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alexandralyman · 4 years

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Bite Me

Halloween may be over now, but if you’re still in the mood for a bit of darkness then I’ve got this not so little CS vampire AU you might be interested in.

Once upon a time Emma Swan was a princess. But that was before she died and was reborn as a vampire, forever thirsting for human blood. Now she works nights as a bounty hunter, chasing down bail jumpers with her enhanced senses and she's out on the hunt after a mysterious dark-haired man whose blood calls to her like none before. Can she resist taking a bite?

Now a few little notes about this, it has an open ending but I’m considering it a complete one shot, I just needed to get the creative process flowing again and this was the idea that came to me. I’m using “Rogers” as Killian’s alias, which I know is touchy for people who didn’t like S7, this is still a Captain Swan story though and no S7 characters appear. It’s a vampire AU, so there’s biting and blood drinking but I don’t think it’s super graphic or heavy on the gore factor.

Words: 8300, Rating: M AO3 Link FF. net Link

bite me

Once upon a time, Emma Swan was a princess.

Not one that was famous, or noteworthy, or of any great importance. Her royal house had been a minor one and was long forgotten, from when what was now Germany had been ruled by a collection of provincial dynasties and grand duchies, but she'd been born a real, actual princess, in a castle nestled deep in a forest of ancient myths and folklore that warned pretty young maidens not to wander alone in the woods after dark.

She'd died as a princess too, in the arms of the man who'd hid his sharp teeth behind a lazy smile and lured her away from the safety of the tall stone walls to take both her virginity and something far more precious from her on one moonless night, centuries ago.

Her life was supposed to have been a fairy tale, of balls and banquets and happily ever after with a handsome prince.

Now if was a horror story, of blood and death and a thirst that could never truly be quenched.

Emma Swan was a vampire, and she was on the hunt.

For a bail jumper, not for blood (although she'd take a little of that too, a girl had to eat, after all) just another scumbag who hadn't shown up for court and disappeared into the night. Bounty hunting was the perfect job for a vampire, she was a predator at heart, and she could set her own hours and work exclusively after sunset without raising any suspicion. And if a skip was a little paler once she'd brought them in and collected her reward? Well, no one ever noticed the tiny little bite marks on their necks.

She hadn't drunk for days, too preoccupied with her latest case to hunt for mere food. Not that it was ever that hard to find sustenance, Emma wasn't a princess anymore but she'd been bestowed many other titles by men over the years, a doll, a looker, a fox, a babe. It wasn't difficult to entice one into the woods, or an alley, or back to her apartment for "coffee,", letting them think they had been the one to seduce her and then turning the tables on them once they were alone and there was no one to hear them scream when the sexy, flirty blonde turned into a stone-cold bloodsucker. Sometimes she just drank, piercing a vein with teeth that went pointed and sharp as fangs at the scent of the blood moving just beneath the surface of the skin, rich, red elixir that was thick on her tongue and gave eternal life to the dead and damned. They stopped screaming then, Emma could make it feel good, so good that they surrendered willingly into her embrace and would let her drain them completely dry if she wanted to, although she hadn't done that in years. Too messy, to have to find a way to dispose of the body afterwards, and too complicated these days to have meals suddenly go "missing."

If she wanted to play with her food then she'd take them to bed first, on the nights when the need between her legs equalled her hunger and it was even more satisfying to fuck and feast, sometimes doing both at the same time.

That's what *he* had done, coaxing her thighs open with his pretty lies and false promises on that night so long ago, stealing her innocence before sliding his fangs into her slender neck, only he hadn't stopped when her heart did.

Either way, Emma made sure they forgot exactly what had been done to them and they woke up in the morning with nothing more than a headache from the blood loss and what they thought was a dream of a beautiful woman with lips stained crimson and skin as pale as moonlight.

She didn't dream, not since her last one turned into a nightmare from which she'd never woken up.

The bar where they were supposed to meet sounded like a dive (The Dark Hollow? Seriously, what kind of name was that?) but it was surprisingly upscale, sleek and modern, the kind of place where all the liquor was top shelf and the staff could double as models. Still, Emma turned her share of heads when she walked in and she could hear heartbeats around the room speed up as the men (and a few of the women) took her in. Tight dress, towering heels, tousled curls, she was dressed to kill and more than capable of actually doing it. The urge never fully went away, but tonight she'd have to settle for the satisfaction of only capturing her prey instead. She quickly scanned the dim interior and zeroed in on a man sitting smack dab in the middle of the room, seated alone at a table for two. As if he sensed her arrival he looked up from his phone, meeting her gaze and giving a smile that was the most dangerous thing in the room after her.

John Rogers. It was almost certainly an alias, probably a bit of identity theft on top of the charges of stealing from his employer, Gold Enterprises. He had dark hair, just the right amount of stubble on a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes as blue as the midday sky.

Not that Emma had actually seen the midday sky in person since the day she'd died, a perfect, clear day where the sun was warm and the gentlest of breezes had stirred her long skirts about her ankles as she walked into the forest without knowing that she'd just lost blue sky forever under the thick canopy of the trees and the shadow that lurked on the path ahead.

The memory made her falter for a moment before she pushed it away and strode right up to his table, putting a swing in her hips that made his heartbeat stutter and skip a beat. Emma was a vampire, but she was still a woman and it was gratifying to have such an effect on him, even though she was only here for the bounty and the unofficial bonus that had been offered by the owner of Gold Enterprises to bring him in and face justice.

"Anna?" he asked, getting to his feet at her approach. Emma smiled and nodded, she'd used an alias as well on the hookup app where she'd finally found a profile picture that matched his mug shot. His smile grew even wider. "I'm John. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

He had an accent, something that hadn't been listed in the police report and the sound of it sent a tingle right down her spine. One of his hands was unnaturally stiff, covered by a black glove that matched his black jeans and black vest. The missing hand had been in the report, with a notation that he wore a prosthetic but there'd been no info about how he'd lost the limb and no one at Gold Enterprises knew the story either. He pulled her chair back and waited until she was settled before sitting back down in his own seat, he might be a thief, but he clearly had some manners. There was a glass in front of him already, half-filled with a dark amber liquor that carried the rich aromas of burnt sugar and heavy spice.

Rum.

Emma ordered wine, she could eat and drink like an ordinary human, but her body took no nourishment from food and nothing could truly slake her thirst except human blood. Everyone tasted slightly different, some people were sweeter, like smooth chocolate or ripe berries, and some were more savoury, like a sharp cheddar or perfectly rare steak.

John Rogers looked like he'd taste like the rum, sweet and spicy at the same time.

And damn, if she didn't want a drink of him.

"More wine?" John asked, after she'd finished her second glass and they'd shared a plate of artful little hor d'oeuvres that did nothing except whet her appetite for something else instead.

"No, I'm good," Emma replied, pushing the empty glass away and eyeing the vein that ran along the inside of his wrist when he reached for the last canape.

"What's the matter love, a bit worried you'll find me too irresistible after another libation?"

From another man it would have come across as smarmy, but somehow he pulled it off. She ran a foot teasingly up his calf under the table, watching his throat bob with a heavy swallow. The honey trap was the easiest way to corral a skip, since Emma found most men couldn't resist a pretty face and the thought of getting lucky even when they should be lying low. John Rogers might be more attractive and have a larger vocabulary than the average deadbeat, but he wasn't any different than the rest of them and when she leaned forward and rested a hand high on his thigh she could hear his blood pumping even faster through his enticing veins, pooling a few inches away from her pointed nails.

"Who says I want to resist you?" she murmured in his ear. The muscle under her hand twitched and he quickly tossed back the last of his rum.

"Well then, I suppose I just have one more question. Your place or mine?"

Normally she'd invite whoever she was tracking back to her place and then take them to the nearest precinct instead, minus a pint or two of their blood. The Rogers case was different though, since whatever it was he'd stolen from Gold Enterprises (the police report was strangely vague and just called it "something of value") hadn't been found after the initial arrest and stringing him along for a little while longer might be the only chance to recover it. There was just one hurdle, a not insignificant one, to her plans.

But the reward would be worth it in the end.

She slid her hand the tiniest bit higher. "Why don't you show me yours?"

There was a flush on his whiskered cheeks as more blood rose to the surface and if Emma still had a pulse, it would be racing with anticipation.

"If the lady insists," he said, voice a low rasp that curled enticingly between her legs while he pulled out his wallet and carelessly tossed a few bills on the table without even looking. They rose in unison, ignoring the knowing looks from the neighbouring table and making their way to the door with his hand settling on the small of her back to guide her. Outside the night air was cool, the sky a deep indigo and plush as velvet while the pavement was slick and the sidewalks damp. It must have rained while they were flirting over overpriced drinks and puff pastry, Emma should have heard it with her vampiric senses but she'd been too focused on John Rogers and the ancient dance of predator and prey. He clearly thought he was the hunter, seducing her into going home with him with his dark good looks and silver tongue, getting what he wanted and then swiping onto the next girl on the app without a second thought. His hand moved, brushing her hip and she tensed, wondering if he was going to cop a feel and grope her ass right outside the bar. Or try to, anyway, since she could break all his fingers before he could blink. But then it was pulled away as he went to shrug off his jacket, draping the soft leather over her shoulders instead.

"While I must say that you cut quite the figure in that dress, it's a bit of a walk to my flat and there's no Swyft drivers around right now."

She realized with a jolt that he'd given her his jacket because it was cold. Emma was dead, she didn't get cold, or hot, not anymore, and she wasn't used to anyone being concerned if she did. She'd been cold when she died, wracked with chills as her life slowly dripped into her murderer's mouth and he hadn't bothered to cover her, dress still hiked to her waist and pale legs splayed open as he drank at his leisure. The twin scars that were left on her neck were a reminder, to never trust anyone again.

John didn't care, not really. He just wanted to get laid.

That's what made her cold, not the nip in the air, cold and hard under her crimson dress and fuck-me heels even as she gave a kittenish smile and thanked him with a delicate hand brushing his chest. She was the real hunter tonight, for his bounty *and* his blood, and she was going to get both.

They walked together like lovers without a care in the world and eyes only for each other, each carrying their own secrets behind the flirty looks and sly innuendo. Emma could see perfectly for blocks and scent everything in the air, the exhaust from cars that had driven by hours earlier, the smell of chicken noodle soup being heated up in one of the apartments above them, every note in the perfume a hooker on the corner was wearing (lilacs, white tea and middlemist flowers) as well as other, more hidden odors, like the drugs in the hooker's blood from when she'd shot up not too long ago, the refuse running through the sewers deep underneath the asphalt and that there was something dead in a nearby dumpster. Too large to be a rat or a raccoon, it was rotting away unseen underneath old coffee grounds and moldy bread.

Most of all she smelled her prey, the metal of his jewelry, rings on his fingers and a necklace just visible at the open collar of his shirt, the fainter scent of whatever shampoo he used still clinging to his dark hair, and the more recent smell of the food they'd just eaten at the bar mixed with rum on his breath.

And his blood.

Always the blood.

He smelled good enough to eat.

John's flat was a small apartment in an older, nondescript building not far from the harbour. He put his key in the lock and opened the door with an offhand, "Come on in," that solved a major problem for Emma. Thanks to his careless invite she was able to cross the invisible barrier and step over the threshold, her stiletto heels making no noise on the floor. Inside it was shadowed and dim, but she could see everything perfectly and took a quick glance around. Couch, coffee table, TV, nothing out of the ordinary but there was also nothing personal about any of it. There was no mail left sitting out, no photos on display, no knicknacks or any kind of hint about the life of the man who lived here and while his scent was present, it was shallow and recent and hadn't had time to fully permeate the space. The apartment was probably a temporary residence, a safe house where he could hide from both the cops and Gold Enterprise's extensive private security, hopefully with whatever he'd stolen from them.

A lamp switched on with a faint click and bathed the room in a soft yellow glow. "You know, I was just about to delete that app when your message popped up."

"Were you?" Emma asked, turning to face him and taking a step back as she did, deeper into the apartment and encouraging him to follow. And follow he did, reaching to pluck the jacket from her shoulders and dropping it over the arm of the couch. His voice was pitched low, intimate, still thinking that he had the upper hand.

"Aye. Never quite found what I was looking for on it, until I met you."

Emma would have said it was just another line, a bit of flattery to help get her out of her dress and into his bed, if it wasn't for her extra little superpower. Vampires had more than just a thirst for blood and eternal youth, they also had special gifts that had given rise to the host of legends and superstitions about the children of the night. Some could jump so high and for so long that it looked like they were flying clear across the sky, some could control and command animals, like a female vampire Emma had met once in the 1920s who kept a pack of spotted dogs to do her bidding, and Emma herself had discovered not long after being turned that she could tell when humans were lying.

John Rogers was being sincere.

Maybe that was why she gave into the impulse, not to bite him, but to kiss him, closing the brief gap between their bodies to press her lips to his. He reacted instantly, mouth opening to match the movement of hers, hand pulling her to him so that they were pressed together from shoulder to knee and a deep groan rumbled in his broad chest at the contact that she felt echo through her right down to her toes. Their noses bumped and their tongues met, she sucked a little too hard on his bottom lip but the rock of his hips to press the hard outline of his erection to her stomach when she did it again told her that he liked it a little rough.

"Fuck," he gasped when they broke apart, pupils dialated with lust and cheeks flushed nearly scarlet under his stubble.

"I think that was implied," Emma laughed. She never slept with skips, but there were hours left before dawn and her thirst was quickly being matched by the growing ache between her legs, one almost as insistent as the urge to feed.

"A gentleman never presumes such a thing," John said with a wink and a grin, another line

that should sound cheesy as all hell and Emma had heard a lot of cheesy pickup lines over the centuries, but somehow he was just enough of a charming bastard to make it work. She almost didn't want to turn him to the cops in at the end of the night.

Almost.

By the time they stumbled into the bedroom Emma still had her heels on but her dress was on the floor somewhere out in the hall, left in a tangled pile with his discarded vest and belt. His shirt was barely clinging to his shoulders, open down the front to reveal a muscular chest covered with a thick dusting of hair that ran down his stomach and disappeared into his boxer briefs. The jeans were undone too, she'd been a bit careless with her strength and hoped he didn't notice that she'd accidentally twisted the button right off before tugging down the zipper. Since his eyes had rolled back in his head and he'd let out a strangled gasp of pleasure when she slid her palm over the bulge of his erection and gave it a good squeeze, she was pretty sure he hadn't seen the little bit of metal rolling across the floor and disappearing under the bed.

She gave another squeeze, just to be sure, and certainly not to hear that delicious noise bubble out of his throat again.

The room itself was like the rest of the apartment, as impersonal as a hotel. Bed, check. Emma could smell that the sheets were fresh and clean, which was a point in his favour. Bedside table with a lamp on top, check. Generic Ikea dresser, check.

A ship in a bottle.

Her eyes narrowed over John's shoulder. It was sitting on the dresser next to some loose change, an actual ship in a bottle. The ship itself was finely detailed, the hull painted with yellow and blue stripes in perfect lines, miniature sails raised on tiny rigging that must have taken hours to set into place. It almost looked real.

For a moment she wondered if that's what he'd stolen from Gold Enterprises, but she dismissed the thought just as quickly. A major corporation wouldn't go to such lengths to recover a kitschy bit of bric-a-brac, it had to be something like a confidential client list or important files. She turned her attention back to the man in front of her, still far too dressed for her liking. Emma went to finish peeling the shirt off his shoulders, only to be stymied when it wouldn't slip off one wrist.

Right, or left, in this case, his missing left hand.

"Ah," he said, when he saw her looking down at the gloved prosthetic. "Long story, which I'd rather not get into now, but if it's a dealbreaker for you, I understand."

He said it easily enough but he was tense, she could see it in the ripple under his skin as muscles tightened and cords flexed while he braced himself for her answer and she wondered if that had happened before, women walking away after discovering he was different.

As someone who was also different, albeit in a way that wasn't so readily apparent on first glance as a missing limb, Emma felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew was it was like to lose a part of yourself and never get it back.

"It's not," she assured him, reaching out and grasping the prosthetic as gently as she could. They stayed like that, his chest rising and falling for a few quiet breaths and his long lashes resting against his cheeks until he opened his eyes and instead of a cocky smirk or another come-on, he gave her an unguarded, boyish smile that reminded her of the suitors who used to come pay court to her in her father's castle, when her life was still full of laughter and light.

"Just who are you, Anna?" he whispered, and if her heart wasn't silent and still it would lurch at both the longing in his voice and the sharp reminder that she wasn't that starry-eyed princess anymore who nothing of the evils that could lurk behind a man's pretty words. Who was she? She was death incarnate, the wolf in sheep's clothing with blood on her lips.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she countered, flip and flirty, knowing that he didn't, not really. Not if he knew.

"Perhaps I would."

The sentiment was nice, but Emma wasn't the sentimental type so she simply reached behind her back and flicked open her bra, letting the cobwebby lace fall to the floor before thumbing her underwear down her hips and sitting on the edge of the bed to slide the silky bit of nothing off one leg and then the other. The lack of a hand didn't slow him down one whit, he had his shirt completely off and his pants down with speed and dexterity that was impressive even to a vampire. He'd invited her in but she was the one beckoning to him now, sliding back on the duvet and crooking a finger with her tongue just poking from between her teeth. He crawled forward after her on his knees, dark hair falling over his forehead in a careless sweep as his head dipped down and hot breath touched her cool skin.

Lips closed over her nipple, already hard and pebbled with anticipation. She felt it tighten even more when he swirled his tongue around it and flicked the tip before sucking hard. He did the same to her other breast, callused fingers tracing delicate patterns on the inside of her hip and she widened her legs, expecting him to settle between them and get on with it like most men did after a bit of foreplay. But he clearly had something else in mind first, moving lower and lower down her body until that warm breath was hovering right over where she ached the most. The blue eyes looked up, reminding Emma of the sky she never saw anymore and had almost forgotten as he waited for her to give him a sign of assent.

A hand on the back of his head was enough and she quickly found herself clutching a fistful of inky hair as his mouth descended and he began to feast. Damn, Emma thought to herself, he was good at this, really fucking good, circling with his tongue and increasing the pressure on each pass until she was a writhing mess, hips rocking against his face and desperate for more. Just as she was about to fall over the edge he backed off, using only the softest of licks and the faintest of flicks and if he didn't finish the job then she literally was going to kill him.

"Patience," he whispered at her needy whine, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "We've all night, love."

All night, but nothing more. That was all she could ever have now with a man.

His beard scraped against the delicate skin, a shocking contrast to the gentleness of his mouth as he went back to his task, working her up again with lips and tongue and fingers. Pleasure sparked along every nerve, building to the peak at a torturous pace until finally, finally, he sucked hard on her clit and shoved two fingers deep inside her at the same time. Emma's back arched and her jaw dropped from a silent scream, it looked like agony but it was pure ecstasy, her thighs flexing and tightening around his head until the climax finally faded and she went limp against the mattress, boneless and spent. John went up on his knees, looming above her and she didn't even care about how smug the bastard looked, he'd more than earned it. His lone hand wrapped around his erection and he gave it a few slow pumps, raising an eyebrow and asking another question without words.

Emma answered by letting a bit of her vampire strength loose again, flipping him onto his back and pining his wrists to the bed while she swung her leg over him and straddled his lean hips. He blinked up at her in surprise, face still deliciously damp, his pulse fluttering against her thumbs as rapid as a hummingbird's wings. The hard ridge of his erection was now trapped between them, twitching hot against her stomach while she leaned down and let her breasts brush his chest, scraping her teeth on his neck and making the skin redden before tasting herself when she pressed her lips hungrily to his. The urge to taste him was almost overwhelming as her fingers tightened on his wrists, holding him down, her teeth begged to sharpen behind her kiss, but as he said, they had all night. Or almost, since she couldn't linger too long in his bed and risk the sunrise.

There was also the not so insignificant matter of dropping her alias and turning him over to police custody to deal with, but she'd worry about that later.

Emma was more interested now in the way his stomach muscles clenched when she shifted her hips, the drag of his lips between his teeth and the sharp inhale when she almost, but not quite, took him inside. It was her turn to smirk, teasing and torturing him until she was sure he was about to beg for relief.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Anna?"

She faltered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. "What?"

"Your Happy Ending. The app?" he clarified at her confused look.

Right, the dating app. It had launched with this whole cheesy fairytale theme and commercials about meeting your charming prince and living happily ever after and all that bullshit, but it had quickly morphed into just another hookup app instead, where people got off and got out.

A happy ending.

Life (and death) has taught her that there was no such thing.

"I found you," she said. It was supposed to be flip and flirty, but for some reason it came out far too serious for a one night stand who was looking up at her like she was everything he ever wanted.

The air in the room thickened with tension that only increased as she sank down on him, slowly, inch by inch. Her hands spread flat on his chest to brace herself and she relished the stretch and burn until he was finally buried to the hilt. Emma was dead, had been for centuries, but she felt alive again with a living pulse throbbing inside of her, a heartbeat thudding against her palm and the spreading warmth from the friction as she started to ride him. His knees bent behind her, large feet planting on the bed and finding the leverage to start meeting her moments with his own upward thrusts while she threw her head back and closed her eyes. Their tempo increased of its own volition, a heavy and hot slide of rigid flesh against yielding softness that hovered deliciously on the knife's edge between pleasure and pain. Emma could hear his blood pounding through his veins and the call to her most primal need was almost too much. She fell forward, latching onto his neck with enough force to leave a bruise and only just managing to stop herself from breaking the skin to get to what lay underneath.

"Do it!"

His voice was thick as honey and dripped with promise while his arm wrapped around her back and he turned his head to the side, baring even more of his long throat.

"Bite me!"

It was an invitation Emma couldn't resist and her fangs came out, piercing straight into the plump vein throbbing against her lips. An obscene moan spilled out from above her while her mouth flooded with his blood, warm and rich, like cocoa made fresh on the stove. It was full of life and went straight to her head like alcohol used to but better than any drink or drug could possibly be. And not only did it taste amazing, it briefly tethered them together even more than where they were joined so intimately, letting her feel everything he was currently feeling.

Lust.

Longing.

The sensation was overwhelming, he was still inside her, still rocking up with heavy thrusts even as she took deep pulls from his neck that had to be draining his strength. It would be easy, so easy, to take a little too much, drink a little too long...and then there was a surge that was almost her undoing as he came undone, the blood flowing even harder as he came and the echo of it triggered her own climax, both of them trembling with his body still locked in hers and his vein still open in her mouth until his loud gasp for air and his sluggish heartbeat broke through the haze of blood and sex like a dash of icy water. Emma forced herself to let go, sealing the wound on his neck before it could scar or before she could give in to the worst of her urges whispering seductively in her ear, the dark desire to turn him into something no one should ever have to become.

To make him like her.

"You knew I was a vampire."

It came out harsh and biting, an accusation, not a question. Once the post-coital and post-feeding bliss had faded and she'd realized what had just happened, Emma had stood up and silently gotten dressed before turning to face John Rogers again, still lounging in the rumpled bed with an amused look as if he didn't have a care in the world and wasn't missing a few pints of his blood.

"I had my suspicions, aye. Confirmed once I saw in person that you don't breathe anywhere near as often as you should and you have no heartbeat or pulse."

She folded her arms across her chest, somehow feeling completely exposed even though he was the one who was still naked, arm propped behind his head and sheet draped low across his hips.

"Most people don't notice that. And even if they did, they don't know vampires are actually real."

A dark brow lifted and he gave her an arch look. "When you lived as long as I have, you learn a thing or two."

Emma snorted at that. Lived as long as he had? "John Rogers" was definitely a false identity, but whoever he really was, he didn't look older than thirty-five. Her skepticism only seemed to amuse him further and he gestured showily along himself, the sheet dipping down even lower with the movement. Fresh with his blood she flushed and looked away, which was stupid considering they'd literally just had sex, but she needed to distance herself from that so she could do what had to be done.

His voice lost that honeyed mirth and went more serious and flat. "Don't let the youthful countenance fool you, darling, like you I am far older than I appear. A few centuries older, in fact."

"How?" she spit out. "You're not-"

"-A vampire like you?" he finished. "No, I'm not. In fact, I'm the opposite. I've been magically cursed with eternal life."

That was not what she was expecting, not that Emma even knew what the hell she thought he was going to say, and she stared blankly at him for a few seconds.

"Magically cursed," she repeated at last. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Says the undead vampire who just drank a considerable portion of my blood," he pointed out, and she flushed again with said blood.

"Fine," she said, conceding the point. "You were magically cursed. How?"

His smile curled into something different and for a moment Emma thought she heard the crash of waves upon a shore, the scent of salt in the air and the kiss of the wind on her skin.

"Now that is a rather long and unhappy tale, but let's just say that I once took something of considerable value from a man I considered too cowardly to fight back, and he was, then. Only people sometimes change, don't they, and not always for the better. He came back years later and he was no longer the snivelling coward I'd humiliated in my own arrogance, he was something different, something no longer fully…human. He took this-" John held up his stump of a wrist, "-as punishment, and cursed me with eternal life so that I would always have to live with what I'd done. I can't die, and believe me, love, I've tried."

That got Emma's back up at once, a familiar feeling settling between suddenly tense shoulders. "So is that what the whole 'bite me" thing was about? You've got a death wish and you thought a vampire was your answer?

She was moving before he could say anything, tossing clothes onto the bed in a blur and avoiding his piercing blue gaze. "Get dressed. You skipped out on your bail and there's a warrant for your arrest. I'm taking you in."

"Anna-" he tried to protest.

"Emma," she corrected. It would be on the paperwork down at the station, he was going to find out anyway. "Emma Swan, bailbondsperson. You've got five minutes."

She stormed out of his bedroom and shut the door behind her, needing to put some space between them. Not that it helped much, he might be out of sight but his blood was racing through her veins and she could still feel the echo of his body inside hers. This was why she didn't get too close to skips, they all had some ridiculous sob story and claimed someone else screwed them over.

Her fingers crept up to the scar on her neck and groped blindly for the small patch of maimed skin. Don't trust anyone.

Emma shut out everything else except that. The long years of practice made it quick, if not easy.

She hated that it wasn't easy.

It was both too quiet and too noisy in the small apartment. She could hear the hum from the refrigerator, the rumble of pipes in the walls, the footfalls from someone walking around above and the whistle of a breeze coming through an open window in the...

"Shit!"

Emma wrenched the door right off the hinges when she flung it open and rushed back into the bedroom, hearing everything except his heartbeat. Sure enough, a window stood open and the gauzy curtain was fluttering like a sail. She leaned over the sill and saw an iron fire escape attached to the side of the building that led down to the street, when a pair of headlights suddenly sprung to life from a parked car that fishtailed as it pulled away from the curb and took off in a squeal of rubber that made her wince. As keen as her eyesight was, the angle was all wrong for her to catch the license plate and all she got was a glimpse of the driver, clearly him, looking up at the window with an expression that wasn't angry at her deception, wasn't smug at having tricked her, it was just resigned.

And then he was gone.

She spent the next few days cursing herself for her own carelessness in letting him slip away every time she woke when the sun set, she should have kept her guard up and stayed while he got dressed, or at least left the door open, she was a vampire, for fuck's sake, not the naive princess who had died all those years ago. She could handle being in the same room with a naked man for five minutes.

His profile was still up on Happy Ending but the picture had been changed from the mirror selfie he'd used before to one of a swan, something Emma knew had to be a deliberate jab that she'd definitely felt when she first saw it. Her stakeouts at his apartment had been fruitless and his scent was quickly fading, it was clear he wasn't coming back. Not that there was much to come back to, she'd searched the place thoroughly and there was only a few clothes, some barely touched toiletries that were so new the Target receipt was still crumpled up in the trash, and the ship in the bottle.

The ship was now sitting on her coffee table, since it was the only thing that seemed like it might have some sentimental value to whoever John Rogers really was. Or maybe Emma was just kidding herself and he was nothing more than a thief and a liar.

Gold Enterprises had doubled the reward for his capture and every bounty hunter in three states was now out looking for him. It was only a matter of time before someone tracked him down, and while Emma had a lot of advantages over her human competition, she had one big disadvantage in that she couldn't go outside in the daylight. All of her speed and strength were completely useless from dawn until dusk and it grated at her, always a reminder that she was different from everyone else.

She was currently cooped up alone in her own apartment, waiting for the sun to finish dipping below the horizon before she ventured out in search of new leads. She'd woken up a bit early from the deathlike sleep that was her own eternal curse, which happened from time to time. It was because of the dream she'd been having, of a woman she didn't recognize, dark haired, beautiful, dressed in the clothing of another time and holding a large knife with a jagged blade in one hand and a bright red object in the other.

"Take me away," the woman whispered. "Forever."

When she lifted the knife and pierced it straight through the red thing Emma realized it was a human heart, blood flowing between the woman's fingers and the scent of it hit Emma even in the dream, making her fangs sharpen and jolting her awake.

She was musing on it when her phone buzzed, lighting up with a notification and she snatched it off the table in a blur with sudden wild hope flaring where her heart didn't beat that maybe it was him, messaging her through the chat function on Happy Ending. It quickly turned into a frown of disappointment when she saw it was actually just an email, framed against a photo of the castle where she'd grown up that she'd found online a set as her wallpaper. She thumbed the email open, the frown freezing on her face when she saw what it was.

"Gotcha!" she said out loud to the empty room, shooting the ship in a bottle a triumphant look before jumping to her feet and going straight to her laptop. When she'd first taken on the Rogers case she'd entered his mug shot into a facial recognition program that would auto search the Internet for potential matches. On TV or in a movie it would have spit out a near instant result, but real life didn't work that way and it had been running quietly in the background ever since, going down rabbit hole after rabbit hole of umpteen social media pages, news archives and alumni pages looking for a match. It was a heck of a lot more expensive than a simple Google image search, but the bounty would more than cover the cost and once Rogers had snuck out on her, Emma had to admit that it was personal now, so she'd paid extra for the highest level of data.

And it had returned not one, but *two* potential hits. Emma clicked the first link and watched eagerly as the page loaded, scrolling down until she reached the picture.

And stopped dead. Literally.

It wasn't actually a picture, it was a drawing. Of a man who looked exactly like John Rogers, sketched out in what was probably charcoal on a yellowed piece of paper. They had the same dark hair, the same sharp jaw, same smile that promised danger and excitement both in one fell swoop. But the resemblance wasn't the reason why Emma could feel his blood rushing hot in her ears, it was the other sketch displayed next to his, of a woman with a shawl draped loosely around her shoulders and a large pendant around her neck, staring wistfully out at the viewer from the page.

It was the woman from Emma's dream.

"Milah."

The name fell unbidden from her lips as she quickly scanned the site the images were posted on. It was for an antique and consignment shop in Bermuda, and the pair of drawings were up for sale either individually or as a set. The listing stated that they were believed to have been done by the same artist, and were approximately three centuries old.

"Don't let the youthful countenance fool you, darling, like you I am far older than I appear. A few centuries older, in fact."

His voice whispered in her ear while she clicked on the other link with a numb finger, not sure what to expect. It opened in a separate tab as a wall of mostly text and the picture itself was little more than a thumbnail. Emma enlarged it to get a better look, even though her vampire sight was more than enough to confirm that it was a perfect match.

This one was a photo, and like the one she'd fed into the program it was another mugshot. She wasn't really surprised that he'd been arrested before, what was surprising was that it was clearly much older than the crisp, digital image that had been taken of John Rogers after he'd been hauled out of Gold Enterprises's downtown headquarters. It was in black and white, faded with age and a corner had been torn away. But it was still him, although he was clean shaven and his hair was cut much shorter, in almost a military look. The placard he was holding read:

STORYBROOKE SHERIFF'S DEPT 52-07-20 B&E, VANDAL, THEFT JONES, KILLIAN

Jones, Killian.

Rogers, John.

Quickly, Emma clicked back on the charcoal sketch. Sure enough, there, just where the drawing ended at the man's waist, smudgy and indistinct, were the remains of a name. The "K" was still legible, as were the "a" and the"n."

Killian Jones.

Pieces were rapidly clicking into place as more of the puzzle started to come together. It hadn't been Emma's dream at all, it was his, a memory carried in the blood and passed along when she'd drunk from him for so long and so deep, a memory of a dark haired woman named Milah. The knife and the heart didn't make much sense, but dreams were funny that way. John, no, Killian, had said he was cursed with eternal life, and the sketch and the old mug shot certainly seemed to confirm that he actually was telling the truth about that.

Emma went back to the mug shot. B&E, that was shorthand for breaking and entering, vandal, probably a charge of vandalism, and theft. The 52-07-20 took her a moment longer, until she realized it was the date. He'd been arrested on July 20th...1952. In some place called Storybrooke, wherever that was.

Maine. After a few more clicks she learned that a grad student named Henry Mills was doing an in-depth research project on the history of a small fishing village named Storybrooke, in Maine, and posting parts of it on his blog as he went. The entry with the mugshot had gone up the day before, explaining why the facial recognition program had only just found it. In July 1952 there had been a break in at a local pawn shop that was the talk of the town, if this Henry Mills was to be believed, where windows had been smashed and "an object of value had been stolen," to quote the pawn shop's owner.

His blood was still warm in her veins, but it suddenly ran cold as Emma read the name of the pawn shop where the theft had taken place.

Gold & Son Pawnbrokers

Gold Enterprises.

That couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

An object of value had been stolen.

Killian had told her that he'd taken something of considerable value from a man who'd later taken his hand and cursed him with eternal life. He'd been arrested four months ago for stealing something of value from Gold Enterprises, and apparently had also stolen something of value almost seventy years ago from Gold & Son Pawnbrokers. It had to be connected, but why, and to what end?

The Rogers case had started out as just another skip, but now it was a mystery that had gotten under Emma's skin as an itch that had to be scratched. Or maybe it was because Killian Jones's blood had turned out to be as potent as a drug and she was desperate for another taste of it, of him, and while she wasn't a princess anymore and hadn't been since the night she'd followed Baelfire into the woods and never went home again, she felt more alive than she had in years as she packed a bag and prepared to set off.

She locked up her apartment and headed down to her old yellow Bug, already anticipating salt air and sea breezes at her destination, it would be a welcome relief to her vampire sense of smell from the city stench. Her tight, honeytrap dresses were left behind in favour of more practical jeans and boots, and she'd also changed her profile photo on Happy Ending to send a pointed message back to the man whose taste still filled her throat and made her mouth water.

Crimson text on a black background.

I don't bite...unless you ask me nicely.

A red leather jacket the same shade as fresh blood was slipped over her shoulders and she tossed her bag into the backseat of her car before typing in an address into the Google Maps app and checking the estimated time of arrival. It would be a long drive, but since she didn't need to stop for food or bathroom breaks, just for gas, Emma would reach the little town of Storybrooke Maine just before the sun rose over the ocean.

Her prey had slipped from her grasp once, but the hunt was far from over.

It was just beginning.

#cs fic #cs ff #my fic #captain swan #bite me

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gaycrouton · 5 years

Note

Meeting with Skinner

s7, Mulder and Scully get a complaint about their “unprofessionalism”

“Did you do something?” she asked nervously, smoothing her skirt for the seventh time in the last three minutes.

“No,” he defended incrusuously before self-conciously adding, “I don’t think so.”

TO: SPECIAL AGENT FOX MULDER; SPECIAL AGENT DANA SCULLY

FROM: ASSISTANT DIRECTOR WALTER SKINNER.

SUBJECT: OFFICE CONDUCT

Both of you, my office. 9:30am.

That’s what they’d come into work to see. Scully immediately sent him a questioning look and he immediately tried to catalogue his actions this week.

“Well then what do you think this is about?” she whispered, glancing anxiously between Arelene and the closed doors with A.D. SKINNER printed on them.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, placing his hand on top of Scully’s to stop her from wearing a hole in her skirt.

“Good Morning, Agents. Thank you for coming,” Skinner’s booming voice greeted from the now open door. Mulder’s hand retracted like it was on fire and they both stood up anxious.

“Good morning-”

“Hey Skin man-” they spoke in unison.

Skinner just looked between them and sighed, gesturing for them to take their usual seats.

The anxiety didn’t diminish being in here. Skinner’s face looked flustered and his whatever they did was getting him that riled up, he knew they were in for a verbal lashing. “Sir, um. May I ask why you’ve called us in today? We’ve been performing quite well in the field this past month,” Scully started professionally.

Skinner raised his hand to stop her and spoke up, “This isn’t about your performance. The X-Files solve rate has been even better than before.” Before that bogus reassignment ordeal were the words unsaid.

“Oh, um,” Scully replied, at a loss. “Then why…” she trailed off, hoping he’d take over with an explanation.

He didn’t. Instead he took his glasses off and rubbed his hand over his face. “Sir, is everything okay?” Mulder asked, sending Scully a worried glance. “Are we getting shut down again?”

Skinner shook her head again, this time sitting up straighter in his seat. “No, no. Nothing like that. It’s uh-I’ve been put in an uncomfortable position.” He paused and neither of them made a move to speak, just waiting to be put out of their misery. “There’s been a complaint of unprofessionalism,” he sighed.

“Sir, Agent Mulder’s strategies may be unusual, but-” Scully started, immediately coming to his defense.

“It wasn’t just Agent Mulder, Agent Scully. The complaint was filed against you both,” he mumbled.

Scully’s face dropped in shock, and while he was glad he wasn’t the only one to inspire that expression, he probably looked the same. “Skinner, that’s ridiculous. Agent Scully is the textbook definition of professional.”

“Who filed this complaint?” Scully asked, clearly intending to give that poor fool a piece of their mind.

“We barely even interact with other agents for them to-”

“It wasn’t a fellow agent,” Skinner corrected. His face seemed to flush even more, much to Mulder’s confusion. They’d been reamed out so many times over the years, he honestly started to think the man enjoyed tormenting them.

“Sir, please. Just tell us what’s going on,” Scully demanded.

“Does last Friday ring a bell for either of you?” Skinner asked.

“It preceeded Saturday and suceeded Thursday,” Mulder joked, his laughter halting when he saw Scully’s face pale.

“Hilarious,” Skinner deadpanned. “Well, apparently a janitor went down to clean the office only to find the door locked.”

Mulder felt his own face pale as he remembered last Friday in vivid detail. He’d finally convinced Scully to reenact his office fantasy, and she’d gotten really into it. They’d been doing it more and more as of late since no one usually came down to the office. Or so they thought.

“Oh, um. The lock sticks sometimes,” Scully offered honestly.

“Yeah,” Skinner nodded. “The janitor thought about that too, so he used his key to get in.”

If there was such a thing as a pregnant pause, this was it. This pause was in it’s fifth trimester with ocuplets pregnant. They all just stared at each other in embarassed mortification.

“So you realize what it was he saw?” Skinner asked, clearing his throat.

“He saw,” Scully began carefully. “Something that was definitely an error of judgement and will most certainly never happen again on FBI property.”

Skinner nodded slowly and looked like his heart rate had started to return to normal. “Fantasic. That’s all I needed to hear.”

“We apologize for the discomfort we caused to everyone involved,” Mulder offered.

“I’ll make sure to let the janitor know the issue has been addressed, and I’ll make sure the complaint dissapears. You both are dismissed,” he proclaimed, shuffling some papers on his desk idly.

“Thank you, sir,” they said in unison, standing up and all but running to the door.

“Oh, and agents?” he called out. Waiting for them to face him until he spoke again. “Congratulations. I mean it.”

#gaycrouton #my fanfiction #prompts #x files fanfiction #msr #mulder and scully

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dust2dust34 · 5 years

Note

If you want to drown in some Olicity feels I suggest listening to Ed Sheeran's song Perfect off his new album. That will do the trick.

Perfect - Olicity, S7 (Rated: Mature)

Summary: Set in Season 7. Seven times Oliver and Felicity dance. (Inspired by my “Seven times Oliver and Felicity fall asleep together” fic.)

(read on AO3)

A/N: This starts out pretty angsty as Oliver and Felicity work through their issues throughout Season 7, but it definitely gets fluffier. This is pure indulgence on my part as I get used to Arrow ending this year. I listened to "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran about 3498 times while writing this.

Part 1 is set during “Inmate 4587″ (7.1).Part 2 is set after “The Slabside Redemption” (7.7).Part 3 is set after “Unmasked” (7.8).Part 4 is set after “Elseworlds,” specifically Part 2 (7.9) (references this fic from S4).Part 5 is set after “Brothers & Sisters” (7.14).Part 6 is set after Season 7.Part 7 is set in the future.

I found a love for meDarling, just dive right in and follow my leadWell, I found a girl, beautiful and sweetOh, I never knew you were the someone waiting for me

The nightmare always waited for him.

Oliver stared at the ceiling as the sharp, “Lights out!” rang through the large room. With a snap, every single light went out, bathing everything in pure darkness. He bit the tip of his tongue, his lids fluttering as his chest tightened like it did every night. There wasn’t any immediate ambient light, no exit signs close enough to rival the pitch black, no outside moonlight slipping through.

It was just him and the darkness.

There was no control in this tiny room, in his cell. There was nothing to attack, nothing to fight, nothing but shadows he couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, couldn’t anticipate. His muscles cramped from constant vigilance. His bones ached from old and new wounds he couldn’t escape no matter how low a profile he aimed for. Stress lined every single inch of him, just waiting, the taut line digging knives of anticipation into his shoulders.

Saliva flooded his mouth as he fought to control his breathing.

Minutes ticked by until his eyes adjusted, barely, the ceiling finally coming into focus. Some nights he wondered if he imagined the cracks that decorated the old concrete, or if he was actually seeing them. They always looked different in the morning.

No control here.

Felicity’s face surfaced in his mind.

Oliver instantly relaxed. His eyes fluttered shut of their own volition as he let go of the breath he’d been instinctively holding. His bones sunk into the thin mattress, the tension abating, if just for a second…

Home.

It was so momentary, so fleeting, but sometimes, for a few precious seconds, he wasn’t here. He was with his wife and they were standing in their kitchen in a rare break from the madness that was their lives.

How many moments had he let slip by? How many did he take for granted, thinking there’d always be more? Dozens. Hundreds. But that didn’t change that they did happen, every once in a while. And every so often, his mind gave him a reprieve… let him fall back into the past where there was nothing but peace.

Where nothing could hurt him.

Home.

If he listens hard enough, he’ll hear William in his room playing video games, even though Oliver’s pretty sure he’s still not done with his homework. Remnants of dinner linger in the air, his chili. Dirty dishes sit in the sink, dishes they’d both been working on. But they can wait. They’ll always wait. Hands wet with soap and water, Oliver laces his fingers through Felicity’s and tugs her into his arms. She laughs, that gorgeous, deep-throated amusement that comes from deep in her chest, the one that sets off butterflies in his stomach. He wraps his arm around her, getting her shirt wet at her waist, and she returns the favor by slipping her wet fingers under the collar of his shirt, getting soap all over his shoulder. He wrinkles his nose at her and she makes a face back, but they don’t let go. They never let go. No, they hold on tighter, swaying in the middle of the kitchen. They stare into each other’s eyes, falling into the delicate bubble of intimacy that winds around them. Contentment like he’s never known settles over him, warm and secure. Safe. There’s nothing here but him, and her, his family, everything he’s always needed. They slowly dance around the small area, wandering here and there, everywhere, perfectly happy to go wherever the other does. When they clear the counter, he dips her back, earning a delighted giggle. He smiles as he pulls her back up, closer this time, smoothing his hand up her back. He melts into her soft embrace, the dance slowing. When they reach the opposite end of the kitchen, he spins her out, his chest tightening with love when she throws her head back with a huge grin before he pulls her close again.

Love… happiness… joy…

Something snapped.

Oliver stiffened and before he could react, the kitchen disappeared. Bright, vicious forest from a world he never wanted to go back to instantly replaced it, surrounding him in a suffocating whoosh. Light blinded him and he tried to cringe away from it, but the weight in his arms distracted him.

So heavy.

“Felicity?”

He blinked his eyes open, trying to see her, to make sure she was okay.

A stream of blood slipped from the corner of her mouth. His heart stopped as she slouched against him, her eyes widening in pain. Tears filled them, breaking free, sliding into her hair as her lips moved, trying to speak. But nothing came out.

Horror choked her name on his lips as he yanked her up into his chest with a harried, “No, what’s wrong, what’s wrong, what…?”

The front of her shirt was soaked through and when he looked down, all he saw was red.

“No,” he gasped. She was too heavy all of a sudden. She was never heavy, though. Not like this. He tried to hold her, to pull her closer… but then she was gone. Oliver collapsed to the ground, landing with a thud that rocked his very bones when he realized she wasn’t with him anymore. Gone. “No!” Oliver snapped, his voice breaking. He rummaged through the leaves ont he ground with blood-stained hands, but she wasn’t there. She was gone. She’d just been there - he’d been holding her, she was there, he knew she’d been there. “Felicity!”

A scream shattered the air.

“Oliver! Help! Oliver!”

His head whipped towards the sound and he was on his feet before he could think.

“Oliver!”

“You can’t hide from me…”

The voice sent chills down Oliver’s spine and he screamed for her, told her to run…

A gunshot exploded.

Oliver’s eyes snapped open on a ragged gasp. He jerked up, hot coals of air scraping down his throat as he blinked, trying to see. Felicity wasn’t there, though. Neither was Diaz. He wasn’t on Lian Yu, he wasn’t at home.

Slabside.

All he saw was darkness.

No forest, no blood, no kitchen…

No screams.

“Felicity,” he breathed, his voice cracking. His face crumpled and he let himself fall into the despair, burying his face in his hands. “Felicity…”

Somewhere in Hope Springs, Felicity Smoak paused where she’d been swaying by herself in her tiny kitchenette. Dried tear tracks covered her cheeks as she looked up, blinking, wondering if she was hearing things. A shiver danced down her spine and her eyes fluttered shut.

She’d heard him as clearly as if he was right here…

Dancing with her.

“Oliver?”

She bit her lip as more tears welled in her eyes, but he didn’t answer.

‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in loveNot knowing what it wasI will not give you up this timeBut darling, just kiss me slowYour heart is all I ownAnd in your eyes you’re holding mine

Felicity drummed her fingers on her thigh.

He’d been in the bathroom for a long time. Which was probably normal, especially considering how he’d looked walking out of Slabside earlier. Her throat closed at the memory, her chest caving in with shared pain. God, what he must have gone through. He hadn’t talked about it on the drive back to Starling. He hadn’t said anything, instead climbing into the backseat of Digg’s car. Even if he hadn’t been clinging to her, she would have climbed in with him in a heartbeat. He’d tried to stay upright, to keep his eyes open, but the shaking in his hands where they clasped hers, his quick, pained breaths, the silent lull of the car around them… He’d finally slipped closer to her, leaning over until his head rested on her shoulder. When she asked if he wanted to lay down, put his head in her lap, he’d paused, but when he shifted his grimace had told her everything she needed to know. The damage to his body was too much right now. Instead he’d just shaken his head and she’d whispered, “Okay,” before settling in, holding him as much as she could until they got home.

When they walked in, he’d looked so out of place she almost broke right there.

“I need to…” he’d managed.

She’d led him straight to the bathroom. She’d thought about lingering, wondering if he needed help, if she should help, but when he leaned in to turn the shower on, it’d suddenly felt too intimate. He didn’t ask her to stay and she didn’t volunteer. It felt like something he had to do on his own. So she left, changing into her leggings and a long-sleeved shirt. She’d snuck in with a change of clothes for him, leaving them on the counter, lingering long enough to make sure he was still standing in there. It’d been something to do, but that’d taken all of ten seconds and after pacing for a full, seemingly-hour-long minute, she finally sat on the edge of the bed, mind racing, waiting.

The door opened.

Felicity shot up to her feet. “Hi.”

Oliver tried to smile. “Hey.”

He wore the sweats and t-shirt she’d left him. The glare of the light behind him attempted to obscure the damage he’d sustained, but it wasn’t enough. He’d washed the blood and grime and smoke away, but all it’d done was reveal just how bad of a beating he’d taken. Her breath caught at the sight. Cuts littered his face, bruises already starting to yellow and darken. He’d trimmed his beard down, showing a still-bleeding cut on his jaw that nobody in their right mind would put a razor to right now. There was a huge gash at his temple and a cut on his nose that made her wonder if he’d broken it. He held himself so tenderly, like one wrong move and he’d break into a thousand pieces.

Felicity’s heart broke.

“Oliver,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Are… can…?”

His next attempt at a smile was almost better. “I’m okay.”

No. No, he wasn’t.

She pressed her lips into a thin line and slowly crossed the distance between them. He held his breath, watching her like she was a vision. That opened a huge, gaping crack in her chest, wondering if he knew she was seeing the same thing in her own way. He was home. He was finally home. Tears burned her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. That was for later. Right now she needed to take care of him. She needed to do something. Felicity lifted a shaking hand to his cheek, not touching him when she saw the bruise on his cheekbone.

A flutter of disappointment creased his brow.

With a breathy, “Oliver,” she cupped his cheek much like she had outside the prison.

His eyes slipped shut. His strength was crumbling, she could see it in the tremble that shook his shoulders, in how much he collapsed into her palm, leaning into her touch even though it made him hiss in pain.

Felicity shook her head. “We should have gone to the hospital.”

Oliver choked out a sound as he opened his eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes before she could stop herself - of course he’d say that. When the reality of what she was doing in the face of what he’d gone through hit her, she almost felt bad about it until she saw the very real smile gracing his lips. This one reached his eyes. Her Oliver. Felicity’s lips moved in a silent litany of, ‘Hi,’ as her own lips curled up, touching her shaky thumb to the corner of his mouth.

“Can I least… I need to put something on these,” she said quietly, pushing her hand up his face, staring at the open wounds. “These look really bad.”

“Okay.”

Felicity gently pushed him back into the bathroom and he moved wherever she directed him to. When they were closer to the light, she couldn’t hide the tears that filled her eyes or the tremble of her lips as she stared up at him. She felt like she was looking at all the wounds she’d been carrying inside. They echoed in her own skin, stinging and burning so hot that she couldn’t hide the broken cry that fell from her lips.

Oliver’s eyes filled along with hers and one hand grasped her waist, tugging her closer as the other caught her hand, threading their fingers together.

His touch was so gentle, so soft, so loving.

She tried to stem them, but the sobs bubbled up, filling her chest until she thought she was going to explode. He pulled her into his arms gingerly with a low, “C’mere, baby,” and she stepped into his embrace. Her sobs choked out even louder at the fact that she could do this. He was home. They were here together. She never thought it would happen, she realized, she’d prepared herself for the absolute worst. And she had done the absolute worst, hadn’t she? She’d been prepared to, she’d done things she never thought she would be capable of just to get to this moment.

Her mind flashed to the cold steel of a gun in her hand.

Terror at what she was, at who she’d become, it filled her and she burrowed into his chest.

Oliver wound himself around her, one arm banding across her back, his other hand cradling hers to his chest, holding her like he used to when they had the time to do it, almost like they were…

A wet laugh fell from her, her voice strained with emotion as she asked, “Are we dancing?”

Dancing might be a stretch, but they were definitely swaying. Trying to, at least, considering she was pretty sure he’d fractured his hip judging by the way he was walking. She should tell him to slow down, to take a break, but at the same time…

It was perfect.

She didn’t want to stop.

“I dreamed about this,” Oliver admitted, the words muffled where he pressed his face into her shoulder. “Every single night, I dreamed about dancing with you. When the… when the lights went out and… I went somewhere safe. It was always you.”

Felicity nodded, her face crumpling. She dug her face further into his shoulder. She breathed him in - his smell was foreign now, something musty and harsh, but somewhere in there was her Oliver.

They stayed like that, swaying back and forth, just holding each other. He wound both arms around her, pulling her flush against him, his hands wandering over her back, up and down, engulfing her.

Home.

She wasn’t sure when his arms slowly started to tighten around her. His fingers dug into her, his nails biting into her flesh. His entire body shook with the effort, but he didn’t stop, his grasp growing so tight it started to hurt.

“Oliver,” Felicity whispered. She felt him trying to stop, but he didn’t. Like he couldn’t. “What…?”

“He always found you,” he croaked, the words nearly inaudible. He was so much thinner than when he’d gone in, but he wasn’t weaker by any means. He was pure lean muscle now. His body rippled against her as he clung to her, hard. Too hard. She winced, whispering his name again. She didn’t know what to do. “He always found you and I couldn’t stop it.”

“Stop what?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“He… he…” Oliver shifted to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Tears wet his face and her own fell in response. “It was always the same. The nightmares. He found you and I couldn’t stop him. He killed you, over and over and I couldn’t… stop him, I couldn’t… do anything. And then… when they said he’d found you, when they… they told me that you were dead… I lost you, I lost William, and I… God, Felicity, I was… I couldn’t…”

“Shh, I’m here, I’m here,” Felicity promised, hugging him tighter herself. His hold on her bit into her bones, so much it hurt to breath, but she didn’t stop him. He choked on his own breath at her hold, but it was suddenly her who couldn’t let him go. They clung to each other. She pushed her hand up over his head, scraping her nails over his damp, closely-sheared hair, holding him as close as she could as he did the same. “I’m okay, Oliver, I’m okay. We’re okay. We’re safe.”

His cries took over and they stayed like that, holding each other, not moving for a long while.

Baby, I’m dancing in the darkWith you between my armsBarefoot on the grassListening to our favorite songWhen you said you looked a messI whispered underneath my breathBut you heard it,Darling, you look perfect tonight

The slight bump under the curtains gave her away.

Oliver stood in the living room, staring at her where she stood behind the heavy curtains. They were long enough to graze the floor, hiding her feet, and if he hadn’t known any better, he never would’ve guessed that’s where she was hiding.

Was that what she was doing?

“I just don’t know if what’s best for me right now, is the same thing as what’s best… for us.”

He didn’t move for a long beat, and neither did she.

To say they’d been walking on eggshells around each other was an understatement. The second those words had left her mouth, the edge of a precipice he didn’t even know he’d been standing on yawned open before him. One wrong move, and he’d stumble over. He’d lose her.

No.

Oliver shoved his hands into his pockets. He wanted to give her her space. Well, he knew he should want to, but the idea of her thinking anything that’s the best for her not being the best for them, it rattled him to his very core. It stole the air from his lungs, yanked out the foundation he’d come to rely on so much. He knew she’d been through hell. They both had. But things were different, now, she was right. Apologies only went so far. But she was wrong if she thought he was going to sit back and let her slip away from him because of it. She’d stuck by him through his worst moments. He’d visited the darkest parts of himself with her by his side, never giving up, never letting go.

How could he do anything less for her?

So what did he do?

Really, he didn’t know if there was anything he could do. It was too fresh, too raw.

But there was one thing he did know: he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t. They’d get through this. They had to.

Oliver was moving before he knew it, shuffling towards her. She didn’t budge an inch, and he whispered her name, not wanting to startle her. It wasn’t until after the earlier attack that he’d noticed the curtains had a bulletproof - and arrow-proof - mesh on the inside. How long had she had these? How could he have been so blind, he wondered? The security measures she’d gone through, the gun, the bulletproofing of the entire house…

She was terrified and doing everything in her power to not let it control her.

It wasn’t as simple as his being back now, was it? It never would be, not again. He’d left her to fend for herself, and as much as he carried that responsibility, he also knew as well as she did that they had both chosen this life. It was a world that required her to step up like this, no matter how much he wanted to protect her from it.

He just hated that she had to do it at all. But he was also so insanely proud of her. She was and always would be the strongest person he’d ever met. He didn’t care what she said. She could have run, but instead she’d stood up and fought back. And as much as that terrified him, he knew that was who she was. He’d always known that. It was part of why he’d fallen in love with her. He wished she could see that the woman he’d walked in on chewing a red pen was absolutely the same fierce woman standing before him now.

Words wouldn’t suffice, would they?

He had to show her. And that would take time.

Well, good thing he wasn’t planning on going anywhere, not ever again.

“Felicity.”

Nothing.

Oliver parted the curtains. The instant they moved, she jumped, spinning around with a startled gasp. He immediately froze, letting her see it was just him. Headphones hung from her ears and she tugged one of them out, giving him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

A half-dozen words filtered through his head, but nothing felt right. He didn’t know what to say, if there was anything he could say right now.

When the silence became too much, Oliver slowly joined her in the safe confines of the curtain and bulletproof glass. She didn’t stop him and he took that as a good sign, dropping a kiss to her shoulder. His heart hurt when she bit her lip and looked away from him.

The soft hint of music filtered up from the hanging headphone.

“May I?” he asked, nodding to it.

She paused, her mouth opening, and he stopped, wondering if she was going to tell him no. Instead she nodded, lifting it up for him. He took it gingerly and slid it into his ear.

It was the ending notes of a song he thought he recognized…

She clicked a button on the headphones to rewind it and the second the first words came out - “I found a love for me” - he knew what song she was listening to. It was the third song they’d danced to at their wedding reception. A smile pulled at his lips, but it faded away when he remembered what had happened earlier. Where before the song had always left him feeling hopeful, reminding him so much of their journey together, now it almost felt like…

Goodbye.

Emotion crowded his throat and Oliver swallowed hard.

Felicity chewed on the corner of her lip, staring at his chest, not meeting his eye.

Without a word, Oliver offered her his hand.

Her gaze dropped to it, emotion he wasn’t sure he wanted to read dancing over her features. But she didn’t say no. She slowly lifted her hand and placed it in his. He let out a slow breath and gently wound his hand around hers, slipping his other arm around her waist. She stepped into his arms with a naturalness that wrapped a tight fist around his heart. Her hand found his shoulder and he closed his eyes, pressing his face against the top of her head, breathing her in.

They barely moved save for the gentlest sway, following the gentle beat of the song. It was almost over and Oliver bit the tip of his tongue, wondering if she’d step away when it was…

But as the final chords played, it restarted, like she had it on loop.

And she didn’t let him go.

Oliver let out a shaky breath, kissing the crown of her head. Her tiny puffs of air hit his throat as she leaned in closer. Their feet brushed together, the song the only sound save for their quiet breaths as they danced. She twisted her hand where he held it, but not to get away. She slowly twined their fingers together and he turned his head to watch them, resting his cheek on her as he watched their palms come together.

They would be alright.

Because they had to be.

They had to be.

Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I knowShe shares my dreams, I hope that someday I’ll share her homeI found a love to carry more than just my secretsTo carry love, to carry children of our own

“Entering Queen Residence: Oliver Queen.”

Felicity’s eyes shot open. She sat up in the same breath, throwing the comforter off before vaulting from the bed. She untwisted her shirt around her torso, tugging her sleeves back down as she darted out of the bedroom. Everything was shut up tight, leaving nothing but the sliver of moonlight seeping through the blinds covering the balcony door.

It was more than enough for her to see him.

He was back.

Oliver paused where he’d been shrugging out of his jacket when he saw her.

“Felicity,” he breathed.

Fe-li-ci-ty.

Her heart skipped a beat. It’d been a long time since he’d tasted every syllable in her name. It shot her back into the past, back to their first few years working together. It’d taken her a while to connect that he’d always stretched her name out like that because for the longest time he’d thought that was all he’d get with her. When they finally got together, when they stayed together, through all the ups and downs, he only dragged her name out like that when he thought he was losing her…

Or when he was finding her again.

“You’re back,” she said, closing the distance between them. She didn’t just mean physically, and they both knew it. He nodded as he yanked his jacket off the rest of the way and swept her up into his arms, pulling her off her feet. She laughed, wrapping a leg around his as she held on, whispering, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replied. “Oh god, I missed this. I missed you.”

They hadn’t seen each other since he’d left ARGUS after their talk, after he told her she was the love of his life - “Love is too small a word” - and a dozen questions ran through her mind. He’d called her to tell her everything was okay, that he’d be heading back soon, and he’d explain everything. She wanted to know all of it, especially when he let it slip that he’d met Batwoman, but for now…

Oh for now, she just wanted this.

She felt it in his touch, in how held her, how he breathed her in. This was her Oliver. She never knew how aware of him she’d been until it was gone. When she’d walked into that room, she knew something had been off, more than it already was. It wasn’t even the way he’d held himself. No, it was how he looked at her, how he stopped moving in response to her words, how he said her name like it was nothing.

It wasn’t until his speech, when she looked into Barry’s eyes and saw her Oliver shining back at her, that it’d hit her what losing him would be like. His words had only solidified it. Things changed, they had both changed, but what would never change was how they felt about each other.

Not ever.

Oliver set her down, brushing his hands up her arms to cradle her cheeks. “Felicity…”

“I know,” she said, grasping his wrists. She slid her hands up to cover his. “I know. There’s so much I want to say, so much we need to talk about, but… I just… I need… You. I just need you, Oliver, I need… you. Here. With me.”

Even in the shadows filling the room, she saw the way his features softened.

For the first time since he’d gotten out of Slabside, she felt like things were going to be okay.

“Dance with me?” she asked, slipping her fingers through his where he still held her face.

The most beautiful grin pulled at his lips as he whispered, “Always.”

Felicity had no idea when this had become a touchstone for them, but it had. An important one. It was a barometer - a way to connect them when they couldn’t find the words, as much as a way to ground them in the reality of their love for each other. Maybe it was the months of separation, of being apart after all of their happiness had been stripped away in the space of a couple seconds, but whatever it was, it was important.

To both of them judging by the way he looked at her.

He was taller in his boots compared to her bare feet, but that didn’t stop them. He dropped a hand to wrap around her waist as she gently laced her fingers between his fingers, looking up up at him.

Without warning, Oliver leaned down and hauled her up off her feet again, cradling her close as he set her down on top of his feet. She let out a startled laugh, curling her toes over the top of his boots and holding on as he slowly moved them around the room. It reminded her of when she’d been paralyzed, that night when she told him she couldn’t stop thinking about their first dance at their wedding. Instead of placating her, he’d gotten right out of bed and showed her that nothing was going to stop them, not ever.

The sentiment echoed and she smiled up at him.

“What?” he whispered as he danced them around.

“You’re the love of my life, too,” she told him. He stilled, his fingers grasping her closer. “You’re right. We’ve both changed and we can’t go back. We can never go back and we shouldn’t because we’ve grown and… adapted. But that… you being the love of my life? That will never change.”

“Yeah?”

“Ever,” she confirmed.

He stared at her for a beat. Her heart thundered in her chest, or maybe that was his, she thought as he slid his hand up her back, pulling her more flush against him. She took a slow, deep breath, pressing her breasts into his chest. Her shirt was thin enough she knew he felt her hardening nipples through his Henley. His eyes narrowed, his pupils widening in a way that made her stomach swoop as his breath skated over her lips.

Felicity pushed up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

A groan echoed from deep in his chest, low and guttural. Just for her. She gasped against his lips and he opened for her, just enough to get a taste.

The dam broke.

Oliver released her hand and dipped down, grabbing her ass in thick handfuls. He hauled her up into his arms. Felicity wound her legs around his waist, grabbing his shoulders for leverage as she arched her body into his on a moan. Their lips never parted as Oliver stumbled over to the couch. He bumped into something, what felt like a lamp brushing her hip, but it didn’t stop them. Oliver leaned over in a graceless heap, plopping her down on the cushions before pulling away just enough to slip his fingers in the band of her pajama bottoms. He tugged them down along with her panties. She helped as best she could, lifting her hips before sitting up and pulling at the bottom of his shirt, yanking it up. They were a flurry of movement, hands bumping into each other, skin sticking to the couch, breathless chuckles when they both went for the buttons on his pants. When they were undone, Felicity shoved the material down his hips, freeing his hardness. She fell back, spreading her legs for him. He followed without hesitation, blanketing her body with his. His growing erection slid against her sex, eliciting a needy whine as she sunk back into the cushions. His mouth slanted over hers, arms bracing against the couch, pulling back to angle his hips just right. Without preamble, Oliver slid home. It was hard and fast, deep and all-encompassing. He filled her completely. Felicity broke away from his lips with a gasp, grabbing his waist with one hand, her other sliding up his bare back, skating over his scars. They watched each other as he pulled out and thrust back in, again and again, her legs coming up to cradle him even closer between her thighs.

Home.

They were home.

We are still kids but we’re so in loveFighting against all oddsI know we’ll be alright this timeDarling, just hold my handBe my girl, I’ll be your manI see my future in your eyes

He woke to an empty bed.

Oliver didn’t have to open his eyes to know he was alone, but he still swung his arm out to her side of the bed. The sheets were cool to the touch and he cracked an eye open, frowning when he touched her still-dented pillow.

It was damp with sweat.

He propped himself up on his elbow, glancing around the room. She wasn’t there. Sitting up with a low groan, Oliver tossed the comforter off and grabbed his discarded sweats off the floor to cover his nakedness. Scrubbing his face, he got up to seek out his wife.

His pregnant wife.

Warmth flooded him at the thought, only to be quickly doused when he realized she must have had another nightmare. She’d tried to hide them from him, to play them off, but he saw right through it. He just hadn’t pushed. Maybe he should have. She wasn’t going to face this alone, not ever.

“Felicity?” he called.

The second he entered the living room, he knew exactly where she was. She’d pulled the curtains open, leaving the space highlighted in the dull moonlight that was managing to push through the cloudy, midnight sky. It perfectly framed her where she stood on the balcony, leaning on the railing wearing a pair of leggings and one of his sweaters that went well-past her thighs.

Eyes never leaving her, Oliver grabbed the green blanket they always kept flung over the back of the couch and draped it over his shoulders as he joined her outside. He was glad for it when the chilled air nipped at his bare skin, making him pull it in even tighter around him. Felicity stood up taller at his presence, smiling quietly. But her eyes never strayed from whatever held her attention in the distance.

“Hey,” he said softly, sidling up behind her. He opened his arms to wrap around her waist, pulling her back into his chest and winding the blanket around her too. There was a lingering chill on her from being outside too long and he cuddled her close.

“Hey,” she replied, leaning back into him. She snuggled into his warmth with a happy hum. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he answered. Which bothered him. Something she picked up in his tone judging by the way she shifted her shoulders. “More nightmares?”

“You knew?”

“As someone who is very well-versed in the realities of nightmares, yes,” Oliver said, curling around her to rest his chin on her shoulder. “I’ve noticed for a while now. Talk to me.”

She was quiet for a long moment, but he waited with her, not pushing. If she wanted to talk now, she would. If she wanted to wait, he’d wait until she was ready. She’d done the same for him countless times.

“They’re about the baby,” Felicity admitted in a small voice. Oliver went very still, his heart lodging itself in his throat. Without even thinking about it, he moved so his hands cradled her stomach. “They were about Diaz for a while, chasing me, and all I heard was our baby screaming for me, but I couldn’t find her, not in time. And he… he’d find me first and then I was just… gone. Before I even got to know her.”

Oliver closed his eyes, wishing there was a way to soak up her pain. “Felicity…”

“I don’t want to miss anything with our baby, Oliver,” she said. “I accepted our life was dangerous a long time ago, but now it’s different. It was with William, and I think that’s part of it, you know? Sending him away. It was the right choice. It was what he wanted. But I don’t… I don’t think I could do that again. And I guess I wonder if I can…” Felicity bowed her head, her hands covering his over her stomach under the blanket. “If I can protect her.”

“We will,” Oliver said, hugging her closer. There was so much he could say, so much he probably should say, but all of it rang false. “Nothing is more important than our family. There’s nothing we won’t do for our family, and I know that in my bones. I know we can and will do anything for our children. And that… I think that has to be enough.”

“See…” Felicity said. “On a logical, sane level, I know that. But… when I close my eyes…”

“I know,” he whispered, turning his head to press his face against the side of her neck. His lips ticked up when she swayed against him and he instinctively followed her lead, following her movements. “You know what else I know?”

“Hmm?”

“That no matter what, we will love her, with everything we are. We’ve got this, I know that as surely as I know I love you with everything in me. We found ourselves in each other, remember? As long as we have that, we’re good.”

Felicity smiled, turning her face into his. She nuzzled his cheek. “Her, huh?”

“You kept saying her.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

“Oh.”

Oliver held his wife, swaying with her, dancing under the moonlight. “It feels right.”

Felicity smiled, melting against him. “It does. Our baby girl.”

“Our baby girl,” he echoed, his heart swelling with so much love it took his breath away.

Baby, I’m dancing in the darkWith you between my armsBarefoot on the grassListening to our favorite songWhen I saw you in that dressLooking so beautifulI don’t deserve thisDarling, you look perfect tonight

It started out small, like always, gurgles more than anything.

Felicity woke the second the first noise crackled through the baby monitor, but she didn’t move for a second, hoping that Mia was just waking up and would magically put herself back to sleep. When nothing happened, she thought maybe she was just that lucky - Oliver had gotten up last time, and she’d promised him she would take her turn this time. Maybe Mia was on her side tonight…

A full-blown cry erupted in a staticked mess.

Felicity crinkled up her face on a whimper.

Oliver shifted behind her, his arm squeezing her waist.

“I got her,” he grumbled, sounding more than half-asleep. He sat up as much as he could with Felicity’s near-dead weight laying half on top of him.

“No,” Felicity whispered, not exactly helping, even if the words were coming out. “It’s my turn.”

Oliver huffed, his lips curled in a smile when he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m getting up,” she argued as he rolled out of bed, grabbing his sweatshirt off the foot of the bed. She tried to open her eyes, barely catching the outline of his bare chest disappearing from view. Felicity slapped his side of the bed with a heavy arm, but even that was too much damn energy as she really, really tried to make her point. “I am. Any… second…”

“Shh,” Oliver whispered, leaning over to press a lazy kiss to her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

He didn’t say anything else as he left the room, heading for Mia’s crib.

Felicity did think about getting up. She thought hard about it. She inched closer to the edge of the bed, her fingers curling over the end of the mattress. But then her eyes were closing and before she knew it, unconsciousness had her. It wasn’t exactly easy, damn it, working her ass off during the day to get her company up and running, and then coming home to spend time with her loves. And that didn’t include the nights Team Arrow needed the OG Green Arrow out on the streets with them, which happened way more often than it should, in her estimation. Mostly because it took away from moments with her stay-at-home husband and their beautiful daughter, and their son when he visited from his grandparents.

And when they finally got Mia down, when it was just her and Oliver, she told herself she was awake enough to stay up and get their them time in.

But the second her head hit the pillow, she was out.

Like now.

Felicity wasn’t sure how long she slept when she opened her eyes again. The shadows in the room hadn’t moved much, and when she lifted her head to squint at the alarm clock, it read nearly three in the morning. She was still sprawled across Oliver’s side of the bed, and he was nowhere to be found.

But there was… music?

It took her a second to recognize the sound filtering gently from the living room, and an even longer second to realize what song he was playing.

Felicity fell back in bed and shook her head.

This man.

Her perfect, perfect man.

Felicity ambled out of bed, snatching up her glasses before grabbing her robe where it hung over the closet door. She shrugged it on as she moved to seek out her family.

She found them in the living room.

Oliver swayed gently in front of the large picture windows overlooking Starling. It was snowing outside, the absolute picture of serenity and peace and warmth, but he didn’t have eyes for his city.

No, he only had eyes for the quiet bundle cradled against his chest.

Felicity slowly made her way over to them.

Oliver looked up with a smile, turning to open his other arm to her. She slid underneath his arm, sighing when he dropped a kiss to the top of her head before joining her in watching their daughter sleep.

Mia was out like a light, perfectly content, happy as her parents danced with her in the dark.

Baby, I’m dancing in the darkWith you between my armsBarefoot on the grassListening to our favorite songI have faith in what I seeNow I know I have met an angel in personAnd she looks perfectI don’t deserve thisYou look perfect tonight

“This is nice.”

Oliver smiled as he spun her out again, slowly, carefully, letting her control the speed. He watched her as she let her head fall back, just enough so she didn’t lose her balance, her free hand flying out slightly, fingers spread. Her wedding ring caught caught flickers of light. Fall loomed over them, along with their second baby that, according to her, was currently making her the size of the entire planet. He didn’t agree. She was stunning. She glowed, even more than her first pregnancy.

Happiness looked damn good on her.

Despite the season change coming on, thick humidity settled in the air. It was nicer in Ivy Town where they’d snuck off for one last mini-vacation together before the baby made itself known. Nicer than Starling, by a long shot. He loved how open their backyard was here. It more than made up for the lack of outdoor space in the loft they kept in downtown Starling City.

“Dancing?” Oliver guessed, gently tugging her back into his arms. Her stomach was nearly impossible to get around, but they made due. Like always.

“Oh yeah,” Felicity replied. “That, too. But I was talking about the grass on my toes.”

Oliver laughed, a deep throaty sound. “It does feel nice.”

“It’s so cool,” she said. He felt her wiggling her toes because they brushed against his own bare feet, making his lips quirk. “The rain helps.”

“I love it here,” Oliver whispered. She nodded in agreement. “Having grass in the backyard, being able to look up and actually see the stars. Being able to dance with my very pregnant wife underneath them.”

She smiled. “Pretty soon you’ll have another dance partner.”

“Rather, William will.”

As if on cue, their son caught the corner of their eye. They both turned to see the teenager holding a five year old Mia in his arms, making her giggle as he faux-danced with her. In the background Lyla and Diggle danced under the same stars in front of a long table closer to the house holding the rest of their family. Donna was there, Rene and Dinah, Zoe and JJ, and Connor, Lyla and Digg’s adopted son. Thea and Roy had even appeared. Other friends, other neighbors, other family rounded it out, all of them flying in for one last hurrah before Oliver and Felicity’s next little one made itself known to the world.

Laughter echoed through the large backyard, silverware clinked, music played softly in the background.

“I’m glad we did this,” Felicity said, twisting to lean into Oliver’s side. He instantly wrapped his arm around her waist, taking as much weight as she wanted to lean on him as the watched their loved ones, both of them swaying to the gentle song coming from hidden speakers. “Home.”

Oliver kissed her temple.

Anywhere he was with her was home.

Smoak Technologies was running at full capacity now, and while it had settled firmly in the black and was gaining enough steam that they were planning on expanding, he knew she wanted to be as close to her business baby as she was with him and the kids. Ivy Town had been the perfect compromise for a home away from home - it was where they’d first started, and it was close enough to Gotham that when Felicity expanded to the East Coast, she could commute in and out of her new office.

Everything had come full circle, in its on way.

“Thank you,” Oliver said quietly.

Felicity looked up at him with a serene smile. “For what?”

“For making me the happiest man in the world.”

(And we conclude this with Bre’s usual denial: And nothing bad happened ever again, The End.)

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse! And Ko-Fi feeds me!

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #olicitysquee #oliver queen #felicity smoak #arrow #arrow season 7 #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: season 7 #oh my god this ask aged itself didn't it?#this album came out in 2017 #i'm going to get through all the prompts in my ask box I SWEAR IT #this sorta of spiraled out of control on me #i wanted something fluffy but also something that reflected season 7 #something to touch on their journey through the season #AND OF COURSE A HAPPY ENDING

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a-fangirl-universe · 5 years

Text

My review for this week episode is more a rant because guys I’m mad !!!

So the beginning was basically burning the deads and honoring them but also celebrating the victory because they survived for the most part. So we see people being happy Sandor having a discussion with Gendry was hilarious and Brienne and Jaime flirting (but I’ll talk about the characters a bit later). But then after some down time they start to plan their attacks on King’s Landing because for now Cersei is still on the throne. We feel the tensions, we feel that the truce is over that now they don’t agree anymore because they don’t feel like their goals are the same. They don’t listen to Sansa so it doesn’t happened as they hoped it would because of it and the end is quite heartbreaking.

Well now the characters (and some of the rant start)

- First Gendry proposal ???? What ???? So he’s now a lord because Dany decided it and he just proposed to Arya and this was really awkward. I mean there were no ways that she would say yes. I mean she’s Arya, she never wanted to be a lady live in a castle and everything and they weird thing is that Gendry knows that so his proposal is just weird so what they couldn’t be happy for a bit ? No ? Sad for me then.

- To stay in the Arya corner : why no one, like no one !!!! (except Dany) is praising from saving them all !!! I mean a girl deserve all the praise !!! please...

- So to continue on with Stark sisters : Sansa give a wolf brooch to Theon, branding him as a Stark and honoring him and I cried because this moment guys it was sad !!! Second : WHY NO ONE EVER LISTEN TO SANSA WHEN IT COMES TO MILITARY (and I’m talking mostly about Jon because he knows her, she’s his sister, he trust her and he knows what she can so please let her make a point !!!) my queen in the north knows what she does she’s freaking smart !!! Oh and that weird conversation with Clean where she “grateful” for Ramsay like NO WAY that’s not a way to bring this up !!! It was plain awful like everything that happened to her she can’t be grateful and rape is not a way to make a character grow she was grown before that happened I’m sorry that was awful treatment. (This episode was kind of awful for female character, I guess they were too badass in last week episode)

- Jon my boy. I like him honestly he is a great character but can’t he I don’t know try to a bit a leader (maybe if Dany has someone who she loves and who would challenge her it could have been better for her, who know like in S7) Maybe he should have organise a meeting between his sisters and Dany so they would agree on a strategy for the war. He’s supposed to be a leader and he’s not in this episode at least. AND HE FREAKING ABANDONED GHOST !!! That’s the least Jon Snow thing to do he loves his Direwolf they’ve been together for 8 seasons and Ghost went to battle for him and he just left him left that without saying goodbye or petting him or anything once again out of character

- Brienne (oh here we come once again a female character who suffered in this episode) : Was I happy that she slept with Jamie yeah ! Was I feeling uncomfortable when Tyrion asked her if she was a virgin : yeah that was awkward. So she left after that and Jamie goes after her and Tormund sees them and he looks so disappointed. And they talk (a bit) and sleep and on the moment it was cute but because it wasn’t a good episode for ships we have this scene at the end where leaves Winterfell to go to King’s Landing (I hope he’s lying and he’s gonna try to kill Cersei and not join her because that would be a waste of character development) And this scene was weird because Brienne is joining him in the courtyard and she basically begs him to stay. That she’s hurt that he leaves in the middle of the night without telling her it’s one thing but I expected her to be angry and not begging. I mean that was so out of character (once again it seems that’s my motto this week)

- So final character : Daenerys... I’ll try to stay as calm as possible. So she’s not a perfect character, she’s not even the best person to be sitting on the throne and she may have shown that she can make some questionnable decisions. Sure. But this episode basically showed us that she’s crazy and destroy all 7 seasons of character development. First, during the feast I felt sorry for her, everyone praise Jon for riding a dragon (remind us who’s the mother of dragons and the only reason why Jon could ever ride a dragon) she feel isolated and she start also to understand that even if she help them they’ll never praise them the way they did Jon because they don’t know her and at that moment she realize that if someone ever knows that Jon is the heir to the iron throne they’ll support him and not her. She’s hurt, she lost one of her most trusted advisor and oldest friend and she realize that she could maybe not have the throne. Her scene with Jon is really bittersweet, once again we see that they love each other but she knows that he may be the reason who would cost her the throne and weirdly she’s quite soft with him. She begs him to keep his secret even from his sisters (and we know it won’t happened but she hoped it would). It felt like it was the beginning of them not being one the same side. So after that tense and bittersweet scene we have the war council where she basically says that she’ll be leaving for King’s Landing as soon as possible. So before the scenes in King’s Landing we see Tyrion and Varys talking about their queen and their opinion whether she should be on the throne or not. The patriarchy was strong in this scene because they basically say that Jon should be king because he’s a guy (yeah maybe also because he doesn’t burn his enemies) but the main argument that they talked about several time is the fact that he’s a boy. I’m not against Jon on the throne technically but make it because he would be a better ruler and forget his gender please it would have been better (for me at least) And here comes the final scenes that made so mad. So they come across Euron’s fleet and they should have seen it coming but no. And Rhaegal dies (please stop killing dragons) and we see a shift in her, because they kill one of her children and Euron attack her and her fleet and once she came back on shore she realized that Missandei, her best friend has been kidnapped by Cersei. Seeing her in chain made me sick not after everything she’s been through. So Dany meet with Cersei and they try to negotiate and it’s a failure (I love Tyrion but he should know by now that you can’t discuss with Cersei) AND THEY KILL MISSANDEI (because killing off the only woc is obviously a great idea....) I was so mad at that choice. Because the reason for that is that Dany “broken” by grief over her oldest advisor, one of her children and her best friend will go crazy. They wanted Dany to be a bad guy, ok their choice but they had 7 seasons to make that a progressif change (yes she made mistake before but she was still a good guy you know even if some of her actions were not really well done). They had time to build her character to have her shift from savior and breaker of chain and mother of dragons to crazy girl who wants to throne. Because even if she expressed that side sometime in time of need she always chose the good thing (going after Jon, fighting the army of the dead). So my problem is not her becoming crazy, actually it’s kind of my problem because she shouldn’t be brand crazy just because she wants power because the only time she felt save was when she had a position of power, being a Khalessi, having dragons, rolling over the Bay of Dragons so her wanting power is understandable, but that would be something I could have accept if the transition was more smooth and less sudden honestly. And did it required a woc dying and a strong powerful female character changing that way. No in my opinion, they should have made the shift earlier or not picture her in a version that is a bit too over the top. I’m mad at what they did to my queen because I root for her, honestly after what they did to Missandei she has every rights to burn a city to the ground.

That was my rant. I’m sorry if you hate Daenerys or Sansa because I stan them both and they deserve their happy endings. Do I still love the show yes, because I’m thinking that if a tv shows doesn’t make me feel stuff (even anger) then I’m not that into it and like being into stuff (that’s weird)

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noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth · 5 years

Note

For the Jonsa prompt: they spend a lot of time together, and people start to notice. ;)

This is literally a million years late and is set during S6-S7 because I cannot yet cope with the current season. I feel like you don’t even ship Jonsa anymore? Also it’s not even really a story so much as a few connected scenes. But here this is anyway: a fic in which Davos notices Jonsa, and notices LF noticing Jonsa.

***

At first, Davos didn’t question it.

If he’d been through what Jon Snow had, he’d think twice before spending his time with, well, much of anyone, so it’s no surprise that Jon would stick close to his sister. The way they came together at Castle Black, their joy at their reunion, it was clear for all to see that they trusted each other. Since there was little enough for Jon Snow to trust just then, Davos could only be happy for the lad; his brothers in black had turned their backs on him, but at least he still had some family in the world.

It was apparent enough that the lady had known horror and betrayal too. She did not speak much to the men who followed Jon, always courteous but cautious, but once over supper, when he told her some of his history, she mentioned that she’d been in King’s Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater. She said she’d prayed for Stannis victory, for the defeat of the Lannisters. “Fate had other plans,” she said ruefully, and he thought of Matthos with a twinge of pain.

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

No, Davos could not begrudge Sansa her reticence, her suspicion of others. Like Jon, she’d earned her wariness. And when her sworn shield — the one who killed Stannis — set off for Riverrun, it was only natural that she should turn to her brother for protection.

So Davos didn’t question it, not when they campaigned through the North, desperately seeking allies, and every time he turned around there were Jon and Sansa, side by side, sometimes deep in conversation, sometimes in the midst of a heated argument, sometimes silent and contemplative, their gazes communicating something their mouths could not. He did not question it when he left Jon’s tent in the evening and Sansa remained behind, always the last to depart, or when on Bear Island he’d woken very early and stepped out of his room to find Sansa in the corridor, just outside Jon’s chamber, her hands clasped together in front of her as she stared at the door. When she caught sight of him, she said in a firm voice, “I need to speak with my brother about something,” and he just shook his head and went back into his room. He was tired. They all were.

It was only once they’d won Winterfell and Jon Snow had been named King in the North that Davos began to wonder and to worry.

It was that scoundrel Baelish’s fault, for he’d been the one whose shrewd green eyes had done nothing but track Jon and Sansa’s movements for days. He watched them as they sat at the head of the Great Hall, addressing their bannermen; he watched them as they walked through the yard, supervising repairs; he watched them as they ate their suppers and drank their wine and shared their laughter. Baelish watched and watched and watched, and so Davos started to watch too.

The pair couldn’t spend all of their time together, even if they wanted to, for Lady Stark had a castle to run, and the king, when he was not warning of the coming war and strategizing in the hopes of their survival, spent hours training in the yard, sparring with those far less capable than him, as if he were still nothing more than a man of the Night’s Watch. But sometimes, when she had a free moment, Sansa would come to survey the sparring, looking cooly over the yard with Lady Brienne or Baelish at her side, and Jon’s eyes would rivet to her and remain fixed for much too long. There were other times when Sansa would praise Jon, comment on his skill with the sword or his handling of a lord’s request, and he would duck his head, hiding his face, something about his reaction too private to show anyone else.

Soon Davos realized that Jon had a way of looking at his sister, an affection so intense it was almost tangible, it almost took up half the space in the room. No, not affection: adoration. At times Jon even looked at Sansa with longing, and when she turned her attention on her brother, he practically vibrated to life, eager to speak with her, eager to challenge her. To step into her space and argue his point through heavy breaths.

When that happened, Davos couldn’t help but remember that he’d already lost one king to a woman with red hair.

Of course Sansa Stark was nothing like Melisandre, who was a murderess and a witch — except that Sansa too had beauty enough to make men thoughtless. It wasn’t just Jon. For all his supposed cunning, Petyr Baelish was shockingly open about his desire for Sansa, and whenever Jon wasn’t watching his sister with soft eyes, he was glaring at Baelish as if he might run him through with a look alone. Once, Davos had asked Jon whether he thought Baelish meant to ask for Lady Sansa’s hand and Jon had growled something incomprehensible and stormed out of the meeting.

Davos liked Jon. He believed in him. He was a good man, a better man than Stannis had been in the end.

He was also, it seemed, in love with his sister — and if he wasn’t more careful, soon everyone would notice.

Since the Battle of the Bastards, Davos hadn’t had many opportunities to speak with the Lady of Winterfell, and when one finally arose, he was all too conscious that her new shadow, Petyr Baelish, might appear at any moment. So too might her brother.

It was evening. She was in her office, or rather, the office she shared with Jon, but for once Jon was not there with her, bent over some letter or another, likely begging for more men to join the fight against the dead. Tonight, Sansa was looking over accounts, judging by the book filled with columns of figures laying open on her desk, but from the moment Davos entered the room, he had her full attention.

“What can I do for you, ser Davos? Are you looking for Jon?”

“Ah, no, my lady.” He pitched his voice lower, wary of ears in the walls. “It’s you I’d like to speak with.”

“Very well. How can I help you, then?”

“I’ve gotten to thinking,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “that now may be the right time for His Grace to think about taking a wife.” Before she could respond, he continued, “A Northern girl, maybe, to keep their favor. I know that your brother’s marriage was … unpopular amongst his people.”

Nothing showed on her face; she was like stone, like ice, the cold blue of her eyes enough to burn.

“Has Jon told you he wants to marry?”

“No.”

“Have you been approached with a marriage offer for Jon?”

“Well, no, not as such.”

“Do you have reason to believe the support of the Northern lords is wavering?”

“No, my lady, I don’t.”

“Then tell me,” she said, her voice clipped and hard, “why you think, as Jon establishes his rule and prepares for the coming war, he ought to spend time trying to find a suitable wife. Don’t you imagine that’s something that can wait until the war is done?”

With a sigh, he asked, “Do you mind if I speak freely, my lady?”

“Go ahead.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. He could hardly tell her that her brother was in love with her, and nor could he accuse her of being in love with him (if he did such a thing, she’d probably be within her rights to have Brienne lop his head off), but he had to find a way to caution her about Baelish, whom he half expected to slither out from the shadows at the very mention of his name.

“I am concerned about your allies from the Vale,” he said at last, and saw her brow crease in confusion before smoothing out once more. That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.

“You’re referring to Lord Baelish?”

“I am.”

“He hasn’t — ” She shook her head. “What does he have to do with Jon marrying?”

“I’m afraid he will try to sow dissent among Jon’s followers. He seems to have a, er, keen interest in you, my lady, and I worry he may use the relationship you have with the king to his advantage.” Her eyes narrowed, and Davos plowed on, “I only ask you to be cautious of Lord Baelish. He watches you, both of you. He’s looking for anything he can exploit. Be careful what you allow him to see.”

For a long moment she simply stared at him, a burning brightness in her eyes, before she rose to her feet, somehow even taller than he remembered, and her shuttered face was a clear dismissal.

“Thank you, ser Davos. I am aware of the kind of man Littlefinger is, but I will take your words under advisement. Now, if there’s nothing else … ”

The conversation was over. “No, my lady.” He scraped out a half-bow. “I thank you for your time.”

When he closed the door behind him, he sagged against it. Had she understood his warning? Had she realized what it was he truly feared? Did she even know herself how Jon looked at her, or how she sometimes looked at Jon? Or did she understand all too well what Davos meant, for there’d been something in the flash of her eyes that reminded him of a jealous lover? Had she and Jon already crossed that line? Surely not.

Davos scrubbed a hand over his face. He was too old for this. He’d been too old when it was Stannis he followed, and he felt decades older since then, after losing Matthos and Shireen, after losing Stannis himself.

It didn’t matter how old he felt, though, because he had pledged himself to Jon Snow, a good man, a good king, and if he had to tell the fool boy to stop whatever it was he was doing with his sister, then, by the gods, he would do his duty.

The next day, he intended to confront Jon. He’d hardly slept, working the words out in his head all night, trying to find a way to soften the blow. Jon had suffered; he had died. Such a thing must change a person, make him forget the laws of gods and men. This thing with his sister was wrong, of course, but he could be set on the right path again, surely. He could be reminded of what was right. Davos hadn’t been able to save Stannis from himself, but he would do better with this king. He had to.

Then came the letter from Dragonstone.

At first, it seemed too risky to let Jon go, but as Davos considered the possibilities, he began to see the value in it. The North did need allies, and badly, and a dragon queen would certainly be no small get. What’s more, rumor had it she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and a queen would make a fine match for a king — a much finer match than his own sister.

He didn’t want to be overhasty. The dragon queen may have already accepted a marriage offer, and even if she hadn’t, there was no reason to suppose she wished to marry. Jon would certainly need convincing. Still, when Jon came to him with a grave face to talk about dragonglass and alliances, with a pained look in his eyes as he spoke of leaving Sansa alone in the North, Davos knew what he had to say.

“I think it best you accept the invitation, Your Grace.”

Jon’s expression was still grave as he looked down at the scroll, unfurled across the table, but Davos suspected his king had already memorized the words written in Tyrion Lannister’s neat hand: the offer, the trap, whatever it was. “I’ve only just gotten Winterfell back.” Jon squinted thoughtfully at the scroll, then at Davos. “I can’t leave it already. I can’t leave it undefended.”

“It will hardly be undefended,” Davos replied, before adding meaningfully, “and neither will your sister. That’s what you truly fear, isn’t it?”

Jon went still.

“I don’t pretend to be a godly man, Your Grace.” Davos met his eyes, willing him to understand that what he said was said with care — for him and for Sansa both. “But I know wrong when I see it. Your sister … ”

Color rose to Jon’s cheeks as he turned his face away. “It’s nothing.” His chin dropped, his gaze landing on the floor or his feet, refusing to lift even when Davos stared at him expectantly. “It’s — ” His voice sounded strange, and then, after a long pause, he rasped out, “Does she know?”

Davos felt his eyebrows raise. “Lady Stark, you mean?”

A nod. “Does she?”

Davos considered these words, relieved to know that there’d been no affair at least, no trysts in all those long moons of their closeness. Jon thought his sister unaware of his feelings, and maybe she was. Maybe she was unaware of her own feelings too.

“I don’t believe so, no,” Davos said. “But for both of your sakes, you can’t let her know. You need … you need some distance, I think. You need to focus on the coming war. Staying here, with her, will only make matters worse.”

Jon blew out a breath, his shoulders slumping, and he tapped his fingers on the scroll. “So,” he said, “I go to Dragonstone?”

“Aye. Go to Dragonstone. Do it for her, if you won’t do it for the alliance. Go to Dragonstone, and let your sister go.”

It was only later, when Jon gave Sansa the North, his eyes too earnest, too warm, her pretty face unusually open in its pain, that Davos realized his mistake. For when Jon proclaimed Sansa his regent, he pledged his loyalty and his love in words his bannermen may not have understood, but Davos did — and so did Petyr Baelish. Jon gave Sansa control of the North, and with it gave away the truth of his feelings, and the smirk that spread across Baelish’s face just then made Davos’s stomach go cold.

Davos had solved one problem, but he had most certainly created another.

#my fic #prompt fill

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no-i-didnt-notice-im-short · 6 years

Note

Heyy,, I don’t know if you’re taking writing prompts at all so if you’re not just discard this? I couldn’t help but wonder how the team would’ve reacted if Red hadn’t gotten to Lance in time in s7? Like how when Adam’s team was fighting and when they died their lines went red on screen, like that for Lance? Maybe some Shklance or Klance because I’m weak? Love your writing though!!!!

I am so sorry this took so long. Also, i chose Sklance cz i am weak too.

Hope you like this ❤ Ao3

Lance’s reunion with his family was so pure to the pointthat Shiro was afraid of his own envy. He secretly hoped for Adam’s presence,though they were not together anymore, to welcome him back to his home planetinstead of it being Iverson. Keith was standing next to him smiling fondly atthe Cuban boy. Sadness plagued his eyes if you knew where to look but wasultimately completely drowned with fondness towards their boyfriend.

Lance had spoken for hours on end about his family and howmuch he missed them. The other two males having come from a much smallerfamilies and could do nothing to relate but gladly offered an ear to theirthird partner. Looking at him now, how much his family cried over their lostmember and how much emotion was displayed infront of them, they were thankingthe heavens for every second Lance was able to avoid death.

The Sendak incident, the Sven incident, the… Omega Shieldincident.

There had been way too many times where it seemed like Lancewas cursed to get hurt, which made their anxiety over their lover’s possibledemise weigh over them, keeping them up at night. They’ve talked about it, whenLance would have his headphones on and loud to calm his thoughts and soothe himto sleep when not even Shiro and Keith can help, on what they would do or howthey would react. How the universe was intent on throwing hardships at Lanceevery step of the way.

They could never fully imagine.

Not even during the omega shield incident, neither of themwere really there. They found out long after it happened and were alwayssoothed by Lance that he was fine and that it didn’t have any lasting effect onhim. Of course, the two black paladins still insisted he took things slowerthan usual and not jump into things head on. Keith’s two years of maturitytrumping Lance’s argument that hot-headedness was Keith’s thing.

After Hunk settled in his given room, Pidge left with herfamily and the Alteans were given their own double suite. Shiro asked commanderabout his old quarters considering he used to be a high ranking pilot.

“The one you shared with Captain Adam.” Iverson looked atShiro with unreadable eyes. He thought he saw sadness but dismissed it as atrick of lighting.

“Yeah… I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind if I crashed withhim for a while. It was my apartment too.”

The older male looked at the other two males in the roombefore training his gaze back at Shiro.

“You might want to sit down for this.”

Keith and Lance each stood next to a shoulder showing theirfull support to their partner no matter what. After Iverson delivered the news,Shiro stared at his hands for a few seconds before droplets of salty tearsfell, staining his pants. He didn’t realize he was crying until his upper kneearea was completely soaked. Lance sat down next to Shiro and held him into hischest as sobs rattled his entire body.

Despair and hopeless shocked hissystem. He knew this was a military base and death was inevitable as someonewho signed up for this. But he never thought it would be so soon for hisex-lover. It brought back his small pinches of fear towards his current lovers,so he reached for Keith and brought him down to their level and held him close.He wanted to be surrounded by as much of them as possible. He needed to feeltheir heartbeats against him, even if faint. He will do whatever he can to keepthem safe.

After deciding to split up for the 6 bases, the Voltron teamand MFE pilots and Shiro stood to say their final thoughts to each other.

“Everyone keep your coms ready and open.” Shiro urged theyounger pilots. “I want to be able to hear everything and have the ability totalk to you no matter what, okay?”

A series of affirmatives rounded from everyone.

“So here is the full plan, again.” Shiro spent the next tenminutes revising the details to make sure things will go as smoothly aspossible. He couldn’t afford mistakes. These were the lives of his friends andlovers, not just his colleagues.

“Lastly, Lance.” Grey eyes met striking blue. “You andVeronica will go the one closest to here. She will drive you while you try toconnect with Red.”

“Do I have to go with Veronica?” Lance said, his voiceetching with concern and worry. Shiro understood what he must be going through.Lance had told them of his worries about his sister being a part of this, eventhough she was a Garrison officer long before he left Earth in the first place.

“Calm down, Lancelot!” She said smiling at her youngerbrother. Their dynamic was always so light-hearted but never lacked the seriousundertone. They both had mad respect for the other’s abilities in theirspecific forts.

“You can’t blame me for worrying.” Lance said defensively.

“I don’t. It’s sweet, but misplaced. We’ll be fine. Besides,according to my calculations, the other bases have a much higher chance ofbeing attacked due to the higher concentration of Galra camps surrounding them.So, this is going to be easy-peasy.”

Shiro stepped forward and put his hand of Lance’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I believe in you.”

Worry lines smoothed on his tanned face as he broke into agrin. Lance had shared with him what the clone had done and said to him. Hisself-esteem was shot to the ground and he was in a bad mental place. RealizingShiro was dead the whole time also gave him abandonment issues as he didn’tunderstand why Keith had left him for the Blade – which he later said was dueto his extremely poor hold on his emotions and believed that way he was helpingLance after their talk - and Shiro retuned with a colder, meaner attitude withno real explanation. He was extremely lonely and left with his thoughts. Itdidn’t end well.

It took the whole ride back to Earth to ease his mind andtry to fix what was broken between them. It worked for the most part.

They separated into their designated jets and car and tookoff.

Lance and Veronica were bickering about an old prank theyplayed a long time ago, James and Keith were adding jabs to see which one ofthe Cubans could actually be right and Pidge and Hunk were laughing ateverything as they knew what actually happened in that event, especially Hunkas he was there. Allura kept asking for clarifications on certain phrases thesiblings were using and were causing all this laughter; She wanted to take partas much as possible.

Shiro smiled fondly at their images on his screen. They werethe ones from back in the Garrison days, except for Allura who took a fastimage before the mission to add her to the database. Keith’s scar-less face andLance’s younger, softer features next to their frequencies was sendingbutterflies down his stomach as if he was fifteen again.

He missed this primal, innocentfeeling too much sometimes.

He signalled the Paladins when it was time for them to reachout for their lions. Keith and Allura gave their confirmations at the sametime, followed by Hunk and Pidge a few minutes later.

“Lance. Status?”

“Red’s not responding to me.”

Shiro’s wide eyes stared at the screen.

“What do you mean, he’s not responding? Are youconcentrating?”

“I am!”

“Well, keep trying!”

He ran to Coran’s screen to make sure of the surroundings oftheir car. He was so dependent that the Lions will respond to the Paladins thathe didn’t plan for back up in case they don’t respond.

The blinking light of an incoming ship was damning.

“Veronica, you have incoming. 6 o’clock.”

He heard her confirmation before he moved to Iverson demandingto know the fastest squad he could send in their direction.

A pained grunt filled his ears and then dual screamed beforecomplete silence. Everyone aboard the Atlas stared in horror at the screenshowing the images. Shiro couldn’t tear his eyes from Lance’s.

“Lance. Lance, come in.”

He could faintly hear the other’s panic induced worriedyells on the coms, but the blood pounding in his ears was getting too much. Hisbrain filtered only Keith’s voice.

“Shiro did his coms cut?”

It took him a minute before he found his voice again.

“No, he is still online.”

“Will I be able to make it in time?!”

Shiro didn’t comprehend what Keith had said before Iversonwas yelling at him to not change his location.

“We have to strike the bases at the same time, anyways. If Lancecan’t strike his, then what’s the point of this?” Keith yelled back.

“Keith. Stay where you are. We have to believe Lance isokay.” Shiro said calmly struggling to hide the internal panic from his voice.

A familiar groan draws his attention.

“Lance!”

“Yeah… I’m here.”

Shiro released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Shiro, Veronica’s hurt.” Lance’s voice was too small tocome out of the loud Cuban.

“Check on her first.”

Soldiers around Shiro looked at him. He knew asking asolider to check on his teammate before asking for a full status report waswrong. But he also knew Lance. If he asked him to put anything before hisfamily, and having to follow the order since Shiro is his superior, Lance wouldnever forgive him.

“She’s… She’s breathing.”

“That’s good. Now, give me a status report.”

“The car is in compete ruins, we are approximately 6.3 milesaway from destination, Veronica… she’s bleeding from her forehead and breathingshallowly.”

“And you?”

“Me?” it seemed to take him a while to answer. “I have atwisted-

Lance didn’t get to finish his sentence before he yelpedloudly as he was caught by surprise by whatever was around him.

“Coran?”

“There is not a thing on our radars.”

“Lance talk to me.”

“Galra… Ship.” Lance said between pained pants. A thunderous,roaring hit way too close to Lance.

“Lance try to get out of there!!”

“I am on my way.” Keith’s voice came out of nowhere. Wherethe hell was Red? He wanted to tell Keith to stay where he was for the mission,but couldn’t. He wanted him to reachLance and make sure their partner was okay, even if he was here… helpless.Again.

Another mechanical noise made it way, Lance was close totheir ruined car and was trying to start it despite his previous report. Aresounding metal on metal clunk goes on for some time before deafening silence.

“Lance…” Shiro’s voice was unsure and small.

“Baby…” His eye widened at the raw emotion in his voice.“Veronica is under… the bent hood of the car… she is probably concussed so gether medical attention straight away, okay?”

A tear makes its way down. Lance can’t give up. He can’t…

“I am sorry I couldn’t do more… I am sorry I didn’t finishthis mission, it was so so simple.” Shiro’s hands were shaking distractingly.His vision was starting to blur. Lance’s helplessness mirrored Shiro’s toomuch. Lance was not allowed to feel this helpless. He was powerful and loud andtoo big of a soul to be reduced to… this.

“LANCE! I AM ON THE WAY, PLEASE, BABY DON’T DO ANYTHING”

The background noise was getting progressively louder thanKeith’s shouts. The Galra ship was getting closer. The ex-black paladin heardthe charging sound of Lance’s blaster and knew he was preparing.

An ear splitting blast hit close to Lance causing a staticin his coms. He barely heard Lance groan before another hit his proximityagain. and again. Fire was raining on Lance and he couldn’t even get a visualon the situation.

He couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.

A shocked gasp came from their communications before anothershrill and then silence. Awful, deafening, ear splitting silence. Everyoneseemed to be holding their breaths. Eyes stared at the screen, at the changedcolour infront of them.

Red.

Where Lance’s bright and colourful image was, a red aura wasupon it. Shiro was not oblivious or stupid; he knew what it meant. But never…in the past years would he have ever thought that he would lose Lance afterreaching Earth. It seemed like a cruel joke the universe was playing on him.

The fast moving blinking dot indicating Black stopped on thescreen.

“Please don’t… he can’t…”

And it might have been the broken sound in Keith’s voicethat released him from his shocked state; he was on the ground, on his knees,seconds later. His hands pulling at his hair as his physically felt himselflose part of his heart. The cracks of his mind were expanding, oozing away hissanity.

They were too late.

No amount of late night talks could have ever prepared himand Keith for the real thing.

I haven’t written a prompt in a while. Sorry if it was shit, blame it on the fact that i am a bit rusty.

Have y’all seen that S8 trailer?!

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rose-of-pollux · 5 years

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Inktober for Writers, Day 26

Prompt: Dark Fandom: Perfect Strangers Title: Irreplaceable Summary: [Season 7ish] In which Jennifer learns the hard way that her newlywed husband may suffer from sleep apnea.

Notes: This vignette, which takes place in early S7, was inspired by the scene from episode 2x5, “Life Savers,” when Balki was checking Larry’s breathing while he was sleeping and seemingly couldn’t see any evidence of breathing—between that scene, and the following scene in that episode where Larry ends up revealing that he was “born three weeks early,” it’s more than likely that he has undiagnosed sleep apnea, so this piece happened.

I reference Season 3’s “The Horn Blows at Midnight” again. There may be a day when I stop referencing it, but it is not this day.

Cross-posted to AO3 & FFN.

It had been a grueling journey for Jennifer, trying to come home from the last leg of an international flight. Rome to London had been particularly smooth, but London to Chicago had been met with so many delays, including a slight diversion due to inclement weather. It was one in the morning by the time the plane had landed at O’Hare, and it had been nearly another hour to clear customs; by the time she had made it home, it was 3:00, and the house was dark. She hoped the others hadn’t been waiting up for her too long.

The challenge now was getting to bed without waking the others up. Slowly, she opened and closed the front door, removing her shoes and heading up the stairs, skipping the fifth stair—it creaked. She made it to the upper landing and tiptoed to the master bedroom, once again opening and closing the door as slowly as she could.

She let out a quiet sigh. Good—she’d avoided waking Balki and Mary Anne, at least.

She was distracted by how cold the room felt; was there something wrong with the heat? She and Larry would have to deal with that in the morning, she decided.

She glanced at Larry, who was asleep on the bed; the moonlight was streaming through the window, right on him, but it didn’t seem to disturb him at all. His right hand was on the phone, which he had placed beside him, which prompted Jennifer to smile—he’d been ready to go pick her up if she’d called.

Gently, she moved his hand and put the phone back on the bedside table, and moved to go change, but she paused, suddenly feeling uneasy.

Something was wrong.

She glanced back at her husband, taking note of how her presence hadn’t disturbed him at all. In fact, he was absolutely still.

“…Larry…?” she asked, no longer bothering with trying not to disturb him. She gently touched his shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge.

Larry didn’t move. Her eyes went to his chest, which was also illuminated by the moonlight. She waited for several moments, waiting to see his chest rise and fall.

It didn’t.

And with that realization that she was watching her true love slip away in front of her eyes, Jennifer felt her world crumbling to dust all around her.

“Larry!? LARRY!?” she cried, gently placing her hands on the sides of his face. He was still warm to the touch—maybe it wasn’t too late!? “Larry, don’t leave me—please don’t leave me!”

She was trembling, but in doing so, she had adjusted the position of his head and neck; suddenly, Larry let out a gasp, and his chest started rising and falling again, rapidly, as his body instinctively tried to compensate for the temporary oxygen loss.

Jennifer stared, listening to his gasps for air, hardly daring to hope.

“Larry…!?”

She shook him again, more forcefully this time, and with a sleepy mumble, he opened his eyes.

“Jen…? You’re home…!” he managed to say, before needing to catch his breath again. He seemed surprised at this, and she just stared at him.

Jennifer didn’t even notice the flurry of activity out in the corridor as the landing light clicked on, and then as the door to the master bedroom opened and their light clicked on, as well.

Standing in the doorway were Balki and Mary Anne; Mary Anne was still struggling with removing her sleep mask.

“Cousin Jennifer?” Balki asked. “What happened!? Is Cousin Larry okay!?”

“I’m fine, Balki,” Larry managed to say, though he was still out of breath. “Why do you ask?”

“Why? We heard Jennifer scream loud enough to wake the dead, that’s why!” Mary Anne exclaimed.

Jennifer paled at this description, realizing that might have been just what she had done. With another cry, she buried her face in Larry’s chest, much to his concern.

“Jen!? Jen, what is it!? I’m alright, Jen—I promise! You must’ve had a bad dream!”

“It wasn’t a dream!” Jennifer retorted, looking up now. “I’d just walked in here, and you weren’t breathing, Larry—not until I moved you! I thought… I thought I’d lost you…!” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands, crying.

Still confused, but now very concerned for his distraught wife, Larry struggled to sit up so that he could comfort her, gently drawing her into a hug.

“Jen, really, I’m alright,” he said. “Maybe you mistook something in the dark?”

Jennifer was about to say something to defend herself, but she found support from another voice—

“She didn’t mistake it, Cousin,” Balki said. “It’s happened again…”

“Again!?” Jennifer exclaimed, looking at Balki. “This happened before—he stopped breathing in his sleep!?”

“Yes, five years ago,” Balki said, his voice trembling at the very memory. “He… He’d fallen asleep on the couch, and I thought he looked too still… I… I checked his breathing; I took a pot lid and stuck it under his nose to make sure—nothing! I pulled on his eyelids to see if his eyes were clouded over, but that’s when he woke up, breathing again.”

“Are you sure you didn’t mistake something, either?” Larry asked him.

“I beg to take issue,” Balki retorted. “The lights were on, and you were out.”

“It sounds like sleep apnea,” Mary Anne said, concerned. “For people who have it, sometimes, they just stop breathing while they sleep. Usually, they start breathing on their own again.”

Jennifer, Larry, and Balki gave her a look of confusion.

“…I once had a passenger who was a sleep specialist; she talked about a lot of interesting things,” Mary Anne explained, with a shrug. “But, anyway, one of the things she said was that since people with sleep apnea usually start breathing again on their own, they may sometimes go undiagnosed until their lack of breathing is noticed by a family member.”

“You… You mean to tell me that Cousin Larry has been not breathing at night for the last five years!?” Balk exclaimed. “No wonder Mr. Death has his number…!”

“Well, there’s no way to know for sure,” Mary Anne said. “If he has been, then he’s really, really lucky that he started breathing again on his own all those times that no one else was there to check on him. And, Larry, you really should see a specialist just in case that is what’s been going on. I mean, call me crazy, but the whole breathing thing is kind of important.”

“I… Um… Yeah,” Larry said. He glanced at Jennifer, who was still looking at him with tears in her eyes, and he gently reached a hand out to dry them, and she responded by burying her face in his chest again, hugging him tightly, as though determined not to let him slip away again. “Oh, Jen…”

“Larry…” she said, softly. “Don’t ever forget that you’re irreplaceable. Whatever this is… Please, don’t let it take you from me. From us.”

“I… I’ll try my hardest,” he promised.

“You’d better.”

There was an awkward silence now; Jennifer still didn’t move, still terrified, and Larry was still trying to comfort her. He cast a helpless glance at Balki and Mary Anne, every fiber of his being trying to stay calm, knowing that if he let his anxieties take hold, it would only make Jennifer more upset.

“I’ll go make us some hot cocoa,” Mary Anne said, after a moment.

“Yeah, good idea—I’ll help you,” Balki agreed.

“No…” Larry said, wincing. “Please—you two don’t have to stay up because of this. I’ll be fine.”

“Cousin, we don’ mind,” Balki insisted.

“What are friends for?” Mary Anne added.

They headed downstairs, and Larry could hear Balki talking about that time five years ago, and how scared he had been.

He exhaled in defeat, tightening his hug around Jennifer.

Suddenly, he was afraid, as well.

“…I don’t want to leave you,” he managed to say. “I want to be a part of your lives, I…” All he could think about now was Claire Hayden’s prophecy, and now this… “…Why me…?”

She looked up at him now, realizing that he was trying to bottle up his own fears for her sake.

“I don’t know why,” she said. “You’ve been through so much as it is, but apparently Death doesn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Maybe it’s Mr. Death’s way of trying to wear me down and get me to give up…” Larry realized. He glanced back at Jennifer. “But I won’t. I’ve got too much to live for. I’ve got you and Balki and Mary Anne, and all of you are there to help me fight this.” He paused for a moment. “Thank you… for saving my life.”

Jennifer managed a nod, still not letting him go. They were still looking into each other’s eyes when they noticed something flickering in the dark, shadowy corner of the room, as though it had suddenly moved through the window.

They both turned, having both seen it out of the corner of their eyes.

There was nothing—at least now. The coldness of the room was suddenly going away, as well.

They turned back to each other, nervous.

“…Larry…?”

“…He’s going to have to try harder than that.”

Balki and Mary Anne soon returned with the hot chocolate, the both of them pausing as they noticed the difference in the room, as well.

Soon, they were in chairs beside the bed, and all four of them were drinking the chocolate and trying to reassure each other. Jennifer was slouched against Larry, resting her head on his chest still, a part of her mindful of Larry’s heartbeat and breathing.

She forced herself not to think about what could have happened had she arrived only just a few minutes later. Just as Larry had promised he would keep fighting, so would she—Death would have to go through her first to get to him.

For now, though, she would draw comfort from the steady beating of her husband’s heart.

#perfect strangers #Jennifer Lyons #Larry Appleton #Balki Bartokomous #Mary Anne Spencer #inktober for writers

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anthfan · 6 years

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S7-end of season fluff, hopeful, drabble

Here’s a thing. That I wrote. Enjoy.

~~“You’re sure you can’t see even a little?” Felicity asked for the fifth time since she’d approached her husband with a slightly nervous smile and a black blindfold.

“I can’t see anything.” he assured her, though he knew exactly where they were in the city from the direction they were heading, he counted turns and stops and calculated the speed of the car. What he didn’t know is why she’d taken him to a high rise half a mile from the newly built Smoak Tech building.

She hadn’t said a word when he’d obediently sat to let her place the blindfold, and when he’d told her that her silence was more worrisome than anything he could imagine she laughed and told him this was a good surprise.

He allowed her to take his hand when the car had been parked even though he could have navigated just fine without his sight, but the feeling of her hand in his was something he loved, his thumb finding the slim band around her fourth finger where he could feel the nervous anticipation flowing through her.

“Not much longer now.” she promised as she led him inside the building and into an elevator.

His curiosity was definitely piqued, and when a wicked thought entered his mind his hands flashed out, finding her hips to drag her towards him. “We’ve done the blindfold thing before,” he whispered low into her ear, making sure his lips dragged along the shell, “But this seems fun too.”

He heard a small gasp of air leave her lips as she clutched his forearms, then she was twisting to get out of his hold, “Oliver!” she half hissed, half growled, “We’re not alone! And this is not a sexy field trip!”

A not so discreet cough from the other side of the elevator let him know he’d become distracted and they were not the only ones in the enclosed space.

He cleared his throat, hands still gripping her waist as she turned. “Sorry,” she directed towards the stranger, “He doesn’t know why we’re here, hence the blindfold. It’s really not a sexy field trip, I promise.”

There was an awkward silence followed by the sound of the doors opening and the other person thankfully leaving. “Have a nice day!” Felicity called and as soon as they were alone she whirled on him, “Oh my god, Oliver! How did you not know there was someone else in here!”

“I’m wearing a blindfold!” he protested.

“Oh please! With your freaky ninja skills that doesn’t mean anything. Why did you think I kept asking if you could see?”

The elevator paused again, doors opening almost silently. “Well, we’re here.” That nervous, worried tone was back and a wash of guilt overtook him.

“Hey, whatever this is I know I’m going to love it.” he said gently, fingers trailing down her arm until he could twine his hand with hers.

“I hope so.”

There was one more short pause after they stepped out of the elevator, the sound of her keying in a code, and then they entered what he could feel was a large, mostly empty space.

Felicity dropped his hand, coming around behind him, hands smoothing over his shoulders before they went to the knot at the back of his head. “I’ve been working on this for awhile.” she said as she undid the blindfold. “Welcome home.”

He blinked twice as darkness gave way to light. They stood in the largest most open room he’d ever seen. There were soaring ceilings, dark beams easily thirty feet in the air that spanned the width of the space, windows that seemed to show nothing but sky and somehow enough of a mix of modern touches and bright splashes of color to know instantly this was their new home.

Felicity waited, strip of black cloth still clutched in her hand as she watched him intently.

“This is amazing,” he breathed out, taking two steps forward as he continued to look around. A large open kitchen took up one side while the center of the room held a curved brick structure. When Felicity saw him looking at it she grinned, pulling out her phone and after a few taps a fire roared to life.

“Isn’t it great! The whole place is automated. I can control just about everything from my phone.”

“When did you do this?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose and shuffled closer, “I’ve been working on it here and there, and when I read an article about this new building I got in contact with the agent. I know I probably should have waited for you, but we need a real place that's ours for good. William needs it and...it’ll be nice to bring this little one home to a permanent place,” she said with an absent wave across her middle, “It just felt like it was time.” She bit her lip as wide blue eyes stared up into his.

He knew what she wasn’t saying, that after being separated for so long, working so hard to be reunited, to have their family back together again, more than anything they needed what this home represented.

Her hand slipped into his once more, pulling him further into the room, “So, I bought it for two reasons. One because of the balcony and the view of the city. And...I can actually see it from my office.” she admitted with an almost shy smile, “And two, because of that fire pit in the living room. We can eat s’mores there, in our pajamas. Or naked.”

He looked at the fire pit in a whole new light as he wrapped his arms tight about her, drawing her into his chest, their hands automatically covering the small roundness of her stomach. “This is amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“You sure?” she asked, turning in his arms and resting her hands on the front of his shirt, “Because I tried to pick things I thought you’d like. The wooden beams and the fancy kitchen appliances. I was assured the stove will make excellent omelettes.” she said with a smile, leaning back slightly in his hold.

“It’s perfect.” he replied with a quick look again to the kitchen, this time noticing a large, professional quality range then gestured towards the balcony with his chin, “Can you really see the building from here?”

“Yep! It’s my favorite part.” her excitement shone through as she moved to what looked like a series of tall floor to ceiling windows. “The entire wall opens up here. So when the weather is nice it’s like having an even bigger space.”

Another couple of taps on her phone and he heard a series of clicks before the windows began to fold in on themselves like an accordion and move down a track in the floor. Oliver stepped over the threshold to the deep set balcony and glass railings that took up one entire corner of the building. He could see almost all of Star City from there.

“See,” she pointed toward the west, where the building proudly bearing her name sat, sun glinting off its steel frame. “This is currently the tallest building in the city so there’s nothing between us and the office. I might have to get some binoculars and see if I can’t catch you walking around in your underwear.”

Oliver laughed, moving behind her where she leaned against the railing, “You can see me in my underwear any time you want.”

“Yes, but it’s the being sneaky part that’s hot.”

“Being sneaky like buying a penthouse apartment without me knowing?” he asked softly, lips moving down her neck.

She let out a breathy gasp, “Uh, yeah, something like that.”

As his hands found the strip of bare skin between her top and skirt he continued to nip and suck at her neck, feeling her shiver against him. “So if the place officially ours?”

“Not...oh god, Oliver how do you always find that spot,” she said raggedly, “We sign the papers in two days but...the agent gave me the keys so that I could show you.”

“We don’t have to wait that long, do we?” he asked as his fingers slowly began to unzip her skirt.

All she could do was shake her head no.

“Good, because I haven’t seen the bedroom yet.”

“Or the office,” she countered as his hands scooped under her ass, lifting as he began to walk.

When her legs wrapped around his waist it was his turn to groan.

“Don’t forget the media room.” she said throatily, kissing along his jaw and causing his fingers to knead the soft flesh of her thighs.

“And the kitchen,” he threw back.

“We should probably stay away from the nursery though.”

But as he laid her down on the soft carpet in front of the fire pit they both smiled.

“Here. Here is good.”

His lips worked down to the valley between her breasts, fingers already undoing the buttons they found there. “Oh, and Felicity,” he murmured into her skin before he drew the two sides of her blouse apart, “This did end up being a sexy field trip.”

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfiction #olicity fanfic #my fic #arrow fic #arrow fanfiction

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blodreina-noumou · 5 years

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You laid out the BC salt post really well w/sound points about why the pairing is "unearned" outside of some past events they've shared. I'm not anti BC & at times I do think it's endgame, but I like Becho just fine too and BC have never been the reason I watch. An episode dedicated to wake up/actual Marper grief, Jordan welcome & talking/arguing BEFORE they went to the surface may not make sense from a plot POV but it was necessary from a character one. pt 1/2

cont 2/2 - Because we don’t have much insight on what the headspaces of all these characters are outside of a few examples. And that makes it really hard to know what the writer’s intent is, IMHO. Are we deliberately supposed to feel off-kilter because that’s what the characters are going through? Or are we actually supposed to read between the lines here and see lots of subtext that may or may not be there, based on a scene 3 seasons ago? Not sure & new writers muddy the waters even further.

I definitely agree. 😞 I’ve always figured they were endgame, which is why the writers throw so many big moments in for them at the end of each season. Especially in the seasons that might’ve been their last - four and five. It always ends on them, and there’s a good reason for that. Their dynamic is very important, even outside of them being the leads. That’s part of why I’m so frustrated with how uncertain the writers seem about what exactly that dynamic is. Maybe it’ll all make sense at the end, and they’ll find a good way to tie it all together. If that’s not where they’re going, the B/C bait is just cheap and frankly a bit cruel to the people who are so heart-set on that dynamic becoming romantically canon. I honestly have no idea which I would prefer at this point. On some level, the only ending that makes sense is B and C becoming canon. And yet, I think that’s the exact reason why the writers may never do it. Subverting expectations is big in media right now, for better (Killing Eve) or for worse (Game of Thrones).

This has always been a plot-driven show. It’s clear the writers are more interested in exploring certain sci-fi tropes (A.I., cryosleep allowing for super long-distance travel, now Body Snatchers, etc) than they are in creating genuinely meaningful character moments. That’s why so much shipping on this show is based on subtext and behind-the-scenes knowledge, and what viewers expect from the show based on the conclusions they draw from those things.

Even Clexa, which I am a pathetic hoe for, really suffered from a lack of significant onscreen development, as the plot was so focused on Skaikru’s struggle to fit in and Lexa’s war with Azgeda. 90% of that relationship is lingering glances and unspoken confessions. All of the development of Bellamy’s primary romantic relationships has been off-screen - Gina and Echo both start during a time jump. I like Echo, and I think Tasya and Bob are doing an excellent job of selling them, but their introduction is absolutely jarring. Even big favorites like Marper and Memori had much more development off-screen than they did on-screen.

Which, on some level, makes sense, because this isn’t a romance show, or even a show about interpersonal relationships. It’s a sci-fi drama, a mystery show, even a horror show at times, and usually, The Real Enemy isn’t clear until the second half of the season. The writers throw out little romantic bones for those who are only invested for that, but I don’t think they’re all that interested in meaningfully developing the relationships between the characters outside of that.

We’re just supposed to trust that they’ll always have each others’ backs, always choose each other in the end, always be friends, because they’re the heroes of the story and that’s just how it’s supposed to go.

Frankly, I don’t think they ever intended to have to have those tough conversations onscreen - the fact that they’ve actually done so this season, on any level, has surprised me. Up until now, the struggle to survive has always superseded the need to deal with their trauma and the terrible things they’ve done to each other in the name of survival. So now, the writers are trying to find a meaningful way to smooth over all of the intense shit they’ve done, mostly for the sake of the drama (you can chop s5 off right after they break Wonkru out of the bunker and pick it back up at the battle in the gorge and it makes just as much sense), and it’s just ringing so hollow for me. From every rational perspective, there is no reason these guys should be so close still, especially now that there’s so many other people to talk to, and especially given that both B and C have their own families. And the writers did it to themselves with that time jump, so…

I won’t be upset if B/C becomes canon. I’ll actually be surprised if it doesn’t. What bothers me most about that ship is the fandom’s laser-focus obsession with gobbling up any tiny crumb they can find that proves that B and C love each other. It’s so distracting from what can really be a very good and fun sci-fi show, albeit one that leaves a lot to be desired. And as it stands right now, B/C makes zero sense. Since we know we’ve got an s7, they’ve still got time to bring it back to a place where it works. But will they do that, when there are so many shiny and great sci-fi tropes to explore? Given that this season is already hinting at time travel (“temporal anomaly”), I doubt it. They’ve just got other priorities, and until they fix that, B/C will never make sense to me.

#antibellarke #stephspeaks #wrong show bro wrong show #fandom bs #negative tw #asks #anons

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janiedean · 5 years

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Hi! I just found your blog and hope you don’t mind me asking what you imagine might happen with the whole jonxdany thing? I’ve followed the show mainly for BriennexJamie and Sansa but jonxdany is so... I don’t know how to feel about it at all, it totally throws me. It seems so not like grrm?

uhm, I don’t mind but my opinion is what it is because as I’m concerned *I* personally ship jon with a bunch of people none of which is related to him and one of which is dead #hahahahaha so I have zero investment in jondany but I can tell you that to me, speaking objectively and not going on my feelings or what I want to happen:

when I first read the books I was like ‘nah never going to happen’ because I really didn’t think that they were extremely compatible *and* I also don’t know if jon would be that down with endgame-ing with his aunt given his immense amount of issues;

now the fact that in the show it happened makes me assume that in the book it is going to happen as well but I surely should hope it’s written better than the show - I guess I’m open to grrm selling it but I found that the S7 writing was generally really lacking not just for them and they did fail a lot of the build-up;

that said, taking it at face-value (ie, the writing didn’t convince me but let’s pretend it did what d&d were meaning to establish ie that they didn’t like each other too much at first, were on the fence re their feelings/alliances but we had lingering tension that got resolved the moment he saw she was willing to sacrifice one of her beloved dragons for the well-being of the realm and that she realized that they have to deal with the zombies before anything else and so on), and given that I’m not interested… we’re back at a thing I’ve been saying since forever which I’ll go into in a moment;

now, thing is: I learned from six feet under and various other shows that if a possible endgame ship gets together before the ending of the last season, in the beginning of the last season or at the end of the second-to-last season there’s conflict ahead. like literally no single ship I’ve had that went like that came out of it unscathed. (guys, SIX FEET UNDER WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE ME DISTRUST ANYTHING WRITTEN FOR TV WHERE THAT HAPPENS. and they did it with the ship that they had written in the beginning as PRETTY MUCH LIKELY ENDGAME, sooo XD) the fact that they got together in the last episode of the second-to-last season kind of makes me think it’s not going to be smooth sailing;

tldr: I’ve been saying for months by now that since cersei effectively offed herself on her own by refusing to join the zombie fight and pinning all her chances on euron who has been set up to be killed off by theon before episode two is over and we have six episodes to go, there has to be conflict on the *good* side that can’t be starks vs starks because we’ve done that since S6. now, since jon’s heritage is being revealed the moment he shows up in WF, and if jon is r’s legitimate son dany’s entire claim is suddenly not the strongest in westeros if we agree to a targaryen restoration, then the main conflict (as I explained in the link post) is gonna be, very basically: will they get over it or not and will dany be fine with not being automatically in charge of things if they win and presumably get the iron throne after cersei’s inevitable demise? now: if the answer is no then we have another six feet under situation and I’m honestly offering condolences to anyone invested, if the answer is yes then congrats, we get targaryen restoration with those two ruling most likely because at this point while I have my reservations re jon being gung-ho when it comes to his aunt being his endgame obviously that’s MY thing and I have zero leeway on how d&d or george see it and it’s grrm’s story first and foremost and the show is d&d’s for good or bad, so congratulations if it’s the case;

so: I think there’s gonna be conflict in the *good guys side* when it comes to jondany and in between them as well because I mean ‘oh wow I didn’t know we were AUNT AND NEPHEW WHEN WE GOT TOGETHER’ isn’t exactly the kind of thing that doesn’t at least make you take ten minutes to consider the consequences. I have no idea on how they’ll resolve it and I can’t know until I watch a couple episodes at least. but like, either they work it out and hey, NO SFU 2.0, or they don’t and in that case idk how they’re going to handle that angle but I mean… as far as I’m concerned however this goes jon gets the IT either alone or sharing it with her or 50% of what happened in the books until now was trolling so that’s my two cents. xD

now, I’d just like to state again that I have zero investment in how that ends, I don’t particularly care how they solve it, I don’t actively ship it but I don’t mind if it’s endgame also because I mean guys jon’s never gonna hook up with sam or tormund on screen and ygritte died in S4 I can safely say my jon ships are never gonna be canon so I really don’t have any stakes here so whoever he ends up as long as he’s not miserable whatever XD I just think that they’re going to have a wholeass lot of conflict in the season also because of when they made it canon (and tbh at this point I’m glad jb hasn’t been until now xDDD) but I’m saying it because it’s what happens 99% of the time when people in dramas get together before the very ending, not because I don’t want it to be endgame or anything. XD peace, I know it wasn’t really an answer with REAL QUESTIONS but as stated my interests are elsewhere rn xD

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #idek if i should tag this anti or not????#ah well #anti-jonerys #I MEAN IT'S NOT INTENDED THAT WAY but dslkgjkdlks #anyway I'm for ship and let ship regardless my feelings are generally #I CARE MORE ABOUT OTHER THINGS XD #Anonymous #ask post #also I forgot but like my only dany ship LITERAL is dany/jorah so #AS YOU SEE IT'S NOT LIKE I'M GETTING IT GOOD REGARDLESS XD

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danvssomethingorother · 6 years

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Mirrorverse!AU where Rusty and Brock became villains not long after college and never went the Protagonist route. (Because honestly the first Brock thought I had over that S7 finale was Mirror!Villain!Brock along with Rusty being the Supervillain that Killinger believes he should have been.)

I had to finally make myself tap off on this one. I was making it too long. I hope you enjoy!

A03

—

“Are you coming with me?”

Rusty didn’t answer him,taking a few quick puffs from his bong before setting it aside, he didn’t lookat the large blonde man instead keeping his eyes on his text book. If he lefthis thesis meant nothing, if he stayed it meant everything. He opened thescience book his father himself had written and just stared at the man whocontrolled so much of his life smiling brightly back at him from theintroduction page.

Large fingers coveredover that smile as Brock forced the book down forcing Rusty to look at him.

“Babe, I can’t do thiswithout you.”

Rusty stared him in theeyes and finally sighed shrugging.

“Is that a yes?”

Rusty didn’t answer, hejust leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against Brock’s lips and thelarger man smirked pressing him against the mattress and deepening the kiss.

—

Rusty had been in many,many, many uncomfortable situations in his life, but there was just somethingthat struck a primal fear seeing someone he loved and trusted so much loomingover him like this. Pinning him gently but firmly against the mattress with histhighs pinned tight against his sides and a pair of plyers in his hands.

“Just breathe Rust,”Brock sighed out just as nervous himself glancing at the plyers in his hand,“I’m just gonna yank it out and then we can leave.”

“This is easy for you tosay,” Rusty sneered back at him breathing picking up just staring at theplyers, “No one is using plyers to yank your damn teeth out!”

“One, just the one damntooth,” Brock sneered back correcting him.

“Do you know which one??”

“Second molar on the topof the right side of your mouth,” Brock grumbled back rolling his eyes notliking that Rusty wasn’t trusting him to yank his tooth out.

“Stop, time out,” Rustymoaned loudly shoving at his boyfriend, “Get the fuck off me.”

Brock growled at him butcomplied to his request allowing his boyfriend to get up from the bed and beginpacing in a circle around the bed, taking deep breaths and wringing his fingerstrying to calm his nerves.

“That’s half a bottle ofjack still in the fridge,” Brock said to him but Rusty was barely listeningcontinuing to pace, “You can drink some of that before I yank it out.”

“I don’t want thosethings in my mouth,” Rusty finally mumbled taking a quick glance at the plyersbefore looking away, “Just punch me really hard.”

“Babe, I’m not punchingyou in the face,” Brock snickered but sobered watching Rusty begin his paceonce more.

“I don’t want thosethings in my mouth!” Rusty whined dangerously close to breaking down, theplyers were upsetting him, Brock could tell but he didn’t know what else hewanted him to do. They needed to yank the tracking device out, if they didn’t,well they would just be caught by Team Venture before they got out of thestate.

“How do you suggest weget the tooth out then?”

“I suggested you punch mein the face, but you don’t seem to want to do that,” Rusty grumbled outstopping in his tracks and taking uneven breaths before opening the mini fridgeand taking the bottle of jack out, carefully swishing the content with a flickof his wrist measuring how much there was.

“And what? Lose more thenone tooth? Babe, come on, stop being a freaking cry baby and let me do this.”

“You need me, mister,”Rusty sneered his way, “Without me, you get nothing and will have to do whatyour mom wants you to do and join the OSI’s crusade. We do this shit my way oryou can just go get killed by a weirdo in a Snake costume.”

“Fine, I’ll go join OSIand you can just go back to your dad and be alone,” Brock sneered back andRusty just glared hard at him before turning towards the window. His heart ratewas already high, but it seemed to sky rocket at the idea of Brock leaving himand being gone forever.

“I’m gonna chug thisentire bottle,” Rusty finally began taking a deep breath staring down at thebottle in his shaking hands, “And you are going to grab me, pin me to the bedand just yank it out. Don’t give me time to relax, just do it.”

Brock shrugged at theidea, it wasn’t the worst thing ever and they were already behind schedule.Might as well just yank that band aid off.

Brock watched hisboyfriend tip the bottle against his lips and knew he didn’t have that muchtime before that bottle would be empty. He prepared himself quickly, taking theplyers in his hands and straightening himself up ready to pounce the man thesecond he finished.

Rusty stood there amoment, tense waiting to be yanked back and man handled but was given a momentto take a breath, dropping the bottle on the ground in a pile of laundry thatstill needed to be packed and put all his focus on a nest of baby birds thathad made a home on their window sill. He began to wonder what it was like tohave a family that loved and cherished you watching the mother bird nuzzle herhead against her newly hatched chick when he felt his boyfriend grab his waistand toss him onto the mattress.

He bounced against themattress, disoriented from the liquor but had no time to get himself togetheras his very large boyfriend forced his weight on him temporarily taking hisbreath and making him moan out his protests, changing his mind all at once asBrock’s large fingers pried his mouth open and the glint of metal caught hiseye.

He gurgled out protests,but Brock just forced his mouth open more, easily holding it open uncomfortablywide.

His arms were pinnedagainst his side under his boyfriend’s weight and it was impossible to move, hecould do little more then let Brock do what he wanted.

He didn’t even feel thetooth get yanked out, his panic overriding all his other emotions. He gentlyfelt his boyfriend pulling him up and resting him against his chest as hesobbed, wrapping his now freed arms around his chest. He heard Brock tellinghim something, but the words were fuzzy and he couldn’t really understand them.

He felt him kiss him onthe head a few times before laying him back down, gently pulling his mouth openagain, making his heart race increase again as he shoved something smooth andfuzzy where his tooth had been before gently kissing him on the forehead.

When he regainedconsciousness later, he was reclined in the passenger side of Brock’s car, thestrong smell of cigarettes making him nauseous.

He curled himself tightagainst the door, not ready to face his boyfriend after the childish way he hadreacted to something they had agreed needed to be done.

Brock didn’t say anythingto him, gently resting his hand on his head, messing with his messy ponytail aminute before putting his attention back on the road.

He pulled himself upenough to rest his head against the window and see they were leaving Coloradobehind them.

There was no turning backnow.

—

Rusty hadn’t realized howtruly sheltered he had always been until he was really out of the world hisfather had made.

They had been stayingwith Brock’s younger brother who had recently been trying to break into theunderground technology game, selling tech to wannabe heroes and arches alikebut well the problem was Brock’s brother Charlie was an idiot. He was a giantjock more suited for ripping men’s throats out then making complex machinerybut he thought he had a chance in this game after he taped a knife to a vacuum cleanerand his stoner friend had somehow weaponized that and went three rounds againsta seasoned pro hero.

It ended tragically ofcourse, his friend still in the hospital likely not going to make much longerbut Charlie considered it a victory. When he heard his brother was messingaround with a Venture, he thought he would change both of their lives.

So far, he had onlychanged Rusty’s life.

No longer did he have hisfather’s money or robots to do basic house work for him or any of the materialthings he had realized he took for granted when he was a pawn in father’s game.

Rusty now had to cook andclean while the Samsons worked during the day, Rusty now had to do withoutwhatever took his fancy and Rusty had to actually see a project through. Theyhad a dead line they needed to meet, Charlie somehow weaseled his way into an auctionand they now had to have something to present to it or they would be blacklisted before they had a chance to get their foot into the underground.

Rusty found himselfgrumbling every curse word he knew as he scrubbed hard at the kitchen floor, onhis hands and knees like a commoner trying to scrub the grime away tired ofwaking up to cockroaches and vermin.

On the counter his blue printswere still laid out, ready for revisions so he could start the first design butthat had to wait until he got the blood splatter off the ground. One of Charlie’s‘friends’ had bled out here last night and Rusty couldn’t stand the sight ofthe splatter anymore.

The only thing that neverchanged in his life was the violence. It was just always going to be here. Onlythis time he had to clean up the blood that stained the floor.

He stopped, what was hedoing here?

One phone call and hecould go home. He could go back to school. He could have his nice things back,go back to drinking and doing drugs just cause he was bored.

He could go back to beingalone, being a porcelain doll, everyone just glued back together and stuck backup high on the shelf.

He could go back to nothaving Brock here to hold him through the nightmares and make him feel safe andwanted.

He could go back to justhaving the violence but no one to protect him from it and make sure no one everhurt him.

He grit his teeth andscrubbed harder before turning back to the design, he could do this. He didn’tneed his dad.

—-

“Is this a Mardi Grasmask?”

The Samsons were laughingat his choice in costume but he stood his ground, folding his arms firmly andglaring towards them.

“We are going to anauction with like super villains and heroes and shit, right?”

“Babe, I know you workedhard on these or whatever but come on,” Brock snickered picking up one of the handmade glittering masks before tossing it back on the table, “Our image is goingto be wrapped up in this. You want everyone to see us and think we are going tostart handing beads or some shit out?”

“What? Did you just wantto wear ski masks?” Rusty sneered at the brothers who just glared hard at him.

“I worked hard to get usthere! We are not—”

Rusty cut Charlie off,jabbing his finger straight into his large chest and saying loudly and firmly.

“This is my invention!You two will wear the suits and masks I made or you can present your own shit!”

“Yeah that’s what Ithought, its either my way or you can pull out the Stab – You – Vac again foranother disastrous performance.”

“Just so we are clear here,the Stab – You – Vac almost took down Captain freaking Sunshine, what the hellcan your force field belt even do? Last I checked it barely worked.”

“It barely didanything! Your idiot friend just got lucky it was like midnight and Sunshine’s powerswere down and he had a big blunt object with a bunch of knives glued to it…”

“And if you don’tremember, once Sunshine’s friends showed up, your idiot friend got such an ass kicking,he is a vegetable now!”

Charlie snarled loudlygrabbing Rusty by his shirt and slamming him against the counter. He lookedready to kill Rusty and well, Rusty wasn’t in that much of a position to stophim if he wanted to.

He tensed but he didn’tdrop his glare, if he was going to die he wasn’t going out crying that was for sure.

Brock however didn’t seemto care Charlie was blood and had already made up his mind no one was allowedto touch Rusty.

He punched his brotherout with one hit, knocking him to the floor and pulling Rusty behind him whenhis brother gave him a murderous look after touching his broken nose.

“Get the fuck out!”Charlie snarled.

Brock didn’t say anything,he just grabbed Rusty firmly and pulled him out the door with him. Brock hadalready shoved Rusty into the car as his brother came out still screamingthreats tossing their belongings out with him, promising they weren’t getting intothe auction tomorrow night.

Rusty sucked in a nervousbreath as he watched Brock shove his brother back into the small run downtrailer, Charlie still yelling but Brock still not saying a word.

Rusty gave a nervous waveto the drug dealer next door he sometimes bought pot from and he just as nervouslywaved back.

This had not been thefirst fight like this, Charlie could get violent when he wanted to, put two ofhis former girlfriends in the hospital and Brock had made it clear when theymoved in he wasn’t allowed to touch Rusty. And well, he finally broke that ruletonight because of Rusty’s mouth, so it looked like they no longer had a placeto live.

He watched a young womanwho worked in the strip club off the freeway look nervously towards the Samsonresidence before running into her own trailer, slamming and locking the doorbehind her.

Brock came back out a fewmoments later shoving some stuff in the trunk, the few things to their name fitneatly into one medium sized box, what a world Rusty had entered into.

Brock got in the driverside a few moments later lighting up a cigarette. He didn’t look like he wantedto talk, so Rusty said nothing letting him crank up the radio full blast anddrive around for a few hours to calm down.

“We aren’t doing thiswith Charlie anymore,” he finally said.

“Can we still get in theauction without his connection?” Rusty mumbled not making eye contact with hisboyfriend.

“Yeah Charlie agreed togive me his contact finally, we can do this on our own.”

“Babe?”

Rusty glanced over atBrock looking more vulnerable then he had ever seen him, gripping the steeringwheel hard enough to break it, just staring off at the cars driving past themfrom the truck stop he had pulled off into.

“Yeah?”

“Do you regret coming outhere with me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Rustyfinally admitted putting his hand on Brock’s, “The sex is great as always buthaven’t been a fan of the poverty.”

Rusty was feeling bold hesupposed as he crawled on top of Brock and began kissing him. A little car sexwas just always the thing to get their mind off stress.

—

Rusty sat nervously infront of the dressing room mirror, brushing his hair and just glancing at the poorlymade unicorn mask he had made himself. His white tux was the only thing thatwas clean about him, he hadn’t properly bathed in three days since they had takento living in Brock’s car.

Brock stood by the door,knife in one hand and his dragon mask clenched between his fingers.

It was really happening,they were about to go up on a stage and try to sell one of his inventions tothe highest bidder.

Rusty was so nervous hewas sure that if they had been able to eat today he would be throwing up rightnow.

The knock at the doormade him jump, he glanced back at Brock then towards the clock, it wasn’t timeyet.

“Let them in Brock,” hesaid somehow keeping his words steady.

A man who looked strikinglysimilar to David Bowie stepped through the door making Rusty jump from hisseat.

“Its alright, I shall notslay your unicorn nor do I seek to put him in captivity,” the man chuckled atBrock who had his large knife against his throat. Rusty shook his head towardsBrock and Brock finally lowered his weapon allowing the man to fully enter theroom.

“When they told me RustyVenture was here, I didn’t believe them,” he said with a chuckle, “I had to seeit with my own eyes that our boy had grown up and was up to no good.”

He stepped towards Rustyand gently cupped his cheeks titling his head a little to get a better look athim before smiling and stepping away.

“Who the hell are you?” Rustyhissed at him putting some distance between them and catching from thereflection in the mirror Brock was stepping closer to them, “I sure as helldidn’t tell anyone my real name.”

“Do you think no onewould know?” the man’s smirk only grew at the pure terror that was stretchingacross Rusty’s face, “No one would come to seek your father’s bounty? No onewould come to see the prodigal son try to step into villainy? A dollar storemask doesn’t cover up who you are.”

“Your boyfriend’s brotherwas running his mouth that he had a Venture doing his dirty work.”

Brock glanced awayrubbing the side of his head showing he knew his brother had done that.

“I came with an offer, Ihad to have you once I knew what you were up to.”

Rusty opened his mouth,an insult already at the tip of his tongue but the man shook his head, raisinghis hand to silence him and Rusty was surprised that was all it took to keephim from starting. Maybe it was his nerves.

“I want to only help youRusty, I want to make you a star, reinvent your image.”

He made a face runninghis fingers through his greasy hair and shaking his head, gently taking his armand stretching it out, shaking his head once more seeing how loosely the suitfit him. Rusty yanked away glaring hard, not liking the way he was being scrutinized.

“Who are you?” Rusty repeatedmore firmly.

“Sorry, awfully rude ofme,” the man said with a shake of the head and a chuckle, “You see Rusty, youand I aren’t strangers. You just don’t quite remember me, do you?”

“You kidnap me in thepast?”

“Not my style,” he said witha shake of his head, “You and I met when you were a scared little boy who didn’tthink this world was fair. I passed Rusty’s Law just for you, but your fatherhad to ruin it throwing out many of the clauses that would make it illegal toput a child in this line of work at all.”

Rusty was so pale now hewas almost transparent, gently backing until he hit Brock who pulled him closeto him, sending a threatening look the man’s way.

“I want you to join theGuild, Rust. I want to help you. Protect you from the people out there tonightwho just want to hurt you.”

He pulled a business cardfrom his pocket and placed it in Rusty’s hand, gently forcing his stiff fingersto hold on to it.

“Come to us when you areready, Thaddeus. Don’t waste your potential on the garbage here tonight.”

He gave them a smile andthanked them for their time before sauntering back out the way he came.

—

Rusty didn’t stick aroundto sell his invention that night, he caught up with the mysterious man and he andBrock left with him that night to join the Guild.

#Brusty #Rusty Venture #Brock Samson #Venture Bros #The Venture Bros #Dan's fics #Dan's answers #fannishcodex

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