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tagsecretsanta · 3 years

Text

From @Onereyofstarlight

to @godsliltippy

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Jelly smears onto her arm where Gordon grabs her and a ball of wrapping paper and tape is thrust into her hands.

“’t’s for you,” he says, eyes alight as she holds the pink package away from her body.

Penelope stares at him and looks over to her father. Years of etiquette, engrained into her by nurses, nannies and governesses, never prepared her for the clumsy friendship of a five-year-old boy who showed all his teeth when he smiled.

No-one would know if she didn’t thank him. Just the two of them, and she doubts he would even notice.

Her mother would notice. Her dead mother’s presence was everywhere, lurking in the corners of every room and watching Penelope’s every move. Her mother would tell someone and they would tell her father.

Nothing escapes Lord Creighton-Ward, especially not in his own house.

She nods slowly instead, allowing a thin smile to spread across her face.

“Thank you, Gordon.”

There’s dirt on his nose. Her smile falters.

But Gordon is five and starry eyed and in love with the pretty girl who came to play school with his brothers and doesn’t see the lie in her eyes.

He runs back to his mother, heedless of the way Penelope’s eyes follow him.

“Wot’s tha’ milady?”

“Nothing, Parker.”

She means it too.

The gift is never opened, discarded among the steamers and half-eaten plates of food.

Gordon never notices.

***

The next year, he gives her nothing but a cold stare.

***

Time passes and she’s no longer a haughty girl of seven, sulking in the back room of a boring Christmas Eve party, and he’s no longer the kid who follows his brothers like a lost puppy. He bounds first into every room, demanding attention and she can hardly stop herself from giving it to him.

“Hey,” says John, looking slightly affronted at the way her eyes have slipped away from him once again. “You listening to me?”

“Yes.”

She’s lying, and she’s gotten good at that, but John still knows her tells, still knows her.

“Sure.”

It’s hard to hear him over the bright spark of laughter on the other side of the room. Gordon is surrounded, entertaining the small children stuck in the same position she was exactly twelve years ago.

A nudge pulls her from her thoughts and John nods in his direction.

“Talk to him.”

Penelope says nothing and he reads her silence as easily as his mathematical proofs. His mouth twists as he watches her, biting back platitudes that she can’t stand to hear.

“He got you a gift,” John says quietly. His eyes never leave her and she wishes desperately that she could leave. “He spent hours thinking about it, didn’t shut up about it since he drew your–”

“Don’t tell me that.”

His hands rise, open and honest and the words fall heavy between them.

She’d never been more pathetically grateful than when Gordon pulled her name for the annual Christmas round robin. She doesn’t need John to point it out to her.

There’s a dry lump in her throat and it tastes like pity.

Penelope knows she’s being a terrible host, but she allows the silence to stretch between them.

“Do you want another drink?”

She shakes her head, looking very carefully into the flickering flames.

John sighs and collects her glass from the mantle all the same.

“I’ll be back.”

She watches John as he strides across the dance floor, half convinced he’s about to spill the beans to Gordon, but he barely gives him a second glance. Instead, a few short words and a pointed look in her direction sends Virgil her way.

“Penelope, you’re looking wonderful.”

“What did John tell you?”

He grins and offers her his hand.

“Just thought you might appreciate a dance. Take your mind off matters.”

“He told you?”

“Never, our Johnny is a gentleman first. And a dancer last.”

On tiptoes, she spies John over his brother’s shoulder and glares at him as he ducks out of the room.

“One dance then, Mr Tracy.”

“Lady Creighton-Ward.”

In truth, Virgil is a wonderful dancer. They move like starlings in the dusk, mesmerising and perfectly choreographed as the music swells in a familiar beat. It’s easy and joyful, allowing herself to move without thinking while Virgil mutters terribly judgemental comments about the more stuck-up members of her peers.

“Stop it, Virgil,” she whispers, fighting a smile. “It’s not funny.”

He laughs and they dance, allowing the music and conversation to direct their pace and as the song swells, he twirls her, throwing her into a spin with laughter erupting from her lips, and yet it’s Gordon who catches her.

The sound dies and blood rushes to her cheeks. She drops his hand and stares, lips parted, eyes wide.

It’s embarrassing, really.

Virgil has made himself scarce, but her eyes are trained on Gordon alone. In his hands, he holds a present, its yellow bow flopping over like her father’s dog after a long walk, and he smiles, crooked and sweet in its uncertainty.

She can’t bring herself to breathe. His smile falters as his face flushes and he drops his eyes. They stand together and their eyes don’t meet. In one stilted motion, he presses the small box into her palm and turns away.

Their hands never touch, but the gift is still warm. She traces the yellow ribbon as she watches him go.

“Thank you,” she calls out with a rush of courage.

He glances back over his shoulder and shrugs, his smile brilliant between flaming cheeks.

“Welcome, Pen. Happy Christmas.”

And it is.

Later that night, she stares at the neatly wrapped box and turns it over in her hands. She should open it, she knows, but she remembers John telling her how Gordon had agonised over this. He deserves more than a bleary thank you note tainted by exhausted emotion.

She puts the gift aside, ready for Christmas morning when she can take her time.

She wakes up and it’s Christmas Day.

It’s Christmas Day and her father dies.

***

She packs her childhood away and smiles with all the gracious manner he’d always expected of her. People stream through the house; some she hasn’t seen for years and some she’d seen only yesterday. Their comfort is as empty as the house she grew up in.

“We can’t put this off any longer, Penelope.”

Her aunt’s quiet voice breaks through the haze of grief and exhaustion.

“Not yet,” she whispers, watching the door.

“Not even Jeff Tracy can change an international flight plan midcourse. By the time they land, refuel and deal with the bureaucrats in order to get back here, I need to be gone. And you need to be with me.”

She exhales shakily, fighting the tears and tightness in her chest.

“Let me get my things.”

Great Aunt Sylvia nods and Penelope stands. It’s short work but she allows herself to hesitate. She knows what she’s getting into, and there won’t be time for sentimentality in her future. She looks down at the little box she’d placed on her bedside table. She should leave it behind along with her regrets.

She pulls on the ribbon. It’s an impulse and a foolish one, and she can’t stop herself until she holds the gift unwrapped in her hands.

A laugh bubbles out of her, genuine and surprising in the dullness of the day. A pair of door knockers, moulded into the familiar shape of Sherbet, lay gleaming in the tissue paper.

It’s ridiculous and perfect and she can’t help but love it.

“Penelope, dear? No time for dilly-dalliances.”

“I’ll be right down, Aunt Sylvia.”

Penelope collects her things, still biting back a smile. She’ll have them installed while she’s away.

***

Penelope trains in espionage. Gordon joins the military.

She completes her apprenticeship and Jeff Tracy offers her a position. He doesn’t return.

His father dies. She listens, numb, as Scott tries to get through to his superiors. No amount of money or connections will allow Gordon to resurface from his position of deep cover.

Unease settles over the family and no-one asks her to leave the island. So, she stays. She programs her favourite meals into the kitchen computer, hands tools to Brains and tells Parker to look after Mrs Tracy. Her employer is dead, but she’s not sure where else she should be.

Alan follows her around. Virgil sleeps. She doesn’t know what Scott and John are doing, locked away in the study.

Eventually, Gordon comes back. He’s lost his healthy tan and the bags under his eyes look like storm clouds. Still, he laughs as he swings Alan around in a hug, and drags Virgil out of his room, and needles at his other two brothers until they finally tell him the plan moving forward.

International Rescue will continue and Penelope no longer feels like a stranger on the island. The black despair begins to peel back and she can feel the hope and determination they all share.

It’s a gift.

***

He’s bashful.

He’s infuriating.

He’s scared.

He’s ecstatic.

He’s lost.

He’s safe.

His father is alive.

His father is alive and he’s looking at her, joy in his eyes and determination behind his smile.

He slips beneath the cool armour she forged in the wake of her father’s funeral with a kiss.

There’s no time to talk until there is.

He walks his grandmother’s son across the room and turns to her.

He reaches out and she meets him there.

***

It’s a fragile thing between them, still nebulous and undefined. Her breath catches as he slides an arm around her waist and tucks himself against her skin. Great Aunt Sylvia would never approve of such a blatant display. Parker certainly doesn’t.

It’s vulnerable and honest, and so very Gordon, and she tenses as his family’s eyes land on them, bracing herself for the scrutiny to which she’s opening herself. He tugs her close, careless and unrepentant beneath the gentle ribbing and wolf whistles. She can hear the distinct bleep of money being transferred between bank accounts and shoots a glare in Virgil’s direction.

It turns out that no-one finds them very interesting, hardly saying a word and playing with each other’s hands.

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, until it spreads into a smile of her own beneath him. Her eyes flutter closed and she moves to clutch at the hand that cups her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers, mouth against her skin. “Happy Birthday.”

She pulls away and stares.

“I thought you said we would exchange gifts on Christmas. I haven’t wrapped yours yet, you should have told me and–”

“Pen,” he interrupts, laughing a little. “I said ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s not Christmas time just yet.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shrugs as he reaches behind him with a sheepish grin.

“Well, it’s just I know how it is, being born near a holiday. Gotta imagine being born the day before Christmas lends itself to that combined present crap far too easily for people.” He glances down at the parcel, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know you said you didn’t want a fuss, but I wanted you to know I was thinking of you today.”

She loves him. The thought is no longer new or surprising but for the first time she embraces it and allows it to warm her heart instead of squirrelling the idea away in a fit of shame. He thought of her and she loves him and she doesn’t care about presents, not really, but no one had ever thought of her like he does.

He hands her a brightly wrapped parcel and she can’t help the dopey smile that grows as she holds it in her hands.

“Thank you, Gordon,” she says, still staring in delight.

“Well, there’s more where that came from.” It’s a self-conscious laugh, tinged with uncertainty and he can’t help himself and the question spills forth. “You like it?”

“I haven’t opened it yet,” she says with a laugh of her own. “But I already love it.”

He looks entirely too pleased with himself, but she knows how to fix that these days. Leaning forward, she kisses him herself, paying no mind to the rest of the family.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

#thunderbirds are go #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #thunderbirds 2015 #Lady Penelope #Gordon Tracy #Pen and Ink #gordon x penelope

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torialeysha · 4 years

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Cold Feet - Part 15

Shadow of doubt.

A/N: Hello my darlings! It’s been a while, too long a while, I know :( What an absolutely awful year it’s been for all of us! I can only hope that you’re all well and keeping safe. Here’s a long overdue cold feet update to keep you occupied.

Song: Paramore - Tell me how

A discordant racket sounded above the routine rumblings of the bakery. A muffle of raised voices and the righteous clicking of heels against the sticky floor mirrored by clumpier steps echoed down the cask laden hallways and seeped through the splintered wood of the makeshift door that separated Alfies office from the clamour of the distillery. Looking up from the cluttered mess of his desk, Alfie run a hand quickly through his dishevelled hair and down his overgrown beard while awaiting the approaching commotion with hopeful intrigue. He groaned disappointedly when a Brummie brunette breached the door with a fumbling Ollie in tow, his long, clumsy fingers attached to the fur trim of her expensive coat.

It was wishful thinking on Alfies part that it would have been you who had stormed the door instead of the peaky lass. It had been well over a week since he had last seen or heard from you. And he had invested all of those torturous days busying himself to try and take his restless mind and it’s various crazed voices off of you and the recent revelation that had pillaged his plans to save you both from the Italian shit storm that had blown in from the other side of the pond.

Still his mind struggled to come to terms with the news you were with child. He couldn’t comprehend what was worse, the daunting idea of becoming a father or the sickening possibility that the baby might not be his. His crooked teeth clenched painfully together at the mere thought of you being intimate with anyone other than himself. Of course you had assured him on countless occasions that nothing of the sort had ever or would ever happen between you and Charles. And Alfie had believed you. Trusted that it wasn’t in your nature to lie. Foolishly so now considering you were the one who had also told him of the possibility that he might not be the father. One was a lie but which one? It drove his already unhinged mind insane thinking about it. He tried to stay out of his head and ignore the little demented voices that would taunt him in the quietest hours, reminding him of all the times you and he had copulated over the years and never conceived, which in turn highlighted how coincidental it was that you should now fall pregnant after sharing a bed with another man.

Plagued with doubt and unsure of what to do, he did nothing. Shunning the situation altogether and letting his selfish pride take over and stop him from reaching out and doing the right thing.

“I tried to stop her!” Ollie explained.

“It’s alright, Ollie. Let ‘er in.”

Ada tore herself from Ollies hold with a look that could kill.

“The one who’s too righteous to use the Shelby name, ay? To what do I owe the displeasure?” Alfie casted an unyielding gaze curiously upon Thomas Shelby’s younger sibling, filled with an over-brewed distaste.

“Have you seen this?” Ignoring his provocative comments. Ada pulled a newspaper from under her arm and threw it on his desk. The daily publication landed in front of Alfie with a rustling slap. His curious gaze wandered lazily from her to the paper. It appeared that Ada had left it open on the specific page, considerately saving him the trouble of rooting through. He grabbed his glasses, balancing them on the bridge of his nose before beginning to read.

Ollie slid closer to the desk, pulling his wistful gaze from Ada he peeked down at the paper to see what would have piqued Alfies interest. The headline read Announcements. A full page worth of biliously boastful declarations. Taking up almost a quarter of the page and catching both of their attentions immediately was a photo of you and Charles. The print underneath proudly stating the news of your engagement.

Alfie studied the photo. Looking past the image of Charles’ to focus on you. He couldn’t help but notice how the black and white portrayal did you no justice. You looked tired. Your sparkling eyes dull and lifeless. The only hint of happiness was in the slight upturned curve of your painted lips.

“Fucking ‘ell.” He exclaimed with a sigh. “A life with him should be under obituaries. Please send her my deepest condolences.” Alfie leaned back in his chair with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. The sound of creaking leather beneath his tight grasp on the worn arms of his chair was the only giveaway of his teetering disposition.

“That’s all you’ve got to say? Come on, Alfie, you’ve got to do something about this now. This whole charade has gone on for far too long.”

“And what do you think you know about it?” Alfie boomed. “Sticking ya ore in one last time before you fuck off back up the canal to that shit hole you call home? You Shelbies are all the fucking same, mate. Always making something your business that ain’t your fucking business.”

“Finished?” Ada sighed. Unfazed by his outburst.

“Yeah, I am actually - for now anyway...”

A sceptical Ada waited for him to continue.

“...Take a seat then. Let me get you a drink.” Alfie pulls a bottle of whiskey from his draw. “Or do you want something softer? I mean, never can be sure if you’re up the duff again.”

“Alfie!” Ollie admonished.

“It’s alright, Ollie.” Ada assured him before turning her attention back to Alfie. “You can save the unpleasantries, Alfie. I know you can’t stand me and I can’t stand you either. But the truth is I’m not here for you. I’m here for Y/N. I’m worried about her. She’s in too deep with Charles. I’ve tried to tell her but she’s insistent on staying with him to protect you. You can’t let this carry on much longer, it’s too dangerous for her and the baby.”

Alfie’s eyes widened when Ada mentioned the baby.

“Yes, I know about the baby.” Ada exclaimed through a frustrated sigh. “Y/N’s told me everything.”

“Then you will also know why I ain’t doing fuck all about it.” Alfie grumbled dismissively.

“What are you on about?” Ads asked bemused.

“Hmm, it seems that you don’t know everything then, do ya?... The sprog might not be mine.” Although he tried hard to conceal it, the words pained Alfie.

“What on Earth would make you think such a thing?”

“Because she fucking told me! 1 in 2 possibility she said. And this ‘ere, right,” he pokes the paper. “Tells me exactly what horse she’s backing.”

“And you believed her?” Ads scoffed, shaking her head. “She hasn’t even slept with Charles, so how could it be his?”

“Well if that’s so then why would she tell me otherwise, ay?”

“...It doesn’t make sense...” Ada’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. “...You must have said something to her to make her spew a lie like that?”

“Well, lie or no lie, it’s done me a favour to tell you the truth-“ Alfie replied nonchalantly, deflecting her question.

Adas eyes narrowed further at Alfie’s flippant reaction before a bleak realisation washed over her.

“-Oh God! That’s it isn’t it. You told her you didn’t want the baby didn’t you?” Ada’s heart sunk at what she hoped was a wrong assumption.

“Not in so many words.”

“For crying out loud, Alfie. I can only imagine how hurtful that was for her to hear.” Ada paused for a moment. “Haven’t you stopped to think for a moment that that may have been the reason why she said you might not be the father? To hurt you like you’ve hurt her?”

“Listen ‘ere, right. You might be, but I ain’t no fucking fool-“

“-No.” She interrupts him. “You’re just an ignorant pig who doesn’t know Y/N as well as you think you do. She’d stop heaven and hell for you...I used to think you’d do the same for her - maybe I was wrong. Your judgment is cloudy, Solomon’s. Clear your head and come to your senses before it’s too late.”

Alfie stays silent, his thumb and forefinger fiddling with the overgrown scruff that decorated his jawline.

“Y/N’s under the illusion that you have a plan-“ Ada continues.

“Don’t dare come in ‘ere and fucking patronise me!” He erupted, slamming his fist on the desk. “I have a plan, right. It’s not a fucking illusion and it’s none of your fucking business either.”

“Then what the hell are you waiting for? Go to her. Beg for her forgiveness and when she takes you back- if she takes you back, get the hell out of here, both of you.”

“And tell me, sweetie, where does that leave your brother and his little starling problem?” Alfie eyes Ada curiously.

“He’s a Shelby. He’ll handle it.” She replied flatly.

Alfie graces her with an impish grin, the cockiness of her statement amusing him.

“Yeah, he’s done a brilliant job so far, ain’t he?” He muttered sarcastically.

“Just give Y/N the benefit of doubt, Alfie. After everything you’ve put her through, it’s the least you could do.” Ada waited for Alfie to reply but he stayed silent. His arms now folded stubbornly across his chest.

A defeated sigh left her ruby lips as she decided regretfully that her visit had been in vain.

“I’ve said all I’ve come here to say, I’ll be leaving now.” She grumbled, turning towards the door.

“Let me walk you out.” Ollie offered quickly, stumbling to her side.

“That won’t be necessary.” She declined. Blushing at their clashing of hands which have both reached for the door handle. A fleeting moment ensued between the two but Ada shook it off swiftly.

“I don’t need a man to open the door for me.” She sighed harshly.

“No, I remember that.” Ollie gave her a sad smile and withdrew his hand, leaving Ada to open it.

“Think about what I said.” She turned back to address Alfie who just grunted a dismissal.

“Where is she?” He asked suddenly.

“Arcadia.” Ada told him, her voice thick with hope.

Alfies eyes fell to the floor as he gave a subtle nod.

Resisting another glance at Ollie, Ada left wordlessly with her head held high.

Ollie loitered by the door debating wether or not to follow her. An abrupt bang shook the room, so loud it caused him to jump. He turned to Alfie whose pencil was now protruding from the photograph in the paper, piercing what would have been Charles’ face.

“I think Ada’s right, Alf.” Ollie approached his boss carefully.

“Yeah? And I think you’re just blinded by the peaky tart and that you’d think shit smelt like roses if she told you it did.”

Not wanting to get a wallop, Ollie gritted his teeth and said nothing.

“...So what if she is right, ay? Nothing changes. I can’t be who Y/N needs me to be.” Alfie confessed coyly.

“What you on about?”

“Being a dad. How could I be a fucking dad? I mean, who did I have as an example? My old man was a waste of space.” Alfie eyes his fathers hat hanging obnoxiously on the coat stand in the corner of the room. “Never ever saw the cunt.”

“Oh come on, Alfie. You ain’t your old man. You’d be a great dad. Look at what you’ve done for Goliath.”

“He’s a grown lad though in’t he. I didn’t raise him.”

“What about me then? You’ve pretty much raised me since the day my dad passed. And I turned out alright.”

A hundred and one sarcastic remarks crossed Alfie’s mind but he silenced them and instead agreed begrudgingly with a grunt.

“All you got to do is look at everything you’ve done for Y/N to realise that you’re nothing like your old man.”

“Yeah, waste of fucking time that all was.”

“Oh, Come on Alfie! If you really felt that way you wouldn’t have bothered whipping up a nurser-“ Alfie’s seething scowl stops Ollie abruptly.

“... I know it’s none of my business, boss.” Ollie gulped, continuing more cautiously. “But I don’t think Y/N would have come here and told you about the baby if there was any doubt in her mind that it wasn’t yours.”

Alfie jumped up from his desk causing Ollie to cower, fully expecting Alfie to chin him one for interfering in his personal business.

“There’s only one way to find out, in’t there. Get my coat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

For you, daytimes wasn’t the problem. Daytimes you could spend time with Ada or occupy yourself with the odd job at Arcadia. It was the nighttimes that haunted you. When the parties were over, the doors closed and you had to curl up beside Charles with another mans baby growing inside of you - a man who had shattered your heart a second time.

You had left the bakery that day numb, exactly like you had the last time he had broken your heart - ironically within the same four walls. It took all the strength you had to put on a brave face and lie to Ada afterwards, to tell her how overjoyed Alfie was about the news you were carrying his baby and that it wasn’t the train wreck it actually was. It just felt easier that way and it also gave Ada one less reason to hate him. It angered you that even after all the hurt Alfie had put you through, you still possessed that unabating need to defend and protect him. Which was the main reason you were still here and hadn’t fled London like your wounded heart had wanted to.

You had thought, or more so hoped, like you had done the first time he broke your heart, that Alfie would have come round by now but almost a fortnight later and still no word. It seemed you would have to somehow come to terms with the inevitable and try as best as you could to move on without him. Just the thought of that tore your sewn up heart back in two. You’d lay awake at night thinking about it, licking your wounds and drowning in a turbulent sea of misery as you tried to work out your next move. You wouldn’t be showing properly for a few more weeks, which should hopefully give you enough time to bring Tommys plan to fruition and help him put a stop to the Changrettas’ before it was too late. It’s what you would do next that had you stumped. One thing was sure, you would have to leave town. The thought of sticking around and raising Alfie’s child in London knowing he didn’t want to be a part of either of your lives was too gut wrenchingly painful to endure. So where would you go? You still had family you could turn to but your stupid pride would stop you from going back to your Aunts or turning up on your mother’s doorstep pregnant. What you needed was a fresh start. Birmingham was an option - a rather appealing one considering your connection to the peakies. You could be certain that Tommy would see you right and make sure you settled in. However, Tommy’s business relationship with Alfie could pose a problem. Another option, a more drastic one, was America. Ada would spend hours telling you about America and how much she adored it. She said she would be returning there soon, maybe you would go with her.

“That’s the last of the gin, Miss.” The glass bottles clinked a merrily enticing tune as the delivery man set the last crate on top of the other one at the bar, effectively stealing you from your reverie. He slid a docket under your nose for you to sign and with your signature and a tip of his flat cap he took his leave.

You had begun replenishing the bar with the gin when a sudden, eerie feeling crept over you. Shaking it off, you quickly dismissed it as fatigue and continued unpacking the crates...but the feeling lingered. Maybe it was the huge club that was bereft of the nightly pandemonium which caused your unease and emphasised the strange silence as it pressed in on you. You glanced around, the presence of the few workers dallying doing little to ease your imagination as it began to run wild: What if Sabini had found out who you were? Or even worse, what if Luca had done some digging and found out you had been spying on him and Charles? Either one could be lurking in the many shadows of the club waiting for the right moment to strike. It was an alarming possibility that caused a shiver to run down your spine.

Feeling paranoid and vulnerable, you were overcome with a staggering urge to get out of there as fast as you could. You left the bottles of gin on the bar top and made a hasty retreat from the grand hall to retrieve your coat and purse from the office. You moved briskly to the golden pillars which adorned the entrance of the large hall and masked the narrow stairway to your little office. No sooner had you breached the golden barrier were you pulled behind one of the pillars. Your mouth opened on a scream but closed when you came nose to nose with Alfie.

“Alfie, what are you doin-“

“-You’ve lied to me, ain’t ya? You haven’t fucked the Yank.” His grip tightened on your wrists.

“That’s none of your damned business!”

“Anything to do with you is my business.” He growled. “This is my business.”

He let go of one of your wrists to gently caress your stomach. You stilled at the unexpected gesture and melted against the column you were pressed up against. Enraptured completely by his touch that you hadn’t felt for days. Reminding yourself of the reason for his absence, you snapped out of his spell and batted his hand away forcefully.

“You’ve changed your tune!” You spat bitterly, pushing past him.

The sound of his footsteps and cane hitting the marble floor behind you told you that he was following you.

“Leave me alone, Solomon’s.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.” He grabs you again before you can ascend the stairs to the office.

“Tell you what?” You turn on him.

“Tell me the truth!” He hollers indiscreetly.

“You can’t handle the truth.” You whisper shout. Escaping once again, desperate to get away from him and the ear-wigging workers scattered around you. You make it to the sanctuary of your office, trying to shut the door on Alfie but he’s too close behind you. He pushes through, catching you as you lose your balance and stumble backwards.

“Tell me the baby’s mine.” He demands, glowering.

Your eyes travel across the menacing features of his face so close to yours.

“You really need me to tell you?” You smirk.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Of course it’s bloody yours!” You scream, pushing free from him.

“Why did you tell me otherwise then, pet?”

It may have been your imagination but he sounded relieved.

“Do you blame me after the way you reacted?”

“What did you expect? Dropping a bombshell like that? I was in shock.”

“I expected more from you, Alfie! I realise now how naive that was of me.”

“Now listen ‘ere-“

“- No you listen. Before you say another word I want you to know that I’m keeping the baby, and that you’re completely free from obligation. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here? Well, be assured, I don’t want or need anything from you, Alfie Solomon’s. Least of all your pity.”

“Pity?” He scoffs.

“It’s written all over your face. You’ve made your choice. I’ve come to terms with that now. I can do this on my own. We don’t need you.” You told him, trying your best to sound convincing.

“Right.” He gives you a half amused, tight lipped smile. “Well, after seeing that stomach-churning announcement of your engagement in the times, it appears that you have also made your choice. But I am curious, Virgin Mary, about how you’re going to explain all this to lover boy?”

“Mock me all you like, Solomons. But I have no intentions of staying with Charles. Although I have accepted his proposal - for yours and Tommy’s sake, may I add. On the contrary to what you believe, once this is all done and dusted I will not be marrying Charles. In fact I’ll be gone as soon as this is over.”

“And where exactly will you be going?” He asked. All amusement now gone from his gruff voice.

“I’m still working it out. But you haven’t got to worry about me or your bastard child cramping your style. We’ll be far away from here and far away from you.”

“You and my child ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’d track you down. Follow you to the ends of the fucking Earth if I had to.” His inflamed temper and seething threat shocked you silent. “I acted like a cunt the other day, I hold my hands up but I’ve since seen the error of my ways... Just give me another chance.”

“How can I give you another chance? How can I believe that this is what you really want after everything you said? I can’t do it. I can’t live in doubt like that. I’d rather not be with yo-“

“- don’t say it!” He interrupted suddenly. “I fucked up. I thought I’d be a shit dad. That I’d let you both down. But this is what I want. Let me prove it to you. Another chance, a shot at redemption is all I’m asking.”

“You’ve already let us down...I’m sorry, Alfie, I can’t-“

“-Don’t fucking say it!” He warned again. Grabbing you and pulling you to him. You stood rigidly in his arms. Your stinging eyes unable to meet his.

“I can’t-“ you try again but he cuts off the rest of your sentence with a rough kiss.

You pull away, slapping his face hard before colliding back into him and kissing him as if it was the last time.

The sound of the door handle rattled and you tore yourself from Alfie instantaneously. Less than a second later Charles burst through the office door.

“Dar-ling.” seeing that you wasn’t alone, Charles drawled a protracted greeting upon his entrance.

“Hello, my love.” You smiled. Quickly going to him and hoping that your flushed cheeks and heaving chest didn’t arouse his suspicions anymore than they possibly already were.

“Mr Solomon’s. What are you doing here?” He looked past you to address Alfie.

“We were running low on rum so I called Mr Solomon’s, who went out of his way to personally deliver us some. Wasn’t that kind of him, sweetheart?” You quickly answered on Alfie’s behalf.

“Yes.” Charles mumbled “too kind.”

You risk a glance at Alfie. His jaw was tense. His penetrating gaze falling from Charles to you.

“Well I should be on me way now then. As always it’s been a pleasure, Y/N.” He grins, striding towards the door and ignoring Charles completely. “Think about what I said.” He tells you before disappearing, purposely leaving you and Charles with an elephant in the room.

“And what exactly is it you have to think about, my dear?” Charles asks tightly.

“Extra protection on the doors.” You lie, swiftly coming up with a cover up. “He thought it would help deter the riff raff.”

“I see.” He utters mindlessly. Catching you off guard when his fingers caught your chin and lifted your reddened face up to his. You tried not to fold under the scrutiny of his leering gaze.

“You have that rash again.” He sounded accusatory. His thumb and forefinger tracing roughly around your mouth and jawline where your skin had been chaffed a pale pink by Alfie’s coarse beard.

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears.

“Do I? I haven’t been well lately, have I? It must be to do with that.” You shrugged free from Charles and leant across the desk to retrieve your coat and purse.

“Take me home, my love. I’m famished.” You looped your arm through his to encourage him towards the door but he didn’t budge.

“Tell me, how do you know Mr Solomon’s again?”

Your settling heartbeat once again started to race.

“He was the landlord of my uncles shop. I used to work there and he’d pop in now and again to collect the rent. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering. I remember you telling me he was an old friend. However, I just can’t help but think that it’s a bit of an unusual alliance.”

“I’d hardly call it an alliance. Maybe friend was too familiar of a term. He’s more of an acquaintance.”

“I see. Well, acquaintance or not, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you doing business with Mr. Solomon’s anymore. In future, any dealings with him will go through me.”

“I’m fully capable-“

“It’s not about capability!” He erupts, startling you.

“It’s about him.” He carries on more evenly, regaining his composure. “I simply don’t trust him. Any business with the Jew now goes through me. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded compliantly, hoping he’d drop the matter.

“Good. Now let’s get you fed and watered.”

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Tag list: @storm-bjorn @alsheyra @lililolli @jaegers-and-kaijus @lightwoodt @stars-trash-18 @anrm1 @innerpaperexpertcloud @alitheamateur @hardygal69

#PeakyBlinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders imagine

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floggingink · 3 years

Text

OH HERE WE GO LADIES IT’S RIVERDALE, CHAPTER EIGHTY: “Purgatorio”

I’m tuning in to be VERY entertained on the grounds that I missed almost the entirety of S4 and will not understand anything

we open with an incredible analogue comparing the football team to the Army, as men do construct rituals: football players get blown into the sky, etc., in a heartrending mash-up of Archie’s innocence + the American ideal/expectations/pipeline of masculinity

Archie Company is decked out appropriately to storm Hürtgen Forest

that art direction trope where a character’s hearing goes EEEEEEEEEEEEEE after an explosion……...delightful

the Vixens and friends cheering him on from the sidelines as if Archie can only process his unprocessable present through the lens of his past………...hits the spot

distressingly wood-based rifles for our purposes

Archie > Dawson: I don’t mind telling you I felt emotion upon Archie hoisting his war buddy over his shoulders to that quadruple-toned “Chivalric Archie Using His Strength for Good” tune, like when he broke his whole hand busting Cheryl out of Sweetwater River

WHEN HE SAW HIRAM LODGE, I’M TELLING YOU!

Hiram’s dragon-scale gloves? absolutely savory; he would

“Yonkers” is one of those New York place names I don’t totally buy is real (Poughkeepsie is another)

the sepia-toned light in this hospital room rings true judging by all the Captain America fanfiction I’ve read; I also like the mint-colored hand towels draped on Archie’s bedframe bought, one assumes, using the Department of Defense’s Kohl’s Cash

Archie made Sergeant, which is the best ranking for a fictional character: important enough that they can be a leader, get into trouble; low-profile enough that you don’t have to write them in the room making terrible decisions; probably won’t die immediately, as a Captain or Private might be

Fifth period is AP English: Archie reads A Farewell to Arms to Corporal Jackson, a WWI novel by Hemingway that Jug definitely turned him onto

Christ, Archie looks good in that on-leave jacket thing

I like Jackson’s subtle graph paper-print hospital gown

Gay?!: was Jackson in love with Archie? is he gonna bus to Riverdale once he’s off his pain meds? RAS, is that you in there?

God you know I love that haunted-ass Exorcist wooden bench bus light lighting

how long has the WW been relocated under Pop’s??? I do NOT know what happened to La Bonne Nuit

Sexy, aesthetic Southside: Fangs’ hair? his Tony Stark glasses? the girls’ “I’m a Slave 4 U” Burmese pythons? Toni’s headdress and immaculate glossed lip?

Sixth period is Intro to Film: the only part of From Dusk till Dawn I’ve seen is Salma Hayek putting her toe in Quentin Tarantino’s mouth but judging from that I figure I’d like the rest

The female gaze: Jesus Sweet Pea still looks good

Toni’s stage is flanked by twin pillars of melting candles and I would like someone to track those down for my bathroom

if they lay one hand on Pop Tate…

Betty appears to be, on her own, running the FBI training course. Betty is such a freak

Betty’s FBI-appointed psychologist is “Dr. Starling,” wears a great yellow blouse; Betty eats what appears to be a mini-sized Milky Way

her blond FBI trainer-boyfriend (uh) Glen appears to be an unholy fusion of Jimmi Simpson and that one actor with brown hair and really sharp light eyes whose acting credits I can’t think of right now, you know who I’m talking about (not the guy from Vampire Diaries)

I quite like her patterned blouse and I hate his yellow (gold?!) and blue tie

Please protect Betty: obviously we stan the Silence of the Lambs shit even as it remains infuriating Bryan Fuller couldn’t get his hands in it

Betty’s cat’s crying was so disturbingly baby-like that I had to leave the room once I realized it was in fact a cat

I’ve watched the Elisa Lam tape too many times in recent hours to handle this hallway shot

REALLY GROSS LICKING NOISES

the Trash Bag Killer coming at her was scary :(

Betty’s lovely blue knit cardi with the puffed sleeves!

50 Shades of Betty: clearing her throat before the doctor quite finishes her sentence—Lili Reinhart continues to be great at conveying “slightly perturbing subterranean tension”

was Charles a serial killer too??? oh damn!

Betty has been successfully holding off giving Glen a key to her place until now, an era that must come to a close

fellas, “Do I at least get a kiss?” is a bad move

Veronica was rich: Veronica’s new digs: exposed brick, bougiely avant-garde chandelier; possibly an elevator door right there behind the dude?

Veronica has married Hiram, to no one’s surprise

Chadwick looks like Jimmi Simpson and brunet Evan Peters plus a jaw

Veronica’s single-puffled-sleeved gown…..madamn (she has absolutely been taking secret birth control pills)

Summer + Blair = Veronica: of course Veronica would be great at Howard Ratner’s job; I MUST know what “specialty showcase haute couture offense” Vinnie has committed

T-Dubbs’ green jacket

Veronica pretended she was working at like, a department store? but she MISSED the EDGE post-day-trading

their apartment is so expensive that their bedroom is totally exposed

oh my god, Hermione

Best costume bit: please get me these satiny green high-waisted slacks?! and ugh her blouse has shoulder tassels……..she’s flourishing

“That’s threatening to an alpha like Chad.”

yes, they have a private elevator. fine.

Glen and Chad get their ties from the same Men’s Warehouse

“When that helicopter went down on the way to Martha’s Vineyard…”

you know kissing is 4-real when one person cups their hand to the back of the other person’s neck all close

I don’t understand the drop of the Glamergé egg but I appreciate that there is one and that Veronica is like, get this the fuck out of my house

Veronica’s shiny cropped tweed two-piece, Yvonne’s weird feathery coat that matches her bf’s shirt (you know she’s supposed to be “too much” because she’s got big hoop earrings)

God, Jughead is next and I’m not gonna be able to handle it

OH GOD IT’S SO MUCH WORSE THAN I THOUGHT

Alphabet City?! the piano?? the fucking East Coast Beat typewriter shit—the day robe? I’m—READING CLUBMASTERS? FORSYTHE???

OH GOD HE’S DATING ANOTHER WRITER (she has nice pants)

Jughead eats: “that place you like” is a HOT DOG STAND in the middle of SOME GRASS

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: Jughead wears high-ankle light blue jeans, grey socks, and spectators that blend to create the illusion of wading boots. I’m going to commit a crime

Jughead doubts it: “So did Kerouac. And Hemingway. And Fitzgerald.”

fuck yes I love Floundering Jughead, and his Pushy Agent who pronounces “career” like “Korea,” and the continuing tradition of Jughead getting kicked out of his house

I like Literary Grifter’s sweater

the Brat Pack, and most of the Rat Pack for that matter, were actors, but I assume RAS couldn’t resist the rhyme

I was 100% afraid we were about to learn Cora was an uncomfortably-young undergrad

the musical cue as she reaches into her bag is absolutely as if she’s taking out a gun, and it might as well be! it’s the scariest thing in NYC: an unpublished manuscript

showrunners doing a classic I Love Lucy job partially concealing Vanessa Morgan’s pregnancy via medium close-ups, draping black clothes

Cheryl slowly turning to ask if doesn’t she look okay 10/10 icon

Cheryl’s pins: she has either a tiny spider or maybe a tick

Cheryl’s sheaths: the lacy red thing, amazing

why is Cheryl’s left hand gloved?

Cheryl’s a chaos angel from hell: Cheryl’s going to forge a Rembrandt, which unfortunately means she’s my favorite person on the planet (she does not look happy about doing this)

btw is Nana Rose an Immortal?

please tell me about Toni’s eyelashes

EXTREMELY HAUNTED DOLL?!

“Damn good coffee”: Archie’s earnest “Where are people gonna sit for the bus?” slayed me

fuck YEAH Ghoulies party house! terrible music but really good skull spray paint art

Jug looks LOW lol

Veronica’s blouse + buttons, impeccable

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: Tabitha/Squeaky

the hellscape semi’s red backlighting and its skeleton’s red eyes

I like Linette’s glossy bomber!

the trucker who’s about to kill her can’t also be the Trash Bag Killer….truckers have to stick to too much of a schedule….but he could be Betty’s meandering serial

I loved this episode

NEXT WEEK: Archie brings the FBI down on some people paying their rent :(

#riverdale #i say #commentary #tropes

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gvnpcwdr · 3 years

Text

@intuitkiller // WILL GRAHAM

FINGERTIPS LEAF THROUGH STACKS OF PAPER. Eyes, bright blue, show just how tired they are. A breath of a sigh falls from slightly parted lips. How long had she been here --- sitting in the same spot, staring at the same files, searching for the same answers? Too long, possibly. Groaning, she stands to stretch her legs. “Shit,” The swear muttered under her breath. Ambition such as hers often leads one to push themselves to the point of burn out, something she did quite frequently. Jack Crawford had seen potential in her, especially after the end of Buffalo Bill’s terror. But what would become of young Starling? Only time would tell. Hands on her hips, she allowed her feet to carry her away, so that she might have a chance to regroup. Stopping at the window, she watches as an impending storm rolls in -- darkening skies abound. Footsteps approaching leads her to turn her head; a fractional motion, movement in her periphery.

#intuitkiller #☆ ▌┈ TIMELINE // book ii - ' hannibal ' ( verse. )#☆ ▌┈ POST // thread - ' point that high powered perception at yourself ' ( writing. )#// hello!!! thank you for following me back #// here go!! :D

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indigoinka · 10 months

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An excerpt from A Storm of Paper Starlings. The rest of this chapter will go live tomorrow on Wattpad.

Violet’s learning more about her new family every day, and it seems everyone is hiding something.

~~~

Adam sounds frail when he calls me into his study. The room ticks as usual, all the clocks aligned but one, which ticks loudly on the offbeat. It didn't do that last time I was here. There's no tobacco smell either, just the incense drifting in the sun-hazy shaft of light from the only open curtain.

"Doesn't that annoy you?"

He glances up in confusion. "What?"

"The off clock."

"Oh, that." He waves his hand dismissively. "I hardly notice anymore."

He waves me into the seat opposite him, looking serious and determined. He pushes a DVD across the desk.

"What is it?"

"You need to promise me you won't watch it until I'm gone," he says.

"Where are you going?" As soon as the words are out, I realise what he means.

"Until I'm dead. You must promise me, Violet."

#lgbt fantasy #indie author #queer author #cascade apocrypha storyworld #lgbt author #paranormal #queer books #indie books #a storm of paper starlings #vampire books #vampires #vampire oc #angel oc #angel character #vaewolf #paranormal fantasy #original paranormal #bisexual main character #diverse books

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smallwhitesalamander · 3 years

Photo

Requested by: -----

Fandom: DC’s Arrow Canon: Oliver Queen OC: Amelia Queen (belonging to @darknightfrombeyond) FC: Emily VanCamp

Trigger Warnings: . . . breaking and entering? I don’t think there are any in this one

Word Count: ~960

Whisper felt the Hood’s presence at her back, static as an encroaching storm. His shadow cut sharply into the pale plaster wall with every turn of the emergency lighting. He watched but made no move to stop her as she slid a narrow skeleton key into the door lock.

A smooth twist of her wrist, done with the ease of someone who had done this before, one who had used this tool so many times that the key had become an extension of her will. No different from her hands, her fingers.

Whisper, he thought now, not without some pride, the shadow who moves through walls with hardly a whisper to show for her passing, and in the depths of his hood his lip quirked. If they only knew how uncomplicated her mechanics were.

Old-school but not careless; Whisper remained acutely aware of the mechanics of it – of how the smooth length of her precious skeleton key slid past the spring-loaded pins, bypassing the need to align with the shear line.

She trusted her tools, as she trusted herself. And with nary a wasted motion, a wasted breath, she was in. The room was dark, lit only by a low bank of lights from behind a desk. Whisper – Amelia Queen – held the door long enough to allow Starling City’s notorious vigilante to slip inside before easing the door shut.

Her soft-soled shoes soundless on the floors, she moved to the desk. Did not pull out the chair. Did not sit down. From a hidden inner pocket of her thin black jacket, she withdrew a security fob and inserted it into the computer port.

Immediately, the preprogrammed virus coded into the fob moved from the computer to the building servers. Copying vital information into a secure folder, before replacing it with subtle alterations designed to confuse and protect.

This would take minutes.

For the first time since the man in the hood caught up with her, there was time enough to talk. To try and explain . . .

She asked, “How long have you known?”

Not a muscle moved on the vigilante. His identity carefully concealed under green leather and the shadows of a hood pulled low. She knew his name. His face. His stillness shamed even hers; he wrapped silence around himself like a shroud.

“Long enough,” he said and her heart leapt at the soft timber of that familiar voice, absent the guttural edge criminals all through the city were learning to fear. “Long enough that I could have done anything I wanted with this information.”

Amelia considered him. Calm. She wasn’t afraid of him, of what he intended.

“Could have,” she noted “should have. But didn’t. You haven’t told anyone.”

It wasn’t a question.

It didn’t require an answer.

The computer beeped. A smoky blue light flashed in the unlit room, only once. Data copy complete. The virus started to move through the vulnerable servers. Erasing very little. Altering data. From the hall, voices.

Neither of them moved.

A fresh question surfaced.

“So why now?”

Blue eyes glinted.

Amy moved out from behind the desk, and the vigilante let her approach. No more afraid of her, than she was of him. A hard-won trust existed between them, and that wasn’t so easily shaken.

Slowly, tentatively, as if testing to see if he would reject her touch she lay one black gloved hand on his chest. Could feel the strong, steady pulse beating there. His leathers warm against his skin. From this position, so close, Amelia could see past his hood to the face there. Handsome. Haunted.

She said, “Until now I didn’t know I’d been compromised. You’re right. You could have done anything you wanted with this information – people would kill for my identity but you didn’t. You’ve been protecting me.”

Yes. He held her stare, falling into clear, intelligent eyes and marveled at the depth of love he felt for this woman. Yes, he’d protected her. He hadn’t known that she knew this – it explained why she’d allowed him to approach when he arrived.

“Why would you surrender your own identity to me? Oliver, that was never . . .” her thoughts scattered. Swallowing past a suddenly dry throat, she recovered quickly, “It wasn’t necessary. So why now? Why would you tell me?”

“Says the woman who’s risking it all to protect me,” he countered, but mildly. Through sheer force of will he dragged his gaze from her eyes, and leveled it on the quietly humming computer at her back. He told her, “My name’s in there. Video, audio surveillance. They haven’t put the pieces together yet but they will and when they do they have everything.”

She came here tonight to protect him.

Maybe not Oliver Queen – she hadn’t known his identity until minutes ago, when he revealed it, but she did it to protect the man in the hood. The military-level encryption in the fob, looking as benign as a pencil left on a pad of paper, flashed again. Complete.

His identity secured. Amy’s attention slid. Her hand fell away and she returned to the computer, carefully retrieving the valuable device.

“All that explains what you’re doing here,” she said and he understood. He could have helped her, guarded her, without ever having to reveal his identity but in the moment it had seemed vitally important that she know.

That he equalize their dynamic.

He loved her. He did trust her. She needed to know.

“I don’t want to keep secrets,” this secret “just to keep you.”

Amelia Queen slid the clever piece of Syndicate gear into the hidden pocket of her jacket, secured it there, and offered her husband a look of such gentle warmth, “You’re not going to lose me, Oliver.”

#dc's arrow #oliver queen x oc #oc amelia queen #oliver queen #smallwhitesalamander

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olicitysecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

A Goodbye Olicity Exchange gift for Erin ( @canadianbeauty2 ).

I hope you enjoy this fluffy Meet-cute! (Playlist will be posted with the story on AO3.)

xoxo Meegan ( @it-was-a-red-heeler, cfcureton)

“But—“ “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do.” The ticket agent didn’t look sorry. She looked more anxious than anything, and who could blame her? The skies outside the airport terminal were actually turning green. Felicity huffed a frustrated sigh. “What about tomorrow?” A snarky smile appeared and then vanished from the other woman’s face. “The airport won’t be open tomorrow. Or the next day. We’ll be lucky to be operational by the end of the week.” She stuck a hand on her hip behind the counter. “I suggest you find a hotel to hunker down in. Preferably on a high floor.”

The woman looked away then, back to her paperwork, back to shutting down her terminal so she and her fellow employees could skedaddle home as soon as they were given the go ahead. Felicity swallowed a very explicit swear word. She knew eastern seaboard hurricanes weren’t uncommon this time of year, she just never imagined one would hit while she happened to be in town. Sure, the labs at Wayne Enterprises had seemed empty these last couple of days, but she’d been too busy to ask why, and what little she’d been outside the weather hadn’t seemed all that threatening. It rained all the time in Gotham. By the time she’d realized she should get out of Dodge all the outbound flights that could make it before the storm hit had departed and her return ticket was useless; refunds weren’t an option for cancellations due to weather. Which she’d just learned. Felicity snatched the handle of her rolling bag and yanked it up as she spun on her heel—there had to be another solution to this problem—and walked straight into a solid wall. Wearing a plaid shirt. “Oof,” she said, staggering back a step with her glasses knocked askew. The wall had a hand, and it reached out to cover hers on the handle of the suitcase, stopping her in case she fell. “You okay?” The wall had a nice voice. Too bad she was not in the mood to appreciate it. “I’m fine. Sorry.” “No problem. Did you have any luck?” “None.” Felicity set her glasses right and finally looked up. The wall had piercing blue eyes, a good amount of scruff, and tousled hair that was either perfectly haphazard or intensively styled. The head tilt was a nice touch. “Are you trying to get out too?” she asked. “No, I just like hanging out at airports during natural disasters.” He shrugged both shoulders the slightest bit. “It’s a hobby.” Great. A comedian. She rolled her eyes internally and steered around him, determined not to let anything distract her from finding another way out of this city. The click of her heels was almost the only sound as she marched through the echoing terminal to the car rental counter. Only one employee manned the long line of counter space; he was at the very end, of course. He looked up with bored eyes as Felicity approached. “I need a car, please.” The clerk regarded her briefly before shuffling through a stack of papers. “You’re in luck. I have one left.” She sighed with relief even as she heard the zing of suitcase wheels approaching from behind. She couldn’t help glancing that direction to get a look at the poor bastard who’d just missed out on escaping the city. It was the wall. The paperwork slapped onto the counter as Felicity handed over her credit card and snatched up a pen, eager to get on the road. She was halfway through initialing all the boxes when the machine beeped and she heard the clerk grunt. “Your card’s declined.” “What?” He tossed it back on the counter. “Looks like it’s expired,” he offered by way of explanation. Dread flooded her veins. Oh, Frack. She could picture the new one, sitting on her kitchen counter at home. She’d meant to activate it before she left. The clerk must’ve read the expression on her face because he shot her a mildly incredulous look. “You don’t have another one?” “No,” she moaned. “I only carry one.” She heard the guy behind her shift his weight. “We take cash,” the clerk offered. “Here.” A hand reached around her from behind and laid a card on top of her paperwork. Felicity’s eyes went wide. “No, I—“ “We both need out of here ASAP. There’s only one car. We can share.” She whipped around so fast her ponytail flew. He met her eyes and smiled benignly. Felicity’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, fish-like, as she tried to come up with an excuse to say no. She saw his eyes shift to glance at her mouth and her spine straightened in indignation. “I don’t think it would be appropriate, under the circumstances.” His smile never faltered. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think you have much of a choice. The airport’s closing, and no hotel will take your expired credit card either.” He spread his hands and waited. Felicity’s shoulders dropped, defeated, and she turned to finish signing her name. “Fine. But I’m driving.” ————————————————————————————————– The car was easy to spot in the otherwise empty lot. It was sporty. And red. Felicity suppressed an eye roll. He fit both their bags in the trunk—barely—without comment and waited patiently for her to unlock the doors before squeezing into the passenger seat. She was putting the key in the ignition when it hit her. “This isn’t going to work.” “Why not?” “It’s a stick shift. I can’t drive a manual.” The dread was back. She held her breath to keep from crying and scanned the empty space around her, praying this was just a crazy mistake and there was another vehicle waiting for her. “Can you?” she asked, still looking around. “Can I what?” “Drive a stick.” “I can.” Did he sound a little hesitant? Felicity looked at him. “So I’ll go back and add your name to the rental agreement and then you can drive. C’mon.” She was already unbuckling her belt, but he hadn’t moved. “What’s the matter?” “I don’t have my license.” “You’re traveling out of town but you don’t have your license?” He shook his head no once. “How does that even happen? Never mind. We don’t have time. What do I do first?” He stared at her, dumbfounded. “You want out of Gotham before this hurricane hits? Then teach me how to drive a manual.” He studied her for half a second, expressionless. “It would help if I knew your name.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners in a frown as she studied him. “First names only.” He nodded acceptance soberly. “I’m Felicity.” “Oliver. Nice to meet you.” “Tell me.” “Okay. Before you turn the key, make sure you’re in neutral. The pedal all the way to the left is the clutch…” ————————————————————————————————– “Do you learn everything this fast?” “Probably. Why?” “No reason. It’s just…impressive.” “Thanks. I think.” Felicity rolled up to the stop sign at the entrance to the parking lot and looked both directions to check for traffic. “And we’re off.” “Wait!” His hand fell to cover hers on the gear shift and she jumped in surprise. “Where are we going?” “To the nearest airport that’s still open.” “No, I mean ultimately. Where are you heading?” Felicity studied him. What if he was up to no good, this one? Her mother hadn’t raised a fool. Still… “Starling City,” she offered after a beat. His eyes lit with surprise. “Great! Me too.” “Huh.” “What?” She squinted at him, suspicious. “Nothing.” She checked both ways again and eased the sporty little car out into the street. “Let’s go.” Oliver looked uneasy. “You’re sure you have to fly?” “Fly? Yes. It’s how I got out here, so it’s how I’m getting back.” “But I can’t.” The gears ground a little. “I think you missed second.” Felicity grunted. “Fully aware.” They pulled up to a stop light at the entrance to the airport and waited for it to turn green. “Do I get on the highway from here?” “Am I supposed to know?” “You’re the navigator.” Oliver sighed but logged into his phone. “We should have a plan.” “We have a plan. Closest open airport. That’s the plan.” “What about a train?” “A train?!” “Yes. We could take the train.” “Like hobos?!” “There are still passenger trains in the 21st century, Felicity.” “Nope. No way. I have to be in Starling by Friday, no exceptions. I can’t poke across country by TRAIN.” “Okay, hear me out. Today’s Monday. It’s a twelve hour drive to Chicago. I have a buddy who’ll put us up for the night. From there it’s two days by train. Or,” he waved a hand around, “you can get yourself a flight outta O’Hare. Either way we’re back in Starling by Thursday at the latest. Straight ahead to the on ramp.” The light turned, and they rolled forward while Felicity made weird faces and fought with the gear shift. “Ungh.” “Just think about it. The closest major airport that’s still open is probably in Pennsylvania anyway. We’ve got time.” Traffic was heavy but moving as the last evacuees headed out of Gotham. They entered the highway and picked up speed, and Felicity shifted into fifth for the first time. “Smooth. Good job.” “Thanks. So tell me, when you showed up at the airport this morning you were planning to, what, use your boyish charm to get on a flight without government-issued ID?” “First of all, I’ve never heard anyone younger than my mother use the phrase ‘boyish charm’.” Felicity rolled her eyes. “Second?” “Second, I didn’t lose my license until late last night, so I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to come up with an alternate plan.” “No passport?” “Didn’t expect to leave the country so didn’t bring it.” “Guess that rules out taking any shortcuts through Canada.” “Funny.” Ten miles passed below the tires with neither of them speaking. Felicity watched him from the corner of her eye; he had his shirt sleeves rolled up and his jeans cuffed. Casual but very tidy. How his profile could be just as good as looking at him head on she would never know. Normal people never got that lucky. His thumbs danced around his phone screen before he glanced up. Her eyes flicked away and she prayed she hadn’t been caught looking. “My friend is willing to put us up if we decide to drive to Chicago.” Felicity’s nails tapped the steering wheel in a rapid pattern while she mulled over her choices. “Okay. We’re heading west in any event, so see if you can find me a flight from anywhere closer than Chicago. Otherwise we’ll plan to stay with your friend. Deal?” Oliver nodded once and got to work on his phone. ————————————————————————————————– She’d expected—probably irrationally—traffic to thin dramatically as soon as they left the city, but the lines of cars and trucks only increased as they caught up to the myriad of people who had left the path of the storm in a reasonable time frame. Before long the westbound lanes had slowed to a crawl. “Ugh, okay. Tell me again why people drive manuals on purpose,” she muttered, down shifting as taillights lit up in front of her. The sky was no longer green here, but the rain had started a few miles back and the air felt heavy. “Bad news, I’m afraid. No flights until we get to Cleveland, and those are going fast. It’s only five more hours to Chicago from there, and a free night’s stay.” Felicity spared him a glance and then wished she hadn’t; those eyebrows lifted in question and the faint puppy dog expression were her undoing. She sighed like a martyr. “Fine. But I get my own bed.” ————————————————————————————————– Hours passed. She discovered they liked the same music, or rather Oliver seemed to have no opinion on her tastes either way, so she didn’t have to pull rank to choose the radio station. He filled the car without asking, and always brought back some snack or treat she didn’t ask for when he returned from paying. Interstate traffic was back to normal, mostly just them and the big trucks, and Felicity was so grateful not to have to think about when to shift she wanted to fist pump. “I could drive,” he offered once. “That wouldn’t be legal.” “It would only be a problem if we got pulled over, which I would never let happen.” “Pulled over or involved in an accident.” “Well that’s morbid.” “That’s reality. I prefer being realistic. It keeps you from being disappointed.” Oliver was quiet then, staying so still she risked a glance at him. He was studying her. “Have you always been this way?” “What way?” “Closed off. Cynical.” Felicity’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I am NOT closed off. I have lots of friends. Many friends. A few…select…close friends. And ‘realistic’ and ‘cynical’ are two very different things.” “Is that so.” “Yes. People find me quite charming.” “People.” She shot him a look. “Historically.” This conversation was going nowhere good very quickly. Felicity could feel the beginnings of a babble bubbling up from her chest, and she didn’t dare let that happen. “We need to find a place to stop.” He said it in such an authoritative way she took her eyes off the road to stare at him. The nerve of him, ordering her like that. “Look, Mister—“ “Felicity, you’ve been driving practically non-stop for hours. You need to eat.” She waved the half-eaten candy bar in her lap at him in illustration, but he only huffed an annoyed sigh. “Real food. You need an actual meal, and time to move around. And relax.” “In my family, the driver gets to decide when and where we stop.” “Well in mine, the person paying makes the final call.” She was in the process of passing a semi so she could only throw a quick glare at him, but she didn’t miss the raised eyebrow he was giving her back. “The next exit has restaurants.” “Fine. But only if it’s fast food.” ————————————————————————————————– He chose a sit-down restaurant. Felicity sat on her side of the booth and tried to hold on to her annoyance, but everything on the menu looked amazing and she was so relieved not to be moving she wanted to weep with gratitude. When she glanced up Oliver was staring at her over his menu. “What?” “Nothing.” His eyes flicked down. “What are you going to get?” She watched him purse his lips as he considered. “The Monte Cristo, I think. You?” “An omelet sounds good. I can always go for breakfast.” He grunted agreement without looking up. The server came and went, and then Oliver leaned back and stretched his arms out across the back of the seat. He had an impressive wingspan, she noted. And those lovely ropey veins peeking out from under his sleeves— “So what’s waiting in Starling that has you rushing home?” Small talk now? Great. Okay. Felicity took a sip of water to stall. “I have, um, a presentation Friday. A present—a pres—an interview.” She shrugged and tried to pretend her face wasn’t turning red. “I have an interview.” “An interview.” “Yes.” “For a job.” “Yes for a job. What else?” His brow knit in concentration. “You just didn’t seem sure.” “It’s very, um, it’s a big step for me. You know, a challenge. Growth.” She shook her head enough to flick her ponytail over her shoulder and couldn’t meet his eye. “I’m excited about it.” “Yes. You look thrilled.” If this conversation didn’t end immediately Felicity was going to actually die. “I’m gonna go wash my hands,” she declared, already scooting out of her seat. The food was on the table by the time she returned, and they ate with little comment. Oliver made her get dessert, even after she protested that she was disgustingly full. When the check was paid he ushered her from the restaurant but snagged her arm to drag her three laps around the building to shake everything out. “Anything else, Coach?” she quipped as she rounded the front of the car to unlock the doors. He rolled his eyes, but she also thought she caught the hint of a smile as he ducked to get in on his side. The next few hours passed in a blur. Oliver quizzed her on trivia he unearthed on his phone, and once she’d explained the concept of Mad Libs to him, he went searching for those too. The sun was beginning to set when they pulled into the last rest stop before the final push to Chicago. “C’mon, Felicity, get those knees up,” he ordered, jogging in place in front of her on the sidewalk by the restrooms. “Oliver, this isn’t funny.” “You don’t wanna get a blood clot from sitting too long in one position.” “People are staring.” “Let ‘em.” Felicity called him a name under her breath but bounced around as instructed. Across the parking lot a trucker blew his horn in appreciation and she threw a hand out in that general direction. “You see what you’ve done?!” Oliver grinned and the sight of it made her a little light headed. She told herself it was all the jogging. A little before 10pm they pulled up to a big house in a nice suburban neighborhood; a McMansion, her mother would call it. Fittingly, Felicity killed the car in the driveway by accident, but neither of them commented as it shuddered to a halt, preferring to stare out the windshield at nothing. “That…was a long day,” she said finally. “Agreed.” He sighed. “Don’t forget the hand brake.” “Yup.” Oliver carried her suitcase up to the porch without being asked as a tall handsome stranger waited at the door. The two men hugged unabashedly while she stood a step below them, looking away discretely to allow them their moment. “Tommy, Felicity.” Oliver made the introductions with a motion of his head, his arms being full. Tommy smiled and stepped back to allow them to pass. “Welcome. It’s not often we get hurricane refugees this far west.” Tommy’s smile was rakish but friendly. “Guest room’s up and to the right. Bathroom’s across the hall.” Oliver set his suitcase down in the foyer and gestured with hers. “I’ll put this up there for you.” Felicity saw Tommy’s eyebrow twitch up in surprise and suddenly felt weird and exhausted and done with everything. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’m gonna go up now.” She caught Oliver glancing back at her from the stairs but ignored him in favor of shaking her host’s hand and wishing him a good night. “You okay?” Oliver asked quietly as she trailed him into the bedroom. “Fine. Just tired.” “You did an amazing job today. I still can’t believe how fast you picked up driving a stick.” “Thank you…for paying my way here…and for finding us a bed. Beds. A bed and a couch. Whatever.” Oliver chuckled at her accidental innuendo, but she could tell he was worn out too. “Good night, Felicity. Sleep well. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything.” He showed himself out and closed the door as he went, and for the first time since the morning she thought about how crazy it was that she was trusting this virtual stranger—and now his friend—with her wellbeing. Felicity got ready for bed and was out by the time her head hit the pillow. Below her the low drone of male voices catching up carried on late into the night. ————————————————————————————————– It took Felicity a full minute the next morning to remember why she was waking up in a strange bedroom. “Oh God,” she muttered to no one as she collected her shower things and peeked out into the hall before scurrying to the bath. The house was silent. Felicity repacked her suitcase and perched on the bed to collect herself and check for flights out of O’Hare. She could get enough cash out of an ATM to cover a plane ticket, and then she’d arrange to repay Oliver for her share of the car rental and her meals. She could be home by dinner tonight. Easy peasy. A door downstairs closed and male voices drifted up the stairs, so she set her phone aside without picking a flight and went in search of breakfast. The house was nice, a little on the bachelor pad side, maybe, but clean enough. It appeared Tommy lived here alone. The man in question was perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island in sweats and a tee shirt, laughing at something Oliver was saying as he scrambled eggs in a skillet. It was such a domestic scene Felicity thought maybe she’d been under the wrong impression about her traveling companion. It was a strangely disappointing discovery. “Morning,” Tommy offered brightly. “Pull up a stool.” “How do you like your eggs?” Oliver asked. His hair was mussed from sleep, but even the flat spot on the side was endearingly sexy. Stop it, she admonished herself sharply. He’s gay. “I’m not, actually. Scrambled okay, or would you like another omelet?”

Oliver turned away smoothly to plate the current batch as Felicity’s jaw unhinged. Fracking frack, she’d said that out loud. Tommy was grinning openly at her. “He is awfully pretty, isn’t he? But he’s a total ladies’ man, I promise you.” Tommy gave her a bold wink. “We both are.” “Easy,” Oliver warned gently, sliding a plate of eggs and bacon to his friend and turning back to start again. “Scrambled’s fine,” Felicity muttered, mortified, from behind her hands. Next to her Tommy chortled. “I’m putting peppers and onions in it, just so you know. You don’t eat enough vegetables.” Felicity’s face popped up from behind her hands to protest. “Hey—“ He pointed at her without looking away from the stove. “Corn Nuts do not count. We’ve talked about this.” She huffed a sigh and looked away, only to find Tommy watching her with one curious eyebrow lifted. When her plate and his were ready Oliver circled the counter and threw a leg over the bar stool on Tommy’s other side. “Made up your mind about flying or taking the train?” Felicity stabbed her eggs. “I should fly. I have to finish my presentation.” “Plenty of time for that on a train.” “I need to fly. Besides, a train trip sounds expensive. I can’t ask you to cover both of us going.” Tommy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know who he is, right?” “Shut up, Tommy. It’s not a problem, but I’ll do whatever you want. I’m gonna go take a shower.” Felicity didn’t miss the warning look he shot his friend before setting his empty plate in the sink and walking out of the room, but Tommy flipped on the small tv at the end of the counter to watch sports and ended any chance of her asking questions. She hauled her suitcase downstairs on her own and was sitting primly on a leather ottoman in Tommy’s living room when Oliver reappeared in a dark blue sweater with just a hint of white tee shirt sticking out underneath. Felicity pressed her lips together firmly to keep her thoughts on the inside. “Do you have time before your flight to drop me at the train station? If not, Tommy said he could do it.” “I—oh. I, um, I haven’t picked a flight yet.” Oliver stood and considered her silently for a moment. “No?” She shook her head, feeling more ridiculous by the second. She’d made her choice, now she needed to follow through. “I can drop you at the station on my way,” she decided. He nodded at the same time Tommy materialized over his shoulder. “You kids all set?” Felicity stood and stepped forward as Oliver shifted their bags onto the porch. “Thank you for everything, Tommy. It was great to meet you.” He bussed her cheek and then smiled down at her. “See ya around, I’m sure.” She felt her brow contract in confusion but didn’t ask him to clarify since Oliver was back and the two of them were busy hugging and back slapping their goodbye. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah? And say hi to your folks for me.” “Will do. Thanks, Tommy.” “Any time, brother.” Felicity groaned under her breath when she got into the damned stick shift car but started it on the first try all the same. Oliver looked impressed. The ride out of the suburbs was mostly silent save for Oliver’s directions. He was a good navigator and seemed to know the city’s layout well. Felicity tried to imagine dropping him at the curb and driving on to the airport, never to see him again. She took a deep breath in through her nose and out her mouth before making her decision. “Is there, um, a rental car return near the train station?” ————————————————————————————————– Felicity waited with the bags and people watched while Oliver bought the tickets. The train station was certainly an interesting place. He was running a hand through his hair as he returned, but she didn’t know him well enough yet to figure out if that meant bad news was coming with him. “Did you get tickets?” “Yep. It’s boarding now, we should hurry.” “Is everything okay?” “What? Oh, sure. It’s fine. It has its own bathroom, which is nice.” “It?” There was a pregnant pause as Oliver grabbed the handle of his suitcase but wouldn’t meet her eye. “It,” he repeated. “They only had one bedroom compartment left. It has two beds,” he added quickly, already wincing at her potential explosion. Felicity could only shake her head. “This is like bad fan fiction,” she muttered to the air. She trailed him through the station, watching him check the train ticket and follow the overhead signs to their platform. The closer they got to their destination the more crowded it became; other travelers jostled them as they moved either to or away from the waiting trains. And then Oliver was glancing back at her and reaching a hand out to grab her and pull her closer, not allowing them to get separated. Felicity stuck close, one hand on her suitcase handle and the other held protectively inside his, her mind a blank as she tried to process this new development. His broad shoulders made a great shield, preventing her from being bumped or stepped on as they negotiated the crowd on their way to the correct platform. She could smell him from this range, a mix of an understated cologne—or maybe deodorant—and whatever detergent he used. He stopped suddenly and she face planted softly against his sleeve with a small “oof”. It made her want to giggle. “You okay?” “Fine,” she grinned, slightly loopy on his scent and the feel of his warm firm grip on her hand. “This is it.” She peeked out around his (very nice) bicep at the big silver train in front of them. Oliver looked back at her and winked. “Here we go.” ————————————————————————————————– Felicity realized she was staring as he lifted her suitcase up onto the shelf and made herself look away. If she didn’t get it together this was going to be two very long days. She smoothed a hand over her tightly cinched ponytail and sighed. “Well, what do you think?” The room had two twin sized bunks–the bottom of which converted to a couch during the day–and an upholstered armchair, a window, and a door to a minuscule bathroom. That was it. “It’s…small.” Like, a mobile prison you have to pay to stay in small, she added in her head. “We don’t have to spend all our time here, you know. There’s a dining car for meals, and an observation car. You can work on your presentation interview thing while you watch the world go by. You’ll love it. Trust me.” This was so not ideal, and she wanted to be mad, or at least annoyed, but she was finding she did trust him, dammit. “Do you prefer to be on top or bottom?” Felicity stiffened, her face going hot. “I beg your pardon?” Oliver huffed a laugh. “The bunks. Would you like the top or the bottom?” “Oh. Um.” She studied them in what she hoped was a thoughtful manner, though she was really just trying to stop blushing. Honestly, the idea of sleeping in the bottom bunk had always made her nervous. What if the person above suddenly fell through? Ugh. It gave her shivers. “Top,” she decided. Oliver nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. “You hungry? Thirsty?” He looked so earnest Felicity almost laughed. “I could eat,” she decided. “Lead the way.” The train started moving while they were walking down the hall; Felicity yelped as she lost her balance and Oliver shot an arm out to steady her. This time she was the one to reach for his hand and he took it immediately. They stayed that way until he ushered her in front of him at the entrance to the dining car and they were shown to their table. Felicity scooted into her side of the booth with an eye on the neighborhoods of Chicago sliding past the window as the train picked up speed on its way out of the city. Heading west. Heading home. The thought filled her with something other than anxiety for the first time since she realized a hurricane was bearing down on Gotham. “What?” Her head swiveled back to Oliver in surprise. “What, what?” “What has you smiling?” She shrugged and tried not to blush as the server handed them their menus. “Just excited, I guess. I’ve never traveled by train before, unless it was the subway. You seem like you have, though.” Oliver nodded without looking up from his menu but saved any further explanation until after they’d received their drinks and ordered lunch. When the server had moved on, he leaned his elbows on the table and gave her his full attention. “I’ve known Tommy for as long as I can remember. His family and mine were very close when we were growing up. But then his mother died when we were nine years old. His father—“ his eyes dropped to the table—“was never the same, after. When we were twelve he moved them to Chicago, so the next summer and every one after that my parents let me take the train—this route, actually—out to stay with them for a month.” “That’s why you know Chicago so well.” He flashed her a quick grin, but he was clearly revisiting the past. “They lived downtown back then, and Malcolm was not a vigilant parent. We had the run of the city from an early age.” He huffed a laugh. “Probably way too early, actually.” His soup and her salad showed up, so he paused his story to let them both take a few bites. “We picked the same college here in the Midwest so we could be roommates. It made my dad furious that I didn’t go to his alma mater, but…” He shrugged. “Se la vie?” “Exactly.” “When’s the last time you saw Tommy?” “Oh, we try to get together once or twice a year. We meet up to ski or travel when we get the chance. Europe, Southeast Asia, wherever.” “That’s pretty good though, considering.” She grinned, suddenly feeling flirty. “Do you still take the train?” He smiled too. “No. It’s been many years since I rode the train.” His eyes lifted to scan the space around him before settling back on her. “It’s nice to be back.” Their entrees arrived and they both focused on making a start before they resumed their conversation. “What about you? Where did you go for college?” he asked. “Boston. But I grew up in Las Vegas.” “Mmm, I love Vegas.” “Yeah? You wouldn’t say that if you lived there.” “Probably not, but that’s true of a lot of places.” He took another bite of his sandwich before he went on. “So how did you end up in Starling?” Felicity had been munching happily on her burger, but now her brow crinkled into a frown. “A job opportunity. Or at least that was the idea. Let’s just say it didn’t go as planned.” Oliver quirked a brow. “Hence the impending job interview?” “Sort of.” “I feel like I’m missing something.” Felicity sighed and set her burger down. “I thought I had my dream job lined up in Starling, so I moved across the country only to bomb my interview. Bomb isn’t the right word. I nuked it.” She paused to illustrate an explosion with her hands, complete with sound effects. Oliver winced in sympathy. “I’d already spent the money to move, so I had to stay and find something else. The job I got has been a soul-crushing experience, to say the least.” “That sucks. I’m sorry. But hopefully this interview on Friday will get you something better. Something you love.” Felicity turned her attention to the view out the window, but she wasn’t really seeing it. “Maybe,” she said finally. ————————————————————————————————– He hadn’t been exaggerating about her loving the observation car. It was crowded, but Oliver managed to find them two seats near the back and motioned for her to sit. The chairs were large and comfortable and swiveled so they could be turned toward the view out the windows. The windows themselves carried on up into the roof, which let in lots of sunlight and beautiful views of the clear blue sky. “Wow,” she managed finally. She’d brought her laptop but for several minutes only sat with it on her knees while she watched the scenery flying past. Oliver chuckled his agreement, leaning back in the neighboring chair and stretching out his legs to cross at the ankles. Felicity made herself look away to get some work done while Oliver drifted off to sleep, but she found herself glancing up to peek at him from time to time. Since they were headed the same direction as the sun it stayed almost directly overhead through the afternoon, making her deliciously warm and sleepy, and eventually she stopped fighting it and curled up in her seat, work temporarily abandoned, to nap. His head was tilted her direction when she woke; it was obvious he’d been watching her sleep. She blinked at him a couple of times, clearing the cobwebs from her brain, and the corners of his mouth lifted briefly. “I like train travel,” she decided quietly, making his smile come back. She sat up and stretched before collecting the laptop she’d abandoned at her feet. “Get much work done?” “Not much,” she admitted. “But I finished the research in Gotham, so now I just have to write it up. Shouldn’t take long.” “You get out to Gotham a lot?” He showed no sign of being eager to leave their spot so Felicity folded herself back into her chair and swiveled further to face him. “Hardly ever. I called in a favor with a friend at Wayne Enterprises and managed to get some time in their labs.” She made a motion with her hand. “On the down low.” Oliver’s eyebrows lifted. “Sneaking around behind Bruce Wayne’s back? Impressive.” “It’s worse than that.” She grinned. “My friend IS Bruce Wayne.” His brow contracted then, and Felicity felt a thrilling little shiver run up her spine: Oliver was clearly a bit jealous. The frown only lasted a second and then he readjusted to sit up straight. “So what are you working on?” Felicity fought the urge to glance over her shoulder before speaking. It had been her secret for so long; even Bruce didn’t know exactly what she was working on. The best policy, she decided as she opened her mouth, was to be as vague as possible. “It’s a bio stimulant implant the size of a microchip with a basically limitless battery that will hopefully help people with traumatic spinal injuries walk again.” They both realized what she’d said at the same time. Oliver’s brows shot up into his hairline; hers did too, but for an entirely different reason. “Frack,” she whispered under her breath. Oliver chuckled. “It’s okay, Felicity, your secret’s safe with me.” He shook his head in wonder. “That sounds amazing. Where did you say you went to college?” “I didn’t. MIT.” His expression of wonder didn’t change. “Well I don’t know what company you interviewed with, but they were crazy not to hire you.” Felicity rolled her eyes. “You had to be in that interview. Ugh.” “What was so bad about it?” He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Run me through it. Break it down.” “What, like sports?” He grinned wickedly and she sighed. “I can’t believe you’re gonna Monday Morning Quarterback me.” Oliver laughed. “Only if you want.” He glanced up behind her head at something. “You thirsty? We could get a drink before dinner.” Felicity decided a little alcohol might help dull the pain from the memory and nodded. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to slip her arm through his as they strolled to the club car. ————————————————————————————————– “So. The interview.” Felicity scooped up her wine glass and took a healthy swallow to fortify herself just as their appetizer appeared at the table. He raised an eyebrow. “You promised.” “I did no such thing!” Oliver indicated she should get first dibs on the mozzarella sticks before dipping his head to make her look at him. Felicity rolled her eyes dramatically and huffed a beleaguered sigh. “Okay.” She said it around a mouthful of cheese, dropping the remainder of her first stick back onto her plate and wiping her hands. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He grinned in that way he had, close-mouthed and dimples showing, and she almost choked on her bite; her eyes bugged as she swallowed. “First of all, the power went out in my hotel the morning of the interview, so—“ she waved a hand around her head—“my hair was still wet when I got there. And I’m pretty sure there was shampoo in it.” He chuckled and she pointed a warning finger at him. “Don’t laugh.” “Sorry. Please continue.” “You may have noticed I tend to babble when I’m nervous.” “It has not escaped my attention.” She nodded agreement. “And one of the heads of the company, I’m talking a VIP, was conducting the interview.” Felicity took another bite. “This is a woman I’ve seen on the cover of tech magazines. Sitting across the table from me. In Louboutins so new I could smell them.” Again with the smirk. He was too much. “I have no idea what all I said to her during those fifteen minutes. I’m pretty sure I blacked out for some of it. To top it all off my tablet wouldn’t talk to their system, so my presentation wouldn’t run. I basically had to explain my bio stimulant idea in interpretive dance, which is not a good look for someone with multiple degrees in Computer Science.” Oliver groaned in sympathy but then leaned forward on his elbows. “All that sounds like purely bad luck. You weren’t incompetent, Felicity, just a—“ he waved a hand around before selecting his own mozzarella stick—“victim of circumstance. Did they give you any feedback afterward?” She nodded as she swallowed her bite. “They said it was my lack of experience, which I can’t fault. I was coming straight out of graduate school. The degree looks good, but it doesn’t make up for actual work in the trenches. I think if the interview itself had gone better I might’ve convinced them to overlook that and give me a chance.” “Well,” Oliver decided after a sip of beer, “it still doesn’t sound like you nuked it. And it seems like you have a second chance to show them what you can do.” His eyes flicked from the marinara dipping sauce up to her. “I assume that’s where you’re interviewing Friday?” Felicity squirmed under his gaze. “The interview is actually with my current employer. For a promotion.” Oliver studied her. “The soul-sucking one? Do you really want to do that?” “I’m not sure I have much of a choice.” She sighed and shook her head quickly, wanting to change the subject so she didn’t have to think about it. “I’ve never asked what you do for a living. What had you out in Gotham just before a hurricane?” Oliver took his time finishing his bite; stalling, she thought. “I work for my family’s company. I was out on the coast entertaining clients.” “Entertaining.” “Yes. You know, wine, women, and song. Stuff like that.” Felicity tried to keep a serious face but failed miserably. “Is that your only job? Entertaining?” She pulled her lips in to keep from laughing, but he caught her anyway and mock glared. “I have other roles. Ribbon cutting, check presentation. This particular one just happens to play into some of my strengths from college.” “I see. Did you major in Wine, Women, and Song?” The stern look he was giving her was ruined by the twinkle in his eye. He took a sip of beer and shrugged. “More or less.” Felicity focused on dunking her last stick in sauce. “Well, there are worse jobs, I suppose.” “Very true.” He paused. “But the older I get the more I wish they’d give me a chance to be more than a glorified party host.” They chewed in silence for a moment, sucked down into temporary melancholy over the current state of their careers. Oliver swallowed and caught her eye. “Another drink?” “God yes.” ————————————————————————————————– Amtrak, as it turned out, made a pretty good steak. It wasn’t exactly a candlelit dinner in an intimate setting, but there were linen tablecloths and real napkins. Also, the baked potatoes were huge. “I know I’ve said this five times already, but yum.” Felicity wiped her mouth and sighed in contentment. “Better than an airplane, then?” There was a gleam in his eye as he said it. “Better than an airplane.” Felicity smiled at him. This felt good. It felt right, crazy as it sounded, sharing a meal with this man she’d known less than 48 hours as they rolled across the country chasing the sunset. Of course, after two and a half glasses of wine everything felt right. She swayed gently in her seat but told herself it was the train and not the alcohol. Trains were sway-ee. “I don’t think that’s a word.” “What?” Oliver smiled at her, a kind of indulgent look that transformed his face and told her she was adorable, even when she couldn’t control her brain-to-mouth conduit. It crinkled the skin around his eyes and exposed his utterly fantastic cheekbones. He was— “You’ll give me a complex if you’re not careful,” he said softly, looking down and brushing a crumb from the tablecloth. “Wha—what?” He chuckled. “You’re thinking out loud again. It might be time to call it a night.” “Really?” Felicity pouted. “Wait til you sleep on a train. It’s fantastic. Very soothing.” “Are you going to sleep with me?” Oliver coughed. “Sorry, what?” Felicity felt her face turn red. Her filter—or whatever passed for it in her brain—was gone. Washed away in a sea of red wine. The Red Wine Sea. She giggled self-consciously. “I didn’t mean SLEEP with you. I meant sleep with you. Sleep, sleep. Not…the other thing.” He was already scooting out of the booth and reaching for her hand, but he was smiling. “I know what you meant, Felicity. You’re safe with me.” She was on her feet suddenly, and close to him. So close she had to tip her head back to look at him. He was tall. And looking deep into her eyes. “You know that, right?” Felicity swallowed. “Know what?” She’d lost the thread of this conversation, but she didn’t really care. Everything was fuzzy and nice and she felt like giggling again. Oliver turned away with her hand in his but she pulled against him, leaning back on her heels and making him stop and turn to look over his shoulder. “I want to do something first.” ————————————————————————————————– The sunset was just a faint pink line separating the sky from the earth by the time they stepped into the observation car. The lights were dimmed, and the car was practically empty. Above them, unencumbered out here by light pollution, the night sky had exploded with stars; Felicity gasped when she saw it. Her hand slipped down from his arm and their fingers entwined as they took in the view. “It’s…” “Remarkable,” he finished, but when she glanced over, Oliver was looking at her, not the stars. ————————————————————————————————– Felicity awoke slowly, feeling fuzzy and parched and a little achy. The sunlight peeking around the edges of the window shade let her know it was probably time to be up, but the constant movement of the train was so comforting, she was tempted to let it lull her back to sleep. Wait. Train? Her eyes popped back open and she stared at the ceiling as she tried to puzzle out why the hell she was on a train. Train. Oliver. Oliver! She peeked her head slowly over the side of the bed, but the room appeared to be empty. His bed had been slept in, at least. Felicity sighed and ran her fingers through her hair and then flung the covers off and set about getting out—down? She had no memory of getting UP—from bed. She moved slowly down the ladder; the last thing she needed on this trip was a visit to the ER. How that would even be accomplished from a moving train she had no idea. Did the ambulance have to match speed, racing alongside as they passed her across on a stretcher? That didn’t seem right. She stopped thinking about it because thinking made her head hurt. A cursory inspection told her she was unharmed and dressed in her pjs. Had she dressed herself or… Too much. Too much to think about. Felicity squeezed into the ridiculously tiny bathroom—it was like camping at 60 miles per hour—to take care of things and put her hair in a haphazard ponytail. Her suitcase was basically unreachable on its high shelf in her current condition, but Oliver’s denim jacket was laying over the arm of the chair, waiting to be worn. Calling out to her. Felicity slipped her arms into the giant sleeves and wiggled her feet into her shoes. She found him in the observation car, in the same seat he’d occupied the day before. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, cradling a cup of coffee in both hands. Oliver looked up as she approached and smiled softly; he looked exhausted. She opened her mouth to say hi but her eyes raised to the view out the window first and all thoughts vanished: sunrise over the northern plains had turned the world into a canvas of light and texture that, even hungover, she wanted to drink in. “Oh…” “Pretty cool, huh?” “It’s…” “I know.” The tone of his voice finally brought her around. Felicity dropped her gaze to his face and tried to process the way he was looking at her. Oliver waved to the empty chair next to him and she tucked herself up into it. When his eyes skimmed over the jacket she blushed. “Couldn’t get my suitcase down,” she explained. “It’s okay. Looks good on you.” She was swimming in it, so probably not, but it was sweet of him to say. He offered his coffee to her without comment, and any other day she would be sorely tempted, but her stomach flipped and she blanched and waved him off. Also, it appeared to be black; how someone could drink coffee with no cream or sugar or seasonal flavoring was beyond her. His mouth quirked into a brief smile. “A little rough this morning?” Felicity attempted a nod and immediately regretted it. “Mmhmm,” she offered instead. If she didn’t move her head, she could keep looking at the beautiful scenery without wanting to die. “What…exactly…happened last night? After the observation car?” Oliver took a sip of coffee. “I was wondering when you lost the thread.” His fingers rotated the paper cup as he spoke. “After the observation car you talked me into going back to the club car where you had one more drink and then sang karaoke for an hour.” Felicity cringed. “I didn’t know they even had karaoke on trains.” “They don’t.” Her eyes tracked slowly to him; he was expressionless except for an amused twinkle in his eye. “Oh.” “Yeah.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I am…SO sorry.” Oliver chuckled. “It’s okay. It was cute. The bartender was pretty good at harmonizing. You made a good team.” “Oh. God.” “Hey. Look at me.” She cracked open the eye closest to him. “It’s okay, Felicity. I didn’t mind taking care of you.” “Really?” “Really.” He stood and offered her his hand. “Ready to go get your suitcase down?” She unfolded from the seat and let him stabilize her as they moved through the car. “I still have questions.” “Shoot.” “How did I get into my pjs?” “You did that.” “And into bed?” “Well, I did that. You gave it a good try first, though.” “Oh God, Oliver.” He chuckled as he held the door for her. “You were adorable. Even the conductor thought so.” ————————————————————————————————– Felicity’s stomach rallied in time for lunch and then she climbed—unassisted—back into her bunk and fired up her laptop. She finished her presentation while Oliver napped below her; she would pause every few minutes to listen for his soft snores, and once she leaned out over the edge to look at him. He’d confessed over their meal that he’d feared she’d fall out of bed in the middle of the night and break her neck, so he’d hardly slept. He claimed she’d vehemently opposed the idea of sleeping on the bottom bunk when he suggested it, which had eventually brought the conductor down to check on all the commotion. She blushed fiercely every time she thought about it. Oliver stirred and sat up just as she saved her finished presentation and shut down her computer. “C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s take a walk.” They grabbed a soda in the club car and wandered back to the observation car. The view out the windows had changed to oil fields and miles and miles of freight cars. Felicity jumped in surprise the first time a train passed them going the other direction at sixty miles an hour and they both laughed. Dinner was quiet; neither of them drank. They found little reason for small talk, preferring to say everything necessary with just looks and smiles. Every time Felicity thought of their arrival in Starling City the following morning she got an achy feeling in her chest, like the end of something precious was approaching. They sat up late in the club car and didn’t return to their compartment until almost midnight. Oliver waited in the hallway to give her privacy so she could get ready and tucked into her bunk before going to bed himself. They lay in the dark for several minutes before Felicity spoke up. “Oliver?” “Yeah?” “I have a confession.” “Okay.” “The presentation isn’t for my interview Friday. I don’t work at some fancy company. I work at a Tech Village. It was the only job I could find. I’m interviewing for a promotion to Assistant Manager.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “The research on the implant is, well…I spent my entire savings on the plane ticket to Gotham just to prove to myself that my idea isn’t crazy. That I’m not actually a failure. I…I just thought you should know.” “Felicity, I think your idea is brilliant. And I think you should approach that first company and ask for another chance to prove yourself. You owe it to yourself to find out if things could be different.” She nodded into the dark but didn’t dare try to answer; a tear crept down her cheek. Below her Oliver sighed. “I have a confession too.” “‘Kay.” She sniffed discreetly. “I didn’t lose my driver’s license in Gotham. Not the way you think, anyway. The night before we met, I was entertaining clients, like I said, but things got out of hand and I ended up getting arrested. I spent several hours in the city jail and had my license revoked. As soon as we get to Starling, I have to come clean to my family and go to court and probably do community service.” He sighed into the dark and she turned over, tempted to climb down the ladder and give him a hug. “I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t tell you.” “Thank you,” she whispered, though it didn’t seem adequate for the way she felt. “You’re the one who deserves the thanks. I went to that airport having no idea how I would get home. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably still be in Gotham somewhere, riding out a hurricane.” “Well I couldn’t have escaped without your credit card and your crash course in manual transmissions. No pun intended.” She heard him huff a laugh. “So really I should be thanking you.” “I guess we made a pretty good team.” She smiled into the dark. “Yeah, I guess so.” “Good night, Felicity.” “Night.” Far off in the distance, the mournful shriek of the train whistle announced their arrival at another crossing. ————————————————————————————————– Oliver Queen sat at his desk and stared out the window at the building across the street. The woman who had the office opposite him kept a variety of plants in the window and was giving them their daily drink of water. “Oliver? Your mother would like to see you.” “Okay. Thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed his suit jacket. It was only four floors; he took the stairs. It had been exactly one week since he had parted from Felicity at the Starling City train station with a handshake. A handshake, for God’s sake, when what he’d really wanted to do was kiss her. He’d wanted to kiss her for days by that point, but at the last second he was afraid of ruining the bond they’d begun to form the second she demanded he teach her how to drive a stick. The memory made him shake his head as he flipped a wave to his mother’s EA and pushed through the glass door into her office. “Oliver, I want you to sit in on the interview I have in a few minutes.” “Okay. Any particular reason?” Moira Queen rolled her eyes without actually changing expression. It was one of her superpowers. “You’ve asked for more responsibility, so I’m giving it to you. I want your input on this potential new hire.” She passed him on her way out the door he was holding open. “Research and Development doesn’t really have an opening at the moment, but this person comes with a rather special referral letter.” “From who?” She glanced back at her son with a knowing smile. “Bruce Wayne.” Oliver groaned. The head of HR and a representative from R&D were already seated at the conference table when they took their seats. Oliver smoothed his tie, only half listening as his mother exchanged pleasantries. “Here we go again, eh?” the HR VP was saying. Moira pretended to fix her perfect hairdo. “Well it can’t be any worse than last time. I never did figure out what she was trying to say about my shoes. I assume it was an attempt at a compliment, though who could tell?” They both chuckled. “If what you’ve said about this idea of hers is legitimate,” the R&D rep put in, “I don’t care how awkward she is. A bio stimulant implant to reverse paralysis? That could be a game changer.” Oliver became very focused on the conversation going on around him. He sat forward and loosened his tie, suddenly warm. “But she has no experience,” his mother was saying. “Can we be sure the work is even hers?” “Mom…” “Exactly my point. Her resume says she currently works at…Tech Village.” “Mom, I…” Moira gestured through the glass at her EA, the signal to send in their victim. Oliver stood up. “Mom, I need to speak to you. Now.” She frowned at him. “Oliver, what—“ “Outside. Please.” She sighed elegantly and rose to follow him out into the hall opposite the one occupied by the EA. Damn Queen Consolidated’s glass offices; Oliver grabbed his mother’s elbow and gently steered her further away from the fishbowl of a conference room. “What is it, Oliver? I have a lot of appointments today—“ “Mom, the person you’re about to interview. I know it didn’t go well the last time, but I’m telling you, she’s the real deal. Felicity’s brilliant, and she learns so fast it’ll make your head spin. She has amazing ideas, and she’s funny, and kind, and you have to give her a second chance. You won’t regret it, I promise.” Moira searched her son’s face, confused. “Oliver, you know this young woman?” “Yes. She deserves this chance. Please.” She studied him a moment longer. “I’ll…I’ll keep your recommendation in mind. But right now we’re keeping her waiting.” He squeezed her elbow when she tried to turn away. “Mom, I—I can’t be in the interview.” She raised an eyebrow and waited. “It would be a conflict of interest.” “Oh, Oliver.” She sighed and gave him the look she usually reserved for Robert Queen. “No, it’s not like that. She’s a friend. I traveled cross country with her last week to get away from that hurricane. She learned to drive a stick in under ten minutes in an airport parking lot and then drove us twelve hours to Tommy’s, and…” He sighed. “I can’t.” Moira extracted her arm gently from his grip and smoothed a hand over his sleeve. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll let you know how it goes.” “Thanks. And mom?” She turned to look over her shoulder and Oliver gave her a brief grin. “Be nice.” ————————————————————————————————– ONE YEAR LATER “Here ya go. I got you the big bottle, just in case.” “Ungh. Thanks.” Felicity fiddled with the cap ineffectually until he grabbed it back and opened it for her. Oliver watched her take a swig before popping a pill. She chased it with more water and wiped her mouth. She was sweating; actual beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. He laid the back of his hand there to check for fever. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay. This is fine. I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine, Felicity. Is this—“ “Normal?” She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth again. “Unfortunately, yes.” A flight attendant passed them with an eye out for seatbelt violators and Felicity handed him back the water bottle so she could check hers for the fifteenth time. “How come you never told me you were afraid to fly?” Oliver prodded gently, still stunned by what he’d witnessed over the previous twenty minutes. “Six months ago, when I insisted we drive seventeen hours to Las Vegas to visit my mother, I thought that would be a clue.” “I figured you just wanted a road trip.” She shook her head quickly and moaned as the plane shifted back from the gate. “Nope.” She closed the shade over her window quickly. “You’re sure there isn’t a train we could take this time?” That surprised a laugh out of him. “There is, in fact, no train that will get us all the way to Hawaii, Felicity.” Oliver clicked his tongue in sympathy and took her hand. “I wish you’d said something, honey. We could’ve picked somewhere closer for a honeymoon.” “No way. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii. This will be fun. As soon as the pills kick in.” Oliver was still trying to process. “The day we met. At the airport. You…you’d flown out from Starling and were trying to get back…” Felicity smiled for the first time in hours, though it was strained. “The pills work, I’m telling you.” “And until then?” “Until then…oh God.” The plane began accelerating toward take off. “Felicity, look at me.” He waited until she opened her eyes. “It’s going to be fine. I love you.” And then he leaned toward her and captured her lips with his own. She melted against him as the world dropped away.

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye Olicity #submission

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sparkliest-bard-bracket · 10 months

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Round 2 ✨Winners and Losers✨!

Everybody, please give a fond farewell and a pat on the back to these most excellent of bards, who defeated their adversaries in Round 1, to be valiantly eliminated in Round 2:

Thom Merrilin (Wheel of Time)

Daeron (The Silmarillion)

Chong (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Dimentio (Super Paper Mario)

Starling Birdsong (Realm of the Elderlings)

Carrie Wilson (Julie and the Phantoms)

Kvothe (The Kingkiller Chronicle)

Fflewddur Fflam (The Chronicles of Prydain)

Kyoami/The Fool (Ran/King Lear)

Sprig Plantar (Amphibia)

Thistle/Sissel (Dungeon Meshi)

Oli/TheOrionSound (Empires SMP)

Megamind (Megamind)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Classicaloid)

Marceline the Vampire Queen (Adventure Time)

Snufkin (Moomin)

Alan-a-Dale (Robin Hood)

Remus Sanders (Sanders Sides)

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies)

Dob the Half-Orc Bard (Oxventure)

Tsukasa Tenma (Project Sekai: Colorful Stage!)

Steve McKenzie/Jester (Galavant)

Rocky (Lackadaisy)

Kermit the Bard (Tales of Tinkerdee)

Sir Robin's Minstrels (Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

Puss in Boots (Shrek)

Klavier Gavin (Ace Attorney)

Ron Stampler (Dungeons & Daddies)

Hap Gladheart (Realm of the Elderlings)

DJ Cadence (Club Penguin)

Yara of Nowhere, the Wandering Bard (A Practical Guide to Evil)

Bilbo Baggins (The Hobbit)

And give three cheers for those bards who have defeated not one, but two of their opponents, and who will go on to compete in the next round!:

David Bowie (Real Life)

Finrod (The Silmarillion)

Apollo (Greek Mythology)

Edgin Darvis (Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves)

Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem (The Muppets)

“Weird Al” Yankovic (Real Life)

Raz'ul, Son of Daz'ul (BomBARDed)

Binary Bard (Poptropica)

Hannah Montana (Hannah Montana)

Leliana (Dragon Age)

Neil Banging Out the Tunes (Tumblr)

Loquatius Seelie (Critical Role)

Mettaton (Undertale)

William Shakespeare (Real Life)

Gerard Way (Real Life)

Rick Astley (Real Life)

Lúthien Tinúviel (The Silmarillion)

Kass (Legend of Zelda/Breath of the Wild)

Miss Piggy (The Muppets)

Kaylie Shorthalt (Critical Role)

Gabrielle the Battling Bard (Xena: The Warrior Princess)

Tom Bombadil (The Lord of the Rings)

Jaskier/Dandelion (The Witcher)

Neil Cicierega/Lemon Demon (Real Life)

Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming)

Freddie Mercury (Real Life)

The Amazing Devil (Real Life)

Jack Black (Real Life)

Scanlan Shorthalt (Critical Role)

Maglor (The Silmarillion)

Dorian Storm (Critical Role)

Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan (Tales of Arcadia: Wizards)

#announcements #not a poll #sparkliest bard bracket #end of round celebration #wow round two went by so quickly!!#there will be an announcement about when round 3 will start and the lineup graphic sometime later this week #so look out for that...

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fistsoflightning · 4 years

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23: i wanna know what you’re doing tonight

prompt: shuffle || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 2796

Does writing music based on things your friend said count as flirting?

It’s AU brainworm time everybody >:3 This “main street” AU is basically balefire/mom squad’s ‘what if we made a bunch of small town romance ideas and mashed them together’ which turns out to be a lot more hilarious than it should be. Featuring (chat) cameos from @windupcatgirl @to-the-voiceless @windupnamazu @verbroil and @winduphaurchefant because why not. Title from this song!

For all intents and purposes, Zaya enjoys autumn; summer heat cooling off into a pleasant chill, the sunlight that lingers enough to keep warm in the early weeks. The trees may die, but in doing so they grow colorful, and though the flowers in A’dewah’s little shop don’t do the same he changes which ones are on display to match better with the tree outside. It does mean Krile—and more recently, one G’raha Tia—have to return to Mor Dhona, their studies resuming, but it’s not like they can’t chat.

It does, however, mean the return of autumn showers—and they don’t even hate rain that much—and fortunately Zaya managed to forget their poncho just as the first big storm pulled in. Mor Dhona wasn’t that far of a drive away, really, just two or three hours on a road Zaya had taken enough times before, but in the middle of a rainstorm? Without a rainproof coat?

Well, at least Miss Eldfalk’s documents are staying dry in the carrier at Zaya’s back, even if the chill of the rain has already soaked through the wool of their jacket and started to dampen their shirt by the time they pull into the parking garage just a block or so away from the museum waiting on Sjanna’s delivery. Thankfully the inn is just an elevator away and not on the other side of the road; they should keep a spare poncho or umbrella in the motorcycle luggage next time.

Zaya pushes the thought aside as they slip off their helmet and the phone in their pocket begins to buzz about, safely tucked within the canvas pocket of their overalls and hopefully not just as soaked as their hands are. Wiping their palms and fingers on the inside of their legs, they unzip the soggy jacket and tug out the borrowed phone to see the numerous Linkcord notifications—of course.

Leaning onto the front of their motorcycle, Zaya hardly takes a second glance up to the storm just out the window behind them as a few taps and a swipe unlocks the screen, opening up to the Linkcord discussion of the day (night? Night.)

[ text channel #mom-panic; 9:47 PM ]

banned for baby crimes zayaaaaaa i miss you Hanami Hagane You are just saying that because you have no one to drag around the fair. Hanami Hagane Besides, they will be back tomorrow afternoon. banned for baby crimes no i’m not!! that’s too long!! i brought ihget but he’s being stupid and wont ride the ferris wheel with me :’) banned for baby crimes i cant find lunya and reese either so now im stuck with himbo here local breadhead we’re just by the cotton candy stand! lunya’s waving at you ;) banned for baby crimes OH THERE YOU ARE HOW DID I MISS YOU hold on i gotta grab the chad first local breadhead 😊 banned for baby crimes but i really miss zaya even if they’re just over in mor dhona.. so does ochir he- i- banned for baby crimes has anyone seen ochir ihget lost him in the crowd- this says zaya 😱 reese is in pieces :O( YOU WHAT?? local breadhead oh dear lmao reese is in pieces :O( i hope no one tries to take him :( reese is in pieces :O( lunya says if your stupid catboy loses zaya’s bird shes not going to make you two the mini versions of zaya’s courier hat banned for baby crimes IT SNTO MY FAULT ZAYA JR HERE WAS BEIGNB ROODY ADN LOOKED AWAY NOOOOOOO,,, Hanami Hagane Why bring the bird with you, anyways. Zaya lent you Ochir’s cage. banned for baby crimes he made sad noises when ihget n i were abt to leave,,,,

The chat quickly devolves from there into Sati panicking about Zaya’s violet-backed starling going rogue and everyone else jumping in and hells, they are not in the mood to manage that. Drops of water fall from their chin onto the screen; they hastily wipe it away before shoving the phone back into their pocket and hop off their motorcycle. A few quick movements with the key round their wrist opens up the luggage attachment with the satchel of papers inside—blessedly dry, thank the gods they splurged on a decent one instead—which they swing over their shoulder as they start walking to the elevator.

A dripping trail has probably followed them all the way from the parking garage to the lobby, they think in passing as they stop at the front desk, waiting for the receptionist to turn around. Their hand goes to fiddle with the small keychain on their keyring as they wait, still dripping their own personal puddle around them.

“Hello, hello! Welcome to the Seventh Heaven, how may I—” Tataru turns around, small smile widening into a sunny bright grin when she sees them, even if they’re dripping all over the lobby. “Zaya! Good to see you back again; need a room for the night, then?”

A curt nod (that sends water droplets onto the surface of Tataru’s desk) is all she needs to hop off her stepping stool and onto the ground, waving Zaya along before she cheerily marches down the halls with a keyring jingling in her hand. Not even the gloomy rainstorm thundering outside can put a damper on her mood, it seems.

“Payment for the night’s stay may be given in the form of Gannet Bay gossip, alright?” Tataru unlocks the door to a nicely decorated room with a quick turn of her hand, playfully winking over her shoulder as she does. Her violet eyes glimmer almost the same as Lunya’s, really; filled with teasing joy and secrets. “I’ve heard from the grapevine about a certain catboy quite enjoying the atmosphere out there, now!”

She steps aside as the door swings fully open, giving a little curtsy, and Zaya gives her an energetic thumbs-up as they walk past her into the room, pleasantly warm and bright from the small fireplace in the corner of the room, banked low so its amber glow only flickers across the floor.

First things first: getting out of all the soggy clothing they’re wearing.

They hang their satchel (papers still neatly bound inside, good) on the wall hook by the door and haphazardly strip off their shoes and socks, followed by the once-warm and fluffy jacket as they look about for spare hangers.

Ah; Tataru always has their back. Hanging on the end of the bed are a set of four or so hangers, which Zaya snaps up with ease, carefully slipping the wooden hangers through sleeves and loops as they finally get to their undershirt—blissfully dry, if not a bit cold. Their overalls aren’t all that damp on the top but are more than soaked the further down the legs one looks… hopefully that dries quick enough.

Just as they finish kicking their ankle-high boots to the mat by the door, a quiet yet unfamiliar chime fills the room, and Zaya nearly thinks to check outside the door for the noise when the light vibrations trickle up their arm. The soft ringtone—someone humming along to a muffled orchestra, maybe; not the smartest of choices for a calling ringtone—grows louder as Zaya stares down at their collection of soggy clothing.

...Alright, second: answer the damn phone?

Zaya nearly fumbles all the hangers to grab their phone from the pockets of their overalls and accept the call, only briefly reading the name from the screen before his face pops up in its place. White hair and a charming grin, perhaps—that is, to anyone who hadn’t heard the words that fall from his mouth like gentle rain.

(Okay, well, maybe that just helped. Zaya wasn’t going to say that out loud to anybody regardless; it didn’t matter what they thought of Thancred’s charms. Probably.)

“...I’d say ‘good evening’ but I wager you are having anything but just by the water dripping off your hair,” Thancred says in lieu of greeting, his voice warm and surrounded by the distant sounds of the usual fall fair attractions. “So instead, I’ll say this; is that old phone serving you well enough?”

Zaya nods; given, this one’s a bit clunky, but the lightness of their actual tomephone may have indirectly been the reason that they’d dropped it while helping out around town and eventually cracked the screen. At least Thancred had offered to lend them his old one for the trip to Mor Dhona in case, just on the off chance someone truly needed their attention, like for lost birds and ways to punish a distracted idiot.

They set it on the table, the front camera facing towards the window as Zaya steps into frame, still fiddling with the hangers in their hands. Mor Dhona may be covered in a gloomy storm, but the golden lights from the buildings around Revenant’s Toll Square still glow brightly in the distance, a refuge from the biting torrent of cold rain.

“Survived the water,” they sign slowly, stepping closer to the fireplace in a subtle attempt to dry off a bit quicker, almost fumbling when their fingers stiffen, chilled to the bone. Thancred laughs, the bridge of his nose crinkling just a tad like how it does when he can’t stop cracking himself up. “Still has power, too.”

“Glad to see it has survived, then.” There’s a slight pause where Thancred stops talking (and laughing) to catch his breath, the small silence filled with Zaya leaving frame to go hang their soaked clothes over the fireplace to hopefully dry for tomorrow. When they come back to look at the camera, a kaleidoscope of colorful lights dance across Thancred’s face, some colorfully lit attraction before him leaving his platinum blonde hair awash with a rainbow of color. “The storm there should burn off by early dawn, though; hopefully you will not have to drag yourself home dripping wet from your business in Mor Dhona.”

Ah, good. They yawn as discreetly as someone who’s on a video call can—which is to say, not very, and a rosy flush must spread on their face when Thancred chuckles under his breath, low and steady.

“Forgive me,” he says next, voice lowered as if he were disturbing someone’s rest. “I must be keeping you from collapsing; I can’t imagine a drive in the freezing rain and getting soaked is the least draining way to spend one’s night.”

In-between stretching out the tense muscles in their back and neck do they grunt some noise of agreement, the strain flaring momentarily before melting into a drowsy warmth that drips down the ridges of their spine. Really, spending time in Mor Dhona at all is a draining waste of time—when you make your home in somewhere as vibrantly quiet as Gannet Bay it’s hard to want the big city over the comforts of familiarity, of knowing each shop and its owners personally, of being able to help them all and see their smiles.

At least they can see one person from home, now.

“ ‘S fine,” they mumble softly, heart stuttering when Thancred’s smile widens at the sound of their voice. Part of them wishes they were there to playfully elbow him for that—it’s not that rare tha they’ll speak—and the other part of them they are desperately trying to ignore. “How’s th’ fair.”

“Wonderful.” He looks up for a moment as Zaya wraps themselves in the bed coverings, presumably to whatever booth or stall is shining down on his face with fluorescent lights. “Ryne’s had a wonderful time, I think. I haven’t seen your friends around, but would you like to hear about the odd variety of attractions around?”

Zaya hums sleepily, waiting for him to continue. They hardly even notices when their eyelids grow heavy and their fingers return to their usual warmth, entranced enough by the fond familiarity of Thancred’s voice as they drift off to sleep.

…

The next morning, Zaya wakes with the dawn that rises across Mor Dhona, the bright golden sunrise sneaking through the cracks of the large curtains to tickle their bedsheets. The cityscape outside the window is covered by low autumn morning fog, glimmering as the sunlight dances over it and the puddles the passing storm had left behind in its wake. Outside, it is nearly silent, only a few passing cars and hardly any pedestrians around when Zaya does their morning stretches by the window.

As is always with a trip into the city, they fall into an easy routine; wake with the sun, stretch out whatever they can without breaking something, get dressed and hastily grab everything before rushing out the door, wave Tataru a rushed but genuine goodbye. Trot down to the parking garage, check the bike, throw the satchel back into the luggage on the back as they slip on their stereo cuffs and flick through playlists on their phone before going to get breakfast at the Bismarck—

Zaya pauses their flick-tap scroll through the playlists on their phone when they catch one with their name. Odd; Thancred did always have the habit of making his friends their own personal playlists, but they’d like to think they didn’t give him that much of a read on their tastes just yet.

Shrugging to no one but themselves, they tap on the playlist and let it begin to play as they slide the phone back into their overall pocket, starting up their motorcycle’s engine just as the song begins to play.

They stop.

[ DM history with @superbolide; 7:36 AM]

zayaya ❓ zayaya 🌅😊❗🎵🎧💿❓❓ superbolide good morning to you too :) you’re up rather early superbolide something the matter? superbolide ah i haven’t got another song for you yet, if that’s the question rest assured, i’ll find something yet! zayaya 🙅

It hardly takes them more than a few seconds to grab a small screenshot of the playlist in question, sending it and another screenshot back to Thancred as they quietly listen to the same song Rjoli and Reese had playing near constantly for last Valentione’s Day in the bakery—still manages to be catchy, somehow. Let it not be said that acoustic covers were not their favorite.

The notification ringtone chimes when Thancred responds, cheery and bright.

Zaya goes a bit bug-eyed at what he types next, the song fading off as the next one on shuffle comes up—piano, humming, Thancred’s voice—

Thankfully, for it being so early in the morning, there’s no one around in the parking garage to judge the frankly embarrassing noise they make at their phone, or the bright flush that spreads across their face.

It isn’t like that, they remember saying, sputtering like a fish out of water when Lunya had barely insinuated that Thancred’s small wave as he walked past was a bit more than friendly. There’s no way he’d be interested in the courier that helped him choose out a ribbon at the local boutique, of all people! He doesn’t even know where I work!

Zaya drops their forehead onto the dash of their motorcycle, careful not to hit their horns against anything as they do.

Looks like they were wrong, about it ‘not being like that’. Maybe.

(Oh gods, they really hope they’re wrong.)

…

[ text channel #mom-panic; 8:03 AM]

💬 this says zaya is typing...

this says zaya😑 this says zaya💭🌑💘 🤟 ❓ banned for baby crimes DOES HTAT MEAN WHAT I THINK IT DOES closest to hell zaya qestir i swear on your lover boy’s life clarify for the peanut gallery local breadhead :0 reese is in pieces :O( i think hm reese is in pieces :O( zaya did thancred just confess or did somethign else happen this says zaya [ superbolide: oh haha i must have forgotten to upload those to my lifestream] this says zaya [ superbolide: there are some songs i did save, but all the clips there were lyrics i thought of after chatting w/ you 😉] this says zaya [ superbolide: i could make an EP dedicated to you w/ the inspo you gave me] this says zaya [ superbolide: that is, if you don’t mind] Hanami Hagane I told you he was obvious. closest to hell SATINA YOU OWE ME GUMMIES FROM SHOOTING STAR I CALLED IT closest to hell IT WAS OBVIOUS THE MUSIC HES MAKING WAS BC OF THEM local breadhead oh bless… that’s v sweet… banned for baby crimes HBHBHHB NOOO MY HARD EARNED GIL,,, banned for baby crimes BUT WE ALL WERE RIGHT ABOUT HIM THO reese is in pieces :O( awwwauaua!! banned for baby crimes so banned for baby crimes zaya banned for baby crimes when’s the wedding this says zaya 😡😡😡 closest to hell me🤝sati “when’s the wedding” this says zaya 👆💀🏡 Hanami Hagane You two better start running. banned for baby crimes WAIT ZAYA NO-

#ffxiv #zaya qestir #thancred waters #ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #tales from the blue #my writing #main street au #look its 2020 and i can write chatfic with my normal fic if i want #the song may be about breakup but this fic sure aint :^)#i dont know how to make the names all color text in tumblr ;W; ill fix it later...#balefire #elie's ffxivwrite2020 #s: bound by faith

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