks

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raywritesthings · 4 years

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Happy Accident 2/3

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Felicity Smoak, Curtis Holt, John Constantine, Barry Allen, Iris West, Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen, Barry Allen/Iris West Summary: Felicity’s punch has consequences no one intended, driving Oliver to take drastic measures with their own unexpected result. *Can be read on AO3, link in bio*

It was difficult trying to move in all this wet leather that clung to her skin like it was stuck with glue. Being cold and uncomfortable was distracting in itself; she hadn’t had any physical discomfort in that other realm, hadn’t wanted for any material need.

But now she was here in the real world, she was pretty sure. Oliver had brought her back even though she’d thought that was impossible now. “Is that a Lazarus Pit?”

“Yeah. Turns out there were more.” He pulled a big, fluffy towel out of a pack that Laurel eagerly took when he crouched down to pass it to her. He stayed there, smiling at her in a way he hadn’t for a long time, a way that always guaranteed to turn her insides to mush. Laurel tried to find something else to distract herself with.

“Who painted my nails black?” She was really starting to worry about her dad’s mental state if this was what he’d chosen to lay her to rest in.

“...you did?” A vaguely familiar voice said in what seemed to be a question. Looking past Oliver allowed her to see Curtis Holt, the man that had helped them save Oliver’s life and rescue Thea and Felicity from Brie Larvan’s attack on Palmer Tech. Felicity was here, too, staring at Laurel with an unreadable expression on her face.

Constantine had circled around to stare at her as well. “Oliver, if something’s gone sideways, I need to know.”

“It hasn’t — it’s not bad. You were right, I couldn’t find Black Siren’s soul.”

“Oh, she didn’t have one? Color me shocked,” Felicity muttered.

To Laurel’s surprise, Oliver ignored her entirely. “But it turned out that, even though her soul had fallen out of our Earth’s vibrational frequency, Laurel’s hadn’t.”

“Wait,” said Curtis. “You’re telling us this is Laurel-Laurel? Like the good one?”

Laurel raised an eyebrow at that. Since when had she been a ‘bad one’?

“Yes,” Oliver confirmed.

Felicity’s mouth fell open. “Laurel body-snatched her own doppelganger’s body?”

“This isn’t my body?” Laurel asked, her heart — or someone’s heart — doing a funny lurch. She ran both hands down her face. Everything felt like herself, except — was there a hole in her nose? She had a nose ring now?

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Oliver promised, his hands on her shoulders helping steady her. Behind him, Curtis and Felicity seemed less convinced.

“Oh man. Oh man, this is way beyond what I signed up for.”

“Why did you grab the wrong soul? You really thought it was a good idea to just mix and match people’s souls? This could be a disaster!”

“If everyone could shut it a moment?” Constantine demanded loudly, and they did. He nudged Oliver back a couple feet and stood over her, waving his arms and murmuring what to her basically sounded like gibberish under his breath. When he at last stopped, his shoulders sagged in relief. “For better or worse, she’s stable. An exorcism shouldn’t be necessary, and it’d be damn difficult to do since she is so compatible with this body.”

Laurel leaned slightly away at the word ‘exorcism’, but felt the tension leave her upon hearing the rest. She wasn’t totally sure how she felt inhabiting what was apparently a version of her body from another Earth. And really, what had happened to the other her that had led to Laurel inhabiting this body?

“How exactly did the other me die?” She asked. She had to assume the other her had died if they’d been trying to get her back with a Lazarus Pit.

The range of reactions was something to behold; from Oliver’s wince to Curtis squeezing his eyes shut and shying away to Felicity’s stiff, “There was an accident. But that doesn’t really matter, now, because… you’re back. The real you, this time. Kind of ironic considering she pretended to be you at first.”

“She did?” Laurel really wasn’t sure what to think from the bits and pieces she was learning about the other her – though she couldn’t help thinking that real was an oversimplification of what she was in relation to her doppelganger. Her doppelganger had been real, too, had lived and died. Was it right for her now to be living in her place?

Laurel didn’t want to be dead, though. Before she had died had been some of the best months of her life; she’d finally felt like she had everything to live for. She couldn’t and didn’t want to change that she was back, as selfish as it seemed.

“It’s a long story,” Oliver said. “There’s a lot we’re gonna have to catch you up on.”

“Wish I wasn’t used to that feeling.” Laurel shifted so that she could get back onto her feet — or her doppelganger’s feet. She didn’t know if she ought to keep reminding herself of that out of respect to the other woman or if it was just going to end up driving her mad. She was a little unsteady in the heeled boots she had on considering her feet were still damp inside them, and Oliver rose to his own feet to steady her, one hand on her arm, the other supporting her back. She smiled up at him a bit timidly; that other place she had been in was beginning to fade from her mind, and Laurel couldn’t help but to focus on the last conversation she remembered having in the land of the living until now.

“I’m going to need all of you to step outside while I place the protective enchantments over this Pit,” Constantine said.

They filed out, Laurel wrapping the towel tighter around her shoulders as she was met with cold mountain air. Oliver guided her to shelter against an outcrop of rock, one hand rubbing her back to help warm her.

“So what was the plan after this, exactly?” Felicity shouted to be heard over the wind. Laurel shifted to try and make a little more room for her friend to come stand with them, yet Felicity remained where she was using Curtis as a buffer.

“I was going to call a secure ARGUS transport,” Oliver said. “But we don’t need them now.”

“We do need a way to get a legally dead woman back into the US, though,” Curtis pointed out. Laurel found herself wondering why he was here. Not that she had anything against Curtis, she just would have pictured John or Thea being the third person to accompany them on this resurrection mission. Then again, she had no way of knowing how long it had been or what might have happened to Thea or John in the meantime. That was an unpleasant thought.

Oliver nodded. “Felicity, see if you can get a hold of Cisco.”

Their friend turned away to do just that. Laurel desperately wanted to know why there was still such a coldness between the pair, and why it no longer just seemed to be on Felicity’s side of things. And why had Oliver apologized to her about Felicity? Except it hadn’t been to her, it had been to some other version of her. Something had happened that no one seemed to want to get into right now. She’d let it go for a time, but once she was warm and in comfortable clothes, Laurel wanted to know just what exactly had been going on while she was dead.

Constantine joined them outside. “Well, you lot got a way back yet?”

“Working on it, John,” Oliver told him.

“Then I suppose this is goodbye for now,” he said. “Laurel, always a pleasure.” The man leaned in and gave her a light peck on the cheek, which Laurel couldn’t help noticing had Oliver grimacing. “You take better care of these Lance girls, Oliver, or I might have to steal them from you.”

“Well, Sara speaks for herself, but I’m happy where I am,” Laurel said before Oliver could try to speak up on her behalf. He looked mollified by her answer anyway.

Constantine shrugged with a grin. “Worth a try. Right then, I’ll be off. Good luck in your new life!” He turned and sauntered down the mountain path, only the trail of cigarette smoke left in his wake after a moment.

“Cisco says he’ll make the breach and that we just step through,” Felicity shouted. “He doesn’t want to come to Siberia, apparently. Can’t imagine why.”

“Step through what?” Laurel asked, but then her answer arrived in the form of a strange, blue, rippling circle of energy opening up just a few feet ahead of them.

“Oh, thank you,” Curtis said before promptly running through it and not coming out the other side.

“Ollie?” Laurel asked.

“Just trust me,” he said, taking her hand as Felicity went through next. Laurel nodded and walked through it with him.

She could see nothing but blue all around them for a moment, and then they had somehow stepped out into some sort of command center of a room with computers and metal tables. Caitlin Snow and Cisco were there, along with a woman Laurel didn’t know.

“Thanks for the pickup,” Felicity was saying as she rubbed her hands together. “I was not looking forward to going back down that mountain.”

“So what were you all doing out there anyway?” Caitlin asked. She froze as her gaze passed over all of them and stopped on Laurel. “Oh!”

“Uh, hi,” said Laurel. “I’m back.”

Rather than surprise or even happiness meeting that statement, however, Caitlin paled, the unknown woman reached for a gun and Cisco sent some kind of blast of that blue energy at her, knocking her clean off her feet.

“We’ve got Siren!” He called out.

“Hey!” Oliver rushed to her side, but to her own amazement, Laurel was already shaking it off and getting back to her feet with her fists clenched. Figured this was the kind of welcome she got when coming back from the dead. “Just give me a minute to explain,” Oliver was saying.

Laurel saw a streak of lightning rush into the room straight toward her, her fight or flight response kicking in of its own accord. Without her even willing it, she released a scream like she used to with her choker device. Except instead of it just producing a noise this time, she felt the power of it rush out of her in waves that impacted Barry and pinned him against the opposite wall.

“Laurel, Laurel, stop!” Oliver’s hand on her arm snapped her out of her fighting stance, and the scream let up.

She backed up a couple steps, one hand going to her throat. “How did I do that?”

“It- she could do that,” he answered. “She was a metahuman.”

“Oliver, are we sure she isn’t still — that maybe some of her is still in there?” Felicity asked, eyeing Laurel warily.

“John didn’t seem to think so.”

“Okay, is someone going to actually explain what we’re talking about and why Black Siren shouldn’t go back in the pipeline?” Cisco asked, loud enough to cut through what seemed to be a brewing argument.

“Because I’m not Black Siren,” Laurel said. “I’m me. And I didn’t mean to do that just now. I didn’t even know I could. I’m sorry,” she said to Barry, who was just struggling to his feet with the unnamed woman’s help.

“Well, thanks for the apology,” he grunted. “But I’m not following. You’re not Black Siren, you just have her clothes and her powers and look just like her?”

“Well, that’s what happens when Oliver decides to drop original Laurel’s soul in Black Siren’s body on a whim,” Felicity remarked.

The Flash team all looked suitably stunned. Laurel shifted a bit uncomfortably. She really didn’t know what the process was for accepting that you were yourself, but slightly not at the same time. Somewhere else, the body she had always known was still rotting away in a grave. Somehow she kept whatever contents might have been in her other self’s stomach at the thought.

“So… she’s our Laurel instead?” Caitlin asked at last.

“Yes,” Oliver seemed glad to answer.

Cisco was the first of the group to approach, scrutinizing her for a long moment. “What was the thing I asked for in exchange for the Canary Cry?”

“What did I say I’d do if you showed anyone?” Laurel answered with her own question. The others looked, if anything, even more wary.

But Cisco’s face split into a wide beam. “Can I hug you?”

Laurel, who had not been hugged yet since coming back from the dead, opened her arms obligingly. Cisco practically flew into them.

“We missed you so much! I love how no one from Star stays dead!”

Cisco’s teammates were all relaxing now that he had given the green light of sorts, and one by one approached her for hugs as well, though in the case of the woman who came up after Barry it was accompanied with a, “I’m Iris. It’s really great to finally meet the you the others have all told me about.”

“Thank you.”

“And you’re a metahuman now? I mean, this is even more awesome,” Cisco was saying.

“Is no one really going to miss the other me?” Laurel couldn’t help asking. A part of her felt she ought to stick up for her not-self.

When her question was met with a round of shaking heads from just about everyone but Oliver, she cringed. She could only imagine the worst.

“So how exactly did her soul replace Black Siren’s? And how are you gonna explain Laurel’s being alive? I mean, is she gonna resume living in Star?” Barry was asking Oliver. They were good questions, but Laurel was honestly starting to feel a little overwhelmed to consider it all. She still didn’t even know how long she’d been dead for.

“You look like you could use a shower and maybe some of your own clothes,” Iris noted. “Come on, I can show you where to find stuff.”

“Thanks,” Laurel said, catching Oliver’s eye briefly as she made to leave the room. He nodded, indicating he understood where she was heading, then returned to speaking with Barry. “So, when did you join Barry’s team?”

“Oh, I’ve known for a couple years now,” Iris answered her. “But I’ve known Barry since we were kids. We finally decided to give dating a shot a couple months ago.”

Laurel returned Iris’ happy smile with one of her own. “Good for you. Dating your best friend… it’s really special.” It had been one of the happiest times of her life before it was over.

But why was it starting to feel like Oliver didn’t think it was? Was it his happiness to have her back that she was misreading, or had something changed in a way she’d never dared to hope?

---

Barry gestured for Oliver to follow him out into the hall since Felicity and Curtis were already talking with Caitlin and Cisco. “So how exactly did this all start?”

“That’s a long story,” Oliver said with a sigh. “But I guess it started when Black Siren really did come to town. Prometheus, another archer, had broken her out and wanted her to pass herself off as our Laurel to mess with our heads, I guess. We ended up realizing it was a trick and capturing her, only Felicity let her escape to try and follow her to Prometheus,” Oliver explained, a frown on his face as he continued, “which nearly killed a security guard and led to Siren dying when Felicity sucker-punched her.”

Barry’s eyes went wide. Felicity had killed someone? He just couldn’t picture it. “And then?”

“And then, I… I don’t know if I can explain what watching her die again was like for me, Barry. My own team doesn’t even understand it. I called John Constantine, and maybe it was rash, but when he told me there were still other Lazarus Pits out there, I couldn’t just… not when my team was responsible. Not again. I know that sounds — she wasn’t even my Laurel—”

“No, I get it. I’ve met other versions of my loved ones, too. It affects you.” He could still remember holding Earth-2’s Iris close as her Joe slipped away from them at the hospital, a lump in his throat that had made it painful to breath. “And trust me, you don’t have to explain what watching something like that does, how desperate it makes you. I know.”

And the thing was, Barry thought he was starting to get something else, too. He had heard about Oliver and Felicity’s breakup last year a month or so after it had happened. When they had all met up to combat the Dominators last month, the two had seemed on good enough terms for a working partnership, but nowhere near the level of intimacy they had had the same time last year — when they hadn’t been fighting in one timeline, Barry supposed.

So when Oliver had told him about the dream world the Dominators had stuck him and some of the others in, that it had been a perfect life with his parents still alive and him about to be married to the love of his life, Barry had wondered at the time about the lack of a name. Part of him had assumed that Felicity had been implied, yet now he was starting to think that hadn’t been correct. Especially when Oliver and Felicity hardly even seemed cordial with each other now if Felicity’s sarcastic remarks and Oliver’s clear frustration with her actions towards Black Siren were any indication.

“Thank you, Barry,” Oliver said, drawing him out of those thoughts.

“Hey, you were there for me about Flashpoint. I am always gonna be in your corner no matter what the call,” he said. “So I guess you guys went to this Pit?”

Oliver nodded. “Yeah, we met John there and restored Siren’s body to life. When people are fully killed, their souls have to be restored separately. Laurel and I rescued Sara’s last year, but when I went in with John this time, there was nothing at first. He thinks that because she was on a different world to her own, her soul was lost to us.”

“Wow,” Barry said, making a mental note never to die on another Earth. “You said there was nothing at first?”

“Yeah. But then I heard a voice calling for me. It was Laurel. I don’t know how or why they were connected like that, how she knew I was there. But I am so thankful.”

It was hard to wrap his head around. Barry was a scientist first and foremost, no matter how strange the science in his life had become. He didn’t fully understand everything that went on in Star these days any more than they seemed to understand metahumans. Though who knew if that would change now that Laurel was one.

But if Laurel was alive again and Oliver was happy, then Barry supposed the rest of it didn’t matter much in the end how it had happened. Just that it had.

“What are you going to tell people? I mean, everybody knows she was the Black Canary.”

Oliver looked down. “I wish Evelyn’s actions hadn’t made me do that, now. I haven’t spoken to Laurel yet about what people know. We’ll have to figure something out.”

Barry nodded. Anything else he might have said, however, would have to wait, as footsteps announced the arrival of Iris with Laurel. His girlfriend had supplied Laurel with the full STAR Labs apparel line, it looked like, and the two were chatting away like old friends as Laurel towel-dried her hair.

“And there they are,” Iris remarked, smiling at Barry in a way that always made his stomach do funny flips. He couldn’t help but notice Laurel’s smile seemed to be having the same effect on Oliver.

“Feeling better?” He asked.

“Yeah, now that I’ve sort of taken stock of things.”

“Oh?”

“Well, other me clearly got into her fair share of fights judging by some of the scars I have,” Laurel remarked. “Kinda weird they’re in different places than mine were. Also, I have tattoos, now.”

“Really, where?” Oliver asked with a grin that had Barry’s mouth dropping open.

Laurel, for her part, just rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“C’mon, we better regroup with the others,” was all Oliver said in reply, still grinning as he offered Laurel his arm. She took it, and the two headed back into the cortex.

Iris stepped up to Barry’s side and slipped her arm around his back, her head leaning on his shoulder. “Aw, I’m glad they’re still cute. Teenage me’s kind of having a freak out right now.”

“Yeah?” Barry shook his head. Iris and her magazines. He much preferred her writing. Together, they followed their friends back into the room.

Caitlin and Cisco had abandoned their conversation with Curtis and Felicity to come see Laurel again.

“We have some data on hand about the sonic scream already, of course, but it’d be amazing to get a full, comprehensive picture now that you’re the one in control of it.”

“Also, I’m thinking suit update. I mean, what’s a back from the dead party without presents? If you let me keep Siren’s suit for the measurements, I can have it ready by the end of the week.”

“Thank you,” Laurel said. “That’s really sweet.”

“It is, but you guys might be getting ahead of yourselves,” Felicity interjected. “Let’s not forget that Oliver kind of outed Laurel as a superhero last year.”

Barry winced as the smile dropped off Laurel’s face while she backed a step away from the group, away from Oliver. “What?”

“Yeah, right over your grave,” Felicity added.

“There was a situation with an imposter,” Oliver explained. “I was going to tell you. I just wanted you to have some time.”

“Well, she did need to know, Oliver,” Felicity argued. “I mean, I don’t even know if Laurel can come home with us, at least not publicly.”

“We will figure it out,” he said, his voice taking on a harder edge that Barry knew meant it was time for the other person to stop pushing. But Barry also knew Felicity tended to struggle with those sorts of social cues.

Sure enough, his socially awkward friend continued, “How? This isn’t exactly something you can take back. I mean, you had a statue built in Laurel’s honor — even if her doppelganger just destroyed it — and Quentin even confirmed he knew Laurel’s identity which cost him getting his job back—”

“My dad gave up his job?” Laurel asked, looking distressed at the prospect.

“It wouldn’t have been good for him to take it, Laurel, he needed the time in rehab,” Felicity said, and though her tone was a soothing one, Laurel did not look any calmer, and Barry didn’t blame her.

There was something about the smile playing around Felicity’s lips that didn’t quite seem sympathetic and raised the hairs on the backs of his arms. He had spent enough time over the last few years with men who had claimed to have his best interests at heart all the while that they schemed and acted to hurt him, and he had gotten good at spotting the feeling. But why would Felicity of all people be giving him that feeling?

“That’s another thing, actually,” Felicity was saying the same time that Barry’s mind raced with these observations. “If Quentin hears about Laurel being back, he’ll want to check himself out in the middle of his treatment. You really did not think through the ramifications of doing this, Oliver.”

“Felicity, that’s enough,” Oliver commanded, causing everyone in the room to stand just a little bit straighter. Felicity’s mouth, which had opened again to speak, snapped shut. “What is done is done, and whatever the complications that arise, we will deal with. I would much rather live in a world where Laurel is alive and have some issues to sort out rather than a simpler one where she is not here. I’d have hoped you felt the same way.”

There was a stunned moment of silence where Caitlin, Cisco and Curtis all stood there gaping. Iris watched at Barry’s side, her slightly widened eyes the only giveaway to her feelings on the matter and Barry himself had little clue how he looked on the outside, only knowing that he would never have thought he’d see Oliver take that tone with Felicity; not since the disagreement they had had all those years ago when Barry had been brought in on the secret of the older vigilante’s identity.

Laurel stood at the midpoint between them, her arms crossed in a move Barry recognized was far more about shielding herself than it was about projecting power. Her disbelieving gaze slowly swept in Felicity’s direction, who scoffed.

“I- of course I prefer it! I just think you have a bad habit of making incredibly impulsive decisions without considering all the facts or getting the rest of the team’s consensus.”

Oliver didn’t even bat an eye. “Impulsive decisions like going behind my back and giving the recruits separate parameters for a mission that ran completely counter to my stated directions? Or like releasing a dangerous prisoner in the hopes she’ll lead you to her commander?”

“You- you did that, too,” Felicity declared. “Last year, with Anarchy!”

“Yes, and I was wrong! Which Laurel pointed out to me, privately instead of bringing it up in front of the team or our friends, something that in all the years we have worked together, you never fail to do,” Oliver shouted. He then squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, voice returning to a normal volume as he added, “I didn’t like doing that with you, just now. I understand why you took those risks with Siren, what you are going through. I wanted to address it later, see what you needed to let the team keep working.” His frown deepened. “But you never have afforded me the same courtesy, and I am realizing that you never will.”

“Oliver—”

“I need to ask you to take a leave of absence from the team.”

“What?”

“Oliver,” Laurel said softly. “If this is about just now, I’ll be fine. I don’t want people kicked off the team just because they disagreed about bringing me back.”

“If it was just that, I’d consider other options. But this has been an ongoing problem I’ve made excuses for in the past, and that’s only compounded things.”

“What, because I make my own decisions and don’t just follow your orders? That’s enough to get kicked off a team I helped build?” Felicity demanded.

“I recruited you,” Oliver said. “I thought it would be a good idea to have an expert on the computers, but that does not make you an expert in the field. A woman died a few nights ago because of an impulsive attack you made on her after Curtis had already taken measures to neutralize her threat. When that catches up with you, when you can see past the anger and grief you are feeling over Billy and think about what you did, you are going to need the time off.” The anger had almost entirely receded, and it struck Barry now why Oliver was doing this; he was trying to be kind. “When you’ve had that time, we can talk. And that will include laying some ground rules about how the team is going to operate.”

Felicity nodded, her eyes particularly bright behind her glasses in a way Barry knew meant she was holding onto her tears. “Well, I can save you the time, because it is going to operate without me.” She turned and marched for the exit to the cortex, turning once to call over her shoulder, “Good luck with the recruits since they basically all hate you.”

She left a very long and awkward silence in her wake.

“Um, for the record,” Curtis began in a small voice. “While I don’t exactly hate — it’s a strong word, you know — but I do, at times, find you extremely difficult to work with, and I’m not sure how I feel about what just happened.”

“Then take some time off to figure it out, Curtis,” Oliver replied. “I need a team that can function as a cohesive unit. We are never going to defeat Prometheus when we’re too busy with infighting. Decide what’s more important to you, and then stick with it.”

Curtis gulped and nodded.

Oliver turned out to face the wider room. “I’m sorry that had to happen in your space, Barry.”

“No, it — well, it’s probably best we know the situation,” he decided. “I guess I just hope things work out for the best.”

“We should probably get home. All of us,” Oliver added, with a look at Laurel.

“What are we going to tell people?” She asked.

“That’s something I’m working on, but I know you’d rather be in Star than anywhere else.”

Laurel’s lips turned up in a small smile, and she nodded.

“I can get you guys back to your base to avoid bumping into anybody who shouldn’t know yet,” Cisco offered. “And I’m still gonna get started on the suit.”

“Thanks, Cisco,” Laurel said, walking over and hugging him again. Barry thought his friend was quite happy with that development.

A new breach was made, and the remaining Team Arrow members stepped through, the somewhat tense and awkward air in the room breaking as the breach closed.

“Well, that was… something,” Iris commented. “I hadn’t realized things were so bad with their team.”

“Neither had I,” Barry admitted. He had always viewed the Arrow’s team as a well-oiled machine, something to aspire towards. It was almost comforting to know they had their issues the same as his team had had theirs. Barry hoped it never came to a head the way things just had between Oliver and Felicity, though.

He couldn’t help wondering, however, if perhaps that had needed to happen. The last couple times Barry had seen Oliver, the other man had seemed tired, run down, and missing some part of that unbeatable drive he brought to everything he did. Now it seemed he had regained it with new vigor, and it didn’t take a genius to guess what had caused it.

Barry only hoped Oliver did figure out some way for Laurel to return to Star City officially, and as a free woman. He needed her just as surely as Barry needed Iris. And like Oliver had just proven, even death could be conquered in the face of love.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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i-ndil-cuimhne-ar-daniel · 4 years

Photo

(drawing by @mahanaimacallaris)

@mahanaimacallaris I hope you don’t mind me putting this in a new post, but I figured people would appreciate not seeing that long-ass post on their dash over and over again 😂 But I’ll put a link here to the first post with the other drawings/story: link

Well, this is my two-cents, including a couple of *cough* hints.

Whatever happens in Munich, stays in Munich

The early morning light fell into the room through the half-open curtains, seducing the lingering darkness into a flirtatious shawdowplay, and Till watched as silhouettes danced across the wall in various shades of darkness – in the shadowplay, acting out your own death, knowing no more, and Ian Curtis offered him the words in that soothingly melodramatic voice, but,

no, not now, go away. The dark was as enticing as ever, but Till was ready to fight tooth and nail to keep himself out of the shadows. It was one of the few times they didn’t have any obligations and they got to spent a quiet morning sleeping-in, and, well, he wanted to be able to experience every moment in the light, not the dark.

Till carefully wiggled his shoulders to find a more comfortable position, holding Flake tight as the slender man lay sprawled on top of him. His breathing warm against the skin of Till’s shoulder, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against his chest, and, Gott, I love you. Ja,

it was officially a thing, our thing, although Olli never missed a chance to remind them that,

without me your thing wouldn’t even be a thing, so theoretically speaking this is our thing,

and Till had no complaints about that. The more the merrier, right?

Though perhaps Flake would be a tad more difficult to persuade, especially after what I did… Because, ja, there was indeed the tiny thing Till had done. Nothing too serious, I hope, but he expected some trouble out of the keyboard player nonetheless.

Still, I can’t wait…. It wasn’t like it had been formally confirmed, but, they’re going to come through. Not just Olli, but, ja, them too, the mysterious person who had made the drawings of Till in the pink fluffy coat.

I’m not going to tell you, stop with the bribes, Till.

But they’re your favorite cookies. Look. I made them myself,

and Olli had shot him a look.

Fine. I bought them myself. But it was done with love – so much love!

I’m sure it was, and I appreciate it. I really do. But a secret is a secret. I crossed my heart and hoped to die.

You’re not going to die, Olli!

I’m not going to risk it either, Till!

Fine, but can you at least ask them to do another drawing? Please, for me, and Till had tried for the cutest puppy-eyes, and,

stop-would you just…fine, you got me. I’ll ask. Oh Gott, let me guess. This is about Munich, isn’t it?

apparently, it had worked. Olli had promised to ask for the drawing.

Flake is going to make a bit of a fuss, Till was absolutely certain. But most of it is in jest anyway. Spending years with the band, and specifically Paul, had left him more desensitized to outrageous jokes, nudeness, and things that should not be named, than he’d like to let on. He just likes the drama, that extra shiver of attention he got whenever he let out some screams and made a scene.

And he knows Munich was….epic, even for their standards.

It had been a quiet May evening. Tired from the concert and a meet-and-greet with fans, they had all retreated back to their own rooms, Flake following Till to his.

He’d just gotten out of the shower, and they were sitting on the bed with a glass of wine, chatting about things Till had by now forgotten about, when they’d heard a ruckus outside. Curious,

that sounds a bit like Paul,

Flake had gone to the window to have a look, and,

mein Gott, that is Paul! And Richard! And they’re….oh Gott…no!

What is it? And Till had gotten of the bed. Tell me.

No-no! We’re not doing this again, I refuse,

and Till had looked out the window, only to find Richard and Paul chasing Christoph through the hotel garden. The latter neatly in his shirt and sweatpants, but the other two, stark naked.

Oh, scheiße, look at them go, and Till had opened up the glass doors, walking onto the balcony. And of course, Flake had been right behind him.

Together they had stood at the banister watching as Richard and Paul were trying to corner Christoph, he’s actually pretty fast and agile for such a large man, and, thankfully, their efforts so far had been unfruitful.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying though. Throwing all regards for modesty out the window, Paul and Richard had run over the grass, sliding left and right as they tried to make quick turns. Hands waving, fingers grabbing, but Christoph had managed to outrun them every single time.

That’s quite a sight, isn’t it?

and Till had looked up to find Olli standing on the balcony next to his. It sure is. Mein Gott. Any idea what’s going on?

Shrugging his shoulders, Olli had chucked his fag over the railing, eyes still fixed on the spectacle unfolding in the garden below. You remember when they rebuild his drums at the bottom of the pool and left him to retrieve them by himself? Well, you’re looking at the payback. The start of a budding grin had carefully presented itself at the corners of Olli’s mouth. He took all their stuff while they were in the sauna.

The thunder of a hearty laugh had vibrated through Till’s chest. But, come on! Schneider isn’t stupid, he wouldn’t wait for them to get out.

Fully blossoming, the grin had spread itself across Olli’s entire face. Nope. But let’s just say someone still had a little bone to pick with our drummer about a missing container of cookies – and took his room key.

Till had laughed so loud he could have sworn he’d heard the sound echo, but,

Olli had simply smiled dryly. There are things I myself don’t need to see, but, uhm, you enjoy the show. Gentlemen, and on the beats of his farewell, he had disappeared back into his room, closing the doors behind him.

Meanwhile, the manhunt downstairs had still been in full swing. But as the two firecrackers had decided to, finally, team up, Christoph had quickly found himself in a little trouble somewhere near the edge of the swimming pool. Caught between the covered obstacle and the two approaching fire breathing dragons, Christoph had yelled out at Till and Flake,

a little help here would be nice,

but Till had simply shrugged his shoulders, shouting back, you want to play with fire, you might get burned, while Flake had just stood there and waved.

I’M GOING TO REMEMBE–AHHH,

and both Paul and Richard had jumped him at the same time, cutting the sentence short as Christoph had let out a high-pitched scream.

With Richard’s arm around his neck and Paul’s full weight against his chest, it had only taken a few seconds to get him down to the ground. But Christoph was strong and lifting Paul up with one arm, he had easily plopped him onto the ground next to him.

Getting to Richard had been more difficult, as he was lying underneath Christoph, holding him in a firm choke hold. So, by the time he had finally managed to get a hand between his throat and Richards arm, Paul had climbed back on top of him, using his knees to try and help keep Christoph down.

Now, where up until that point it had only been a matter of some, things, dingling and dangling, now everyone was offered a full view of, everything, really, and,

MEIN GOTT, PAUL LANDERS, I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE!

Hands still firmly on Christoph’s chest, Paul had looked over his shoulder. THAT’S NOT FAIR, YOU NEVER YELL AT RICHARD.

THAT’S BECAUSE I’M NOT FORCED TO LOOK AT HIS, OH MEIN GOTT, ALJOSCHA WAS RIGHT! YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE,

and with a dramatically grand twirl Flake had turned on his heels, marching back inside, although Till was quite sure he must have still caught the,

YEAH, WELL, HE ALSO SAID I HAD A CUTE BUM. SO, TAKE THAT!

It had sent Till straight into another laughing fit, slapping his hand on the balcony railing as he had looked on as with joint effort and a whole lot of gymnastics, Paul and Richard had managed to get Christoph out of his pants as well,

which had been about the time the hotel manager had come running into the garden, another employee with a stack of bathrobes in tow.

And maybe it had been the whole incident happening at all, or maybe it had been just the simple fact they weren’t even drunk when it did. And maybe, well, most likely, it had something to do with their stubborn refusal to cover up in the offered robes, making their way through the hotel buck naked….but regardless of which one it was, verdammt, that guy had been pissed, raving and ranting as he had scolded them like they were a bunch of naughty children.

Luckily some sweet talking from Christoph and a very sad looking Flake letting out a little snicker, it’s a good thing he can cry on command, had convinced the manager to let them stay. For one night. Thus, the next morning they had gotten another telling off from Tom from management, who had to find them another hotel.

It was worth it though, that evening was….epic, Till had no other way to describe it. And now he would have a memento to hang on his living room wall. Flake is going to kill me, having to look at Paul’s naked ass every ti

a quick knock on the door roughly yanked Till out of his thoughts. Who can that be? “Yes?” But there was no answer. That’s weird.

“Wazz tha?” Lazily Flake lifted his head, his chin scraping along Till’s chest as he turned his head to face him.

“I don’t know. There’s no response.” His fingers tenderly caressing the soft skin of Flake’s back, Till leaned up for a kiss. “If you let me go, I can go and check.”

“Nah,” Flake stole another kiss, “I’ll go,” and rolled himself off Till, and off the bed. He stood swaying on his feet for a second, “woo-right, okay,” smiling at Till as he exorbitantly blinked his eyes. “Yep, I’m here,” and he turned to grab his bathrobe off the chair.

As long as you come back to bed after, Till watched as Flake swung the fabric around his shoulders like a cape, walking towards the door, I’ve got plans for you.

“I don’t think we were even supposed to answer,” Flake sunk to his knees, “there’s a paper stuck underneath the door,”

Really? Oh, wait-scheiße, “wait!” Till shot up, clutching a tangle of blanket in his hands.

but Flake had already picked the white sheet off the floor. “What could this-ahhhh, oh no!” In a flash he got up, “Till Lindemann, what have you done,” making his way to the bed. “Whatever happens in Munich, stays in Munich, remember?”

“Easy, calm down,” his hands held up in a half protective/half apologizing motion, Till smiled his dearest smile, “don’t be mad.”

“I just-I, mein Gott, will you look at it?” Flake held the paper out so Till could see. “They’re naked! Again!”

“Now, now, come on. It’s not like you haven’t seen that a couple of times before.” Till let go of the blanket and took the paper out of Flake’s hand. “Look, this is amazing. That’s us again. Remember, that moment we heard the noise outside?”

The corners of Flake’s mouth slightly trembled and,

oh, I’m on to you, Till knew all too well the other was attempting to hold back a smile. All I need to do, is draw it out. “Look, this is-come here,”

with his other hand, Till grabbed onto Flake and pulled him onto the bed, waiting for him to settle himself against his side before he continued.

“Look,” pointing at the paper, “how cute are those bums?”

A gentle nudge against his shoulder,

“and would you look at Olli! Mein Gott, he’s pleased with himself. As he should be! They would have never been outside if it hadn’t been for him,”

and on a sharp exhale of breath, Flake let out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right – you’re right. The drawings are amazing.”

“But?”

“They’re amazing!”

“And?”

Flake let out a soft sigh. “It’s always shenanigans, all the weird shit we got ourselves into. Why not something, you know, sweet?”

Dropping the paper on the nightstand, Till turned towards Flake and took him in his arms. “Because I’ve already got you.”

“Oh, you,” a quick kiss on the nose, “I mean something sweet to put on the wall, next to those other drawings.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” a tender smile, “what about that night at Olli’s house, when you asked me to be yours?”

Oh Flake, that is sweet, it had taken Till a good four glassed of whiskey to amass enough courage to do so, but, such a fantastic night, sitting by the fire pit, looking at the stars. The whole damn lot of them standing watching from inside the house, although Till wasn’t quite sure if Flake had that in mind as well. Then again, seeing them scatter around when we looked their way was kind of cute., so I guess it counts

“Or that time when all of us went for a walk and Richard fell of that rock, and we all took turns supporting him until we made it back.”

Right, ja, that had been the previous year, during one of their gigs in England. Off course, Richard and Paul had climbed some rocks, but Richard had fallen off, hurting his ankle. It had taken them a good five hours to tackle a path that would have normally taken not even three, but they had made it. Together.

“Though the sweetest part was you giving him a piggyback ride for the last two miles.”

“My back was less impressed.”

“I know,” another petit kiss, “but you did it.”

Yes, I did. We did,

“or it could be something happy, like that doughnut eating contest – you know, when Christoph got mad at Olli for making him laugh, and he tried to shove three doughnuts into his mouth at the same time,”

nearly choking Olli, but, well, it actually had been kind of funny. Once Olli had stopped coughing and spitting out chunks of half-chewed dough.

“Oh-oh, or when that lady wouldn’t stop badgering Schneider about the god-awful way he treated his perfectly behaved pups!”

Resting his head against Flake’s shoulder, Till let out a thundering laugh. “Now that would be priceless! He got so annoyed. ‘Let me be, you’ve got no idea what they’re like.’ And Paul just kept sniffing her leg!”

“I still refuse to believe she didn’t notice.”

Another round of laughter. “Perhaps she liked it!”

Flake snorted. “Who knows. He sure did.”

“Stop it,” words carried out on a wave of exuberant laughter, “I can’t.” There’s always something going on with Paul….funnyman.

“Although I think we’ve ventured right back into weird again.”

“Are we ever anything but weird?” Till leaned back, looking Flake in the eye. “Seriously?”

“Nah,” Flake shook his head, “it’s just, some types of weird are definitely more enjoyable than others.”

Ah, “jokes and pranks are the good type of weird, naked bums are the bad kind?”

“Mmm,” a hint of tension built up in Flake’s face, focusing around the ever so lightly narrowing eyes, “that depends on whose bum it is.”

Ohhh, “I see,” tugging Flake closer, Till nuzzled his face into his neck, gently sucking the skin between his lips as he showered it with kisses. “I,” kiss, “like,” kiss, “where,” kiss, “this,” kiss, “is,” kiss, “going.” Till had a whole bunch of ideas that he was sure Flake would classify as, the good type of weird, and, I-

Putting a hand against his chest, Flake pushed Till away. “Are you sure?”

-what? “What do you mean?”

“Because as Olli would say, I still have a bone to pick with you over that Munich-thing, and I’m not sure you’re going to like what I’ve got in mind.”

“I’ll ask for another drawing, I promise!” Reaching back to a sure-fire favorite, Till faintly titled his head downward, looking up at Flake with slightly widened eyes, even pouting his lips to exploit the full potential of the endearing look. “Please be nice.”

“I’ll think about it. In the meantime,” Flake leaned closer, gently tapping Till on the nose, “go fetch the present I brought you. It’s in my suitcase.”

What did you do? “What is it?”

“You’ll know when you see it.”

This should be good, it looked like the morning was going to turn out even better than Till had imagined. Cuddles with Flake, the amazing drawing, and now, what did you bring me? He pushed himself to the edge of the bed,

“And Till?”

turning to look over his shoulder.

“You better be good.”

Oh hell yes, it was going to be a very good morning.

#rammstein #fanfiction #fanart

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rerorero-rero-rero · 5 years

Text

Breaking from the madman // Oliver Kirkland

Another day... or was it night? No matter what time was it, the nightmare kept going on.

<<A few months before, Cielle had moved to England. After various years of saving, she got enough money to afford an apartment and, finally, she had a nice starting for the life she wished since a kid. However, she knew things would not be easy from then on. As days went by, Cielle started to need more money so a job was required, the thing was that there was no place to look for a job nearby her apartment and going from here to there walking was tiresome and distances were long yet. Days continued to be hard as still she could make any friends so the feeling of loneliness as starting to eat her thoughts "How would it be having a friend around?" It was a constant question.>>

"Sweetheart, are you awake?" goosebumps and shivers ran uncontrolably through her spine. That voice was the reason she was so afraid and regretful for entering that pastry store "I love you so so, so much and you've got no idea to what limits i'd go to prove that to you, my sweetest cuppycake" Whoever listen to that cheery voice could suspect none of this man's capablities with a knife. With a wet red tinted hand, he reached for his beloved's cheek, to gently caress it. The love and delicateness on his touch were almost normal if it was not for the possibility that that paint on his hand was blood and not precisely paint "Sweetie, i just came to remind you that i am yours and yours only. I'm your slave, i'll be whatever you want me to be... i bloody promise it.." again, like every other days he would go visit his darling, he ended up crying, begging for a single reply, a sound from her. The cold wall against that ginger haired man usually worked, yet, if she closed her eyes while he was still crying, Cielle would think that she was on that doll house like room by her will.

<<"Okay so... Kirkland's Candy Shop?... That is a long title i guess" Cielle read the OPEN at the door: it was written in a beautiful, curly and sweet at sight calligraphy,in an alluring golden colour with soft lines of a cute baby blue; the door frame was yellow and, the door itself, was made out of wood, two small windows in the upper side of the door and it was painted in white "Just like a doll house... i wonder if i'm properly dressed" and with that last loud voice thought, she went inside, there were two big shelves filled with muffins, colourful cupcakes, candies of almost every kinds, shapes and flavours and lots of chocolate statues of a hand sized. The place was mainly painted in pink with a lavender line on the medium lower part of the walls and, from below that line, it was still pink but it has dots of a vanilla colour. The tables and chair were directly taken out from a princess' castle; they were white, with baby blue or vanilla yellow table covers. There was also another small hall, where there was another small playing area, where there were a few customers and what it looked like a little girl's birthday party (Princess themed of course) decorations.

The albino gal decided to ask one of the mothers that were present if they possibly knew where Mrs. Kirkland was "Uhm, Excuse me ma'am, do you possibly know where Miss Kirkland is?" the woman stared at her white hair, and, with a kind smile, answered "Sure i know, honey. In fact he is bringing my daughter's birthday cake. There" she signed... DUDE, HE WAS NOT A MISS. Cielle blushed instantly at her -awful- mistake "Oh Happy birthday, Gummy bear. I hope you enjoy it" and the man placed the Sleepy Beauty decored cake on the main table "Thank you mister!" The chorus of little girls voices was incredible and how their eyes were shining at the little caramel and marshmallow statue of princess Aurora.

The pink dressed man gazed at the albino with his piercing neon blue eyes. Cielle never saw something as beautiful as that shade of unique blue eyes.

"Hello, Sugar Cube" he approached the female with a kind -Chessire Cat like- smile "What can i do for you?" Cielle stared for a little while at the man's bushy ginger eyebrows "Oh well, you see mister--" she was interrupted "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but i haven't tell you my name yet; Oliver Kirkland, honey" the female smiled "Well, you see, Oliver, i was walking around to see if i could find a cheap place to have a bite of something but i saw this newspaper with this job announcement. I decided to came by and ask if the job is still avaiable" Oliver's eyes sparkled with joy "Oh thank goodness someone came, of course it is. Let this birthday party end and then, we'll go to my office to discuss your employment" the albino nodded "Yes of course. My name is Cielle Durand, pleasure to meet you" she gave her hand "The pleasure is for me, Sugar Cube" Oliver took Cielle's hand and, gently, kissed one of her knukles, causing a really noticeable blush on her pale cheeks>>

Even with all of Oliver's gentle caresses on her white hair, Cielle remained still, staring at the flannel pastel green nightgown.

"Please! Talk to me! Just anything, you can swear... I promise i'll do anything but just... let me hear your voice" he was tearing so hard that not even his hands could wipe all of his tears. It was like if Oliver had a salty sea hidden on his eyes, he was crying loudly by times, then his voice would break and finally, he was a sobbing, teary mess. The first time Cielle saw him cry that hard, she knew he had freckles that were perfectly hidden under one or two layers of compact powder.

<<The birthday party end and Oliver, after wishing a happy birthday to the little girl, guided the soon-to-be-employee albino gal "Now, now Snow White, let's go to my office, or would you rather to talk here?" Oliver asked "I bet you have the files in your office, so let’s go there" both shared a cheerful smile and went to the office.

Oliver offered a seat in front of his desk and proceeded to take out a few employment files "Okay sweetheart, so i need you to fill these up; this first page is about your schedule, i'd want you to chose what of the schedules is better for you, i'd like you to be comfortable with it" Cielle smiled "Thank you Oliver. My turtle and i really appreciate it" both giggled "But really, i don't think i'll need it since i'm more than ready to work five days a week. I really need the money and Mike is running out of food and i like refuse to feed him my finger" now only she giggled while Oliver just stared "You have a wonderful laugh; also, i think your whole look is alluring, really. I must confess that i've never saw an albino" he smiled sincerely as the green eyed female blushed "Sincerely, you look like a marble statue. I know it might be impolite what i'm about to ask but i'd like you to wear the yellow uniform. Let me go get it so you can see it" Cielle grabbed Oliver's sleeve so he would stop "Uhm,actually, i'd rather a pastel green or a baby pink... i mean! yellow would be fine but it makes me look paler that i actually am so... also, those colours make my eyes look greener" and with a shy smile, Cielle let go from Ollie's clothing.>>

Cielle was tied by her ankles and handcuffed from just one of her hands to the bed, even tho, she kept quiet, slowly breathing as if her normal breathing would make noise... she thought on if it would be a good idea to talk or not.

With a husky voice (for the lack of speaking) "... let me go..." instead of a hard and demanding voice, as usually Cielle's voice was, a small, almost inaudible beg came out of her lips "But love, my marble statue, my reason to breathe... y-you know i can't, yo-you'll go to the police an--" he was interrupted by small sobbing "Please... just sunlight... or any thing" Oliver felt his heart pounding more than usual, oh how he loved her voice... it was so melodic to his ears, an angels' choir to him. For as innocent as the ginger could be or as childish or gentlemanly as he could get to act, he was a wolf dressed like a sheep, better said, a demon dressed as a gingerbread man.

<<Oliver had already met Mike, Cielle's turtle and he bite the freckled man's finger and both laughed then Oliver screamed every time it happened"Not like that, look, you throw the reptile sticks and then, if he nuzzles his nose with you, it means he's ok with you" she did as she said to show him how to make friendship with a turtle "Oh, like th--AUCH!" Mike bite him again "Maybe he's not comfortable with you... i think it's because you're a man" Oliver gave an intriguing glare at his albino crush "How's that? Also, how are you sure he's a male?" Cielle smiled and took her employer by his chin to guide his piercing blue sight to the slimy boi "Look at his tail, it is long. Female turtles have shorter tails... and are quite gentler when they bite" the man sighed when he accidentally gazed at his precious Snow White "Uhm... poppet, then maybe, Mike is jealous" Cielle nodded "Well, since i arrived to England, there has been only a "Mike and me" kind of story... y'see, i saved him on my mother country from being eaten" both began to walk away from the puddle where Mike was relaxing to a bench nearby "How was that? I mean, i don't know almost anything about you yet you know about my "family... if it can be called that" Cielle stared at Mike trying to catch a fly "Well, it's kinda long, you might want to get comfy"

"The hard part of my story is when... well, since i was born. I never had a father, someone who would guide me and protect me, instead, i had an abusive excuse of a dad. My younger sister is not an albino, in fact, she has pretty ginger-red hair, almost like yours but without the pink on it, she was exotic, i was an error. I used to enjoy watching her play under the sun as she would always ask me to go play over with her but i always ended up denying; we, albinos, can't stay under the sun without sunscreen, sun glasses or a hat that would make a shadow... basically, we're like vampires but without the blood thing" both giggled "I can't tan, seriously, i've tried to many times but i end up looking like a cherry, red" Oliver said with a smile "You're brave" the present gal smiled "Mother loved us by equal and i was grandma's favourite, i'm not saying that Rouge wasn't but i was the most sticked together to her... one day, dad simply took us away from mom and grandma. Rouge was still a baby so i had to raise her, therefore she grew up seeing me as her best friend, as her big sister, and i taught her that i was not the mistake dad and aunt claimed i was. Once i started high school, i got te news that my english was almost the best of the classroom and i got to make a few friends such as Lauren, Ophelia, Judas, Natalie, Alizee, Tony and Necherjet, those were my bestest friends of all life and, thanks to Necherjet, i got a full scholarship here in England." Cielle smiled and gazed the cloudy sky "Of course i had to finish the already begun semester there, and there was a biology fair. I love animals but our project was risky, even for small ladybugs; Mike and another turtle from another team made it and the teacher asked me, as i was just passing by, that if i'd like to take care of a turtle, i sure accepted. He bite me the first time we met: Alizee dared me to poke him but he was scared... the guy that took the turtles there, only raised the for eat them. As our teacher was a marine biologist, she declined the turtles back and, instead, gave them in adoption. I choose Mike because he was as scared as me on he inside, later on, he was pretty shy on the house but i insisted on trying to befriend him and i did it and i can't be prouder of myself" Oliver was kinda teary at this point "You are a hero, princess, a warrioress, how did i got so lucky to meet you?" both giggle as they finally got up to pick Mike from the puddle (Mike hissed at Ollie) "Mike, pretty please? I promised i'd never leave you, k?" the turtle calmed down "I wouldn't consider a warrioress, i'm just a big sister that carried on with her condition" >>

"Will you love me if i do that? You promise to undyingly love me back?" Oliver's piercing blue gaze was filled up with hope, joy "If i take you outside, will you love me back?" once again, she answered in a husky tone "Yes... i'll do... just let me out" Oliver began to cry again, this time, with joy and exitement.

He made it! He had finally made it! After months and months of trying to enamour her... everything just went better since they had moved in toghether "I love you, I promise i do, i promise you'll be happier with me out of this four walls. Let's get you cleaned up" Oliver held Cielle's bloody hand, who did nothing but follow Ollie's moves "It... hurts" she cried out when her kidnapper pulled her hurt limb by her bloody fingers "Oh i'm sorry, you were misbehaving dear. But worry not, gumdrop, i'll clean you up; tell me, doesn't a big tub, filled to top with warm water and bubble soap and sit next to your lover, sounds nice? Of course it is indeed marvellous" and the male placed both of his albino's limbs around his neck "Hold me tight, love" and carried her out of the room "The tub is already done so strip and choose a side on there, i'll be waiting outside. Tell me when you get comfortable in the water and i'll join you" with those last words, he closed the bathroom door and let alone Cielle to strip. Once the both of them were in the tub, Oliver couldn't help but smile, lean and kiss Cielle's forehead "What a lucky man i am for having you. You know i'm not the best guy around but i promise i'll make you happy by my side" along with the water, the freckled man's chest was also warm, that's the peace he always had wished for, even if it was non consensual.

Cielle, eventually, HAD to grow feelings for him. She would never be able to break from the madman; she'd BREAK for the madman.

#yandere 2p england #yandere 2p hetalia #yandere #oliver kirkland #2p england #2p hetalia #one shot

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do-what-the-knight-tells-you · 5 years

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Elements from the Broadchurch novelization that were of particular interest::

- Ellie is a bit uncomfortable returning to work because her “suit feels strange after three weeks in a bikini and sarong”. You go get it, Ellie. Anyone wanting to write confident-and-body-positive-knows-she’s-got-dem-curves Ellie, here’s your semi-canonical backing. mother of two, rockin’ a bikini. Excellent.

- Although the division of work/responsibility between her and Joe worked for them, Ellie Worries that ppl will “think he is emasculated”, or that he will begin to feel “emasculated”, so while “the other wives are on the phone begging their husbands to come home in time to put the kids to bed, she is virtually throwing him out of the house and into the pub”, really trying to encourage him to hang with the guys or whatever, whenever the opportunity presents itself.

- Hardy is already on the edge when we first see him, talking to the farmer whose tractor has had its gas siphoned. He’s carefully staying away from the edge of the cliff, scared it’s going to induce vertigo and heart palpitations.

- The sections that are a close POV on Hardy have way more detail about the Sandbrook case than was originally clear in S1 (I assume, because the book was published after the bulk of the writing/story construction stuff was finished for S2). For instance, When Hardy is first inspecting Danny’s room, he’s struggling, trying not to think about [Pippa]’s room (she’s not named here, but it’s clear that’s the child he’s referring to). in the midst of this turmoil, he notices the height measurements on danny’s doorframe, and is overcome by the realization that there will never be any more above them. And then there are these heart-wrenching sentences: “For some people, tears dam behind the eyeballs. But when Hardy wants to cry, he has to hold them in using the back of his throat. He sometimes feels it’s the only strong muscle in his body.” yeah, c’mon, just fuck me up.

- Maggie being into women is present from the beginning here! She has a partner, Lil, whom we see/meet several times! First time she is referenced is when Rev. Paul Coates invites Maggie and everyone to that first church service about Danny. She mentions that a predecessor of his made it clear she was unwelcome there, once. He assures her that’s not him, and that she is welcome, and Lil too. She says something like “as it should be, “ and ends the convo without indicating whether or not she will come. Excellent.

- At one point the inside of Ellie’s car is compared to the inside of a bin/trash can, with empty cans and food wrappers strewn about. This further reinforces my theory that Ellie and Alec need each other to balance out their eating habits to something actually healthy. He eats very well, as far as nutrition is concerned, but he just sort of stops eating when there is work to be done. She is going to eat, goddamnit, come hell or high water, but it is plenty likely to be anything from an entire loaf of bread to whatever the vending machine has. It’s a wonder neither of them has died of malnutrition. (she also makes mention that she’s lost weight, in a probably unhealthy way, by the end of the investigation, and has a sudden realization that she’s maybe kind of, turning into Hardy).

- End of Chapter 17, Ellie offers a hand to help Hardy in or out of a boat, he has a realization “unexpectedly painful” that he cannot remember the last time he held a woman’s hand.

- In general the poor bastard really is constantly on the edge of vertigo and panic attacks.

- Reminds me again, whatever did happen with Ellie’s sister??? did we ever see any kind of furtherance or resolution of her gambling issues in the later seasons?

- Oh Shit. “I didn’t take your money.” The money Joe gave Danny, that SOCCO found taped beneath his bed, that was Ellie’s holiday money, and she assumed her sister had stolen it. Shit. What a shitbag.

- One of Hardy’s favorite things about Tess was the ability to come home, throwing last minute ideas and theories at each other, being able to pass idle thoughts back and forth, turn them over, hear them in a new light, and see what they grow into. (incidentally, exactly what he’s developing with Ellie)

- The exchange between Alec and Ellie after SOCCO Brian hits on her is great here as well. She giggles, he asks her why, she figures she needs to share this with someone, and tells him. she thinks “his face froze in another one of his Does-Not-Compute expressions”. So he seems just as weird to her as to us, does a terrible job hiding the awkward nerd within. And she totally thinks it’s cute. Bet me. Goes on to think, after they talk about SOCCO having dirty hands, “ ‘Dirty Brian’, Hardy says, with a playful roll of the ‘R’ ”. They’re totally playing with each other and it’s adorable. “She thinks to herself that it’s the first moment of genuine humor they’ve had between them, so of course she immediately messes it up.” asking about Sandbrook.

- Oh Shit, Jack’s wife shows up at his funeral. hides her identity the entire time, and Spits in Karen-the-reporter’s face before she gets in a car and disappears again.

- Hardy has a panic attack after calling Daisy and giving up for the night. “I can’t do this, Hardy hears himself say, and the words are followed by an agonizing pain, a huge fist squeezing his heart to the bursting point. He staggers back until he hits a wall, and slides helplessly down it. Hardy assumes his childhood comfort position, knees pulled up to his chest, so close that he can rest his chin there. Experience tells him that he can hold this pose for hours and hours. He remains motionless amidst the debris of his investigation until his heart rate returns to its version of normal. By the time he gets up with a low wheeze and click of joints, it is dark outside.”

- Ellie calls Joe to say she’s still stuck at her desk and she’ll be late, on the night Susan Wright is arrested. He says it’s okay, but she can hear in his voice that it is not. (So, is that the last straw? she keeps staying late, it’s clear that this shit is going to drag on forever, and his family and life are NOT going to return to normal, no matter if he keeps getting away with his crime? And this is the window, his only window maybe, where she might be too busy to intercept if he confesses? This is the opportunity to confess to Hardy, and not her?) because very shortly thereafter (and leaving his kids alone and unwatched???) they receive the call from Danny’s mobile, and they catch him out at the cabin... and holy shit, even knowing it’s her (and he must know it’s her), he slams the cabin door open into her face, probably hard enough to beak her nose, and then minutes later shoves her to the ground so hard the reader spends a moment wondering if she’s broken her wrist.

- AND THE FUCKER TENDERLY PICKS GRAVEL OUT OF THE CUTS THAT NIGHT

- (if someone wanted to write an AU, one where he is also injured that night, and his failure to hide that injury tips her off the next day, or that night, and so she is the one to put together the pieces.... and arrest him? god that would be heartbreaking. But perhaps would enable a situ where she doesn’t beat the shit out of him in custody, thereby invalidating his confession, so that shit actually sticks...)

- When Hardy gives the interview to Maggie and Ollie, the book makes it clear that he expects his confession of being cheated on is going to cause them to regard him with pity and shame. He is embarrassed to have been cheated on. He calls himself a cuckold in his head. poor bastard. so confused when they respond with empathy and admiration for him, and disapproval and dismissal toward his wife.

- Happily, an answer to the argument Jack saw, between the Postal worker and Danny. Turns out, the punk had had his truck keyed, and knew Danny on his paper route was one of the only ppl who would have been out and about at the right time of night/morning to have done it. he confronted Danny, and that’s what Jack witnessed. He comes clean to the police towards the end, insists that that is as far as it ever went, and admits that he lied because he was afraid that having had that argument, having had sort-of-a-motive, that would make him a suspect.

- Fuck, I mean, we all know Joe is dangerous, but talking Danny back off the cliff and back into the house consciously with his paramedic voice, with the kind of experience and calm honed over years of professional work... goddamn, so many ways in which he had power over young Danny.

- The moment she believes Joe could have done it. She says it can’t have been him, because the boat was burned while she was away. He would have had to leave the kids alone while he did it, and he would never take that risk. Hardy confirms that he did, that he left them, and Ellie (immediately believes Hardy, btw) finally truly understands that the moral partner she’s been building a family with no longer exists, if he ever did in the first place.

- Hardy briefly considering telling Ellie about Tess, to empathize with her pain and betrayal, and immediately knowing the situations are too different to be useful. being disappointed in himself for having thought it. pulling on every little bit of experience and training he’s ever had to try to get through the conversation.

- Oh shit. the slug trails. the slug. that little bit of symbolism didn’t feel established in the tv series, she just squishes a slug the last time she enters the house. but in the novel, her merry war trying to find the slug is a constant recurring thing, seeing the trails on the carpet, but never able to find it, the thing only coming out when they’re asleep, Joe cleaning up the slug trails after they come back from vacation. Her staring at them in despair as she cries into the carpet one night, over Danny. and then, after Joe has been revealed, she comes home and there the bastard is, big fat slug that’s been lurking in her house all this time, sitting, glistening, in plain sight. and she squishes the hell out of it. And I was so caught up in the story that, even though I BEEN KNEW how it was gonna end, I never picked up on the fucking foreshadowing until that last moment. Am I just dense, or is it just good storytelling? XD

#Broadchurch #ds ellie miller #di alec hardy #it was well worth having read the novel #orlistened to it #actally #since that's what I do #my meta #broadchurch resources

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theajaheira · 5 years

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spooky scary skeletons (or: two opposing approaches to halloween)

so my creative writing class has FINALLY reached the fiction unit, which means!! that i’m gonna be writing a whole lot for jenny and miss charlotte and the gang!!! because i love them still and always!!!!

@ every single person who has said in a review on one of my fics “i would love to read some of your original work” .....now’s ur chance.

For Halloween, Jenny decided to dress up as a vampire. Miss Charlotte had attempted to point out that anything Jenny wore at all would be “dressing up as a vampire,” seeing as Jenny was, in fact, a vampire. Jenny had responded to this by picking up her fake set of glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs, putting them on over her actual vampire fangs, and saying “I VANT TO SUCK YOUR BLOOD” loudly enough to startle Oliver into falling into the coatrack.

Miss Charlotte had then given up on making Jenny see reason and had gone back to crafting her own actually imaginative Halloween costume. She wasn’t going to go as anything related to being a Lady of the Flame, even though she was one, because that would be tacky. And boring. And Halloween was about trying on new things, not living perpetually in the same old skin.

“So what are you thinking?” said Tasha through a mouthful of red licorice, sitting down on the top of Miss Charlotte’s desk.

“It’s a surprise,” said Miss Charlotte. “What about you?”

“Nat and I are gonna match,” said Tasha happily. “It’s gonna be a couple thing. She’s peanut butter, I’m jelly. You know, ‘cause—”

“Peanut butter and jelly?” said Miss Charlotte dryly.

“No, I mean I’m jelly ‘cause I’m always jelly when Nat notices a cute girl,” said Tasha, sounding deeply proud of herself. “Get it? Jelly? Like jealous?”

Miss Charlotte snorted into her coffee and had to pretend her mouth wasn’t twitching. “I suppose,” she said.

“HAHA NAT WE MADE MISS CHARLOTTE LAUGH!” shouted Tasha across the room. Natalie, who was sitting at her desk and paging through the cases that needed solving, looked up to give Tasha a frankly sappy grin in return. “Aww, see that?” said Tasha. “You made Nat smile!”

Miss Charlotte decided not to (correctly) point out that it was really Tasha who had elicited the smile. “Always glad to be a source of cheer in these trying times,” she said.

“Charles, you’ve got coffee on your sweater,” said Jenny, bending down to dab at Miss Charlotte’s blouse with a napkin. “And on that nice white blouse, too. You good?”

“I was attacked by humor,” said Miss Charlotte. “It won’t stain.” To prove her point, she waved her hand, vanishing the coffee from her sweater and blouse in less than a second. “Are you still hell-bent on being as unimaginative as possible with regards to Halloween?”

“It’s a joke,” Jenny countered, grinning. “It’s funny.”

“Funny is peanut butter and jelly,” said Miss Charlotte. (Next to her, Tasha fist-pumped.) “Funny is not you pulling out a tired joke and wearing it as a costume.”

Jenny frowned. “So, uh, you’re unusually combative today,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I AM JUST VERY SERIOUS ABOUT HALLOWEEN,” said Miss Charlotte a little too loudly. Oliver, still recovering from Jenny and her glow-in-the-dark fangs, lost his balance and fell into another coatrack.

“…okay,” said Jenny, but her frown hadn’t gone away. “You’d let me know if it was something else, though, right?”

“Obviously,” said Miss Charlotte derisively, and took a long sip of her coffee, glaring at the table with enough force that it sparked slightly.

“Please don’t set fire to my office,” said Jenny, patting Miss Charlotte’s shoulder as she headed over to check on Oliver. “Hey, bro. How’s it going? Need some water?”

“You know, Jenny has a point,” said Tasha, frowning slightly. “It’s a little weird for you to get this up in arms about a non-funny joke. Usually if a joke doesn’t land, you just roll your eyes and ignore it.”

“Excellent observation,” said Miss Charlotte. “Perhaps you should join a supernatural detective agency and work to solve paranormal mysteries. Oh, wait.” She took a longer sip of her coffee, set it down, and headed back over to her desk. Perhaps ignoring it would, in fact, be a good idea. It, of course, being Tasha’s queries: she had no intention of letting this vampire-costume nonsense continue.

It did continue.

“What about this one?” said Jenny, holding up a star-spangled cape for the group to see.

“Hmm,” said Tasha with a thoughtful frown, tapping her finger against her chin. “Honestly, I’m getting more Dumbledore than Dracula there.”

“Seconded,” Oliver agreed. After a moment of consideration, he added proudly. “Perhaps it’s time for you to Nosfera-take in a few more options.”

Jenny doubled over laughing, dropping the cape. “God, that was horrible,” said Tasha. “Never attempt a vampire pun again in my presence, Olly.”

Miss Charlotte face-planted into one of the case files on her desk. No one noticed.

“So what about this one?” Jenny was saying.

“Okay, honest onion?” said Tasha. “When I look at that, my brain immediately goes, that’s what you’d wear if you were dating Miss Charlotte.”

Miss Charlotte’s head snapped up from her desk very fast.

“What—what does that mean?” Jenny laughed uncomfortably.

“Well,” said Tasha, taking a corner of the cape between thumb and forefinger and holding it up, “it’s all black, which is the usual vampire theme, but then it’s got all those flames at the hem, you know? And if you two were like an Addams Family power couple with coordinated looks, Miss Charlotte would obviously wear this really long flamey black-and-gold dress, and you’d wear a vampire cape, but it would have flames on it to remind everybody that your wife’s a kickass fire-witch.”

“Lady of the Flame,” corrected Miss Charlotte under her breath.

“Lady of the Flame,” said Jenny, still looking a little shaken. “So, uh, guess that’s a no to that cape then, right?”

Miss Charlotte’s stomach turned over. Under the table, she clenched her fists together until she could feel little half-moon bursts of pain. Then, very deliberately, she brought her hands back up and above the table, opened the case file again, and began to read it. None of the words seemed to register very well in her brain.

“How about this one?”

“Nah,” said Tasha. “I liked the fire one better.”

“But didn’t you say—”

“I Liked The Fire One Better,” said Tasha very pointedly. “I think it’s a good look for you.”

“You know what, Tash, let’s go outside for a sec,” said Jenny through gritted teeth, tugging Tasha out of the room and leaving a deeply perplexed Oliver behind. Miss Charlotte only halfway registered this interchange; her brain was still horribly stuck on Jenny’s words.

Guess that’s a no to that cape then, right?

A no to that cape.

A no to that.

No.

“I’m sorry to bother you while you’re working, Miss Charlotte,” said Oliver from next to her, “but do you have any idea what just transpired between Jenny and Tasha? I haven’t a clue.”

“This is a detective agency, isn’t it?” said Miss Charlotte. “Find one.” The case file swam in front of her. She took a long sip of coffee and felt almost better when it burned her tongue.

The Halloween office party was two days before Halloween itself, seeing as Jenny was hell-bent on spending the entire day of Halloween doing “spooky shit.” Most of this hypothetical “spooky shit” involved hanging around graveyards, handing out candy to kids when trick-or-treat time rolled around, and continuing to try and learn how to turn into a bat.

“She does know that the whole bat thing is a myth?” said Miss Charlotte to her slightly-spiked Halloween fruit punch. “There are no documented cases of vampires possessing the power to turn into a bat. Perseverance won’t change that.”

“So you’d rather talk to the punch than to us?” said Tasha playfully. “Well, that clocks.” She was, in fact, dressed as an oversized jar of jelly, complete with clearly-handmade earrings crafted to look like a bunch of grapes. “C’mon, dummy, the party’s over here! You can’t say you’re on the clock right now, can you?”

“…no,” said Miss Charlotte somewhat sulkily.

“Then come on,” said Tasha warmly, lacing her fingers with Miss Charlotte’s to pull her over to the group at large. The perturbed frown Natalie gave their hands made Miss Charlotte suspect that Tasha wasn’t quite the jelly in their relationship, which amused her enough that she was able to look up from her punch.

Though Jenny wasn’t currently wearing the godawful glow-in-the-dark fangs, she had decided on a traditional red-and-black cape with the collar turned up, and she was watching Miss Charlotte with a strangely worried expression. “Charlemagne, you’ve been off all week,” she said gently, no trace of humor in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Awkwardly, Miss Charlotte tugged her hand free of Tasha’s. “I’m fine,” she said stiffly. “This is a party, isn’t it? Not some sort of poorly-crafted intervention attempt?”

“Oh boy,” said Jenny. “You know what, guys, I’m gonna take Charcoal here out onto the patio. Keep my blood cocktail cold, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she placed Miss Charlotte’s cup of punch down on a nearby table, forcibly tucked Miss Charlotte’s hand into the crook of her arm, and tugged Miss Charlotte outside onto the patio, shutting the door behind them. “What gives?” she said. “Seriously. You have not been normal and it has been going on for long enough to become pretty goddamn concerning.”

“This is just the way I am,” said Miss Charlotte stubbornly. “Awkwardly standoffish, largely focused on my work. You’ve all seemed fine with it up till recently—”

“No, I know how you are,” said Jenny, reaching out to take Miss Charlotte’s hands.

Miss Charlotte flinched away.

Jenny’s eyes widened. “Charlotte?” she said. And that was serious, because Jenny never called her Charlotte. Ever. Frankly, no one called her Charlotte, it was always Miss Charlotte as she requested—

“I don’t like your Halloween costume,” blurted out Miss Charlotte.

Jenny frowned. “Yeah, I got that,” she said. “But what’s really wrong?”

“No, that’s—that is what’s really wrong,” said Miss Charlotte. She almost couldn’t look at Jenny. She kept on thinking about that discarded vampire cape, the one with the flames licking up from the hem. “You’re a vampire,” she said.

“Yes,” said Jenny.

“I don’t need to be re-reminded of how different from you I am,” said Miss Charlotte.

Jenny blinked. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” said Miss Charlotte.

“I mean, I kinda might have to, because I really don’t get it,” said Jenny, still frowning. She was beginning to look a little indignant. “I’ve always been a vampire, Charlotte. I don’t see how that changes anything between us.”

“Sometimes I forget, that’s all,” said Miss Charlotte stiffly, hugging her arms and staring back down at the floor.

“That’s really it?” said Jenny. “That you’re pissed off about having to remember that I’m a vampire?” There was an edge to her voice. “I’ve always been a vampire,” she said again.

“I know,” said Miss Charlotte. She suddenly felt very small.

“And frankly, it kinda sucks that suddenly you’re not cool with that.”

“I know,” said Miss Charlotte. “Which is why I did not want to bring it up. If I hadn’t been accosted—”

“I’m sorry, was I just not supposed to pick up on the fact that you’ve been avoiding me all week?” said Jenny coolly. “If you really didn’t want this to come up in conversation at some point, you’d have been better at hiding it.”

“This coming from the queen of un-subtle!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Wordlessly indignant, Miss Charlotte gestured towards the vampire costume.

“Being a vampire isn’t something I need to be subtle about,” said Jenny. “It’s a part of me.It’s something that the people I care about are gonna have to deal with, whether they like it or not.” She swallowed, hard. “That doesn’t mean I’m not good at hiding stuff when I want to.”

“Well—”

“What is it that you really want me to know?” said Jenny, and she sounded almost desperate. “Really?”

“I—”

“C’mon, Charlotte,” said Jenny. “Please. You have to be honest with me about this.”

And for a moment, Miss Charlotte considered telling her the realer, deeper truth of the matter: you’re going to live forever, and I’m not. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I’m a footnote in yours. But she couldn’t stomach the thought of ageless sympathy in Jenny’s eyes. Mortals fell in love with Jenny all the time, Miss Charlotte was sure. Who wouldn’t? It was Jenny, after all.

“I don’t have to be honest with you about anything,” she spat, and stormed away, through the Halloween party and through the office and out the door of the Do-Gooders’ Detective Agency. She had forgotten to grab her coat. Still in her flimsy faerie queen costume, her filmy wings felt like they were shivering in the wind.

“Charlotte—!”

Exhausted and heartsick, Miss Charlotte turned. Jenny looked just as miserable and drawn-out as she felt. “I didn’t mean to push you, okay?” Jenny said. “If it’s not something you’re ready to talk about, I—I understand that. I just…” She let out a breath. “For someone who’s been alive a really long time, I guess I can get kinda bad at waiting around to help the people I care about. I should have waited until you felt okay enough to tell me what’s bothering you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” said Miss Charlotte flatly, staring down at her delicate green slippers. “You were trying to help. It’s what you do.”

Jenny stepped forward, placing a gentle hand at Miss Charlotte’s elbow. Cold as it was, the touch warmed Miss Charlotte to the bone. “Come back inside,” she said softly. “Everyone’s really been missing your classically standoffish charm. We’ve all been pretty concerned, you know.”

“I know,” said Miss Charlotte unsteadily.

“And—” Jenny hesitated, then took off her vampire cape, draping it awkwardly over Miss Charlotte’s fairy wings. “You look cold,” she said.

“I’m a Lady of the Flame,” said Miss Charlotte waspishly. “I can warm myself up, thank you—”

Jenny tucked the cape a little more closely around Miss Charlotte, then moved her hand up to gently tuck one of Miss Charlotte’s blond curls behind her ear. Miss Charlotte closed her eyes involuntarily at Jenny’s touch, shuddering softly.

“Oh,” said Jenny, her voice catching. “Is that what this is?”

Miss Charlotte didn’t dare open her eyes again.

She felt Jenny move forward—and then Jenny stopped, hand still resting against Miss Charlotte’s cheek. A long moment passed before Jenny pulled away again. “I should get back to the party,” she said unsteadily.

Miss Charlotte’s eyes were still shut. She didn’t think she could bear to open them and see the pity in Jenny’s gaze. “Yes,” she said. “You should.”

#my writing #the do gooders #oc tag #jenny x miss charlotte #jenny callahan #miss charlotte novak #tasha may #with a hint of idiot boy oliver bc i love him too

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hardyimagines · 6 years

Text

Part 2 —A Little Bit of Something

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First of all! Your Baker series with Alfie saves me from utter boredom whilst I’ve been on my bum sick so thank you 🙏 Can I get an Alfie x reader where she isn’t a gangster but she’s kinda like Tommy’s Assistant/stand in date for events, and Alfie gets an embarrassing crush on her? 😝

Requested by: @kitcatimpala67

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 5k

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Work, the following day, was hectic. Ollie was back on his feet, feeling better after the hangover he’d endured. Though he was feeling better, things were still chaotic, but it was nice to see him, bustling around, helping to complete necessary tasks. You were tying the laces on the front of your dress tightly closed, hair disheveled and socks uneven. You were running a little late. Your heels clicked loudly against the stairs as you climbed each one, pace hurried. Alfie’s voice was echoing throughout the distillery, loud and angry, but you couldn’t tell from where. Angry actually didn’t do his frustration justice. He was livid. “You’re a bunch of fucking children!” You heard him bellow. “Right, you can’t fucking do anything! You stand around, yeah, all fucking day, sniggering and joking and running your fucking mouths, yeah, you fucking do, and now we’ve fallen behind, right, we fucking have.” He growled lowly. His eyes were shining brightly, an ignited fire that was ready to unleash itself even more on the straight-faced blokes. You peered into his office. It was clear. Hurriedly moving inside, you approached your desk, gathering the many, many things you assumed you’d need. If Alfie was angry that meant this was going to be a very long day. “Chip.” He muttered. “Get out of here, you ain’t done nothing but work, lad.” Your head turned over your shoulder as his voice softened. Surely he wasn’t finished yelling at the men yet. These little disciplinary reminders usually lasted at least 30 minutes.

Chip pushed his curly hair out of his face before giving a short nod of thanks to Alfie. The boy held his hair out of his face before weaving through the dirt-covered men, hurrying toward the exit. His shoes hit the ground audibly as he scurried off, ready to get back to work because he didn’t want to ever be the target or reason for one of Alfie’s lectures. The boy had his eyes on the sticky floor, swearing inwardly. Why did he have to work with a bunch of idiots? It wasn’t hard to do your job. Follow the rules. Keep your mouth shut. Obey, obey, obey. Obeying kept you out of trouble. Chip turned the corner sharply, roughly running into you as you descended the stairs and turned the corner as well. His features were twisted into an expression of fear before morphing into one of apology. “Oh, Miss!” He gripped your elbows gently. “I’m sorry.” The papers in your hands had fallen free from your grasp, flying this way and that. They were scattered across the floor, no doubt covered in the fallen alcohol that already stained the floor. “Don’t apologize, Chip, I would’ve been running just as fast.” You smiled assuringly before kneeling down to gather the files. He leaned down to help you, but kept his gaze off of the pages. It wasn’t his business what they said. “Yes ma’am.” He nodded gently, smile gracing his pink lips. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for him in a way. He deserved a good, high-paying job, but Alfie treated him well enough, so you didn’t feel too bad. The devil’s voice shook through the distillery once more, causing you to jump at the unexpectedness. “You’d best go calm him down, miss, he’s liable to start swinging.” Chip whispered, amusement floating in his auburn orbs as he handed the documents back over to you. Giving a soft bob of your head, you squeezed the boy’s hand before standing. “Don’t work yourself too hard, Chip, okay?” The boy flushed beneath your gaze before directing his attention to the floor. “I’ll try, Miss.” With that, the boy slipped past you, moving down the corridor and back to his designated working area. You smiled fondly. He’d always had a bit of a crush on you, that’s what Alfie said. Watching the boy disappear behind the bucket of liquor, you continued on your way down the hall and toward the shouting.

There was a room, specifically used for these little talks. Alfie would gather all the men in one room and yell at them about the mistakes they’d been making. You assumed this was also his way of releasing his anger. The clicking of your heels echoed around the room and every man looked to you gratefully. Usually your presence eased Alfie’s anger, but because he was befuddled over the feelings he had for you, the fire in his eyes spread throughout his body. “Get out, Y/N.” He muttered before licking his lips. His hand tightened around the cane he held in his right hand, fingertips grazing the wood as the bottom of it dug into the floor roughly. You made no movement to leave. “Alfie, there’s more work that needs to be done. You’re wasting time, standing here, shouting at them.” Alfie spun toward you, cane hitting the floor loudly as he approached. You didn’t budge and your face didn’t change from it’s calm expression. “What are you gonna do, Mr. Solomons?” You spoke clearly, unafraid. “Shout at your girlfriend in front of your employees?” The same fire in his eyes now shone brightly in your own. Shoving the files in your hands into his chest, he struggled to grab ahold of them before throwing them into the corner with a growl as you boldly turned on your heel to leave the room, but he caught your hand quickly, hauling you back. “You fucking what?” He barked. Alfie’s hand was gently curled around your own, but his eyes were pulled into a squint, teeth grinding together as he clenched his jaw and furrowed his brows. Though he was trying to scare you with his hardened stare, you remained unfazed. “You heard me.” You spoke audibly. The room was silent, so every word exchanged by the two of you was heard by the men.

Alfie growled lowly, casting a look toward the workers, before beginning to back you up and out of the room. “What the fuck are you playing at?” He growled softly, hand meeting the wall as he leaned against it, hand releasing your own so he could instead hold his cane. “You’re not my girlfriend.” He pointed out. “We went on a date.” You arched a brow. “Easy, Mr. Solomons, you might break my heart.” You whispered before shifting in front of him. “You drug me into this, calling me your date and blah blah blah, but you can’t expect Tommy Shelby to think we are a couple and then nobody else at work.” Alfie let out a low sigh of exasperation. “That’s exactly what I expected, right he doesn’t talk to fucking anybody here. He comes in for business, yeah, then he fucking leaves, and now you’ve got all these gents, you, yeah, you’ve got them all thinking we’re some kind of couple.” He curled his fingers and hit the wall roughly. You, unfazed by his action, folded your arms, studying him. “Then turn around and tell them the truth,” You retorted. “instead of hauling me out the door so you can shout at me in private.” Alfie let his head tilt back, begging for some patience. “You’ve fucked me, ” He whispered. “Actually, I haven’t, not yet.” You cut him off. His head sprang back to face you, bewildered at your words. “fucked me over, Y/N.” He shook his head, tongue gliding over his lips to wet them. “Now we’ve got to act like a couple at work, I can’t go, yeah, and tell them we ain’t together. Billy, yeah, billy fucking kitchen, he’s a pal of Thomas’s, so he’ll run right back and tell him whatever it is he knows.” He inhaled deeply, the fire in his eyes dying. “Why does it even matter if Thomas thinks you’re dating anybody? It’s not a bad thing to be single.” You whispered quietly, tone completely changed now.

Alfie shrugged his shoulders. “It looks better for business and socially, it makes you more acceptable.” He rubbed his teeth together before shuffling on his feet. “Well, you volunteered for this.” He reminded you before taking a small step back and moving back into the room with the men. You followed. “Right, she wasn’t meant to run her fucking mouth, but she’s gone and done it anyway, hasn’t she.” He clenched his jaw. “So, lads, now you know we’re together..” The man looked to each of them. “Hands off her. Eyes off her. Don’t even fucking think about trying anything, yeah, it’ll be your ass out on the street, jobless and broke.” With that, Alfie spun on his heel and moved from the room, leaving you alone and in front of them. Hell, was this really how he treated someone he was dating. Swallowing quietly, you spun on your heel and followed after him hurriedly, heels loud as they hit the floor. “Alfie.” You called, but he didn’t stop. “Alfie!” The man spun around to face you, ready to shout again. Now, you were the one he wanted to let his anger out on. The fire in his chest was lit again, burning his lungs. “Fucking woman, listen here, yeah, you-“ You tuned him out. His finger was pointed toward you, jabbing in your direction with every venomous word he shot toward you. Well, you assumed he was being rude, simply because he looked livid and sounded livid. His eyes were wide and wild, boring into you so firmly you thought a hole would form in your face. He didn’t ease up or stop his shouting, so you stepped forward. “Alfie!” You yelled, grabbing his attention. His breathing was heavy, loud puffs of air escaping his nostrils as his chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. “Everyone in this entire place can hear you, you know?” Alfie arched a brow. “Did you not listen to a word I just said?” The entirety of his yelling had been about how he didn’t want you coming into the room when he was telling his men off. He didn’t want any of them ogling you for too long and you’d given them the privilege to do so. You drew your bottom lip in, teeth sinking firmly into the flesh. “No.” You told him truthfully. “I wasn’t listening, I don’t enjoy being shouted at.”

Alfie sighed gently. “I’m sorry.” He muttered before moving his hand to the back of his head. “I didn’t mean to fucking shout, pet, right, I’m just a bit agitated. We’ve got a lot of fucking work to get done and my men, yeah, they’re too busy fucking around to get anything done and it’s very stressful, right, it is, and I don’t know what to do about it.” You listened carefully to what he said, a small frown etched on your face. “Alfie.” You whispered softly before sighing. “Things will come together. You need to fire the men that are being distractions and find new men to take their place.” Moving forward, your small hands moved to his chest, gazing up at him. “Things will get better, I promise.” Your hand snaked up to his collar, gripping it gently as you tugged him forward. Lifting yourself on to your toes so you could kiss him and relieve some of his pent up anger, your eyes fluttered shut. The door in the corner flew open and once again, the two of you were interrupted. Your hot breaths were mingling, lips centimeters apart, so close to touching, but when the chatter from the men piled into the room, you lowered yourself back down, flat on your feet. Alfie rubbed his lips together as if he could feel the sensation from your own, pressed against his, but he couldn’t. His eyes fell shut and now he was even more pissed off. The man turned on his heel, shoulders broadening as he made his way toward the stairs and up to his office. You casted a glance around the room, studying the men. “Never,” You spoke clearly. “Interrupt us again.” Directing your pointed gaze to each man in the room, you stormed out too, but you were too afraid to go to Alfie’s office, so you instead went to find Ollie.

In the same small room where you’d found Ollie before, hungover and unable to work, you found him again. Ollie was sat on the sofa, legs propped up on the table as he sipped his glass of alcohol. “Hey, Ol.” You smiled softly, allowing the door to slide shut behind you. “Hello, Mrs. I’m dating Alfie Solomons, but didn’t bother to tell anybody.” You squinted. “It was his decision to keep it a secret.” You told him softly before entering the room further. The light in the center of the room was golden, beaming down brightly on the inhabitants. The glow from the fireplace merely shone just as brightly, illuminating what little shadow was left behind from the bulb. “Do you think you’ve got enough light?” You smiled lazily before dropping down on the swirl-printed sofa. Your legs joined Ollie’s on top of the counter, crossing at the ankle. Your white socks were on show as your dress fell to rest by your knees. One sock was drawn up to reside around the top of your boot and the other was folded messily inside, wrapped snugly around your ankle. Your head fell back to rest against the seat, lips popping to noisily let out a sound of boredom. “I’m going blind.” He muttered playfully, eyes glued to the book he had opened on his lap. “Since when do you find Alfie attractive?” He muttered, eyes drifting to you for only a second as he turned to the next page. “What?” You lifted a brow. “I suppose I’ve always found him attractive, but he’s my boss so I never thought anything would happen.” Picking at your nails, you pinched the dead skin around your fingers and pulled it off, a nervous habit. “He treats you good?” Ollie muttered. “Course he does.” You smiled. “Why, are you gonna kick his ass if he doesn’t?” The amusement on your face was evident. “For sure.” He mumbled, not as visibly amused, but the sparkle in his eyes said differently. The room was silent after that, only the quiet crackling of the wood and sparks, joined with the occasional turning of Ollie’s book, filled the room. The clock in the corner was silent as the hands moved in circles around the border. It was twelve. “Lunch.” You pointed out to Ollie before standing.

The lad made no movement. “Go enjoy it with your boyfriend.” He smirked. “I’m taking chip down the road to get some food.” As Ollie stood, you couldn’t help but ogle him. “Chip?” You whispered quietly. “Mh, he’s a good boy.” You nodded before opening the door. “Tell him I’ll take him out later this week?” It wasn’t really a question, but you’d phrased it as one. Making your way out of the small room, you headed toward the stairs to Alfie’s— well, it was your office too. You’d never get use to climbing twenty steps a day, up and down, up and down, so when you reached the top, you heaved a sigh of relief before opening the door and stepping inside.

Thomas Shelby sat across from Alfie and you bit your lip in surprise and apology. “Mr. Shelby.” You tipped your head toward him before looking to Alfie. “I’m sorry I didn’t knock, love, just came to get my lunch.” You explained softly before trying to read Alfie’s gaze. His eyes were wide and pleading, but you weren’t sure why. Thomas licked his lips before setting his unlit cigarette down on the desk and turning in his chair to face you. “Why don’t you sit in on the meeting? We’re discussing the next dinner arrangements.” You lifted a brow slowly. “Mr. Shelby, will I ever have Alfie to myself?” You shot him a grin before stepping toward your desk. One step and Alfie cleared his throat. “Right, pet, come here, don’t be shy, yeah.” Your brows furrowed lightly. “I’m not being shy Alfie..” you spoke softly, unsure what he expected from you. “Then why haven’t you kissed me? Ain’t seen you all fucking day, have I, right, then you come in and don’t bother saying hello.” You were confused. He wanted you to kiss him? Just like that? Licking your lips, your small fingers wrapped around each other. “Youre entirely too desperate, I think I’ll have to find another lover.” Tommy couldn’t hide his smirk at your words. Folding his arms, he looked to Alfie. “Right, okay, Tommy, does Grace greet you with a kiss? Yeah, I bet she fucking does.” Thomas nodded once, removing his lighter from his pocket so he could light the end of the stick. In those few seconds, when the flame made its presence known and kissed the end of Tommy’s cigarette, you crossed the room to give Alfie exactly what he’d asked for. It wasn’t the way you wanted your first kiss with him to be, so you wouldn’t let it linger. Not at all. The second you dipped your head to press your lips to his own, he’d leaned in, more eager than any man you’d ever met. Your mouths connected for hardly a second before you pulled back, ignoring the tingling sensation of enjoyment that tickled your lips. “Shes a fucking tease.” Alfie whispered softly, shrinking back in his seat as he looked to Thomas. “Maybe she doesn’t like an audience.” Tommy pointed out before sighing. “Right, I told you what I came for, so I’ll see you tonight?” He stood, adjusting the position of his coat before he bid goodbye to Alfie and then to you. His coat swished along with his movements as he turned on his heel and left.

“What the hell was that about?” You whispered the second the man had left the room. “The kiss or the meeting?” He asked, eyes glued to the paper, scribbled on with permanent ink. “Both.” You stated, hands finding your curvy hips. “He’s asked us to join him for dinner again.” He spoke softly, lifting the spectacles around his neck to his eyes. “Care to join me?” The room was silent for a few moments, very quiet until he set the paper down and fixed you with an inquisitive look. You nodded softly. “Sure..” You answered softly, simultaneously taking a few steps toward your desk. “And the kiss?” You lowered yourself down on to the chair in the corner, breaths deepening due to the topic. “Ah, pet, that was hardly a fucking kiss, right, your mouth was on mine for a second, maybe.” You looked at him in confusion. “I didn’t think it polite for me to shove my tongue down your throat in front of him, Alfie.” The man grunted roughly. “Would’ve been a hell of a lot better than a bird’s peck.” Your brows furrowed. “I’ll do better next time.” You assured him, unsure of why he was complaining so much. At least you’d kissed him. “Do you even know how to kiss, pet? We’ve had the opportunity, right, quite a few fucking times, and yeah people get in the way, yeah, they fucking do, but you pull back so fast, it makes me fucking think, yeah, that you have no experience with kissing.” The man was rubbing his fingers together in thought, eyes distant as he replayed the moments of almost-kisses in his head. You frowned visibly. “Of course I know how to kiss.” It was obvious that you were offended, to some extent, so Alfie shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that, right, I’m really asking, out of sheer fucking curiosity.”

The room was hot and you felt like you had to make a point. Your chair moaned as you stood, relieved as you lifted your weight off of it. It took you no time at all to cross the room, approaching Alfie with confidence and bravery. “Easy, girl.” He spoke softly, lowering his spectacles. “Whatever you do in private, that’s between you and I, meaning that if you kiss me right now, yeah, it’s because you want to, not because you have to.” He pointed out. His words were thin with warning and thick with want. He moved his arms away from his lap and instead settled them on the arms of his chair, as if inviting you to have a seat on his thighs. So you did. Practice made perfect and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting this lead to anything more than a kiss. Your small hands settled down on top of his forearms, leg lifting to settle beside his hip so you could smoothly sit down on top of him. Two years of friendship and two years of being nothing but a trustworthy person— assistant for Alfie, it would all go out the window if this lead to something more and that something led to nothing but shit. You didn’t care in the moment. You just wanted to kiss him. Your small hand lifted to the side of his cheek, guiding him forward and into you so when you finally kissed, he met you halfway. Your mouths fit together like missing pieces to a puzzle and you ignored the feelings of pleasure and delight that coursed through your body. Alfie’s lips were warm and full, bigger than your own, but they fit quite perfectly against your own, slanted neatly. His beard scratched your lips and chin, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation, just a new one. A new one that you wanted to feel many times after this. Your hand slid to the back of his head, nails roaming through his already messy hair as you kissed him. Your tongue slid smoothly over his own when he opened his mouth. You’d never been addicted to a kiss before. Never the taste, never the feel, never the man. You could feel the want growing in your stomach, but you ignored it easily. Alfie leaned back in his chair, head hitting the back of the seat as he gave into you fully. His sole focus was on your mouth, determined to show you how good of a kisser he was as well. His hands lifted away from the arms of the chair to instead hold your waist. His fingers sunk into the fabric of your dress, dragging your small body closer to his own. Alfie was quite noisy when kissing, which wasn’t what you’d expected. His kisses were accompanied by small grunts and groans of approval, noises which made your heart skip a beat. His noises prompted your own quiet mews of enjoyment.

The pair of you should’ve expected the intrusion. The door was opened wide and three men stood in the doorway. Chip was flushing a bright shade of red, hands wringing together around the dirty rag he clutched in his palms. “M-Mr. Solomons, Sir, I’m very sorry.” Ollie stood behind Chip, mouth agape and eyes flicking between you and Alfie. Your lips were swollen and red from the passionate kiss, cheeks similar in color from your embarrassment. You moved to climb off of Alfie, but he held you in place, dark eyes glazing over with annoyance at the boys. The third lad was just another worker who must’ve trotted alongside the other boys to give whatever news they’d come to deliver. Chip looked to Ollie who didn’t budge from his space until he was nudged by the unknown boy. “Mr. Solomons, there’s a man downstairs walking around. Nobody knows who he is or how he got in. We’ve come to ensure you knew about it. Looks Italian, Sir.” Alfie straightened, brows drawing together. “Up, lass.” He whispered. You eagerly leapt up from his lap before retreating over to the corner and setting down at your own desk, eyes low and hair effectively shielding your face. “Come on then, boys, show me where.” He grabbed his cane and revolver, tucking the weapon away in the deep pocket of his slacks. “You-“ He casted a glance in your direction, effectively drawing your attention to him. “Stay put. Don’t come wandering downstairs.” He growled lowly before making his way out of the room. Being told what to do didn’t sit well with you, now all you wanted to do was follow.

The curls that hung in front of your face were pushed back sharply before you stood. Peering out of the window in the office, you watched Alfie descend the stairs, hobbling along with his cane at his side. You folded your arms. Because you kissed him, did he think he had control over you? Your brain told you to sit the hell down and stop trying to make this a bigger deal than it was, but your heart lurched forward painfully, reminding you that all your life people had told you to ‘do this, do that, obey me, listen.’ Your hand wrapped around the doorknob, head falling foreward to rest against the wood. Alfie was your boss. You released the handle. You needed to listen to him. Stepping back and away from the door, you fell back on to the seat by your desk and shut your eyes. Everything would be okay.

It was okay. For ten minutes and then you heard a gun shot. The world seemed to stop in those few moments where you briefly wondered if it was Alfie who’d fired. But what if it wasn’t? Your body was up and off of the seat in seconds, heeled boots digging roughly into the floorboards as you moved toward the door. You threw the wood open and another shot fired. “Alfie!” You shouted loudly, eyes moving along the men as each one of them sprinted as quickly as they could toward the exit. You should’ve been doing the same, but you didn’t see Alfie in the pile. Ollie? Yes, he was running. Chip? He was hard to miss, he was at the front. Your feet carried you down the stairs, eyes wide and wild as the men, going in the opposite direction as you, pushed through you, chattering loudly as they hurriedly rushed. “You fucking cowards, Where’s Alfie!” You shouted over the lot of them, but nobody replied, they were too busy. Too busy leaving. The distillery was silent when the men finally left. There was no echo of their footsteps or shouting from their scattered voices. You made your way down the corridor, brows pulled together. Where was Alfie?

Coming to a stop at the end of the hall, you peered around the corner. He stood, shoulders broad and head tilted down at the body that lay on the floor. The blood that coated the hard ground was a bright red and very hard to miss. Alfie’s feet were stood in the puddle, revolver held in his right hand, aimed at the floor. “A-Alfie?” You spoke up softly. Your voice carried around the perimeter of the room, throat tightening when he didn’t respond. Had he been shot and the blood at his feet was a mixture of his and the man on the floor? The man on the ground was laid face down, unmoving. He had to be dead. You took a small step forward, moving so slowly and so cautiously, he wouldn’t have been able to hear you approaching, even if he’d been listening. When you reached the back of his body, your small hand lifted, gently pressing against his stiff back. “Alf-“ He spun around, ready to gun down anyone else who dare enter his business without his permission. His hand was locked around the back of your neck, gun lifting to press against the underside of your jaw, but he halted the second his eyes met yours. The frown on his face was evident and very deep. Dropping the unloaded gun on to the floor, it hit the pool of blood before he drew you in tightly to his chest, seeking the comfort only you’d ever been able to give him. Your small arms trapped him against you, curling around his neck securely as you held him close to you. “It’s alright.” You whispered against his ear.

It wasn’t. You had no idea who the man was, what he’d been in Alfie’s distillery for, why he was snooping around, or where the hell he had come from, but Alfie had put a single bullet straight through the center of the man’s head and another in his heart. Whatever the man had said to Alfie, he hadn’t taken lightly. Despite your words of comfort, he nuzzled into your further, searching for something more. He was touching you as if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if he needed proof. “What did he say, Alfie?” You whispered softly, brows drawing together in confusion, but you didn’t pull away and even if you’d tried, you were sure he’d tighten his grip. His hands were gentle as they slid along your back, lips so close to the skin of your cheek, you couldn’t tell if he was contemplating kissing your skin or if he was just hunched over in such a position that that was what it seemed like. He offered no verbal response so you pressed a little harder. Turning your head to the side, your nose brushed against his own, fingers lifting away from his back to instead find his cheek. “Alfie..” His lips were so close to your own. You would’ve kissed him if he hadn’t spoken. “The Italians found out my weakness.” Your brows drew together, lips twitching as his breaths hit your mouth, waiting for him to continue. What the hell was his weakness? Your eyes searched his silently, thumb grazing his facial hair. He closed his eyes so you assumed he enjoyed it. He could feel the curiosity radiating off of you. The need to know what his weakness was, so he finally spoke up. “You.”

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Tagged: @thatsamegirl @peakyhoegh @ihclipse @callisen @hardygal69 @centerhabit @favouritereadings @goodiesintheclosetlove @buckypetal15 @kitcatimpala67 @captstefanbrandt @meer0rauschen

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I hope you guys enjoyedddd this!!!!!!! AGAIN sorry to leave you randomly in the middle, but everything will play out better in the next chapter, otherwise this would’ve been like a 10,000 worded one😂 which I doubt you guys would mind. Maybe the next one I’ll make super long (;

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

#alfie solomons #peaky blinders #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fic #tom hardy fanfiction

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m-oana-archive · 6 years

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Heartsease: A Wolfstar fanfiction

Part Ten: “Are You Terrified of This?”

read part one two three four five six seven eight nine

POV: Sirius | Words: 5057 | Beta: @inflictionofopinions <3 | read on AO3

Sirius’ family hadn’t ever been religious. His childhood memories never consisted of Bible entries or prayers at Synagogue, Kwanzaa celebrations or being told the stories of the brightly and intricately illustrated Hindu gods.

But with Remus’ lips against his, the aftertaste of Remus’ morning coffee now resting deep down Sirius’ throat, Sirius found himself praying.

Take me right here, right now, Sirius thought to whatever immortal entity he hoped would stop and listen. I have all I’ve ever wanted. Kill me while I’m happy so it can never be taken from me. So he can never be taken from me.

To no avail, tilting his head, letting Remus guide it, Sirius waited. At first, his stomach dropped when he could still feel Remus’ fingertips, so full of life, cupping his face. But just as quickly, Sirius became grateful; if Remus had cared for Sirius even a fraction as much as Sirius loved Remus, which was alluded to, Remus would be sure to feel intolerable grief if Sirius were to die.

So Sirius squeezed Remus between his arms. Remus’ sweater scratched against his knuckles but it was a small price to pay for getting to feel Remus sigh down his throat. So was living. And living for years thinking he’d never get here, with Remus’ tongue in his mouth and his heart in his hands. That reciprocation was just a dream he always woke up from far too soon in the night, only to be forced to fall back asleep watching the very subject of intangible desires snore from across the room, moonlight shadowing his face with accidental beauty and making the scene resemble some romantic painting.

Remembering that torment, the sleeplessness and sadness, the nights alone loving Remus from so close yet so far away, Sirius dug his fingertips further into Remus’ skin. He was finally with Remus and there was no way he would ever let him go. How foolish of him to think death was appropriate: the world was just doused in a fresh layer of paint, the air cleaned, Sirius’ faith in love restored, and death was what he sought?

I was wrong. Don't kill me. Let me be with him for as long as I’ve got.

Even though he was just introduced to them, Sirius knew he could never get sick of Remus’ lips, their feeling, their taste, their shape. Still, air felt almost equally intoxicating as it filled Sirius’ lungs once Remus pulled away. It had just been cleansed; it made sense.

From wherever they had been—Sirius’ hair? His face?—Remus’ hands trailed down Sirius’ body until they reached his hands, holding them, leaving his skin gasping in their wake. Sirius couldn’t be quite sure of the path Remus’ hands took, as his eyes were busy admiring Remus’ face, how his cheeks were more pink than tan, how his lips were more purple than pink. And all as beautiful as always.

Remus’ hands felt like clouds cupping his. It was as if Remus was afraid to touch Sirius too forcefully, perhaps in over-eagerness or lack of experience or a combination of the two. Maybe he was making up for the fact he had just kissed Sirius as if air was sucked from Earth and the only way to keep living was to steal all of the oxygen from Sirius’ lungs, to take it for himself. But Sirius hadn’t minded at all; in fact, his head could do little else but ponder over the flawlessness of the kiss. However, from Remus’ unsteady glances and reddened cheeks, Sirius guessed Remus believed he had overshot. He looked at Sirius as if expecting that he was going to break apart from being overwhelmed, one piece at a time.

But Sirius had never felt so solid. His skin was tougher, his breathing easier. Even his feet felt more firmly planted in the ground, despite the spring showers that had softened the soil on the hillside.

The problem: Sirius didn’t know how to express this, or if Remus would even understand what he meant by it. So in a moment of worry, Sirius blurted out, “You’re a great kisser.”

Of course, that wasn’t what he had me ant at all, but at least Remus seemed to understand. “Thanks,” he laughed. “I’m glad my first review is so positive.”

Sirius’ mind whirled. “Your first review? You mean you’ve never… was I your first kiss?”

The smile leftover from Remus’ laughter brightened, although he said at the same time, and quite seriously, “Pads, do you really think I wouldn’t have told you and Prongs the second after I had kissed someone?”

“I guess. But that means Steph…” Remus was shaking his head before Sirius could even finish the thought; the end of the sentence died in Sirius’ throat. He could feel how impossibly wide his jaw hung at the affirmation. It wasn’t as if Remus hadn’t established how seriously he took the physical aspects of relationships—one of the reasons Sirius believed his chances with Remus were especially fucked after seeing him and James holding hands—or Sirius felt any emotion other than agreement at Remus’ reservation, despite what rumors might have said about his overuse of the bedroom.

The shock, therefore, came from something else. The fact that anyone held the self-control to not kiss Remus the second they got the chance.

Therefore, he was shaking his head in disbelief and holding his eyes open wide when he asked, “why not?”

A grin cracked across Remus’ face. “You.”

His cheeks were flushed and his glance uncertain and he kept stuttering through words. “I was just.. uh, you see, I figured if I held on for long enough for us to get together, granted we would, then you’d be my first kiss.”

Suddenly, the ground under Sirius’ feet felt significantly more unstable.

With knees buckled, he tumbled into Remus’ chest, cheek pressed against the fabric of his sweater. Luckily, the accidental motion hid scorching redness that resulted from Remus’ laughter of, “That’s not even the only first I have to give you.”

“Oh my god,” Sirius breathed. His lungs felt empty and his heartbeat was set on pause. Meanwhile, Remus was entirely constructed of chuckles; with his face against his sweater, Sirius could feel Remus’ chest bubbling in the wake of his full-bodied laughter.

“What? Are only you allowed to be cheeky in this relationship?”

Sirius peered upwards from the hiding place that was Remus’ chest (Sirius could not quite remember how long he’d wanted to use it as one), meeting Remus’ bright eyes with his widened ones.

Once again, he couldn’t quite find the words. Or maybe, Remus just made him so flustered suddenly letters seemed covered in soap, constantly slipping out of his grip. It had to be Remus to blame and the way he kept looking down at Sirius like he had never done before, eyes glittering with a quality Sirius dared to call adoration. His words were inarticulate still: “So, this is like… we’re in an, um, in a relationship now?”

Remus’ face started to fall; Sirius was sure he only noticed it because he had spent years studying Remus’ features, so he was able to clarify quickly: “I mean, that’s what I want. If that’s what you want.”

Like the sun at dawn his smile returned. It was fuller and brighter than ever. “I’d love to be your boyfriend,” he said with such eager enthusiasm it had to be true.

Sirius felt out of breath. His body felt as though it was retracting in on itself. The only word he could manage was the shaky exhale of, “Cool.”

Remus smirked at the response, raising his eyebrow inquisitively. “Hm. Seems like someone’s struggling with the prospect of dating a book-obsessed werewolf.”

“No! I swear! It’s just—”

Though the eye-rolling had to have came first, what Sirius noticed initially was the dry tone in Remus’ voice. “Pads,” he said, stretching the one-syllable nickname out as best he could, “I’m joking.”

“Oh.” Sirius blinked a couple of times, as if clearing his vision would allow him to see through sarcasm. “But you seem so… casual.”

Remus gave the kind of smile he reserved for when people gave the exact comments he was expecting. He then spoke with the ambiguity he reserved for replying to those anticipated remarks. “Put your cheek back on my chest,” he demanded softly.

Sirius did. He wondered if Remus caught the glimpse of his confusion, visible through the intense scrunching of his brows. For what was he supposed to find there that wasn’t present the first time? His sweater felt just as scratchy (why Remus wore the thing, despite how unarguably good he looked in it, Sirius would never understand), his body just as warm. Sirius paused. He pressed his face in deeper. And, just when he was about to give up, heard the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat, one that was as rapid and choppy yet drunkenly slurred. It sounded like the way Sirius had been talking the entire time.

Sirius pressed himself off of Remus’ chest by placing both hands on it, lifting his body away gingerly. “But you’re speaking so clearly,” he accused.

Remus chuckled. “I’ve loved you for years, Sirius. I’ve gotten used to having to deal with this,”—he gestured at his chest— “yet acting as if it doesn't exist.”

The lack of heat on his cheeks surprised Sirius. It was as if in these past minutes, he had forgotten the art of indifference, an art he had spent almost as long perfecting. Remus reminded him of it, though, so now his face was stone and his words had gone from shy to cocky as he argued, “Well I did it too, you know. And I bet for longer.”

Remus arched his brows. “Really? Since the summer before fifth year?”

“Shit, really?” Remus nodded, expression expectant. “Well, you’re right there I guess. But I love you more.”

“Hm. I doubt that.” Despite the accusation in his voice, Remus’ eyes were sparkling with joy. Not once could Sirius remember a time when Remus looked at someone else that way.

So Sirius had to bite back laughter while saying, “I broke up with Ollie for you.”

“I dated James for you.”

“Hey,” the tone in Sirius’ voice was sharper now; it drained the smile off of Remus’ face. “You can do a lot worse than James Potter.”

Remus’ eyes glanced over the entirety of Sirius’ body in a millisecond. “Obviously,” he scoffed dryly. But the twinge of a playful smile gave him away.

“Hey!” Sirius’ shoved his hands deeper into Remus’ chest, shoving him backwards. Remus’ smile bloomed fully at the response. He didn’t say he was kidding, but Sirius knew he was, so didn’t hide his own grin from spreading apart his lips.

Before they fell from the air, Remus grabbed Sirius’ hands with his own. He pulled Sirius towards him, just enough so they could kiss if they wanted (Sirius always wanted to kiss Remus), and suggested with a smirk, “Call it a truce, then?”

After laughing so hard, Remus’ voice seemed throatier than usual. Sirius flushed at the deepness of the sound.

“I guess.” He feigned a grumble, forced a too-obvious rolling of the eyes, but Sirius knew the grin spread across his cheeks—and even worse, they still held a blush—made it impossible to seem truly annoyed.

For a moment, neither spoke. The breeze carried off Sirius’ voice long ago and all that was left was the rustling of nearby tree’s leaves and the soft and steady sound of breathing. Sirius watched as Remus brought their hands up higher between their bodies, causing four arms to bend at the elbows and allowing him to step closer into Sirius’ space. Even though they had slept in the same bed before, slow danced just a few weeks ago, the newfound knowledge of reciprocation made the proximity intensely intimate. And if the large sigh Remus exhaled was any indication, he felt it, too.

With a jolt his eyes found Sirius’. “Do you want to stay here?” His lips twisted oddly around the words, almost forming into a frown, and Sirius realized what Remus was actually asking: if he was ready to leave this fantasy of just the two of them and no complications to deal with, no ability of cruel judgment to drive a wedge between this perfect thing.

Sirius a few days ago would have scoffed. Would have rolled his eyes. Would have said “fuck them,” lead Remus to the most crowded area on the school’s grounds, and kissed Remus with tongue and all until their lips were blue and their legs shaking. But after encountering Trinity, Sirius had a sinking feeling there was a reason to be afraid. His throat began to choke up. All this time loving someone in the dark, all this self-resentment, all of this forceful admittance and fear and courage and finally he had everything he ever dreamed of, yet he still couldn’t really have it. For as out in the open they were, his emotions would remain sheltered.

Remus squeezed his hands along Sirius’ palm. “I get it,” he whispered. Sirius dipped his head down, hiding the tears that were forming, even though he was with the person he felt safest with in every form of the word. Remus began slipping his fingers away from Sirius’, but Sirius clenched his hands tightly.

“No,” he choked out. “They can say what they want. I don’t care. I can’t not be with you.”

As quickly as Sirius adjusted his face to be able to look up at Remus, Remus yanked his hands from Sirius’ grip just to replace them on his jawbones. Holding Sirius there, Remus leaned down, pressing their mouths together once more.

Even though the first kiss had been so incredible it had left a buzzing feeling inside of Sirius all the while, from the moment Remus’ lips touched his Sirius noticed a newfound extremity. If their first kiss was a lightning strike, this one was a full summer storm. Remus kissed Sirius like it was all he knew. Sirius felt as though he was at the receiving end of a constant stream of spells, just absorbing magic over and over again until he was made of it entirely.

With as much decisiveness as Remus began the kiss, he ended it, retracting everything from Sirius’ body except his hands. Still out of breath but not giving himself a minute to spare he panted out, “I love you so much, Sirius.”

Needing it more, Sirius gave himself a few moments to regain his breath. In that time he slid his fingers up to the hand on the left of his face. “Hold my hand while we walk in,” he said. And, moments later, a warm palm had been moved off of Sirius’ jawline and onto his own, while feet trudged through the grass drying off its morning dew.

Disaster struck almost immediately. Almost, because the first people to meet them by the fountain were James and Lily, both trying to look forcibly casual, neither one knowing what the other knew. So, when Sirius and Remus entered into their view, Sirius felt Remus lift their joined hands up and shake them, signaling what had happened by the lake. Sirius’ face was scorching hot. Both wore grins so wide Sirius’ worry from early suddenly felt so far away.

But, before Remus and Sirius could meet them, a laugh rang out across the courtyard, startling the four of them and passerby’s alike. High and airy and flirtatiously contradictory, the sound could only belong to Trinity’s throat.

She looked different in the daytime, in an outfit not meant to get her laid and makeup not shocking enough to be seen for miles. Her smirk was the same though, whether painted in red lipstick or not.

A flock of nearby birds shot up into the sky at the sound of her laughter. “I can’t believe it!” she panted, holding her doubled-over stomach (Sirius suspected that the breathlessness was just for show). “You actually are dating him now? Is this some kind of sick joke? If you didn’t want to fuck me, you could have just said so. You didn’t have to go to the lengths of this kind of self-implosion. This fake gay thing and fake dating Remus.”

Sirius lunged forwards. His right hand began to search his pockets for his wand, eyes narrowed on Trinity’s smug look. If it wasn’t for his hand being intertwined with Remus’, he would have punched her right in the nose. Instead, a few steps out, he tumbled backwards, Remus’ grip pulling Sirius into his sweater-clad chest.

“It’s not worth it,” he said. Though the delivery was calm, there was something about the way Remus’ jaw was clenched that suggested more than just indifference. “She’s not worth it.”

“You can get in a huge mess from an out of place hex,” James piped in, reminding Sirius he was there.

Then, another voice, from the side. “What about a punch?” Right when Sirius registered it was Lily who had spoken it, he watched as her well-formed fist struck Trinity square in the jaw. Trinity fell back, screaming, clutching the wounded spot with both hands.

“What the fuck, Evans?” she screamed. Trinity assessed her hands; luckily for Lily, there was no blood. But it would still bruise, and, as Sirius looked around, he realized there were plenty of onlookers with jaws slacked with shock, onlookers who knew what Lily Evans looked like and might rat her out for the kind of rewards Trinity was sure to offer.

Despite the crowd, James wrapped his fingers around Lily’s arm, gently pulling her to face him, walked right up to her and kissed her deeply, his free hand brushing her hair back.

Sirius peered up at Remus. He blushed when he was met with Remus’ gaze, meaning he was already waiting for Sirius to look at him. Despite the crowd, he hadn’t moved from Remus’ arms. Hadn’t even considered it as an option.

“Sorry, I guess your man is taken,” Sirius teased.

Even with the loud hollering of the crowd and the even louder scoff from Trinity at their kiss, it Sirius heard Remus’ voice with absolute clarity. “It’s a pity. Guess I’ll have to go try and find someone else.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re a catch.”

Remus’ eyes glittered in a way that challenged the fountain’s water in beauty. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

“Maybe I am.”

Remus broke the repartee, which made Sirius gush with momentary pride. “Wait,” he whispered, and Sirius understood to turn back to James and Lily without needing more direction.

Unlike himself, James looked unsure, teetering on the edge of terrified. He mumbled something out to Lily; if Sirius could read lips well, it was along the lines of, “I hope that was okay.” Sirius wasn’t sure if he meant kissing without asking, the kiss itself, or both. But Lily then smiled shyly, semi-swollen lip being bit down as she nodded, and a rush of relief swept through James in the form of the widest grin he had ever been seen wearing.

“Congratulations on your little love fest,” Trinity sneered from the ground. “But you seem to forget I still have an injury at your hand, Evans, which is enough to get you suspended, which would make you lose Head Girl. And all for some gay—”

She spoke proudly and sharply. But, the moment Lily fled James’ grip and kneeled in front of her, pulling her up by the shirt, Trinity seemed to cave back into her body. Trinity looked like she wanted to be absorbed into the brown earth beneath her jeans. Anything to get away from Lily.

With a voice filled with a quiet anger Sirius had never heard it possess before, Lily spoke. “I’d rather lose Head Girl a thousand times than let your mouth speak any vile words towards my friends.” Without warning, Lily unclenched her fingers, leaving Trinity to fall back in an unceremonious plop. “And if you think I won’t be there ready to punch you every time you say something cruel, you have another thing coming.”

Just as her voice began fading out, just when Sirius was going to give a triumphant holler at the passion of her speech, Trinity’s fingers coiled around Lily’s ankle, whipping her leg from under her and causing Lily to fall on her left side. Trinity used the time it took Lily to realize what had happened to her advantage, crawling over her weakened body and pushing Lily’s shoulder down so she was flat beneath her. Lily’s face scrunched as Trinity went to cock her own fist.

Without thinking, Sirius sprang out of Remus’ arms, and both ran towards the girls. Only a few steps in, Trinity’s body stiffened, and Trinity fell to her side just the same way that Lily had done seconds previously.

Sirius snapped his head to the side. James stood with his feet in a wide stance, left arm behind him, and right holding up his just-used wand. It was so silent, if he dropped his wand, everyone watching would have been able to hear it settle onto the ground.

He began to approach Lily, the most ruthless look cast upon his face, but stopped in his tracks when a voice began to speak. Once again, Sirius’ focus was diverted, this time to a figure in layers of deep blue robes with arms crossed elegantly underneath.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore began, so calmly it was terrifying. Despite their years of pranking and joking, Sirius saw James swallow deeply; never had the two of them (or three of them, if Remus was cooperating) so ardently and directly used magic against someone else.

“Please, sir, let me explain— ”

Dumbledore raised one of his hands in the air, silencing James without needing a charm at all. “I would like you to help me see that Ms. Evans and Ms. Suh are properly attended to by the talents of Madame Pomfrey. Only after they are tended to and offered rest will I allow an explanation to occur.” James looked down at his feet, obviously embarrassed. “Now, shall we?”

James looked equally as petrified as Trinity as he lifted her off of the ground, carrying her to the Hospital Wing while Lily trailed behind, Dumbledore’s ringed fingers sturdy around her shoulders to assist her walking.

So the dorm was silent when Sirius and Remus returned and continued to be so; as a preemptive punishment to his actions, James was ordered to stay and help Madame Pomfrey care for Trinity over the three days and nights she assumed Trinity would continued to be petrified for. “But Lily was the one who punched her first,” Sirius whined childishly as James began to leave breakfast one morning five minutes after he had arrived.

“What Dumbledore doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he said, then winked, somehow still cheery enough to find the humor in all of this. Or maybe it was the fact his robe pockets were filled with enough Cornish pasties to feed the entire Ministry.

Despite himself, Sirius did find aspects of James’ absence enjoyable. Without warning, he would crawl into Remus’ bed or Remus would climb into his during the night, as if they were still keeping their feelings a secret or had to, and they’d kiss one another until the door cracked open at the ungodly hour of dawn James returned during. Then, they would feign sleep until James fell into it in earnest, continuing where they left off the moment one of them heard James’ first snore.

“I’m getting worried that I’m going to start getting bothered at the sound of Prongs’ snores because of this,” Sirius said on the last night. Remus’ fit of laughter that followed was so loud it woke James up. In response, he threw a stray pillow at their intertwined figures, vastly missing in dimness of night present right before sunrise begins.

On the last morning of James’ duty, Sirius woke up to the sound of birds chirping. It was Saturday and mid-morning light was already flooding through their open windows; Sirius’ sharpening vision watched as the dust modes hazily flew around in the patch of sunshine on their bedroom floor. Lifting his gaze slightly, Sirius found his bed. For a moment his eyes played a trick on him and he saw himself there, as if he were looking at a mirror, saw himself there messily strewn between layers of blankets, dark eyes watching every motion of Remus’ breath as if his own depended on it. The vision felt like it should be from a lifetime ago, complete with the frayed edges of a black-and-white photograph passed down through generations, but he could still feel the ache. It was so painfully obvious and obviously painful. Nothing on his face could hide the hopeless desire he held and, through the layers of time, Sirius choked back a sob.

Sirius blinked himself back into the present. His heart felt as empty as his bed was now.

He lay as stiff as a board until the gentle stroke of Remus’ hand had him turning towards Remus’ sleepy grin. It faded as soon as Sirius’ anxiety made itself apparent. Instead of the usual good morning, Remus instead asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Are you terrified of this?” Sirius questioned, voice shaking with every syllable.

Every edge of Remus’ face firmed up. “Why would you think that?”

“All we ever do is snog on our beds when James isn’t around. You asked me that day when we were at Black Lake, you asked if I was ready for this. But I never asked you.”

Remus exhaled. “I love you, Sirius,” he stated simply. Sirius’ head started throbbing; is this what a break-up feels like when you really love the person, but not in the same way? He pathetically clutched onto Remus’ shirt.

“Remus—”

“I’ve loved you for so long. Before I came out. Before I even knew I was gay. And I knew before I told you, that I was gay. I didn’t want you to know I was gay because, well, partially, I didn’t want you to guess my feelings. But also, there was something else. I didn’t even admit to myself, or anyone else, until now.” His head dipped down at this, accentuating the difficulty of the confession. “Sirius, it’s just… I didn’t want you to know I was an option but still not like me, anyways. If I was straight, then there’d be no choice. But you knowing you could date me and not wanting to…”

His voice trailed off the same way breath wisps away from someone as they die.

“Remus.” This one was less of a plead, more of a whisper. Remus lifted his eyes back to Sirius; tears were welling inside of them and Sirius lifted his free hand to Remus’ face. When Remus closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace, Sirius’ heart swelled.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’ve been hiding. I loved you for so long that the pain of doing it from afar was tolerable. But now… now that I know what it’s like to actually have you, the thought of losing you—”

“I know,” Sirius breathed. “God, I know. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not mine to keep in a box.”

“Fuck, Remus.” Sirius’ voice got rough, despite himself. “I’m not here against my will. This is all I’ve ever wanted for as long as I can remember. I love you and I’m here because I want to be.”

Slowly, Remus opened his eyes. A flood of tears fell out, coating the soft glisten from a few stray drops that sneaked through earlier. But Remus seemed unfazed, his gaze locked on Sirius. His lips parted and his breath hitched in the way inhales occur right before you begin to speak, and Sirius waited, but no words ever arrived. For a moment, their entire world was eye contact.

The Remus began to move, sliding the hand still on Sirius’ upper arm up to meet Sirius’ on his face. Fingers entwined, he gently lifted their hands together and he moved into Sirius, resting his forehead against Sirius’ chest. Sirius snaked an arm around his waist; he could now both hear and feel the small sobs as they left Remus. The realization that it had been years since he had seen Remus crying like this (it was when he told Sirius and James about his bite) urged Sirius to clutch Remus impossibly closer into him. He rested his chin atop Remus’ hair.

From across the room, a space sang out to him. In the same way he saw himself on his bed, he saw himself there, too, but this time crumbled into a ball and sobbing into open palms.

Sirius could feel the touch before it landed on his skin; Remus radiated warmth, so whenever he was near, it was like a constant buzz hitting Sirius regardless of how far away that tawny skin actually was.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, look at me.” Red eyes met hazel ones. “Are you okay?”

Sirius let his head fall while it nodded slightly. Remus’ other hand touched Sirius’ other shoulder, and it was as if he was trying to hug Sirius; he couldn’t though, not with Sirius crouched forwards the way he was. But it was enough, just his fingertips. The heels of his hands. His voice. Strong. Calming. Soft.

And then the sentences that saved him. Sirius shook in the memory of it and, suddenly, he knew exactly what he had to do.

With all the gentleness in the world, he detached from Remus, just enough so they could look at one another once more but not so Remus thought he was trying to escape (how Remus could think escape was ever right, Sirius would never understand; all he wanted was Remus and nothing could change that). Red eyes met brown ones. Then, he spoke. Strongly, calmingly, softly.

“You’re going to be okay, Remus. Everything will be okay.”

A loving look twisted itself across Remus’ face and Sirius knew Remus completely understood. When James walked in minutes later, their forms still laid intertwined, the crisp sunshine of midmorning hiding nothing at all.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥

KEEP READING: Part Eleven “It’s Hard To Believe Sometimes”

⬥ �� ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @siriuslyimmoony @astertist @who-cares-unknown @neewtmas @theseuscmander @boring-viola @diggorysghost @gryffndor@finnofamerica @the-apple-princess @theboywhocriedlupin @sly-vixen-up2nogood@bluemadcnna @lonelyheart-jadedsoul @jamcspotters @siriusement @just-some-nerd@wzardings @niffleurs @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy @cinnamonrollswithmoony@sarah-bearah

#wolfstar #wolfstar fan fiction #remus lupin x sirius black #hp fan fiction #harry potter fan fiction #carlysfamily #moonlit members #my writing #heartsease #hpcxc

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steakandvodka · 6 years

Text

Gravity held

coda 3x10 -- rated gen -- lightwood-focused, background magnus/alec -- ao3

Izzy was next one to get to the roof after Jace showed up. After both hearing and feeling the huge explosion up above, she and Luke agreed to split up. Luke chose to stay and help sort out Ollie and the rest of the freed mundanes, while Izzy went to investigate what happened at the top of the building.

When she opened the door from the staircase, she was greeted by the sight of Jace and Simon standing a few feet apart in the center of the wreckage, no Clary or Lilith in sight. Aside from the obvious destruction they were standing on top of, Izzy could tell from one good look at the men that something was seriously wrong. Simon had the same expression he had at the hospital earlier that day after he lost his mom, and Jace’s face reminded her of when she and Alec found him inside his mind as he literally begged her for death.

“Guys,” she said, her voice just loud enough to carry over the space to reach them, though neither turned to acknowledge her. “What the hell happened up here?”

Slowly, Jace turned to face Izzy, despair written in his gaze. “Lilith is gone. Simon banished her.”

Though the statement should have filled all of them with joy, there was clearly something Izzy didn’t know about that was keeping them from celebrating. Deep down, Izzy realized she knew what it was, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

Through a heavy lump in her throat, Izzy forced herself to ask, “Where’s Clary?”

The tears that silently tracked down Simon’s cheeks was answer enough. But watching Jace bite his lip to hold back a sob, shaking his head back and forth as he looked at the ground was what made Izzy’s own eyes burn. She tried not to think of the bright-eyed, smart-ass redhead she’d grown so close to over the past few months, as she couldn’t afford to let her emotions destroy her as well. The time to grieve would come later. There was still work to do.

But looking at the two devastated men in front of her, Izzy knew she had to spare some time for comfort. Striding forward, Izzy wrapped her arms tightly around Jace, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt her brother muffle his sobs against her shoulder. The force of their embrace spoke for itself. Pulling herself away from the blonde, Izzy walked over to also give Simon a hug a moment later.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed to him, to both of them. Simon said nothing, but hugged her harder nonetheless.

Loathe as she was to bring the men back to their gruesome reality, Izzy knew what she had to do as she broke her embrace with Simon. Locking eyes with the vampire to make sure she had his attention, she said, “I really hate to rush you guys right now, but we need to get a move on before the mundane authorities arrive.” She looked over to Jace to see him examining the rooftop with raised eyebrows, as if he was just now becoming aware of the literal war scene they were standing in. Izzy was just happy to see her brother alert and himself again. “I’ll call Alec on our way back to brief him on what happened.”

As she spoke, Izzy watched with mounting dread as Jace’s eyes went as wide as saucers and all the color seemed to drain from his face.

“Oh my god, Alec,” he gasped, fisting one hand in his hair. He looked like he was going to be sick, and suddenly Izzy felt like the temperature on the roof had dropped about thirty degrees.

“Jace,” Izzy said in barely more than a whisper. “What happened. Where’s Alec?” She asked, a hard edge bleeding into her tone as she tried to tamp down her growing terror. She almost didn’t want Jace to answer, too afraid of what he might say. She could hardly handle losing Clary, but losing her older brother would surely break her for good.

“I nearly killed him,” Jace said, his voice trembling, and Izzy couldn’t hold back her sharp gasp. “It was the Owl. I couldn’t stop it. I shoved an arrow through his chest, and… he- he would have died if Magnus hadn’t shown up just in time to stop me.”

As Jace was retelling the story, Izzy had whipped out her phone and pressed Alec’s speed dial. She sighed in impatience and tapped her foot against the floor as she waited, desperate to hear her brother’s voice pick up on the other end. “Come on, come on Alec. Pick up. Pick up the phone,” she murmured to herself, anxiety clawing at her insides with every second that passed.

“Hello?” An exhausted voice finally greeted on the other line. The voice made Izzy’s heart drop to the pit of her stomach. On any other day, Izzy greatly enjoyed being in Magnus Bane’s company, but right now he was not the person she wanted to speak to.

“Magnus,” Izzy said, trying not to let the sight of Jace paling in front of her send her into a panic. “Why are you answering Alec’s phone?”

“Alexander is fine,” Magnus immediately reassured her. “Catarina is taking care of him.” Izzy let out a sigh of relief, giving Jace and Simon a thumbs up. Jace sagged forward as all the tension drained out of his body at her signal. “I’ve been guaranteed several times by my friend that he will make a full recovery in due time.”

“Where are you now?” Izzy asked. Jace and Simon watched with interest as she nodded along to what the warlock said, hanging up a few seconds later. “They’re at Magnus’ loft. We need to go to them. We’ve already spent way too much time up here,” she said, pivoting around to start walking toward the stairs. Over the sounds of traffic below, Izzy could hear the faint blare of sirens growing closer, proving how little time the three of them had left to spare.

“You guys go ahead to Magnus and Alec,” Simon said as he walked with them. “I need to go find Luke.”

Izzy and Jace paused at the top of the staircase to look at him in bewilderment. “Are you sure?” Jace asked.

Simon nodded solemnly. “He needs to hear what happened from me.”

After a quick moment of silence where they let the gravity of their situation sink in even further, Izzy surged forward to take Simon in a short, but firm hug one last time. “Okay. We’ll see you soon Simon, alright?” She said as she held him.

Simon pulled away from her gradually and nodded once in answer, a sort of resigned acceptance on his face that made Izzy’s heart ache for the vampire. In a flash, Simon had zipped out of sight in search of the werewolf.

—

Izzy and Jace were panting when they reached Magnus’ loft, having run most of the way there. Jace was the one to pound on the door, probably a bit too loudly to be polite at that time of night, but neither of them could find it in themselves to care, both too anxious to see their brother alive and well with their own eyes.

Magnus answered the door, the dark circles under his eyes the only obvious clue at how the last few hours had worn on him as well. Without giving either of them a chance to speak, he opened the door wider to allow them inside, gesturing with one arm toward his bedroom. “Catarina just left,” he said. “He’s awake, but he’s not fully healed yet, so please try to be gentle with him.”

From the direction Magnus had gestured in, the three heard a hoarse, yet familiar voice reply, “I’m not made of glass Magnus.”

Izzy beamed, finally allowing tears to pool in her eyes as she watched Alec round the corner to stand in front of them. His movements were stiff, but he was standing, and his eyes were warm and vibrant as he stared at his family.

“Alec,” Izzy breathed in relief as she and Jace ran forward to hug their brother on either side. Alec’s long arms wrapped around both of them tightly, and Izzy’s smile trembled as she felt his cheek press on top of her head. She rubbed her hand up and down Alec’s back softly, all too aware of how breakable he was. Tonight she came so close to losing two of her brothers — too close for her to ever be comfortable with.

Their embrace lasted awhile, but finally the Lightwoods pulled away from each other, though they stayed close enough to be within arms reach. Izzy watched on, slightly puzzled, as Jace held onto Alec’s wrist on his right side after he pulled away, gripping the area so carefully, as though he expected it to disintegrate in front of him at any moment. Alec used the same wrist, still cupped in both Jace’s hands, to place his hand steadily on his parabatai’s shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Alec whispered, eyes locked with Jace’s. As he said this, Jace finally seemed to relax completely, like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“You should be resting,” Magnus piped up, one eyebrow raised leaving him looking distinctly unimpressed even as his eyelids drooped while he leaned against the closed front door.

“Yeah, and I told you the same thing,” Alec said, the ghost of a smirk gracing his features. “I guess we both suck at following orders.”

Magnus said nothing, but just rolled his eyes in response, closing his eyes to rest his head against the door. Izzy could see a glimmer of worry flicker in Alec’s eyes as he watched Magnus do so, so she rested one of her hands on his chest, ever so gently over his heart, to gain his attention.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, looking over at Magnus the next moment. “Both of you.”

Magnus opened his eyes at her words to send her a smile, but there was obvious sorrow beneath his gaze. A quick glance back at Alec showed that his worry had only increased at Izzy’s comment, the shadowhunter not even trying to hide it anymore. But before Izzy could ask what the problem was, Alec spoke up first.

“So what happened?” Alec asked, changing the subject. Izzy thought it best not to challenge him on it. “Catarina had just showed up to portal us here when we heard the explosion. Is Lilith gone? Did Simon banish her?”

Neither Izzy nor Jace answered him right away, and a tense silence settled over the room. She locked eyes with Jace, and Izzy could see how much pain it would cause him to retell the story. She didn’t want to be the one to make Jace relive that pain, but as she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out. Where would she even begin?

As she was trying to come up with any words she could say to Alec, Magnus swooped in to save her. “Actually, I think this conversation would be best suited for the morning, don’t you think?” The warlock asked Alec as he pushed off the door and strolled toward the Lightwoods. “You’re right Alexander, I think we’re all in need of a good night’s sleep. You two are welcome to spend the night here,” he said with a quick nod to Jace and Izzy. “And tomorrow we can figure out our next steps. But for right now, I think we’ve all had our fair share of excitement for one day.”

Magnus’ light-hearted tone probably wasn’t the most appropriate for a night like this one, but Izzy couldn’t help but find herself grateful for it as it brought a small smile to Alec’s face.

Perhaps the full extent of what had happened hadn’t hit them quite yet. Perhaps the true impacts would devastate them all come tomorrow morning. But all Izzy really cared about in that moment was being with her family.

Here, with two of her brothers safe and sound and alive in front of her, Izzy allowed herself to fall into a sense of safety and security that she hadn’t felt in months. She was content.

#my fic #malec #the lightwoods are my shit man #sh spoilers #shadowhunters

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stupidsexyseguin · 7 years

Note

Soulmate AU for any of your ships where whatever one person writes on their skin appears on the other's.

this got out of hand. it was going to be like 3 paragraphs of Justin Schultz/Olli Maatta feels. i dedicate it to @jjustinschultz who was a great source of feedback and justin schultz trivia.

Justin is fifteen the first time writing appears on his skin. It’s not even writing, it’s a massive, jagged streak of blue texta that draws itself into being when he’s sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal. His mom drops her mug in surprise at the sight of it, before she’s smiling at Justin so wide, taking his face between warm palm and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

She’s so happy for him.

The Schultz’ haven’t had a child born with a soulmate in four generations. Soulmates are not so rare that they’re scarce, but not everyone is born with one. Scientist have been studying correlation and cause and effect and genetic predisposition for years and still don’t know how it’s determined.

So when Justin’s soulmate manages to transfer their half assed body art attempt across to his skin, it’s the universe sending him a sign that his perfect other half is out there- and is apparently an aspiring artist. He heads into school with an indelible blue mark on his skin and he’s never felt so happy in his life.

Until it all comes crashing down at hockey practice.

They’re in the locker room, changing into gear and shooting the shit- most of the guys saw his marks at school (the blue line blurring away around lunch, being quickly replaced with messily drawn red stars up and down his wrist. Justin had spent most of history carefully colouring in the stars with black biro, smiling to himself as new ones had started piecing themselves slowly together after every one he filled in.

“So you have a girl now Schultzy?” One of the wingers is smirking at him from across the room, the rest of the guys glance at him in interest- none of them have soulmates, so Justin is for once the centre of attention.

“I guess.” He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes and keeps pulling on his gear.

“What’s her name then? D’ya think she’s hot?” he feels like hot lead is sinking in his stomach. Because he knows. He knows there is no way his soulmate is a girl. Because Justin- Justin doesn’t like girls. Has never liked girls.

When the guys in the locker room talk about their girlfriends and hot chicks they’ve seen and sex they’ve had, Justin’s kept quiet. Because when he lay in bed at night, he didn’t think about soft breasts and curves and thighs- he thought about strong shoulders and hard bodies. He thought about boys at school he’d seen and how it might feel to kiss them, to grind into them, to know what it felt like to get on his knees for them.

“I dunno, she’s just been drawing on me.” He trains his eyes on his stall, pulling on his jersey. It feels like deceit. It feels like he’s somehow betraying his soulmate.

“Ooooh, an artist. Fucking fancy.” his D partner teases, and Justin forces himself to smile and check him in the shoulder.

All the excitement from the morning about his soulmate is gone by the time he gets home. He manages to make his way through dinner- his mom’s made his favourites, and tells him about how happy all the family is for him, his dad pats him on the back and asks if he’s learned anything about his soulmate and his brother just ignores him in favour of texting his friends.

In his room though, he lies in the dark and stares at the ceiling. Because he can’t be gay and play in the NHL. And he wants to play in the NHL. It’s his dream to play in the NHL.

But there are no out, gay, NHL players. Hockey is inherently homophobic and he’s known that enough to keep his sexuality quiet- but how does he do that when he comes with an obviously male soulmate?

So he makes the decision.

Hockey players don’t tend to last past 35.

And then he has the rest of his life to have his soul mate.

It’s been a really fucking long day.

Practice had been hard, everyone pushing themselves to do better. Always do better.

last year had been a fucking shitshow, and it obviously weighed on everyone. The oilers had had some great wins, but they’d been scattered between even worse losses. Justin himself hadn’t had that bad a season, comparatively, but it still felt like the entire fucking franchise was resting on every player’s shoulders.

And now they’re four games into the season and yet to register a fucking win.

He’d been planning on throwing himself on the couch, napping, and maybe seeing if Ebs wanted to hang out and play some NHL15.

Until he’d dragged off his shirt and seen the writing his soulmate had left in unusually shaky red pen.

Please call.

1 412 555 0188

It’s American- he knows that much from the calling code. Which- his soulmate is in America? But Justin knew that he was Finnish- had spent years reading shopping lists and homework reminders on his wrists in messy foreign script. He’d even taught himself enough to say hello and goodbye to his soulmate, because he’d felt so slack when his soulmate had been able to talk to him in pretty decent english and Justin couldn’t do the same in return.

It takes him an hour to decide if he’ll call or not- they hadn’t ever discussed meeting, or even talking in person. Justin had made his choice ten years ago. And his soulmate had never even suggested it- Justin had assumed he was in a similar position, needing to stay closeted in order to stay safe. Even with the knowledge of soulmates, hockey is still as homophobic and hyper masculine as it had been ten years ago. He knows most of his friends wouldn’t care, but he hears half the shit guys on the team- and the teams they play- say and he doesn’t want to expose himself to that, let alone a soulmate who didn’t deserve that shit on his behalf.

But he’s asking Justin to call.

After ten years of being happy to just have notes and stupid pictures between them, drawing and colouring stupid pictures of dragons and knights and, more recently, penguins, he’s asking Justin to call.

It must be important.

The phone rings six times. Justin counts. He’s holding his breath. He’s going to talk to the person the universe thinks is his perfect other half. After ten years of knowing that he’s out there.

“…Hello?” The guy that answers is hesitant, voice small and strained.

“Hi. It’s- I’m Justin. You, you asked me to call?” There’s a hitch of breathing on the other end of the phone, and Justin can’t tell if the guy’s happy that he’s actually called or not.

“Hi.” The guy breaths across the line.

“Hi.” Well. Now he sounds like a fucking idiot.

“Oh, fuck, shit.” The guy swears and Justin hears what sounds like a body part thunking on wood down the line. “I- Olli, I’m Olli. fuck. I, I wasn’t expecting you to actually call.” His voice is deep and his vowels are rounded with the faintest hint of a european accent. But he also sounds really fucking upset. Justin’s so glad he called, if it means he can help his soulmate- his Olli- feel better.

“Hey, are you okay?” there’s another hitch of breath, followed by a muffled sob

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I just really wanted to hear your voice.”

“What- I’m not mad or anything. I’m just worried about you- are you okay?”

“Not- not really.” Olli lets out an almost hysterical laugh.

“Do you want to tell me? I’m happy to listen?” And it’s the honest truth. This is his soulmate. He could listen to Olli happily all day.

“I have cancer.”

His chest feels like it’s caving in- as if something punched him hard and left him breathless and desperate for air.

“Fuck. what-?”

“It- they’re saying it isn’t that bad. Could be worse. Found it in a physical and did some tests.”

“So, you’re- you’re going to be okay? Right?”

“The doctors said I’ll be fine. They want to remove the tumor, but it hasn’t spread anywhere else. I just,” he takes a deep, wet sounding breath “I realised that it could have been so much fucking worse. And I had never even heard your fucking voice. Didn’t even know your name. Justin.” and- fuck, the way he says Justin’s name is just. Everything. Everything he didn’t know he needed.

“Yeah, I get that. Olli. I’m- so glad you’ll be okay.” Olli laughs through the line, the sound still clouded with what Justin knows now have to be tears.

“Me too. Thank you. For calling.”

“Of course. Anything for you. You’re- you’re important Olli. Any time you want to talk, if I can, I’ll listen.”

“You don’t even know me.” but he does. He knows that Olli loves to draw, but is a kind of terrible artist. That Olli is Finnish. That he seems to love hockey as much as Justin does. That he’s terrible at history but has a weird love for math. That he enjoys terrible knock knock jokes. That he wants to get them a tattoo, but changes his mind about it every other week, drawing new lines and words across justin’s skin to get his opinion.

Justin’s had ten years to learn Olli through his body- even if today was the first time he learned his name.

“I know the universe thinks you should be important to me. That’s enough.”

“You sound like a fucking romantic, man.” Olli laughs at him again, and Justin smiles fondly at it. He sounds so much better than he had when he’d answered the phone. And if he sounds like a fucking romantic, well who fucking cares; he kinda is.

“Ha, you wish.”

They spend the next hour on the phone, talking shit, mostly about video games- Olli’s been playing Call of Duty, and thinks Justin needs to actually play it instead of just giving it shit while Justin’s hanging out for the next Halo game. They’ve been playing NHL15, which leads to talking about the actual season, and Justin is careful not to say anything too revealing about his place on the Oilers.

And it’s the happiest Justin’s felt in years. He and Olli just click. And he knows Olli must feel fucking terrible- the guy has fucking cancer- so Justin is just glad he can help, can be there for him, help him laugh when it must feel like the end of the world.

“I- I need to go.” Olli tells him

“Oh.” Justin looks at the clock and realises how long he’s just been sitting there talking. But he doesn’t think it’s enough. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of Olli.

“No! I just- I have to get to the- to work.” Olli sounds hesitant now, like he has something else he wants to say, but doesn’t know how Justin will take it.

“Oh, right.” Justin licks his lips and rubs at his scruff “You can- you can call me whenever you want. I may not always be able to answer, but I promise I’ll call back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That-. Thanks. You too. You should call me.”

“I will.”

When Justin hangs up, he wonders if this will work. If he can actually have this. Let himself have this. Olli- he’s just fucking great. And he deserves someone to support him through all the shit he’s going through.

It feels like defeat.

Moving to Pittsburgh feels- hollow.

He’d been expecting the trade. He knows he’d been fucking up, been letting down everyone in Edmonton. He’d heard it from the coaching staff, in the way they talked to him at training sessions and practices. He’d seen it in the way his teammates had started pulling away, until the only one really speaking with him like everything was fine was Ebs. He’d heard it from the fucking fans how badly he was fucking everything up for them. Sending their hopes and dreams down the fucking drain.

But it didn’t actually get real until the rumours had started flying around near the end of the trade deadline. He’d sat around on his couch that last day, waiting for the call he knew would be coming.

So when he gets to Pittsburgh he isn’t expecting the welcome that he receives.

They all just seem so pleased to see him.

Crosby had called him after the trade, telling him that they were looking forward to having him, but he hadn’t realised that it was actually the truth. Because then Cole had been really fucking nice since he’d picked him up from the airport- had taken him out to dinner with his wife, picked him up from the hotel he’d been staying in the next morning to drive him to practice, spent the entire time talking about how the coaches thought they’d work well together, how great the team was, how Justin would be a great addition to the team.

When Cole had led him into the locker room, he’d been greeted by smiles and friendly nods, and Patric Hornqvist had actually given him a fucking bear hug before inviting him out for drinks.

Horny takes him under his arm, with a snort from Cole who just heads to his own stall to get changed, and starts loudly introducing all the guys. He’s giving Hagelin a ribbing, Fleury and Letang chiming in like good natured assholes, while Justin looks on when a blonde, built guy saunters in. His hair is a mess and there are dark bruises under his eyes, and Justin recognises him as one of the other D-men, Maatta.

A cheer sounds from some of the younger guys as he sets his things down and starts stripping. Justin has to force himself to look away when he realises he’s staring at the line of the guy’s muscled back. Lockerroom rules.

“Olli! We were worried you died, after last night’s tournament.” Rust crows at the Maatta, and Justin jumps at the unexpected name.

“Fuck off.” comes the grumpy response, muffled by pads. Justin’s sure he’s staring now. He feels like all his blood is both rushing to his head and leaving his body at the same time. He knows that voice.

He knows that voice.

He’s heard that voice at least once a week, every week, for the past year and a half.

“Ha ha, don’t be scared of Olli! He just drinks more than he can handle.” Horny claps Justin on the shoulder, startling him out of his shock. Justin gives the guy a weak smile, but he feels like the rug has been pulled out from under him. It’s his first fucking practice and everything had been going so well and now Olli is here and Justin has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

It’s his soulmate.

Olli.

Olli is standing right there, right in front of him, and Justin can’t do anything about it.

Because he’s a hockey player. They’re both hockey players. Teammates.

“Olli, be nice to Justin- Schultzy’s joining us D-men to hold up this fucking team.” Tanger chimes in.

Olli turns and meets his eyes, and Justin feels his heart kickstart in his chest.

“Hey, man.” he smiles and all Justin can do is nod and smile back.

Practice is- it’s practice.

It’s weird to be playing with a new group of guys- they don’t click right away- but he can feel something there that he’d been missing back in Edmonton. Something that could be really fucking good.

He tries so hard to block out the thought of Olli being his soulmate, not let it screw with his skating. He has no idea if he was successful or not. He hopes it’s written off as post-trade jitters.

The rest of the guys have a game that night, but Justin’s still a healthy scratch until the coaches are sure how he works with the guys. They hope he’ll be out there in the next few games. Everyone seems so positive. It’s like a weight is slowly lifting from his shoulders.

He expects Colesy to be giving him a ride back to the hotel, so he’s surprised when Olli’s the one who approaches him with his bag and gear slung over his shoulder.

“I told Colesy I’d take you. The guys from Wilkes-Barre are staying at your hotel, but I thought you might want a bit of quiet.” He smiles at Justin, and Justin just nods helplessly, gathering up his own stuff.

The drive is quiet, there’s local radio playing in the car, but if you asked, he couldn’t tell you what was playing- he spends the whole time watching Olli; the strong lines of his body, the softness of his face, the way the bones and muscles in his hands shift under skin as he changes gears. If Olli notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Eventually they’re at the hotel, at the door to his room, and neither of them has said anything since leaving the practice centre. He can feel the weight of Olli’s gaze on the back of his neck and it feels like he’s on fire. He fumbles the key card and it takes him three attempts to open door and get inside.

Justin turns, mouth opening to say- something, anything- and instead finds himself being kissed quiet by ice-chapped lips. He loses himself to the kiss. It’s nothing passionate or heated or in anyway sexy. It’s just warm lips against his own; a gentle pressure, a sweet warmth, curling up inside him and wrapping around his heart.

Oli pulls away and Justin follows, not wanting it to end so soon, he’s being laughed at, which is when he realises that his eyes are still closed. Olli- Olli is everything he wanted and never knew. He’s so soft and warm and lovely and funny. He’s pretty and strong and loves hockey as much as Justin loves hockey. He’s standing right in front of Justin, in his hotel room, in Pittsburgh. Running his fingers through Justin’s hair, sliding hands down his neck, his shoulders, his chest.

He opens his eyes and Olli’s still there. Right in front of him. Smiling at him fondly.

“Hi.” he presses his forehead to Olli’s.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Olli’s laughing at him again, and it feels like sunshine in his bones. He can’t help but kiss him again.

Things are looking up.

#Justin Schultz #olli maatta #justin schultz/olli maata #Jolli #hockey rpf #soulmate au #writing on their skin #light angst #internalized homophobia #trade fic #cancer tw

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aelysalthea · 8 years

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Picture Perfect People

Summary: Voltron. A place to seek companionship. Support. The consolation of like-minded people. That was what it was built for. It was what those who signed up for a membership sought. For the so-named paladins of Voltron, it is just that.

Sometimes, the people we need aren't so easily found. Sometimes we need to find them for ourselves and even then we don't realise they're found until everything just... clicks. For a patchwork of sorry people, the friendship of faceless figures was exactly what they needed.

Rating: T

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Angst, Mutual Support, Overcoming Trials, Wholesomeness, Online Friendships, Bantering

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! I hope you like the new fic I’ve started posting (a little while ago). I’d like to think it’s just a little bit different but I’ll leave it up to you to decide. Anyway, if you’d like to check it out, you can take a look here. Posting takes place at least once a week. Thank you for your time!

Chapter 1: People

01/09 – 07.01 am

PrincessOfAltea: Would anyone like to talk?

PrincessOfAltea: If I talked, would someone listen?

PrincessOfAltea: I don't mind what we talk about. It can be anything you'd like.

PrincessOfAltea: I just want to talk.

PrincessOfAltea: To someone.

PrincessOfAltea: Please.

PrincessOfAltea: I don't like being alone.

1/09 – 03.59pm

PrincessOfAltea: Anyone?

There was no sound beyond the door when he pressed his ear to the wood. He knew there were those who had risen from their beds, but… at that moment, in the hallway there was no one.

Releasing a silent breath, Keith stepped back from the door. Plucking his red and white jacket from the floor, he shrugged the familiar weight onto his shoulders; it was an almost comforting weight despite the relative warmth of the morning. He slipped silently through the door.

No one was in sight, either. With slow steps, Keith crept down the hallway, easing with silent tread down the stairs. It was always better to creep, to not be noticed. If he flew beneath the radar, then there was less chance of a confrontation. Less chance to be poked and prodded. To be seen.

It was never a good idea to be seen. Not by anybody. Not of Keith could help it.

Unfortunately, the room afforded to him was at the far end of the house. The furthest end, as far from the front door as could be. He didn't begrudge it, because any room was good enough. And it was nice. Small, contained. It had a bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe with a sliding door. Even a desk of sorts, though the chair that sat at it was too high to properly tuck in.

Keith liked that it was isolated. He had grown to prefer being alone.

Tiptoeing down to the bottom of the steps, Keith crept on silent feet towards the front door. If he glanced over his shoulder, he would be able to see into kitchen. He would see the dining table where Olly sat, munching through a heaped bowl of Cap'n Crunch as he did for every breakfast. He would see Clyde sitting across from him, tearing the crust off his toast as though he was a child with pickiness issues. He'd maybe even see Sara where she bustled around the kitchen getting the two boys' lunches. Keith's too, maybe, but he wouldn't take it. He would never take it.

Slipping into his boots, Keith considered before sparing a moment to crouch and tie his laces. He could hear the sound of conversation echoing from the kitchen and into the hallway but he didn't listen to their words. He didn't want to listen. They would be talking about school, about Clyde's part-time job and Olly's sports training that afternoon. It was Monday so it would be football, but it changed every day. Keith didn't want to be a part of that. It wasn't so much that he disliked talking but just that he simply… wouldn't.

It had been the wrong choice. A bad decision. He shouldn't have paused, shouldn't have crouched to properly tie his boots. Keith should have known it was a bad idea, but he'd grown complacent over the past weeks with little incident. Avoid and evade, act only when necessary. That was the lore he lived by. Why had he chosen to disregard it?

But Peter, Sara's husband, appeared at the head of the stairs, and though his head was bowed over a tablet, the wrinkles on his brow more pronounced in a frown and eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses, he noticed Keith almost immediately. Peter was a kind man, and as it was he met Keith's frozen gaze with an attempt at a warm smile and a nod of greeting. Nothing in his countenance would suggest that Keith hadn't seen him in person in days, let alone talked to him.

"Good morning, Keith. How are you today?"

At the sounds of his words, there was a pause of the conversation in the kitchen. Silenced briefly ensued, and then there was a slight clatter as Sara's voice sounded in exclamation, "Keith? Keith, are you there? Are you awake? Would – would you like some breakfast?"

Keith reflexively glanced towards the kitchen, his eyes the only thing he could move. He saw Sara skirt the table in a bustle of haste to plant herself in the kitchen doorway and adopt an overly-bright smile of greeting, just like her husband. But more than that, over her shoulder Keith saw Clyde. He saw Olly. He saw the older boy pause in picking apart his toast and brow lower in a frown, saw Olly similarly pause with spoon half-raised to his mouth, glance towards Clyde and immediately adopt an identical frown.

Then Keith was gone. With barely a murmur of excuse to Sara's openly hopeful expression, a glance towards Peter, he abandoned the rest of his laces and was out the door. The slam of heavy wood, the click of a lock snapping shut behind him, was resounding and oddly freeing.

Avoid and evade. Confront only when necessary. That was the only way it could be. It was the only way that was safe. Keep his lips closed and interact only when he… needed to?

Red has joined the chatroom.

"Open! I'm open, you – Oh, look at that. We can't rely on your common sense at all, Spaniel."

The so name Spaniel – Sam by birth, but Lance thought he quite resembled a dog, especially when he pouted like that – turned towards him and planted his hands on his hips. "Like you could do any better, Lance."

Lance grinned as he and his makeshift team jogged backwards to the halfway line, Martin dribbling the ball between his feet. "I reckon I could. They don't call me 'The Tailor' for nothing. It's in deference to my weaving abilities."

"I think you're a crock of shit," Martin said from his side, though he and most of the rest of Lance's teammates were laughing good-naturedly. "I've never heard anyone call you that."

"Yeah, well, that's just because no one says it out loud," Lance replied, turning his grin upon him. Then he clapped his hands together and bellowed a resounding, "Alright, let's play some ball already! While we're still young!"

Laughter and enthusiasm met his words as their backyard soccer game flew into action once more. They weren't quite two full teams, but it was enough for a good, solid game with two actual goalies this time. Far better than last week with their minimal numbers. They'd had less then, and odd numbers at that.

Martin kicked off with a firm boot of his foot, sending the ball soaring towards Lance. Lance caught it with his own foot, turned in a defensive circle to defend it from his opponent's attack, and, with a flick out of the way, was dribbling at a run up the field. A pass to Andy, to Spaniel, back to Andy again, and Andy sent it to Lance.

Lance wasn't called the Tailor for no reason, even if it was really only himself who used that nickname. He wove around his opponents. He dodged aside from an attack with a spring of dextrous footwork. He shot and he scored.

Lance's team cried in an enthusiastic outburst of triumph as though they'd just won nationals. Their opponents, good-natured as they were, didn't begrudge them their glory. They never did. It was all in good grace that they played, all for the fun of it. They played because none could play any other way. Just like Lance, they'd missed their chance to be something greater, something bigger.

The opposing team had just scored another goal to the mixed cries of congratulations and light-hearted moans of regret from Lance's team when he saw his little sister arrive. Immediately, Lance felt his smile die on his face and he slowed in step returning towards the halfway line.

Spaniel, at his side and far from persistently indignant for the use of his nickname, slowed alongside him. He noticed Lance's expression almost immediately and raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

Lance only shook his head, turned and jogged towards the side of the field. The soccer field itself was barely even half-sized, and ringed by trees alongside a children's playground. It was hardly ideal, but they would use what they could get. Sometimes, however, Lance wished that it wasn't barely a five minute walk from his home. Just a little distance would be nice.

Mika was bouncing on her toes where she stood, waiting for his arrival with dutiful respect alongside rather than upon the field. Lance loved his little sister, even as incessantly flooded with energy as she was, and she reminded him of himself in a lot of ways. That day, however, he couldn't have wanted to see her less.

Even so, Lance still adopted a smile as he drew alongside her. "Hey, Mika. What's up?"

Mika knew he knew, even though he asked. Lance could see it in the tentative smile she adopted that was a sure sight smaller than that she usually wore. She shifted from foot to foot. "Papá says he needs you at the shop if you could."

Lance found himself shifting on his own feet, struggling against the urge to groan. "Now?" He asked, almost pleadingly.

Mika ducked her head. "Yeah, now."

Lance spared a moment to close his eyes. The good humour he always felt when playing soccer was rapidly dwindling and he could feel the ball growing further and further away from him by the second. Loosing a slow exhalation, he nodded. "Alright. Yeah, alright. Give me twenty minutes. I've just got to duck home to get changed."

Mika nodded. "Okay. I'll tell Papá." Then she turned on her heel and all but fled from him, disappearing homeward at a bounding sprint.

Lance allowed himself a moment longer to close his eyes and regret. Then, to the sound of Andy's calling query, he adopted a bright smile and turned towards his teammates and opponents. "I'm really sorry, guys, but I've got to run."

A communal moan sounded, grumbles from both teams, though Lance knew that none begrudged him. "You heading to your dad's shop?" Spaniel called from where he stood, foot propped atop the soccer ball.

Lance nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I'll see you next week."

Calls of "See you" and "You'd better!" followed Lance as he turned away from the field. He didn't begrudge having to help his dad out. Not really. But sometimes… sometimes he did hope for something different. Sometimes he needed an outlet.

Still, he'd do what he had to. He always did.

Sharpshooter18 has joined the chatroom.

The sound of the door clicking open had Pidge squeaking and leaping from her seat. She felt the same flood of irrational guilt well within her as she did when passing a policeman in the streets; she'd done nothing wrong, but reprimand seemed a surety on the horizon.

Slipping from her room and firmly closing the door behind her – her room was hers and she didn't like anyone coming inside – she hastened to the door and peered out into the hallway of her apartment.

At the far end of the hall, her mom was shrugging out of her jacket, hanging it up with practiced precision on the hook waiting alongside the door. Pidge's mom was always perfectly dressed, always appeared neatly groomed even at the very end of the day; hair in a tidy bun, clothes perfectly pressed as though they'd just been steamed, heels clicking in precise steps. Pidge didn't think she could ever be like her mom. Not in a million years.

Did she want to be? Pidge didn't know. She was still trying to figure that part out.

Swallowing her discomfort, Pidge leaned a little further out the door. She cleared her voice slightly before speaking. "Hi, Mom. You're home early."

Her mom glanced towards her, pausing as she stepped out of her heels and onto stockinged feet. She offered Pidge a small, distracted smile. "Hello, Katie. Did you have a nice day at school?" And then, before Pidge could even reply. "Have you done your homework? I hope you've done your homework before you've started playing games."

Always the reprimand, Pidge thought to herself. Why yes, Mom, if I hadn't done my homework and instead whiled the afternoon playing RPGs, I would most certainly admit it to you. Instead of speaking her thoughts, Pidge simply nodded once more. "Yes, I'm finished."

"Good girl," her mom said before, without another word, she disappeared through the doorway halfway along the hall into the kitchen and living room.

Pidge found herself releasing a sigh of relief. What had she expected? Her mom hadn't truly snapped at her in frustration in… it must have been weeks now. Months? Pidge couldn't remember. She should have confidence in her mom, she really should. Besides, when she got angry, it was always within reason. It wasn't like she would –

"Katie!"

The call echoed from the living room and Pidge flinched. Swallowing tightly once more, she leaned further out of her door. "Yes, Mom?"

"Have you had someone over today?"

Why yes, Mom, I would certainly invite someone over – and a stranger at that – because I know just how much you love people coming into your spotless house. Because you know how riddled with friends my schooling experience is. Of course I'd have every single one of them over. "No, Mom. Why?"

"Whose shoes are these, then? They're not yours."

Pidge felt herself grow cold. Shoes… when had she…? Had she left them…? Struggling to keep her voice steady, Pidge replied with as much nonchalance as she could manage. "Oh, you mean in the lounge? Yes, they're mine."

"They're… yours?"

Please don't question it, please. Really, is it that weird? It's not that weird, is it? "I bought them the other day. I wanted to try something different."

There was a long pause in which Pidge thought her heart stopped and she hardly dared breathe. Was it so bad? Was it so terrible if her mom found out? Pidge didn't need to be logical and a government proclaimed 'exceptional student' to know that it wasn't. That it should be allowed. So why didn't it feel allowed?

"This is unusual for you," her mom finally said. The soft thumps of footsteps bespoke her approach through the living room and Pidge fought to school her expression before she appeared in the hallway once more. When she did, Pidge resolutely met her gaze rather than drawing it to the shoes hooked over her fingers. "But so long as it wasn't a wasted purchase. Make sure you keep your shoes beside the door in future, please."

And just like that, the potential for a storm passed. Pidge's mom dropped the shoes beside the door and, without another glance towards Pidge, disappeared once more.

Pidge sagged at the bannister, closing her eyes as she rested her head against the railing. She shouldn't be so worried. No, she shouldn't be so scared. And yet she was. Against all logic – because she didn't know how her mom would respond – she was starkly terrified. If her brother Matt were here, he would help. He would be able to reassure her.

But he wasn't. And riddled with a mixture of guilt, relief and self-loathing, Pidge all but crawled back into her bedroom. Her room was her sanctuary. Her place. She didn't have to hide anything there. She could be herself, with just her computers for company.

DiffWitch has entered the chatroom.

It was early evening by the time they got home, but that hardly mattered. Hunk was as bright and wide-awake as if he'd just gotten up barely hours before. Which, he would admit, he sort of had. Semi-nocturnal work hours did that to a person.

"I'll set up a better ramp," Hunk said as he and his mom trundled up the footpath along the main road. He turned her chair at their gate to sidle through the fence that skirted their squat little house. "It shouldn't be too hard seeing as there's only two steps, but it'll be better then having to shake you so much when we're on the move. I'm sorry the other one broke; I probably didn't reinforce it well enough. I'll make it better next time."

His mom didn't reply. She didn't turn to look at Hunk over her shoulder as he spoke, as he pushed her wheelchair towards the shallow steps before their front door. But Hunk didn't mind. He didn't need her acknowledgement.

"I bet I could rustle together a whole bunch of ramps, actually," he said, weaving around a piece of… something that he didn't want to think about that lay in the middle of their path. There was always junk thrown into their front lawn; Hunk's dad wasn't a popular person. Or he hadn't been. Despite his complete absence of nearly two years, Hunk was still forced to scrub graffiti from their front windows every so often, to say nothing of the rubbish that was lobbed onto their front lawn every other day.

Hunk ignored that, kept his tone bright as they wheeled the rest of the way up the footpath to the front door. "Larry from down at the shop said he'd be happy to give me some scrap metal and timber if I need it." Hunk turned his mother's chair around as he stopped at the steps before tugging her up after him with a grunt. "You know I," he paused at another grunt, "I think he likes you. He's always had a soft spot for our family but I'm pretty sure it's mostly you."

Still no reply, but Hunk still wasn't expecting one. His mom hadn't spoken a word in nearly a year. Not since the first incident.

The house was empty when Hunk opened the door, propping it wide enough for him to wheel his mom inside. A small house, just large enough for the two of them and his Gran when she came around almost every day, it was a blessing that it was only one level so that Hunk didn't have to struggle with more stairs.

Wheeling his mom into the kitchen, he kicked one of the chairs out from the dining table aside to make room to tuck her in. He paused to read the note in his gran's slanted script, made out the words 'I'll be back by six', before disregarding it and turning towards his mom. "Can I get you something to eat, maybe? I know you had something at the hospital but everyone knows hospital food can barely even be classified as real food." Hunk skirted the table, glancing in his mom's direction before turning away from her blank gaze once more. "Here, I'll bake you up some shortbread. I know you always like my shortbread. You said it was proof that I was an angel when I was little, do you remember? Maybe not, but I do."

Without further ado, Hunk set about throwing together a simple batch of biscuits, chattering to himself and his mom as he did. The familiar sounds of a wooden spoon scraping in the bowl, of trays clanking noisily, of the oven humming to life, were soothing to Hunk. He'd always been a kitchen boy in the brightest sense of the term. He enjoyed cooking. It was no wonder that he found himself there for most of the day when he was home. Larry, his local mechanic, had on numerous occasions asked him to apprentice down at the shop – he said Hunk had a gift for engineering that he shouldn't squander, even if he wasn't going to college – but in a lot of ways Hunk thought working in a kitchen suited him better.

Besides, this way his hours corresponded with those his mom would need him more. It wasn't fair to rely too heavily on his Gran, willing as she claimed to be.

The rich, heady scent of butter flooded the house with warmth, and as Hunk cleaned the kitchen with therapeutically familiar motions, he found himself smiling. Nothing quite lightened the mood like a batch of homemade biscuits. He was still smiling when he took himself to the dining table and dropped into the chair opposite his mom.

"I only made a small batch – only about a dozen – because we'll probably have to hide them all before Gran gets here," Hunk explained, wiping his hands on a tea towel before folding it before him on the table. He dropped his elbows alongside it, resting his chin on a fist and meeting his mom's gaze. "I think she's only having us on, though. I don't think she really disapproves sweet things."

Hunk grinned, fond reminiscence of his Gran turning teasing. His mom didn't reply.

"I asked Pops one time when I was little why she didn't like baking so much when she was such a good cook, and he said it wasn't that she didn't like it but that she liked it too much. He said she liked it so much that when she was younger she was as plump as a well-fed chook and had to stop or else she'd pop." He laughed and spared a glance down for his own belly. "I guess she passed that on to me, at least."

His mom still didn't reply. She didn't smile but simply stared at Hunk blankly, barely even blinking. Hunk swallowed his rising melancholy, that which always arose when he was left with himself for too long, and reaffirmed his smile.

"Did Gran do any baking with you, Mom? I wonder if she stopped before she had you or if it was after."

No reply.

"If I asked Gran to bake with me, do you think she would? She pretends to be a bit so hard, but I know she's as soft as cookie dough. Do you think I could trick her into it? I think it's a great way to bond and all that, working in the kitchen with someone and sharing what you've made.

Still nothing. Nothing but the increasingly strong scent of baking shortbread growing in the air. Hunk stared at his mom to the gradual falling of his smile. Sometimes it was just too hard to maintain.

Sighing, he dropped his chin, gaze falling down to the pockmarked table. There was the mark he'd made when he'd put the oven-hot tray upon it surface when he was six. Over there, the groove made by a wayward knife – and a butterknife at that – when he'd tried to cut through a rock cake that was truly as hard as a rock at ten years old. Scarred and bruised, the table bespoke the centre of Hunk's house and home better than any other piece of furniture did. It held memories, their dining table did.

"Wish you could bake with me again, Mom. I miss our Sunday morning bake-offs."

Hunk was speaking more to himself that to his mom now. On an innate level, he knew that she wouldn't reply. On a level that he didn't and wouldn't acknowledge, he understood that she never would. One stroke was bad luck. Two was horrendous. Three… it was a miracle that his mom was even still alive. No one really expected her to do more than blink for herself ever again.

"I miss that, Mom," Hunk murmured to himself, because he wasn't sure if she'd even hear it. A miracle it might be that his mom was still even here, but sometimes…

Sometimes it did feel incredibly lonely.

Butterfingers has entered the chatroom.

The last thing Shiro recalled was an explosion. A fierce, sharp, booming echo that vibrated to his core, and the smacking impact of a force striking his shoulder, tearing his assault rifle from his hand.

Then nothing. He couldn't remember any pain, no bouts of hysteria in half-consciousness, no struggling to cling to awareness when every inch of his body was fighting to stay awake. There was just nothingness.

That scared Shiro more than anything.

Blinking into wakefulness, Shiro squinted around himself. Brightness. He got a sense of brightness, of light, and the smell of something vaguely sterile. Then the blurriness of his vision faded and the room made itself more clearly apparent.

Not a room. Not quite. A tent, he saw, though an expansive one. A familiar tent, for everyone knew what a field hospital looked like even if they hadn't had to utilise the services of one before. The longer Shiro squinted the less bright it became until, with a final blink to vanquish most of the foggy blurriness, he peered around himself.

Rows of beds lined each side of him. A white, curving ceiling sagged slightly like the tent it was. Fluorescent lights lined the very centre of that ceiling. Turning his head, Shiro could make out the vague shapes of figures in scrubs pulled over their uniforms. Another series of fierce blinking and Shiro realised his head wasn't quite as clear as he'd hoped he'd made it. Grogginess slowed his thoughts, cluttering his mind as if with cotton wool. He had the sense of it stoppering somehow, of numbness, of discomfort thinly veiled behind that softness, but he couldn't make it out.

What… happened?

Maybe he made some noise. Maybe he moved a little more noticeably than before. Shiro wasn't sure, but something must have drawn the attention of the field medics at the far end of the tent because the conversation paused for a moment before one figure detached themselves from the group and hastened to his side. Shiro was afforded a sense of blue, of efficient motions, of a pale face, above said face was leaning over him slightly with a small smile upon her lips. She was a little older than him, it would seem, though Shiro wasn't sure how he knew. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe he was wrong entirely.

"Hello, Shirogane," she said, her voice low and deliberately soothing. "How are you feeling today?"

Shiro blinked slowly before, with a herculean effort and a frown to accompany it, he struggled to push himself upright. The medic reached for him and a gentle touch to his shoulder was all that was needed to erase his feeble efforts. "Don't try and move. You might do yourself further injury. Not to mention that you're heavy medicated at the moment and would be more likely to fall off your bed than to climb."

Injured? It was the only part that made any sense in Shiro's mind. What… what injury? Shiro couldn't remember getting injured. He couldn't recall being carted to the field hospital, but… there had been the explosion.

What had happened? He couldn't remember.

He must have spoken his thoughts because, though he couldn't recall asking, the medic spoke in reply. "You checked in at oh-six-hundred hours two mornings ago in a critical state," she said quietly, softly yet with the edge of formality to her words. "We've had to keep you under until we managed to get you stable."

"What happened to me?" Shiro actually heard himself ask the question this time, blinking up at the medic hazily. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. "What's wrong? What –?" He paused as the thought registered within him with a detached kind of panic. "What about the rest of my – my platoon? Is – my captain, was he -?"

Shiro didn't know what made him think they were in danger because he couldn't remember what had happened. In many ways that was the most distressing part. Why couldn't he remember?

But the medic was touching his shoulder once more, her fingers squeezing gently. "They're fine. No severe casualties other than to yourself, and those that have acquired injuries have already been seen to." She gestured up the length of the tent and Shiro followed her finger to several occupied beds, the soldiers within propped up on their pillows. He couldn't make out who they were, but he was relieved that they seemed alright nonetheless.

"That's… that's good," he said, sinking back onto the thin pillow. "That's alright, then."

The medic offered him another small smile before continuing. "You arrived in a critical condition, Shirogane. We've stabilised you but, given your circumstances, you'll need to transfer to back to base. We'll have our specialists take a further look at you there, but… I'm sorry. There wasn't much we could do."

Her regretful tone was ominous and Shiro stared up at her with growing foreboding. "What… are you talking about? What's wrong?"

The medic gestured towards him, towards his right shoulder that was even then, in spite of his attempts to sit up, still tucked beneath the thin white sheet. "I'm sorry. We couldn't do anything to save it."

In a fumbling scramble, Shiro flipped the sheet down from his shoulder and dropped his gaze. He stared. And stared. And only after it gradually began to make sense did he close his eyes and squeeze them to try to rid himself of the sight he'd seen.

"I'm truly sorry, Shirogane," the medic murmured, all smile absented from her voice. "You have responded bravely and remarkably, but we'll be transferring you as soon as is possible. You should take this time to rest and recuperate. To regroup. There's nothing else that you could have…"

Shiro tuned out the medic's words. He didn't want to hear them. He couldn't let himself hear them anymore. The army was his life, had always been his dream, but now… with his arm like that…

What possible use did he have now? What function could he possibly serve to the army he'd so fought to be a part of?

The thought was horribly depressing and Shiro didn't speak another word before he was transferred out.

08/09 – 09.12pm

BlackLion007 has entered the chatroom.

BlackLion007: Hello, Princess.

BlackLion007: I'd be more than willing to listen to you.

BlackLion007: Although forgive me if I interrupt. I have a tendency to engage in two-way conversations.

PrincessOfAltea: Oh, but of course! What kind of a conversation wouldn't involve the participation of two people?

PrincessOfAltea: Hello, Sir Knight, it's a pleasure to meet you.

BlackLion007: Knight? That seems a little too honourable for me, I'm afraid.

PrincessOfAltea: Not in the least. You spoke to me when I asked and that was what I needed most. But would you prefer something else?

BlackLion007: Something else?

PrincessOfAltea: Warrior? Champion? Paladin, perhaps? I always liked that one.

BlackLion007: That's quite a range of possibilities you've given me there. Tell me, Princess, are you perhaps a walking thesaurus?

PrincessOfAltea: Well, I'm not sure about that, but I do try.

PrincessOfAltea: Do you have a preference?

BlackLion007: Do we need a name?

PrincessOfAltea: But of course we do. How else will we refer to ourselves?

BlackLion007: Well in that case, I wouldn't presume to steal the honour of our naming from you, Princess. You are, after all, the instigator.

PrincessOfAltea: The instigator? Hm… I'll have to consider that.

PrincessOfAltea: But I suppose I'll take this as an opportunity. You will be my paladin. Yes, I think that has a nice ring to it.

BlackLion007: I live to serve, Princess. Your word is my command.

PrincessOfAltea: I don't really have a command. I just want to talk. And listen. Is that alright?

BlackLion007: Of course.

BlackLion007: I think for me that sounds just about perfect.

BlackLion007: Forgive me if I sound dramatic, but I think that's exactly what I need right now.

#Voltron legendary defender #fanfiction #keith x lance #klance #long #angst with happy ending #literally riddled with angst and harship #rating: T #all the voltron character #implied or future Shallura

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raywritesthings · 4 years

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Not Set in Stone

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Cisco Ramon, Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Barry Allen, Thea Queen, Quentin Lance, Felicity Smoak, John Diggle, Iris West, Samantha Clayton Pairings: Eventual Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Before the Flash and Arrow teams return home from defeating Vandal Savage, Cisco's powers warn him about an event in Laurel's future. The limited knowledge of this possible future has a ripple effect all of its own. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Things were winding down at the farmhouse now that Vandal Savage was little more than ashes. Cisco wished he could enjoy the victory, but he was too busy watching Kendra standing with Carter across the room as they talked to Barry and Oliver. Cisco was pretty sure he was officially dumped, even if they hadn’t had the conversation yet.

Before he could get too deep into his wallowing, however, a voice pulled him out of his musings. “Hey, Cisco, can I ask you a favor?”

He looked up and to his left. Laurel stood there, and a part of him still had trouble believing someone as awesome and gorgeous as her would give him the time of day. He’d thought the same about Kendra, too, and look how that had turned out.

“Sure. Uh, step into my office?” He suggested, gesturing towards the far less crowded hall. She nodded with a smile and followed him.

“So, I don’t know how much any of the others may have said, but my sister is back. Sara.”

“The Canary?” When Laurel nodded, Cisco’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But, I thought she was dead.” Caitlin had run a DNA test on the murder weapon and everything.

“She was, but there was this magic that I used to bring her back,” Laurel explained. She seemed to sense he was pretty bowled over by that news, for she quickly added, “And it can’t be used anymore, so it doesn’t really matter, but the point is she’s struggling to figure out what she wants to do with her life now. She had trouble suiting up in the field. Her old suit, I think it reminds her of her life with the League and that makes it harder.”

“Okay,” Cisco agreed, still at a loss.

“I wanted to see if you could make her something new, like how you did for Oliver.”

Oh. That was better, much more familiar territory. “Yeah, totally. I mean, I’ll need measurements and idea input and stuff, but I can get on it. Might not be done in time for Christmas.”

“That’s okay,” Laurel assured him. “She’s traveling right now, so I’d just like to have it for the next time she visits.”

“Great.” He was excited just thinking about a new project, and it helped distract him from his romantic woes.

“Okay, do you have an estimate on what that might cost?”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I just bill STAR Labs for the materials. Barry should probably get on that, though.”

“Alright, well, thank you so much.” Laurel smiled again and offered a hand to shake on it. He grinned back and took it.

Then the whole world shifted around him.

Everything became tinted that blue color he associated with his visions, and Cisco gasped at the sudden transition. Then he nearly did again when he was able to focus enough to see what was in front of him.

Laurel, on the ground, an arrow embedded into her abdomen through the jacket of her Black Canary suit. Blood trickled out of her mouth as she barely kept herself sitting up with a hand braced on the concrete floor.

And the arrow, even with the blue haze that covered everything, was green.

He jolted back to himself, gasping for breath.

“Cisco? Are you okay?” Laurel’s other hand was on his shoulder as she watched him with concern. He gripped the hand that he still held even tighter as his head shook.

“No. Oh, no, no, that can’t be possible.”

“Cisco, talk to me.”

He stared back at her. How did he even try to explain? What would explaining do? “I- I vibed just now. With my powers.”

“Your powers?”

He nodded. “They let me see things. Like on other Earths or in the future. I… I may have just seen the future. Your future.”

Laurel took a moment to process that information. “Something tells me it wasn’t good.”

Cisco shook his head, his eyes stinging. His throat threatened to close up just thinking about it. If that was the future — Laurel dying, her own teammate’s arrow the murder weapon — why was he shown it? Why did his visions always seem to herald some kind of doom?

Some laughter came from the main sitting room. The room where Oliver was. His breathing picked up just realizing that fact. Cisco pulled on Laurel’s hand to lead her further back into the house. They ended up in the kitchen.

“Okay, okay, if I saw it, then it has to mean something. I have to be able to do something about this, to fix it or- or I don’t know…”

“Maybe if you told me what happened in the thing you saw, we can figure it out together,” Laurel suggested.

“I really don’t want to,” Cisco said. “But okay. What I saw was, I think, you dying.”

Laurel sucked in a breath, her eyes wide. But she didn’t scream, didn’t cry. “How did it — does it… happen?”

“You were, or will be, in some kind of fight, or you were wearing your suit at least,” he told her, his voice hoarse. “You get stabbed by an arrow. Right here.” He placed his hand on his abdomen, closer to the right. “You were struggling to breath, it was- it was horrible. And the arrow… it was Oliver’s.”

Laurel’s face drained of the little color it had left. “No.”

He blinked to try and clear his blurry vision. “I don’t like it either, but that’s what I saw.”

“Did you see him?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly.

Laurel’s chin raised, defiance in her eyes. “Then I refuse to believe it. Oliver would never.”

“He’s put arrows in people before,” Cisco couldn’t help pointing out, wilting under the sharp look Laurel threw him.

“He’s changed. And even in those days, he wouldn’t have done something like that. He was never cruel.” Laurel licked her lips and paced the tiny space in the kitchen. “It could be an imposter. That’s happened to him before. Or, worst case scenario, he’s drugged like Thea was last year. That’s the only way Ollie would ever do something like this.”

“We got to figure out how to stop him,” Cisco decided. “Or how to stop that happening to him,” he amended to avoid upsetting her again.

But Laurel just looked at him, lost. “Can we even do that? You said you saw the future. Doesn’t it have to happen?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I mean, it can’t be, right? What’s the point of me having these powers if, if I can’t do anything with them? Save people?”

“Cisco, it’s not your job to save me,” Laurel said, watching him with compassion.

“But I—”

Footsteps and a shadow falling into the room caused him to snap his mouth shut, and he was grateful a million times over that he had. Oliver stood in the kitchen archway.

“I was just getting some water,” he said, nodding to the refrigerator over Cisco’s shoulder. “Was I interrupting something?”

“No.” Laurel said right away. “Um, I was just asking Cisco for some help with a present for Sara. Let me get that water for you.” She turned to the cabinets to search for a clean glass.

Oliver shifted one step further into the room. Cisco placed himself in between him and Laurel, shaking in his shoes with both anger and fear.

In an out-and-out fight, he could never hope to do anything against Oliver. The man had held his own against Barry while the speedster had been in a meta-induced rage, for crying out loud! But was that going to stop Cisco from trying? No.

Oliver eyed him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Did they really even know each other? Did Cisco really know what he might be capable of? Laurel trusted him, but was that trust unfounded given what they now knew?

“Here.” Laurel’s hand landed on his shoulder as she moved around him to give Oliver the water glass.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” And he didn’t know how Laurel continued to keep smiling at the man she’d just learned would have at least a hand in her potential death — except Cisco knew that look in her eyes, of watching someone slip away from you to stand with someone else across the room. Of pretending to be happy with all the rest. Cisco had worn that very look barely twenty minutes ago, even if it felt like a lifetime from now.

She loved him.

As Oliver disappeared through the archway, Laurel turned back to Cisco and spoke in a hushed tone. “We can’t tell anyone else what you saw.”

“But they should know if he’s—”

“We don’t know what Oliver will do. It’s an unsubstantiated claim based on circumstantial evidence. It would destroy the team, disrupt his campaign and throw everything we have all worked for the last four years into question.”

“But it’s your life!” He barely managed to keep his exclamation to a whisper.

“So it’s my choice. Please, Cisco. At least until we can learn more.”

She was begging him with her eyes, and what could he really do? March into that sitting room and declare they throw Oliver in the pipeline? He’d look as crazy as Barry had when locking up Jay. His shoulders slumped. “Okay.”

She gave him a last, strained smile and disappeared through the archway, going upstairs as opposed to joining the others in the sitting room. Cisco’s eyes narrowed as he noticed Oliver following Laurel’s movement before Felicity got his attention again.

Laurel would never believe Oliver capable of striking the killing blow, so it would be up to Cisco to look at this objectively and make the necessary precautions. They’d just prevented history from repeating itself by saving Kendra and Carter tonight.

Now it was up to him to change the future.

---

Laurel didn’t sleep at all that night, a fact she thankfully managed to conceal from Thea who was sharing her room in the farmhouse. If Thea had asked about it, she wouldn’t have known what to tell her.

How did she even begin to describe knowing she was going to die?

She didn’t know much about how these metahuman abilities worked, but they seemed to be accurate. If Cisco had seen it, was there any real way of avoiding it? Or was he just saying they could prevent it to try and give her some false hope? Laurel wasn’t sure if she wanted that or not.

The team packed their things back up and waited for Oliver, Barry and Cisco to return from seeing Cisco off. Cisco was almost dogging Oliver’s steps as he approached them at the van, and Laurel gave a little warning shake of the head. Oliver was far too trained not to pick up on repeated aggression like that, and she didn’t want Cisco getting in trouble over all this — not that she thought Oliver would hurt him. She couldn’t see Oliver hurting any of them, so how could that vision be real?

“We ready to go?”

Laurel nodded along with the rest of them and got in the van. She tuned out the conversations being had, trying to think her options through.

She might be dying soon. She needed a will. Did she have much to leave people? There wasn’t much she really owned beyond clothes and her car.

Her lease. Thea needed to sign on in order to keep the apartment after. She’d have to make up some sort of excuse as to why she was asking her friend to do so now. Something that didn’t make it sound like she was getting her affairs in order so Thea wouldn’t wind up homeless once she was gone.

It occurred to her halfway into the drive that Oliver didn’t look to be contributing much to any talking in the van, either. His gaze was turned towards the window, watching the scenery pass as John drove on. What was he thinking about? Did she even dare to ask?

They returned to their daily routines back home, and Laurel did her best to pretend nothing was wrong all the while preparing. She took a lunch meeting to get her will officially filed. She attended a couple AA meetings with her dad to check up on his progress and make sure he was sticking to it. She started leaving detailed notes about each of her cases, for whoever might have to pick up the pieces of her job and her life after her.

Every time she suited up with the others now, a tiny voice asked in the back of her mind, Is it tonight? Am I going to die? She forced herself to ignore it. Forced herself to ignore the flutter of fear that went through her every time she passed by the line of newly hardened arrows on a table in the base, green tips pointed upward.

It couldn’t really be him. There had to be some other reason or person involved. By the time she was racing down the streets on her bike or in the thick of a fight with her tonfas and her fists, it was barely a thought in her head. It was the only time she could truly let go of that thought and just be.

And then the others were all abducted at Oliver’s holiday party and Malcolm arrived to play the Green Arrow’s double to help rescue them.

It could be him. Laurel’s heart thudded in her ears as she finished suiting up, watching Malcolm every second out of the corner of her eye. Was he really here to help, or was he about to betray her for the final time?

But it didn’t come. Malcolm helped them, and all her friends were safe. Back at the Bunker, they regrouped as a team.

“I’ll have to thank him,” Oliver noted and stopped there. Laurel didn’t know what to think. Was her thanks implied or just not deemed necessary?

She turned away and walked off to the empty side room, ignoring the confused or surprised looks of her team members. It wasn’t that she did this for thanks or for credit — but was it so hard for him to acknowledge when she actually did something right? He’d promised to be a better friend, but here she was wondering already if that promise was sincere. If he was supposed to kill her…

No. Laurel gave a sharp shake of the head. She couldn’t let herself give into those doubts. Oliver was a good man. He was the man, God help her, she still loved; broken and jagged and ill-fitting as they had been, he held her heart in his hands, not her life.

And of course he was the one to follow her to where she’d retreated. “Laurel?” Oliver stopped just a couple of feet from her. “Was there something wrong?”

“No. It’s just—” She shrugged. “Malcolm wasn’t the only person there tonight, you know?”

Oliver’s head bowed as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “He wasn’t. You’re right, I — thank you,” he said.

Laurel’s lips pressed tight together, trying to force a smile. It was stupid, dragging it out of him like this.

“Are we okay?”

“You should get Felicity home. She went through a lot tonight.” John and Thea had as well, but the former would likely only let his wife in on any fear or vulnerability leftover, and Laurel would see to the latter. She marched past Oliver to do just that, skirting around him with a wider berth than necessary.

“I know it wasn’t easy for you to work with him after everything,” Oliver said, making her pause in the archway for a moment. “So really, thank you.”

Laurel looked back at him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the people I love safe. Just like you would.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, and she couldn’t detect even the slightest hesitation or deception. She wanted to believe that wasn’t just naivety on her part.

Laurel left and was barely home with Thea for an hour when they got the call from Oliver that Felicity had been hospitalized after an ambush on the couple’s car. They went to join him, but Oliver hardly seemed to want to be there. He was manic in his need to see Darhk pay, making reckless decisions and risking the progress they’d made in bringing peace to the city, in working together as a team. She couldn’t believe he’d broken Machin out without even talking to the rest of them so they could show him just how badly that could go wrong.

“And when your master plan doesn't work, you just sent a murdering psychotic back on the streets,” she told him.

Oliver advanced a step, his face thunderous and eyes flashing and she—

She couldn’t help it. She backed away. She wasn’t in her suit, there was no bow and arrow in his hand and it was Oliver. But had she finally gone too far, pushed this strange contentious thing between them, stood in defiance too many times?

He froze, his shoulders dropping back, his fists unclenching. “Laurel?” Something like hurt, like fear of his own took over his features.

“What’s going on?” John’s voice seemed to startle both of them, and Laurel realized she’d completely forgotten what they’d been fighting about.

“I… you tell him.” She rushed out of the room, wiping at the few tears that managed to slip past her eyelids.

How could she have really thought that? In all their fights, in all the various ways Oliver had ever hurt her, had he ever struck out at her physically? She was losing control, too much knowledge of her own impending future clouding her common sense and making her jump at shadows. She needed to get a grip. The team needed her, for however long she could be with them.

And she didn’t want anyone thinking she couldn’t handle this life; however it ended, being the Black Canary was the one thing that kept her going when everything else seemed to fall around her. They’d have to kill her first to ever take it away.

So Laurel managed to regroup in time to take care of Machin with Speedy and Spartan while Oliver finally went to see his fiancée in the hospital. She told herself to live in the moment and forget about the future for now. No more living in fear.

And then, of course, her sister came back just in time to turn everything upside down for her.

“Time travel. I can’t believe we’re talking about it like it’s actually real.” Seeing the future was one thing, but being able to go there and interact with it?

What if Sara could go to that day that was waiting for Laurel? What if she was the key?

Yet she still couldn’t say when it would happen. She’d be sending her sister on a wild goose chase if she told her what Cisco had seen, and what if there was nothing she could do? She didn’t want Sara blaming herself for Laurel’s death the way their father had blamed himself all those years Sara had been away thanks to the League.

In that same vein, it would be better that Sara was as far from here as possible, so she couldn’t feel it was her fault. “I think you should go.”

She couldn’t ask Sara to stay. She never could, and Laurel didn’t want to be treated as some invalid on her deathbed. She didn’t want to keep Sara to herself if it meant the pallor of death hung over all their final memories. So she gave her the suit she’d asked Cisco to make and sent her to find herself. It was the best thing for her sister. It was all she could give her.

She hoped it was enough. For Sara, for the others. She hoped she was doing the right thing for them.

---

Barry wished he knew what had gotten into his friend.

At first he had thought Cisco was acting strangely thanks to being left behind by Kendra. Now that he and Patty had gone their separate ways, he could relate even. But Cisco’s behavior spoke of more than a broken heart.

The engineer had been keeping late hours. Now that Barry was in charge of the running of STAR Labs, he noticed things like that more and more, when he bothered to look at the papers. Cisco had also been ordering a lot of textiles, which told him he was working on at least a fair number of extracurricular projects.

But what really had Barry concerned was the sheer mania Cisco had exhibited earlier today when they’d been working against the clock to save Dr. McGee’s life. When Barry had gotten to her, averting the death Cisco had foreseen, his friend shouted for joy so loudly Barry had been tempted to take the comm out of his ear.

Of course, he was glad that Dr. McGee was still with them, too, but he suspected there was something more to it than that. Especially since Cisco was right back to feverishly working away.

Cisco had rigged something like those machines that fired baseballs for people to practice hitting. Only instead of baseballs, this machine fired arrows straight into a mannequin torso wearing a black bodysuit. Previous models stood in the background, testament to repeated failures.

“Damnit!” Cisco smacked his fist against the wall as the latest arrow pierced the material the mannequin was wearing.

“Uh, dude?” Barry asked, feeling he’d seen enough to warrant stepping in. “What’s going on?”

“Testing some designs.”

“Okay, well it’s getting late.”

“I’m fine, dude,” Cisco said, his voice terse as he moved the mannequin to the side to join its fellows.

“I’m not sure you are.” He took a couple steps further into the room. “You should get some rest.”

“It can wait.”

“Cisco—”

His friend whirled around to shout at him. “It has to wait, Barry! We- we changed time today without time traveling and that is huge, and I have to figure out how to do it again because if I don’t? Laurel’s going to get killed with a green arrow!”

“What?” He couldn’t have heard that right.

“I vibed. Last time we all met up, Laurel was talking to me and we touched hands and I vibed that she was… she’s going to die, Barry.” Cisco’s eyes were red-rimmed and his voice wavered badly. “Unless I stop it, he’s gonna kill her.”

Barry shook his head. “Not- not Oliver. You didn’t see him. Right? It wasn’t him in the vision.”

“I didn’t see anyone else. But it was his arrow, man, I know it was.”

Barry sat hard on the end of the table Cisco had covered in spare materials and notes. He just couldn’t believe it. Oliver wasn’t the killer he had been, and even then he had never killed someone as good and loyal as Laurel. His friend had just discovered he was a father; he would be doing everything he could to be the kind of man William could look up to. So how could this be?

“Walk me through the vision. Everything you remember seeing. What did it look like?”

“I don’t know. It was kind of… gray? I think the walls and everything were concrete.” Cisco walked over and sat beside him, one hand dragging through his hair as he concentrated. “But there was something else.”

“Another person?”

“No. But I think it might have been a sign on the wall. Something- something about a security level?”

“Just focus on that, forget about Laurel or the arrow for a second,” Barry encouraged him. He was sure that was all his friend would have been concentrating on when he first had the vision, and likely the subsequent nightmares. “Is there something else in the room?”

Cisco’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Maybe… a table. Like in a cafeteria. There’s some weird statue-thing sitting on it. That’s all I got.”

“Okay… you don’t see a time or a landmark or anything?” When his friend shook his head, Barry blew out a breath. “So this could happen any time.”

“Any time they’re both out in the field, yeah.”

“Who else knows?”

“Just Laurel.”

“Just — dude, you told her she was gonna die?”

Cisco stood back up just seconds after he did. “Well, I wasn’t exactly able to hide my reaction to seeing her die when she was standing right in front of me, okay? These powers — I barely understand how they work and it’s rarely in any kind of way I want. I’d rather have not seen it at all, but I don’t get that option!”

He knew that, and he knew blaming Cisco was useless, but God, imagining going through life with an imminent death sentence hanging over you… what did Laurel have to be feeling right now?

“Has she told anyone? Her family? Oliver?”

“Why would she tell him?”

“So he can figure out how to keep it from happening?”

“We don’t know that he’s not the one who’s going to do it,” Cisco pointed out darkly. “Telling him might just be like some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“She really thinks he would?” Barry considered Oliver a good friend, and he believed in him. But Laurel was his teammate, worked with him every day. He actually didn’t know how long they’d known each other, come to think of it. If she really thought it was possible, what did that mean?

But Cisco gave a shake of the head. “No, she’s with you. Thinks there has to be something else, and that’s why she doesn’t want him to know. She’s more worried about him than herself,” he said, hitting his palm with his fist in frustration.

“Wow.” He’d had no idea Laurel cared that much for Oliver. If he found out tomorrow that one of his friends might be implicated in his death, would he have that same capacity for care, even over his own life? Maybe if it was someone he loved; after all, he had forgiven Patty with hardly a thought for trapping him with the B.O.O.T. while she went after Mardon.

Did Laurel love Oliver? His head felt like it was spinning with all these new revelations, and Barry knew even one secret more than everyone else: William. Had Oliver told anyone else? Who all knew what?

Whatever anyone knew, the thing he knew right now was that Cisco looked dead on his feet. “Look, I get how important this is. But you’re working yourself into the ground. Get some rest, and we can attack it from a whole new angle tomorrow.”

Cisco sighed in defeat. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I just don’t want…”

“None of us want that,” Barry assured him. Certainly the Oliver he knew wouldn’t. “And we won’t let it happen, alright? Just like with Dr. McGee.”

His friend nodded, looking heartened, before he left the workroom. Barry’s gaze swept over the skewered mannequins, his lips pressing tight together. What were they actually going to do?

There was very little that could stop an arrow once it was fired at a person, provided they weren’t a metahuman with some kind of exoskeleton or invulnerability. The best way to protect Laurel would be to figure out precisely where and when the vision Cisco had seen was to take place.

Despite his own advice, Barry found himself tossing and turning alone in his bed as he thought it over. He wasn’t sleeping well without Patty there to wake and calm him from his nightmares about Zoom anyway, so he told himself it was probably better to put his mind to use.

A concrete room, with cafeteria-style tables and a sign about a security level. Barry wasn’t an expert in Star City geography or its landmarks, but something about Cisco’s description stood out to him, made him feel like it meant something. Maybe one of the others would have a better idea.

But how many of them could they tell? Did knowledge of Cisco’s vibes pose the same risk as knowledge of time travel? And if he told one member of their team, it was likely to get out to the rest.

If he could just talk to one person, like his dad…

And it hit him suddenly why the place Cisco had described seemed familiar in some way to him. He had been there countless times throughout the years, ever since he was eleven and his father had been wrongfully imprisoned.

Barry sat straight up in bed.

“It happens at Iron Heights.”

---

Oliver didn’t know what the right decision to make anymore was.

He had agreed to Samantha’s ultimatum because it was the only way for him to get to know his son. He had proposed to Felicity because it was the only way to keep her from thinking he was having second thoughts about moving their relationship forward. No matter that he should be happy, having just become a father and a fiancé, he found himself plagued by a sense of unease. And the source of that unease had shocked him.

Laurel.

He couldn’t quite pin down when it had started. Around the holidays, he thought. Laurel had grown tense and withdrawn; her usual smiles seemed strained and she’d stopped seeking him out for partner training, turning to John or Thea instead. He’d been so caught up in his own adjustments since learning about William that it had taken some time for these changes to register in his conscious mind, and it had taken their argument about Machin for it to really break through.

The way she had taken an involuntary step back from him, her sharp gasp of breath and the widening of her eyes — he had only ever been faced with that look from her once before; when she had stopped him from beating a man to death in Iron Heights prison. It was fear.

He hadn’t known what to do, a rash, ill-thought out retort dying on his lips as he’d realized she was afraid of him. When had that happened? And why?

Did she somehow know his secret? The affair he had never disclosed? Was it making her question him? His very character, his intentions?

He couldn’t stand the idea. Lord knew Laurel had every right to doubt the efforts he was trying to make to better himself for his city and for his loved ones. But she had always put aside her own hurts to encourage him; at her best, she had always believed in him before. Was this just one hurt too far?

Guilt kept him awake as he lay on the couch in the loft, Felicity needing the bed to herself with her condition now that she had been released from the hospital. He just couldn’t see an easy solution to this. Telling Laurel the truth on his own might restore her faith in him, but it broke Samantha’s ultimatum. Leaving things be meant losing his oldest friend and possibly destroying the team’s functionality.

The thing was, he was so sick of always letting her down. He still felt the bitter sting of her words from almost a year ago: it’s hard to remember a time when I was ever in love with you.

He wondered uneasily for a moment why that hurt so much. It wasn’t as if he would want Laurel to be in love with him still while he was with someone else. She deserved to be happy someday. She deserved so much better.

He found himself rising from the couch and stepping into his shoes, grabbing the keys to his bike from the pocket of his coat on his way out the door. His decision was made.

It was late, he knew, but he also knew Laurel tended to stay up past even their forays into the field in order to catch up on work from her day job. She had always been that way. And people wondered when he slept.

Sure enough, Laurel answered the door in a baseball tee and pajama pants. “Oliver?” He was glad to see it was mostly confusion on her face rather than the fear from before. “Is everything okay with Felicity?”

“Yeah. She’s fine. Resting, but as fine as she can be, considering.” He was let into the front hallway and studied Laurel as she closed the door. “I guess I’m wondering if we’re okay.”

She tensed, and her voice was carefully light as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Things have been different the last month or so. And I think I know why, and I’m sorry.”

Her face scrunched up for a moment. “You’re sorry?”

Was that so hard to believe? He turned, walking a little into the living room while he figured out just how he was saying this. “I am. It wasn’t fair to you. It never was, and I know I should have just been honest all those years ago—”

“Ollie, wait. What’s this really about?” She’d followed him and looked just as confused as he felt.

“Then… you don’t know?”

Laurel shrugged. “Safe answer when it comes to you is yes.”

He winced. Now he’d really done it. Laurel didn’t know about William, but she had to be incredibly curious as to why he’d brought up the past. And her not already knowing didn’t change the reasons why he’d felt compelled to tell her. “You might want to sit down,” he said quietly, eyes on her rug.

“Okay…”

He pursed his lips together, and began, “Do you remember Samantha Clayton?”

Laurel blinked. “Yeah. She went out with everyone to the clubs a few times, why?”

“One of the times she was there and you weren’t, we…” He hated himself for being unable to just say it. He was a damned coward, no matter how many people he saved at night.

Laurel’s breath caught, and he saw her blink back the shock and the pain. “I see. Why tell me now?”

“I should have told you years ago. It wasn’t fair to pretend it never happened, especially because — I’m a father, Laurel.”

It was the first time he’d truly gotten to say the words out loud. Barry had told him and Samantha of course had already known.

“How’d you find out?” He was sure she was using the questions as something different to focus on rather than the betrayal she had to be feeling.

“I ran into her when we were in Central City. She’s been living there, since… well, I was always told that she’d lost the baby, but it turns out my mother paid her to tell me that and then move away.”

“Oh, Ollie.” She half-stood. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what to think about that. I mean, Lord knows the person I was then wasn’t ready. But why couldn’t she have told me when I came back? When she could see that I’d changed? I — I‘ve lost almost nine years with him.” He knew he was ranting and that she was the last person who deserved to have all of this unloaded on him. “Or why couldn’t she have just left me to pick up the pieces of my own mess? I would have stayed home and never taken Sara on the Gambit.”

“But your son would have been made into a spectacle,” Laurel pointed out, the same as his own inner voice did. “Considering how much you’ve struggled with being your father’s son all these years, I’d hate to have watched him grow up under a scandal like that.”

“William,” he murmured to his toes. “That’s his name.”

“What are you doing about William now? Has Samantha agreed to look at custody arrangements?”

He shook his head and sank wearily onto the other end of the couch. “She wants to be sure that I’ve changed my ways before even telling him, and she asked me not to tell anyone in my own life. Barry knows because I had him run the paternity test.” In one version of time, at least, or so he’d been told.

“Then why tell me? You’re risking your chance with him.”

“I know. But you deserved the truth.” He finally forced himself to meet her eyes; they were shining in the lamplight, and he knew that was from her holding so much back. “I want to be in William’s life, but I want to teach him to be better than me, too. If I can’t be honest to a woman I wronged and who is kind enough to still consider me a friend, how can I be the kind of father or role model he needs?”

Laurel reached across the space between them and took his hands. He watched her lips press tight together as she swallowed once, then said, “You’re more than that. You’re a hero. And one day, William will know that.”

He gripped her hand tight in his, so much feeling in his heart he worried his chest might burst. Relief, regret, gratefulness and, beneath it all, an old, bone-deep longing, so raw and so powerful it took his breath away for a moment.

He forced himself to let go and push the feelings back down, clearing his throat with a gruff, “Thanks.”

“Thank you for being honest,” she returned.

“I am sorry.”

Laurel’s lips pursed, a smile that hadn’t quite made it. She drew back and waved a hand over herself. “Hey, ancient history, right?”

There was a warble in her voice that made the joke fall flat. Oliver knew he should go. She was putting on a brave face so he wouldn’t have to see the hurt he had caused. But he couldn’t help this strange need to be there by her side, to help ease the pain he himself had brought on her.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe just some water,” she said after a moment, her gaze far away.

Oliver got up to get it, glad to have some space to himself in the kitchen for a moment. He still didn’t understand; if Laurel hadn’t known about William, then what was going on between them? Why did her mind seem to be somewhere he just couldn’t quite reach her?

He got the glass down from the cabinet she kept it in, his motions as familiar as if he were in his own kitchen he knew the place so well. It was a comfort, being here and opening up to her like this.

Oliver couldn’t help questioning Barry’s warning about Felicity's reaction in the original timeline. Surely if Laurel, who would have had every reason to hate him, scream and throw him out of her home, had handled the information with such grace and compassion, his own fiancée would do the same. Felicity loved him as he did her, so why wouldn’t she be understanding? He would talk to Samantha tomorrow about having told Laurel — he could hardly see how she could object considering Laurel had been involuntarily involved in even a tangential way — before asking her again about telling Felicity.

Just as he had decided this, there was a whoosh of air out in the sitting room, and then he heard none other than Barry’s voice. “Laurel! Great, I caught you awake. Listen, I think I figured part of the vision out.”

“The vision?” He heard the creak of Laurel’s floorboards and had a feeling she’d just stood up. “Cisco told you?”

Oliver frowned. What vision was this? What did Cisco and Barry know? He crept out to the hall on the balls of his feet, minimizing the sound it made.

“It kind of slipped out. But he described some of the surroundings, and I have a pretty good idea of where it’s supposed to happen: Iron Heights.”

He peered around the corner. Sure enough, Barry was gesturing excitedly as he talked, but Oliver was forced to momentarily duck behind the wall again as Laurel’s nervous gaze flickered in his direction.

“Okay, but Barry, wait—”

“As long as we keep you away from there, you’re not going to die!”

There was a shatter of glass, but it was only when water started seeping through his shoes into his socks that Oliver realized it had been from him dropping the glass in his hand.

He couldn’t have heard right, or he was missing something or he just misunderstood. Why would Barry say Laurel was going to die? She couldn’t.

In a flicker of sudden movement, his friend was standing in front of him, eyes wide. “Oh, God, I did not realize you would be here.”

Laurel appeared in his line of sight next, a hand over her mouth and her eyes glossy and wide. Oliver didn’t think he pushed Barry aside, but it was hard to say in his sudden move to reach her. His hands landed on her shoulders. “Laurel, what’s going on?”

“I…” Laurel drew in a shaky breath. “I was told by Cisco that I’m going to die. That I’ll be killed,” she amended. “I don’t know when, but probably soon.”

This had to be some cruel joke. Or a nightmare. It couldn’t be real.

But Laurel was real under his hands. Her pain and worry and the certainty in which she spoke told him this wasn’t some lie.

He looked back at Barry. “What happens at Iron Heights?”

His friend shifted, uncomfortable, then spoke towards the floor. “All Cisco saw was Laurel bleeding from an arrow in her side.”

“An arrow?” His stomach flipped, and a vision of his own — a reoccurring nightmare he’d had all of last year — rose to the forefront of his mind. Laurel in the place of her sister, dead on a table in the base.

“Not just an arrow,” Laurel spoke, barely above a whisper. “Cisco says… it looks like one of yours.”

“No.” In all his worst, darkest fears, nothing so horrible as that had ever crossed his mind. “It can’t- I would never—”

“I know. I know you wouldn’t,” she said, shifting one step closer, and he couldn’t believe that she could possibly be smiling at a time like this — except he felt her shoulders shaking and saw the relief in her eyes. “I know it’s not you, Ollie.”

He pulled her close without a thought, her head tucked under his chin and his hand running through her hair. He still had so many questions, but for now all he could do was hold her, wondering at how she had been carrying this burden practically on her own. She was so strong. Even the thought of losing her was enough to make his eyes water.

What caused them to spill over was the realization that she did still believe in him. She had overcome her fears, the very instinct to protect her own life, to keep working alongside him every day all while knowing what she did about the circumstances Cisco had foreseen.

Oliver gave a shaky exhale, his lips pressing to the top of her head for the briefest moment, and he felt Laurel’s hands clench the fabric of his shirt. She fit so perfectly here, he couldn’t ever imagine losing it much less being the cause. He had hurt her in the past — no matter what he did, he’d always seemed to hurt her — but by God, it ended tonight.

What was it they were missing? A copycat like the League last year? Someone else gaining possession of his weapons? He thought of Ra’s ripping the sword Oliver had chosen from his hands to plunge it through his side and shuddered. There was no way in Hell he could allow that to happen to Laurel. He would have to be dead first.

“Iron Heights,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder, his cheek brushing against Laurel’s hair. “Barry, you’re sure?”

Barry hung back rather than approach, watching them. “Without seeing the vision myself? No. But everything in Cisco’s description of the place matches up. He also mentioned some sort of statue thing?”

A statue in the prison. Something didn’t add up, but he couldn’t think of it. Probably because he was exhausted. Laurel didn’t look much better. He thought he might likely be the only thing holding her up soon if he kept rubbing her back in soothing circles.

“You should rest,” he told her softly.

She shook her head. “I have to clean up the glass first.”

“I’ll get it,” Barry offered immediately and was gone and back with a broom and dustpan in the blink of an eye.

“Come on.” Oliver noticed her socked feet and chose to scoop her up in his arms to avoid anything while Barry finished sweeping. As he passed the spare room, he had to be grateful that Thea had always been a heavy sleeper even before the late nights that came with patrols.

He only set Laurel down once they reached her room. “Will you be okay?”

“I will. I think I needed to tell someone, even if I’m worried.”

He could understand that better than most anyone, he thought. Having the truth out with her about Samantha and William just before this had been both relieving and one of the most terrifying things he had ever done.

She glanced up at him, raising a hand to cup his cheek while she implored him with her gaze. “Please don’t think, whatever happens, that this is your fault.”

“I won’t,” he promised. Maybe in another time, he would have thought that way. Been defeated before he even began. But it wasn’t his fault; it was his responsibility to ensure what Cisco had seen would never come to pass.

Laurel held his gaze for a long moment, and he thought neither of them dared to breathe. Then she withdrew and slipped through the doorway.

He shuffled back towards Barry, who regarded him with sympathy. “The less people that know about this, probably the better. It’s not exactly a science, but we don’t want to risk somehow setting things in stone.” At Oliver’s nod, Barry stepped up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll make sure Laurel’s safe, Ollie. Cisco thought he saw Dr. McGee die earlier this week but his vision helped us prevent it instead. It is possible.”

Hope, however faint, bloomed in his chest as he looked back at Laurel’s door. She could live through this. She could go on being with them. They still had time.

“Did, um, did something happen?” His friend’s question startled him, and Oliver turned with a frown towards Barry. “I mean, obviously the vision, but — you’re here kind of late. Is Felicity…?”

Right, Felicity. He needed to get back in case she had need for anything, though he thought the chances were slim considering most people were asleep at this time of night. “She’s at the loft. I should- I should go.”

“Yeah, me too,” Barry said, still scrutinizing him with the strangest look. But the speedster was gone in the next instant, leaving him alone in Laurel and Thea’s apartment. Oliver let himself out and made the solitary trek back to his own residence.

He called Samantha early the next morning to tell her the decision he’d made. “Laurel won’t share this with anyone, she’s not that kind of a person. But I should have been honest with her.”

“No, I agree,” Samantha said after a pause. “And if she wants to talk to me, you can pass on my number. I’ve always regretted that I didn’t apologize when I knew how much she — well, you’re a lucky man to still have someone like her in your life, Oliver.”

“I know,” he replied with solemnity, thinking of just how lucky he would be if they pulled this off. If they saved her.

There was another woman in his life, of course, and as he opened his mouth to ask Samantha for just the slightest bit more leniency, he heard that woman call down from the bedroom for assistance. “I have to go,” he said with some regret. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

Oliver hung up, his mind on the various futures he had been warned about. Could it be possible that Felicity’s reaction to learning the truth would be different than what Barry had seemingly experienced in the first timeline, just like Laurel’s fate would be different than what Cisco had foreseen? He felt hope for the latter, yet, as he climbed the steps to the bedroom he’d once shared with his fiancée, there was a sense of trepidation towards the former. If experience had taught him anything, it was that life was a series of choices. It wasn’t very often a person got both of the things they wanted.

What did it say that he already knew without hesitation which he would choose?

---

Felicity had always hated feeling like the odd woman out. In joining the team with Oliver and John along with now being engaged, she thought she’d never have to feel that way again.

And yet, here she was. On the outside looking in once again. Watching Oliver and Laurel.

Nothing had happened, from what she could tell. Laurel wasn’t that sort of girl to be the other woman, not after Oliver himself had cheated on her. They were just friends, and yet…

There was just a closeness that hadn’t been there for a long time. She didn’t know a better way to describe it. It seemed every time the group was down in the base, Oliver was working with Laurel on some aspect of her training. Strength on the salmon ladder, dodging and blocking, even catching arrows from midair!

He was using ones with foam tips for that purpose which he’d designed himself, along with a whole series of projects he had decided to take on for himself. “You know, I can work out the specs a lot faster,” she’d pointed out.

“I’ll run them by you. I just want to be sure.” Where this newfound interest in trick and non-lethal arrows had come from, she didn’t know, but he was honestly starting to remind her of the early days with his micromanaging tendencies. And with the whole Laurel thing.

Was this just his defense mechanism? Every time he got close to another woman, he started backing off and then would inevitably try to endear himself to Laurel again. He’d been pushing Felicity away before this latest turn, ever since they got back from Central, and if her mother hadn’t found that ring box who knew if they’d be here right now.

It wasn’t like he was ignoring the others when it came to training or teaming up in the field. She could just be exaggerating, letting insecurity get to her since her paralyzation. There was no proof of the suspicions she held, even if someone with Oliver’s track record didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.

And then she heard it. Late one night, as she lay somewhere between sleep and waking, a creaking of the couch downstairs. His voice crying out.

“Laurel… Laurel!”

Felicity struggled to force her body to sit up. “Oh, he is so not dreaming about her while I’m literally upstairs,” she grumbled under her breath before calling as loud as she could, “Oliver! Oliver!”

It took a demeaning amount of time for him to make it up to the room, with bloodshot eyes and a deliberate slowness to his breath that spoke of having to calm himself down. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Not really. I heard you,” she said pointedly.

He winced and sat down on the corner of the mattress. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Wow, that was what he thought she was upset about? “Well, you should have maybe thought about that before you started dreaming about another woman.”

He startled. “Felicity, I wasn’t — it’s not anything like that.”

“Really? Well, if you have a good explanation for why you were literally screaming Laurel’s name, I would love to hear it.”

His lips thinned into a line. “It’s not something I can share safely right now.”

Felicity scoffed. “How convenient for you. You know, I’ve been trying to put up with the secretiveness lately, trying to believe better of you, but this is not going to work if you can’t be honest with me.”

“Felicity, wait,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I promise, when the danger has passed, I will tell you everything. But it is not what you’re thinking.”

There was danger? But they were all in danger, weren’t they? As long as Darhk was around. She wavered, some of her anger receding.

“Laurel is my friend, someone I will do whatever I can to protect,” Oliver continued. “And she is always going to be in my life. That’s something anyone I love should know.”

And she had known it. But, the more she thought about it, the more she just couldn’t help it getting to her. No matter what happened in Oliver’s love life, Laurel was going to be there. Felicity could marry him or leave him, and it wouldn’t change that. She was not the constant in his life; Laurel was.

“I think Alex was right before,” she said quietly, surprising herself. And Oliver, judging by the widening of his eyes. But she wasn’t one for backing off a position once she’d taken it. “There’s too much history and baggage between you two for me to be comfortable with, especially when it just seems to draw you back together like this.” Even if he and Laurel were both determined to keep things totally platonic, there was no ignoring the deep care and even love that was in the looks they exchanged every so often.

“Laurel’s a part of the team, and we need everyone,” Oliver reminded her.

“Okay, but in the future I am asking for you to partner with either John or Thea in the field and to let John or Thea train with her.” She squeezed his hand, which had gone somewhat limp in hers. “That is not an unreasonable request considering your past.”

His head bowed. “I know I don’t deserve your trust, but Felicity, I have to keep training Laurel. That doesn’t change my love for you. Please don’t make me choose.”

“Because you can’t decide?” What sort of a man couldn’t decide between his fiancée and his ex?

But when Oliver remained silent, she realized he was decided. Felicity drew back, her hand pulling away from his. “I need you to go. Right now.”

“Felicity—”

“Go!” Couldn’t he respect the fact that she was trapped here and couldn’t leave herself? Once the door shut behind him, Felicity let herself cry into her pillow. Why did it always end like this?

—-

Thea wasn’t sure what was going on, but she didn’t exactly disapprove.

Oliver and Felicity had apparently decided to take a break, and Oliver was refusing to explain the reasoning behind it. This was frustrating John to no end, but Thea thought she’d found the cause in her mother’s finances.

Finding out she was an aunt was shocking, but listening to Oliver talk about his son when she’d brought her findings to him made her happy for him. He had always loved being part of a family and she knew he wanted to have his own one day. Though his prospects didn’t look good at the moment.

“Does Felicity know?” She guessed. It would be reasonable to expect the woman needed some time to process this information.

But Oliver shook his head. “No. And it is really not the time to tell her.”

Thea’s brow furrowed. “Then why the break?”

“We, uh, had a separate disagreement about something,” he told her. “Actually, the same disagreement Alex and I had last fall.”

It took a moment for Thea to realize just what he meant by that, but when she did she couldn’t help her eyes widening. “Felicity wants Laurel off the team?”

“Not that extreme,” he hurried to say.

Good, she thought, because if Laurel was to be kicked off the team then Thea would be going with her.

“Just… she wants me to keep my distance, or something,” he continued miserably. “I tried to tell her that Laurel and I aren’t like that, but she didn’t believe me. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Ollie?” Was he saying what she thought he was?

He studied his hands rather than meet her gaze. “Do you ever think about what it would be like to lose someone — a specific someone? When I try to imagine the people I couldn’t stand to lose, the one that would, would change a part of me forever and not for the good, there’s you.” He looked up and caught her eye for a moment. Thea tried to smile for him and took one of his hands. “There’s William, now. And… there’s Laurel.”

“But not Felicity?” She asked softly.

“Not because I don’t care for her,” he said, “but you and Laurel and John would stop me. I know that. If I lost Laurel or you, I don’t think I could be stopped.”

“What’s got you thinking like this?” She had to know. He could just be taking his and Felicity’s problems hard, but it seemed to be for reasons other than a broken heart.

“A few things. Darhk, for one. He took you all at the party because he wanted to get at my loved ones. By sheer luck, Laurel wasn’t there, and because she wasn’t in danger she was able to help me. I was able to fight back. And I guess it made me remember the first time I ever told Felicity I loved her.”

Thea raised an eyebrow which caused a wry half-smile. At least he recognized he was hardly making any sense.

“It was almost two years ago, right before the Siege. I knew Slade was planning to go after one more person, the person I loved. I also knew he’d planted cameras in the Manor. So, I took Felicity there and basically played out a scene.”

“So Slade wouldn’t target Laurel,” Thea realized.

He nodded, and his shoulders drooped. “I convinced myself that it wasn’t really a lie, and I- I wanted this with Felicity, I know that. But if she makes me choose between having her in my life or Laurel…” his head bowed once again. “What does that mean?”

Thea sat back, her breath leaving her in one big whoosh as she thought about all of this. “I think,” she finally began, “it means that, whether you still love her romantically or not, Laurel is important to you. More important than just about anything. Does she know about William?”

“I told her,” he admitted.

Thea threw a hand up for a moment. “Then I think that says it all, really, Ollie. Laurel’s the person you want involved in your life and in your family. And, truth be told, she would never make you choose like that.” As far as Thea was concerned, that settled the matter right there and then. “But you should probably stop worrying yourself sick about losing her. Highly doubt that’s going to happen after everything she’s stuck with you through.”

“I hope you’re right,” Oliver said, with a weariness that caused her teasing grin to fade. He rose from his seat. “I’ll ask Felicity if she wants me to stay as a carer, but if not I may need to make arrangements to move my things out of the loft.” Her brother looked at her again. “Thank you for letting me work through that, Speedy. I needed it.”

“What are little sisters for besides relentless teasing?” She asked. “And hey, I’m proud of you for facing these things head-on. I’ll support you whatever happens.”

“When did you ever get so wise?”

They shared a smile before Oliver left to have his talk with who Thea suspected would become his former fiancée. Thea, for her part, left for the apartment she shared with Laurel.

A part of her felt kind of giddy upon entering the place. She’d meant what she’d said about supporting her brother no matter what; that had included his engagement. But there was just something special about the idea of him and Laurel. Maybe it reminded her of happier, simpler times. Maybe she could picture their mom’s delight that she’d been right all along. Maybe it was just that these were the two people Thea held dearest in the whole world, and she wanted to see them both get a happily ever after. If it was together, so much the better.

So she practically skipped into the living room where Laurel sat at her desk, frowning over a pile of documents. “Hey.”

It took her friend a moment to look up, and when she did her smile was strained. “Hey, yourself.”

Thea paused. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just trying to figure out the best deal for selling my car,” Laurel said.

“Why would you do that?”

Laurel shrugged. “I don’t use it much. John tends to drive the team around, and I can always borrow my dad’s if I really need one for an errand. It’d just be kind of a hassle to hang onto.” Her friend flipped the folder she’d been looking through shut and turned fully around in her chair. “But how’s it going? You stayed kind of late to talk to Ollie.”

“Yeah, well, we had some family stuff to discuss,” she said with a significant look; Laurel clearly understood by the slight widening of her eyes followed by a nod. “And he wanted my advice on something.”

“Is it something he wants discloses to the rest of the team or a private matter?”

Thea shrugged. “You’ll probably find out sooner than later. I think he and Felicity are over.”

Thea considered it a very near thing that Laurel didn’t fall right out of her chair. “What?”

“Apparently Felicity gave him a bit of an ultimatum,” Thea informed her with a grin. She’d never quite been able to quell her inner gossip, after all. “Only she’s not getting the answer she was probably looking for.”

“It wasn’t about William, was it?”

“Nope.” She could only try to imagine Felicity’s reaction to learning about that one. “Turns out it had a little bit more to do with you.”

She watched Laurel freeze for a moment, a whole range of emotion flickering in her eyes as she asked, “Me?”

“Yeah. I guess all the training you guys were doing lately spooked her and she wanted Ollie to promise to keep his distance, and he’s not exactly prepared to do that.”

“But he- that’s not— I can’t believe him sometimes,” Laurel grumbled, standing roughly enough to cause her chair to rock back on two legs. Thea backed up in surprise. “Where is he?”

“Telling Felicity his decision.”

“I have to stop him.”

“Wait, what?” She moved in front of her friend before she could go for the car keys — the ones she had just been talking about getting rid of. “Laurel, there’s no reason to stop him. He decided you’re important enough to stand up for, and if that’s a deal breaker for Felicity then it might as well end now.”

“But he loves her.”

“So you don’t want Ollie to love you?” Thea asked, fixing her friend with a look.

“Of course I—” Laurel seemed to realize what she’d been about to say and drew in a calming breath. “I’m happy that Oliver cares about me enough to put his own relationship on the line, but he’s throwing away his chance to be happy.”

“Maybe he can be happy with just us,” Thea pointed out.

But Laurel shook her head. “He and Felicity have a future, he’s only wasting his time—”

“What do you mean?”

But Laurel clammed up, arms folding over her chest and cheeks paling. “I— never mind. You’re right, it’s his decision. I should get some sleep or something.” Laurel retreated back to her room, shutting the bedroom door with a snap.

Thea felt more confused than ever as she slowly crossed to the couch. What did Laurel think Oliver was wasting his time on? Her? But why would that be? Why did Laurel seem to think he and Felicity had a future together and that she and Oliver couldn’t have one?

But that wasn’t exactly what she had said, Thea thought, reconsidering Laurel’s words. She had merely said that Oliver and Felicity had a future. That could be together or apart. And by contrast, it was as if Laurel was saying she didn’t have one.

Thea looked over at the desk with its documents. Laurel was selling her car. Last month, she’d put Thea��s name on the lease after procrastinating on it for the better part of a year. She’d been cleaning some, too, organizing things and boxing them up as if to make them easier to pack up and move somewhere. All of these incidents when combined seemed to paint an image of a woman who was getting her affairs in order.

A cold chill went through her, setting deep in her heart. Was Laurel dying?

Tears stung her eyes just at the thought, try as she might to tell herself she was overreacting and jumping to conclusions. Laurel was just as healthy as ever, just as active in the field and in training, if not more so. She wouldn’t be doing those things if she’d received some kind of diagnosis, would she?

Unless she didn’t want anyone to know. She hadn’t said anything to Thea, and the others hadn’t been acting all that different — except Oliver. She’d chalked her brother’s strangeness up to finding out about William reordering his priorities, but what if it was more than that? What if Laurel had confided in him and now he was making the most of whatever time they had left?

Her tears spilled over. Thea felt totally unsure of what to do. Did she confront her friend? Pretend nothing was wrong? What was the best way to help her?

Ollie has been wrong; she didn’t feel very wise right now. She felt scared.

---

Quentin had learned over the years that there were few things more reliable than his gut. Detective’s instinct, honed from long nights on the case. And right now, his gut was telling him something was wrong.

The trouble was, he couldn’t see what. The impossible had finally happened; Darhk was captured. Even more than that, Oliver’s heretofore secret son had been rescued unharmed.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he was worried about what this news had to be doing to his daughter. Quentin had done the math in his head and knew this young boy, innocent though he was, was proof of Oliver’s less than honorable character from years past. Laurel had seemed unaffected when she’d come to his office to loop him in on the search for the kid, but he also knew better than most that his daughter tended to push everything aside to avoid dealing with the emotions of it. Until it became too much to ignore.

He went to her apartment, but found no one home. His next stop was the base. He found Diggle packing up for the night and Thea sitting in Felicity’s old chair — the latter having chosen to take a break from the team thanks to her and Oliver’s breakup, which he’d heard some about through Donna.

“Hey, is Laurel still in?”

“She and Oliver are talking,” Thea said, gesturing to a room off the side that she had been watching pensively until now. Quentin nodded his thanks and marched over there. Better for him to hear some of this for context if his girl needed comforting later on.

But Laurel’s voice was all business as he approached. “He’s being held in Iron Heights, and assuming our office can get a judge to deny him bail, that’s where he’ll stay until his trial.”

“Iron Heights,” Oliver repeated, something about the weight he gave the words making the very air sound heavy.

“I know.”

Quentin frowned at the worry creasing both their brows, the tension that seemed to fill the small space. “Know what?”

Laurel jumped and turned to face him, and Oliver tensed. “Dad! Um, we were just talking about Darhk.”

“Yeah, and I’d have thought there’d be a little more of a celebration going on here considering,” he replied. “How come it feels like I just entered a wake?”

“We’re just concerned about him having a backup plan,” Oliver said when Laurel looked to him seemingly for help. “His idol Mari broke, it has some ability to repair itself. If he can get a hold of the whole thing again, we’ll be right back where we started.” With a deliberateness Quentin couldn’t help noticing, the younger man took his daughter’s hand. “Our best bet is to figure out a way to separate the idol’s pieces as permanently as possible and remove Darhk from Iron Heights before he can instigate trouble that requires our intervention.”

“He say something about doing that?”

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“If we want to keep the idol’s pieces as separate as possible, we should get some of them out of the city, right?” Laurel asked. “I could take some of them to Central on a visit? But I don’t want to leave them with mom if it puts her in danger,” she added, worrying her bottom lips with her teeth.

“She would want you out of danger,” Oliver insisted, “but I think I have a different idea about Central.” He took out his phone and left the room.

Quentin stepped forward before his daughter could follow. “Honey, what’s going on?”

“Um, we have somewhat reliable information that Darhk might be able to stage something within the prison, and that if he does it could… I could get hurt.”

He blinked. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t really say anything more than that.”

“Well, Oliver seems to know,” he pointed out. “Seems pretty worried about it.” And if Oliver was worried then that had to mean something worse was coming.

A rush of wind and crackle of light from the next room over drew his attention, and Laurel led them back out into the main room where they others stood around the Flash.

“Do you think this is the statue?” The Central City hero was asking.

“I know it is,” Oliver answered. “Which is why it has to stay broken. I need you to scatter the pieces, Barry. Nowhere with any significant meaning or ties to any of us. Just as far and as wide as you can run.”

“Oliver, are you sure we shouldn’t be keeping track of the pieces?” Diggle asked with a frown.

“If we know where they are, then Darhk could find out from spying on us,” said Oliver. “The goal is that no one can keep track of the pieces.”

The Flash nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thank you, Barry. I’ll owe you one.”

“Actually, I will,” Laurel said, stepping up beside Oliver again.

“Neither of you owe anything. Oh, but I was asked to bring this along,” the Flash said, picking up a box Quentin hadn’t noticed set on a side table. “A new suit. Cisco’s pretty confident in this design.”

Laurel took it from him, hugging it to her chest. “I’ll have to come out and thank him sometime.”

“He’d like that.” The Flash scooped up the broken pieces of the idol. “Scatter to the winds?”

“To wherever you can,” Oliver confirmed. The other hero nodded, and was gone in a Flash like his namesake.

Diggle gestured to the box still in Laurel’s arms. “How come Cisco made you a new suit?”

“I didn’t ask him to. I guess he just wanted to do his part.” She set it down, lifting the lid and smiling wide.

Oliver leaned in close, too, touching the material inside. “It’s good work. Sturdy.”

Quentin started to come forward to get his own look, but Thea’s timid voice seemed to cause them all to freeze. “You’re still gonna be out in the field?”

Laurel looked up. “Yeah, Speedy, of course.”

“Then… you’re not dying?”

Quentin’s mouth dropped open as he watched Laurel pale and exchange a panicked look with Oliver.

“What’s Thea talking about?” Diggle asked, giving voice to the question foremost in his mind.

“I, um…”

“Cisco had another vision,” Oliver explained, “warning us about something that might happen. But we’re taking steps to prevent it.”

“He saw Darhk killing Laurel,” Quentin said, his voice gruff. He’d known, hadn’t he? The minute he realized what a dangerous man Darhk was, the minute he had threatened Laurel’s life, he should have known he’d placed his own daughter on borrowed time.

“We don’t know for sure,” Laurel said quietly. “But the evidence seems to point that way.”

“Then we take care of him first,” Diggle said. “He brainwashed my brother for years. I’m not letting him take away someone else.” He walked up to Oliver and Laurel, placing a hand on her shoulder. “How long have you known about this?”

“A few- a few months,” she admitted.

“You could have told us. All of us,” John said with a glance towards Oliver. “We’re a team, and we help each other.”

“Cisco’s not sure how his visions work, if more people knowing is a bad thing or not,” she told him. “And I didn’t want to worry all of you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And that’s why you put me on your lease and were looking at selling your car,” Thea murmured, almost to herself as she looked up at the ceiling.

As she said it, Quentin started thinking back through the months, too. Her seemingly random drive to make sure they got to AA regularly even amongst all the chaos in their lives, the sorrow on her face as he’d explained all the things he had done, both for Darhk and as a double agent against him, to keep her safe, the smile she had forced on at the tree ceremony when she’d watched Oliver propose. All the time she’d thought she didn’t have much left, and she’d spent it on others.

Laurel winced. “You weren’t supposed to notice that.”

Thea sniffled, looking even tinier than she normal. “Well, I didn’t, until you kind of implied you didn’t have a future. I thought you’d been told you had cancer or something.”

Laurel shook her head, moving forward to the younger woman Quentin knew counted as a sister in her heart. “No. And, hopefully, I’ll be okay now. I’m sorry.” She hugged Thea tight, and Thea held on just as much.

“We’re removing the idol from Darhk’s reach, Laurel will be wearing Cisco’s new suit instead of her old one, and I’ve taken some steps of my own,” Oliver outlined. “All designed to prevent that future from playing out as he saw it. It’s the best defense we have.”

“I’ll do one better,” Diggle added. “Lyla can probably get jurisdiction over Darhk, or convince the Feds that he’s too dangerous to leave just in Iron Heights. We’ll get him moved.”

Laurel looked back around. “Thank you, John.” As she said it, her gaze drifted in his direction, and the smile she wore slipped off her face. “Oh, daddy.”

“This would’ve been my fault. If Darhk has come after you.”

She crossed the room to him, already shaking her head. “We don’t know why he would’ve targeted me. It could be he’s planning to break out and I would be one of the people stopping him. This life… it is dangerous. If anything, this experience has made me confront that. I could die,” she said, looking him straight in the eye as she did. “But I know for certain now that if I’m not going out there as the Black Canary helping my team, I don’t really feel alive inside.”

“I want you to be safe,” he told her. “But... I know it’s more important you’re happy.”

She smiled before pulling him into a hug. He squeezed her to him, unsure if he could ever really let her go. Just the thought of losing her made it hard to breathe.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room when at last they separated. “Damn, I should’ve worn the waterproof mascara,” Thea joked weakly, earning a couple watery chuckles. “I’m just gonna fix this in the bathroom.”

“And I’ll call Lyla now,” said John, leaving the room as he took out his phone.

Laurel wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand as she headed back over to the table. “I really want to try this on,” she murmured, her hand running down the side of the box. “But maybe it’s best we call it an early night.”

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed softly.

“What did you and Samantha end up deciding?” She asked. “If you don’t mind…”

“No, you all probably need to know,” he replied. “Um, we both agreed that, that William’s safer the further away he can get from my life.”

“I’m so sorry, Ollie.” Laurel turned away from her new suit to face him. Quentin was surprised at the amount of compassion in her gaze. Sure, his girl had the most generous heart he knew, but news like this would have to take days if not weeks to really process to be able to have this kind of talk.

Unless she had had weeks. Had she known? This closeness he was seeing between the two; had Oliver finally stepped up to do right by Quentin’s family?

“It’s what I had to do. This life that I lead, it’s not something I can do and maintain a family or- or a relationship,” Oliver said, looking down.

“I think Thea would disagree,” Laurel pointed out, though as Oliver frowned she added, “Yes, right now William might be too young and vulnerable, especially with enemies who know your identity out there. Enemies like Malcolm, I might add.”

“You might,” he acknowledged with chagrin.

“But,” Laurel continued, “when he’s older, I think you and Samantha both need to talk to him and let him decide for himself what he wants to do. Let him make the choice when he’s ready.”

“I sent a video with Samantha for her to give him when he’s eighteen,” Oliver told her. “Telling him why I couldn’t be there for him. I hope he understands, that he can… forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Laurel brought one hand up to his shoulder. “Oliver, you and William were kept apart through circumstances beyond your control, and now you are making the best decision you can to protect him. You’re sacrificing more for this city than anyone should expect of you.” Her smile turned wistful. “I was trying to make sure everyone was okay before, well, whatever Cisco saw might have happened. I think I did a pretty good job except for you.”

“You’re here,” Oliver said. “So I’m okay.”

They didn’t seem to realize anyone was still in the room. That was, Quentin hoped Oliver had forgotten he was in the room if he was going to look at Quentin’s daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world.

He cleared his throat as the pair of them seemed to sway forward a little. Oliver froze and Laurel quickly stepped back, removing her hand from Oliver’s shoulder as if it had been burned. Good to know he could still return them to their young adult selves.

“Uh…”

“Look, I don’t mind exactly,” he began with a look to both of them. “But maybe take things a little slow, huh?”

Oliver’s lips pressed together as he looked down, and Laurel’s cheeks were pink with embarrassment. Just doing his job.

Thea came back into the main area, looking around at them all. “What’d I miss?”

Quentin smirked and shook his head, turning and walking to the elevator. They could fill her in if they wanted. When they were ready.

---

He’d been worried about events in Star for so long, it took Cisco by surprise when things turned really hectic in their own neck of the woods.

Caitlin has been taken. He was so scared for his friend it was hard to even think sometimes, but he needed to because his other friend was in trouble, too. Barry had given up his speed in exchange for Wally, which meant that they were not just powerless against Zoom once again, but also that there was no one to fight the regular crime in Central City.

No one, that was, till their substitute came in.

“Wow, it’s great to meet you,” Iris said with a smile. “And that you’d come out here for this.”

“I owe Barry and Cisco a few favors,” Laurel explained with a smile. “And it’s better for all of us if we help each other out now and then. Next week is Oliver’s turn, since I’ll have to be getting back to work.”

“It hopefully shouldn’t come to that. Harry’s got a plan to give Barry back his speed,” Joe said. Cisco wondered if he just didn’t want Green Arrow hanging around their city.

“Well, I hope for Central’s sake it works.”

It didn’t.

Cisco ran down from the roof after transferring the lightning through their specially-built wand only to find the others mourning the charred remains of Barry’s suit. All of the others except Wally and Jesse, collapsed in the hallway, and Laurel, lying still by the machine.

He hurried to her side, panic rising as he reached to check her pulse. Just as his fingers brushed the skin on her wrist—

He was plunged into the blue-tinted world he associated with his visions. Cisco looked around, terrified of what he might see this time.

He ducked reflexively as a ripple of sound raced past him accompanied by a loud scream. The source was none other than the Black Canary, standing in a protective stance in front of Green Arrow who knelt on the ground. Cisco watched, amazed by the power her Cry now possessed, and it occurred to him he couldn’t see the choker he’d made around her neck.

The Laurel of this vision stopped her cry, turning to pull Oliver up from the ground. But Oliver remained kneeling, holding Laurel’s hand in his own as he took out a ring box.

Cisco found himself back in the real world, gaping as his mind caught up with what he’d just seen. Laurel groaned and turned over, not quite awake and aware.

“Cisco, is she okay?” Iris asked, a waver in her voice from her anguish over Barry’s disappearance.

But Cisco couldn’t help smiling as he answered. “Yeah. She’s gonna be just fine.”

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #cisco ramon #arrow #the flash #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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