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araminthe-ispwitch · 7 years ago

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hi so i love your writing its amazing i especially love gay highschool romance its my favourite i was wondering if i could have some advice im trying to write a school fic and im not sure how to transition between different characters since theres quite a lot. its in third person if that helps. if you have any other tips for school fics id be happy to hear them :)

WOWOKAY HOLY SHIT IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE SOMEONE PRAISED MY KNB FIC

(Alsoshit I have to update OTL)

((butalso wOW??? SOMEONE’S ASKING FOR WRITING ADVICE FROM ME???))

(((Okay,I rambled way too much here with advice when you were just asking aboutcharacter transitions… so uh I’ll just put this under Keep Reading. Anon, yourspecific question is answered on #6. If anyone’s interested in writing tips, feel free to skip some ramblings.)))

Well,okay, actually, The ExaggeratedlyPerilous Journey of a Gay High School Romance or GHSR had been my veryfirst school fic (I can’t count that one DNAngel fic ‘cause the setting washalf-outside of school…) and the one thing I noticed while writing it was that ahuge cast of characters needs to be handled with care, otherwise things cangrow way out of proportion.

Letme give a little more exposition on what happened to me exactly first, so you’llunderstand how important writing this fic had been for me:

GHSRwas my second fic in my entire life. After my DNAngel fic (which I really don’t encourage you guys to readunless you want a cringe-y flashback to your teenage weaboo days), I took along break from writing until KnB came along and inspired me. Now, whathappened in that break was that I got slowly influenced by other writers’styles as I read and read, so once I started creating GHSR, it was oodles morerefined than my first fic.

Butit still had that weaboo factor in it somewhere. I hadn’t practiced in a while,so I haven’t gotten rid of that thing yet.

(Andhere I will admit that my first writing style was really heavily inspired by acertain DNAngel fic author. She had written crackfics and I unfortunately adoptedher habit of using “blunette, blue orbs, teardropped, etc.” Yeah. Are youcringing yet? ‘Cause I am. Still, thanks for inspiring me, lady.)

Now,when I wrote Ch. 1 and 2 of GHSR, I was still using my old style. But as Iwrote chapters 3, 4, and 5—and as my word count climbed higher and higher forevery chapter jesus christ—I finally started to find my own style and startedcorrecting all the cringe-y habits I had before (hence why I had refined Chapter1 a while back). So what I’m saying here,anon, is that that experimental school fic of mine practically made me realize howto properly write a school fic.

(I’msorry this will be a bit longer pls bear with me let’s focus on the advice partnow)

Okay,first of all, if your school fic will be having a huge cast (because you canactually writing a fic set in a school without writing a lot of characters init), it’s best to really know each character’s persona. This is easy since if youread a lot of fanfics about the fandom you’re going to write for, you will havea lot of references on how the character is written by the majority. Forexample, I learned how to write Takao by reading works about him, and then Ijust added my own interpretation of him a bit and viola, I now have a Takao whofits my “everyone goes to one school” AU. It’s amazing because a lot of myreaders tell me Takao is so in-character in my fic, but when you really thinkabout it, his entire character isn’t completely shown in the canon as opposedto Kuroko or Kagami, right? But I managed to write him well enough that heseems natural to the readers because they’ve read other works about him, too—andall because I did my research on how his character works!

Anotherexample for this is when I fucked up Kagami’s character. OTL

Backin GHSR’s Ch. 1, I freely wrote Kagami as this food-loving delinquent who ispretty much down to fight. I was sofucking wrong. Watching the next seasons of KnB, I realized with horrorthat I fudged him up so bad and was really so embarrassed and basically, Iwanted to delete my fic right then and there. He’s a food lover, yeah, but he’snot actually actively looking fortrouble. He’s actually a well-mannered kid who is just skirting close todelinquency due to his looks, but is actually just a huge basketball dork.Those times he gets in trouble with authorities? Not actually his fault becausehe’s a mischievous kid—he’s just really unlucky lmao.

(Andthat is why I rewrote Ch. 1. I didn’t do enough research on him and I felt bad.OTL)

Okay,so basically this first advice is me telling you to read other fanfics and do your research. Major characters arepretty easy since they’re popular. It’s the side/minor ones you have to payattention to if you’re going to make them protagonists like what I did withGHSR, since they’re not fully fleshed out and it’s up to the fans to give themtheir own interpretation (like what I did with Sakurai Ryou). A word ofcaution, though: you have to be carefulin distinguishing canon from fanon during your writing. Fanon tends tooverwhelm the canon when the fandom accepts it more—when in reality, the fanonis inaccurate. I can’t think of an example in KnB, but in Yuri on Ice, OtabekAltin had become an Ensemble Dark Horse character in the anime because of hisconnection to Yuri Plisetsky, one of the major characters. Despite his littlescreen time, he’s now one of the most popular guys in the fandom and because ofhis character profile’s small size, the fans have pretty much supplied itthemselves—which kind of ruined his persona a bit. I’ve seen some fanworkswhere he seemed out of character, and that’s a bit dangerous when you’rewriting. So tread carefully when researching characters through fanworks.

Secondadvice: research school fics by reading school fics. Yep, this oneis pretty simple. Just find a school fic, and if you can’t put it down, keepreading and enjoy. You can come back for serious studying on it. (You can do soon my fic lol.) Even better: find a school fic on the fandom you’re going towrite for! If its style is within your standards, then go ahead and use it as astudy material. You might think I’m telling you to copy it, but oh no, I’m actuallytelling you to let it influence yourknowledge of how school fics work. For example, when I was inspired towrite for DNAngel, I never bothered about the mechanics of how schools incertain countries work—because I thoughtthat all schools in the world worked the same. (I hate teenage me.) It wasonly through spending enough time with anime and fanfics that bothered todescribe the Japanese schools’ inside slipper system that I realized that “oh fuck I’ve been basing Japanese schoolson my country’s schools oH SHIT”. Now, I can get away with that in DNAngel,where the rules and the world are a bit screwy. But I cannot bullshit my way through KnB, an anime that is fucking based in Japan. I, as a writer, amexpected to be responsible enough to research the setting of KnB, which is Japan’s education system. So not only amI telling you to research by reading school fics, I am also telling you toresearch the setting of the story. Chances are, there will be some differencesfrom what you know and what is actually real. And not only the setting, too, butthe culture of the school—not all schools mandate their students to clean theirrooms by themselves, and not all schools freely allow their students to go therestroom (looking at you, America). These are simple things you can look up onGoogle, and if you’re lucky, you’ll come across stuff like this in Tumblr, too.

Thirdadvice: it’s okay to be vague sometimes.There’s no need for you to be specific on a lot of details or even reverentlywrite what happened to a character the whole day. You can skip the time to amore interesting event or just be general about something. Because if you getway too focused on giving out every detail, not only will it bore your readers,it will also bore you and tire you out. Take GHSR, for example. In Ch. 5, thetimeline was from Tuesday to Friday, but despite my overly-long chapter, I didn’tactually write every single day on the story from morning to night. I showedwhat was happening in school in general and skipped to the really important andeventful moments for my characters to give movement to the story. Because I can’tjust put so much interaction if it doesn’t mean anything—that would be pointlessand exhausting. This really helpswhen your school fic has a huge cast, like mine. (In fact, the only reason thefirst few chapters were reverently following each day was because the startingcast was small, but it’ll soon grow and I’ll have to put plenty of time-skips.)

Eventhough what you’re writing is a school fic, you still have a designatedprotagonist, so most of the story revolves around them, hence the need to notdetail every single aspect of their life. It’s only called a school fic becausethat’s their setting.

Fourthadvice: your protagonist doesn’t have totalk to everybody in the room. Imagine Kagami in his classroom in my fic,with Aomine beside him, and Kuroko and Sakurai at the back. And then all theother classmates have been replaced with the cast of KnB—so technically, everyoneknows each other inside that room. Now, just because Kagami knows everyonedoesn’t mean he’s entitled to chat all of them up—nor are you entitled to forcehim to. Some writers (most especially those starting out, as I saw this yearsago, but hopefully, this generation has learned) think they have to forceinteractions for everybody so it won’t be boring, but actually, that would besuch a tedious process. You have to think about this realistically, even thoughit’s fiction. Even the most social butterfly in KnB would get tired if theyhold conversations with everyone in the span of a certain period of time. Thepurpose of a school fic is to emulate a school setting, and you don’t reallysee everyone interacting with each other, right? That would be chaos. Let therebe peace—in intervals. For example, when Misdirection was having their firstpractice in GHSR back in Ch. 4, everyone knew each other in the clubroom, but Ididn’t write them all talking to each other. Aomine and Midorima were isolatedfrom the rest and hadn’t talked to the others unless necessary. So unless your character wants to interact with someone specifically, it’sokay to just let them be silent.

Fifthadvice: DON’T PHYSICALLY DESCRIBE YOURCHARACTERS WHEN YOU’RE WRITING IN THEIR PERSPECTIVE.JUST DON’T. There’s this post I’ve found in Tumblr (which I urge you to read) after finishing Chapter5, where it’s a bit demeaning to refer to the character you’re using with blandtitles/epithets like “the blonde” or “the male”, as if that was the only thing going for them. I admitted that it is, but at the same time, I gottause this style sometimes becausethere will always be scenes where several characters are all altogether. InGHSR, I can’t help but refer to Hyuga as the “bespectacled one” because thereare other black-haired upperclassmen besides him. Even with Kagami and Akashi—Ihave to distinguish the two. It helps that you describe their other features,but giving them titles like the ones above can be a bit too much if there’s noone else in the area that has the same description, ya know? So I propose this:

Don’tdo this:

The black-haired and blue-eyed kickboxer stared at the mop of blondehair he could see outside the gates and sighed.

Do this:

The kickboxer stared at the mop of blonde hair he could see outsidethe gates and sighed.

“ButAra!” you say, with shocked eyes, “isn’t the first one your style? That line wasin the beginning of Chapter 5!”

Yes,it is. But you know what else? I wrote that line over two fucking years ago. I posted the chapter over a year ago and I didn’t edit that lineout. But over the course of a year, my style concerning this naming thing haschanged, and now I am actively trying to lessen that kind of thing in my works.I didn’t have to remind my readers that Kasamatsu Yukio had black hair and blueeyes. That was just my ego talking,being fancy as I add the descriptions to his title. That whole thing wasone of the very habits I’ve retained from my DNAngel days—and I fucking hate it actually so please don’t emulate me and just keepyour character’s self-perspective simple. Please.

Okay,sixth advice (and the last one for now because this has become too long): transitioning between characters inthird-person perspective is easy as long as you keep things SIMPLE. Sobasically, you just have to apply the simplicity above when leaping from onecharacter to another! It’s actually pretty easy when it involves dialogue:

Sakurai chuckled nervously at the answer. “I-I’m sure they canimprove, Sensei.”

“Oh, I’m hoping for it. Otherwise, we’ll all be in trouble,” said Kogawith an aggravated sigh.

“Maybe if you didn’t suspend us, we wouldn’t be struggling right now,”muttered Aomine, glancing sideways at the door.

See?For every line of dialogue, there was a corresponding character assigned to it.Dialogue tags and extra exposition helps.

Onthe other hand, for internal narration:

As much as Kise wanted to see Kasamatsu as soon as possible, hedecided to hold back since it was obvious his best friend needed a companion—anotion that Midorima rejected almost immediately, of course. Shintarou didn’tneed anyone tagging along with him as he switched from one department toanother. And he most definitely didn’t need Kise Ryouta pestering him withquestions about Takao.

Seehow in the first half, the narration was in Kise’s third-person POV, and thenon the other half, it’s Midorima’s? As long as you’re referring to who is thinkingat the moment and showing the readers whose mind it is you’re narrating,everything will be fine.

Thisalso works with dialogue-to-narration:

“You four are already in an agreement, correct?” he askedmatter-of-factly. The four high-schoolers paused at his words, staring at himin surprise and bubbling dread. There was something about the way the lightglinted off the math teacher’s glasses that warned them to be cautious, and sothey reluctantly nodded.

Thefirst sentence was in Koga-sensei’s POV, then the rest was showing what Kagami,Aomine, Kuroko, and Sakurai were experiencing.

Justkeep things simple. The best tip I can offer here is “if you’re gettingconfused by the transitions yourself,then chances are, your readers will be, too.”

Soagain:

1)Study your characters’ personas.

2)Research by finding similar works.

3)Being vague in storytelling is alright sometimes.

4)Social interaction with each character in a large group isn’t a must.

5)Don’t dump descriptions on your character all the time. (Unless you’re writingcomedy, but that’s for another lesson.)

6)Keep things simple so character transitions aren’t confusing or jarring.

That’sall I can think of for now. If you still have specific questions, don’t beafraid to message me! Honestly, though? Just keep on experimenting andpracticing with your writing. Read fanfics and do your research. That phasebetween DNAngel and KnB was my dominant experimental phase and actually, I’mstill improving and refining my own style, which you’ll notice if you check outmy new fics. Go and find your own style, too! :)

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #Kuroko no Basuke #KnB #Ara's being weird again #shut up Ara #my god have i ever talked to you through the reviews before?#it's been so long #Ch. 6 is delayed so badly i know...#Anonymous #Ara gets asked

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lizzybeth1986 · 3 years ago

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(1/3) Hey, Playersexual Anon here. I really appreciate that you took the time to address my question. I'm a longtime player (4+ years), but I don't often interact w/the fandom; I don't have a Tumblr account. But I do sometimes browse to see Choices discourse and you're definitely right that many straight players say their favorite LIs aren't queer, I saw this a lot w/Ethan for example. So I understand your issues with the term now and how it's weaponized against queer, especially bi, players.

Sorry again for the delay in responding, anon! Loads of IRL stuff happening this side so wasn't able to write much or go on my blog. I'm glad you never engaged in the disagreeable behaviour that I've seen in other stans, and you seem to be observant enough that even while not interacting with fandom you were able to notice some of these things. You're right that the original sin here, really, is PB and the way they make a song and dance of their inclusiveness while engaging in writing that really doesn't do queer characters any favours.

My feelings about customizable characters...are a little bit more complicated. I agree that, the way PB uses them now, they're more band-aid for actual representation - they exist for PB to claim diversity, without having to ever do the work (I mean, this is work they hardly even do for default CoC!). So I can understand why it's popular to dislike customizable characters or paint them with a broad brush. But here too, I feel (and here I'm not talking about you - but more about the fandom so far) that many people miss how we got to this point, and fandom's role in how we see customizable characters treated.

When PB started using customizable characters (Liam was the first race customizable one, and Hayden was the first to be both race and gender customizable), while there was considerable excitement, fandom was also engaging constantly in what I call a "preference heirarchy". In books where there was a default white person, or a default CoC who was exoticizable, customizable characters faced impossible levels of scrutiny, or were constantly derided no matter what they did. They fared much better in three instances:

1. When there was more than one customizable character (particularly by race. Eg. MTFL, TRM)

2. When they were the only (optional) white character in a sea of CoCs (eg. Bloodbound)

3. When the character was a default race was black 😣 (look no further than Platinum!).

But when they were introduced, they were often not always the pet fave of the teams (who would lean towards the white/exoticizable brown male LI) and the fandoms would either write them off as "boring" without knowing much about them, or drag them down for every. single. thing. they. did. Liam, for instance, was constantly labelled a "cheater" for wanting to continue his relationship with the MC while trapped in an engagement his father had manipulated him into (with his fiancee's consent, mind you! AND he never even had a relationship with said fiancee!!) and fandom had a long, long history of shifting the goalposts with this character. I've lost count of the number of PM stans who falsely claimed Hayden had no variations after the first few chapters, who compared Hayden to a toaster, and who had a problem with Hayden's very justifiable outburst at the group in Book 2 Ch 6. These are just the two most visible examples.

If we're really going to talk about the present cookie-cutter nature of the current crop of customizable characters, or how shady it is that PB is using them as rep, maybe the fandom should take a long, hard look at how they treated them when they were in the same book as other white LIs, or LIs they could grossly objectify. They didn't identifiably act like CoCs even back then (and were in most cases still white coded) but the fandom didn't hesitate to treat them badly.

#ask lizzy #ask me #customizable characters #playchoices

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

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do you have any fics of john flirting with sherlock over text? maybe sherlock being utterly clueless? thank you & and much luv ❤️

Hi Nonny!!!

Ahhhhhhhhhh AGES ago, I did an Epistolary / Texting / Letters fic rec list, back before I had A System™, so it’s a bit messy but it is there :) I don’t have a lot of new ones to add to it, BUT I decided I would pull all the Texting fics from that list since I now have neater organization with tags and Chapters, and then just add my NEW fics onto that one, how about that? Would that be okay? It wouldn’t be specifically just flirting, but I think that the list is long overdue anyway!! Hope you like something on this one, and I’ll TRY to tag the flirting fics WITH flirting so that you can pick them out :)

And as always, add your own fics, Lovelies!! <3

TEXTING AND SEXTING (JULY 2020)

See also:

Epistolary / Texting / Letters (My List, 2017)

First Meeting Via Internet / Phone / Letters (Mine)

Phone Sex & Texting (Alexx’s List)

Wrong Number Texting (Alexx’s List)

They Met Online or Texting (Alexx’s List)

Message Not Sent by Queerasil (K, 762 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, One-Sided Texting, Pining Sherlock) - Sherlock texts John after the fall and during the hiatus. The messages are sent, but never received. Sequel to WORDLOCKED, TSTM, and Wait, How Do You Play This Game Again?

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

Untouchable by greengrapegaze (T, 1,368 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-S3, UST/URT, Oblivious John, Lonely Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Emotional Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – “He never would. Petty, childish, immature-bitter. Jealous. She had all that he wanted. All he could never have.” Part 1 of Steps to a Bittersweet Symphony

Yorkshire Gold by Tammany Tiger (K, 1,467 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Holmes Brothers, Open Ending, Grief, Implied Bondlock) – Mycroft may not mourn Sherlock's death-but even if he knows his brother lives, he's not without his own grief. It ain't easy being The British Government. But at least he's got good help. Set between the Fall and the Return.

Text Me When It's Over by immaculately-flawed (K+, 1,937 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Post-TRF, Texting, Sort-Of Pining Sherlock) – After the fall Sherlock starts writing texts to John. Of course, he never sends them... Until he does by accident. Post Reichenbach fic but not angsty.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

The Art Of Communication by StillWaters1 (T, 2,679 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, H/C) – Lestrade was used to getting odd, non sequitur texts from Sherlock. But when "John went out for milk" was followed by a terse "two hours ago," Lestrade immediately understood three things: John was missing, Sherlock was quietly panicking, and this could all end very, very badly.

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

The Sweetest Taste In The World by crossroads (G, 3,121 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Fluff, Pining, Friends to Lovers) – The sweetest taste in the world is rarely ever the easiest to come by.

Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3,218 w., 1 Ch. || Confessions, Physics, Metaphors, Texting, Pining, Christmas, Mind Palace, Sick Fic, Fluff, Humour, Praise Kink) - On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots.

Come home. by hudders-and-hiddles (huddersandhiddles) (E, 3,763 w., 1 Ch. || Texting / Sexting, Lonely Sherlock, Nude Photos, Pining, Fluff & Smut) – When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.

Happy anniversary by Salambo06 (E, 3,772 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Vulnerable Sherlock, Wedding Anniversary, Anal, Texting, Lingerie) – John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.

Lingerie by Sexxica (E, 4,135 w., 1 Ch. || Valentine’s Day, Lingerie / Women’s Underwear, Mildly Public Masturbation, Picture Texting / Sexting, Bottomlock, Body Worship, Anal Sex / Fingering, Rimming, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Est. Rel.) – It's Valentines Day and Sherlock is taking John to Angelo's for dinner. Sherlock also happens to be wearing a garter belt, stockings and a rather small pair of women's underwear under his clothes. There's no dessert at Angelo's because John needs to get Sherlock home just as quickly as he can before they both lose their minds entirely.

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, First Person Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

Tease You Till You Come by phoenix089 (E, 6,090 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Clueless Sherlock, Sexting/Texting) – Initially, Sherlock was rather put out by John's lack of presence on the case. But then he starts to receive pictures, several of them, of an unexpected nature. The case is forgotten rather quickly after that.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8,737 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Stroppy Sherlock, Love Letters, POV John) – Sherlock asks John for relationship advice. Little does he know that it’s him that Sherlock is in love with.

A Building of Bridges by Unique (K, 12,325 w., 3 Ch. || Drama, Alternate First Meeting, John’s PTSD / Flashbacks, Mute John, Dialogue-Heavy, Caring Sherlock, Friendship) – No one would ever send Sherlock in to diffuse a stand-off; but on one unlikely day, that's exactly what happened. "Congratulations, Lestrade," he called out sarcastically. "You're traumatizing a war veteran."

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, POV John, Phone Sex, Texting, Masturbation, Long Distance, Drunk Texting) – What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once: Flirting. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., 13 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Texting, Humour, Post-TRF, Awkward Romance, Idiots in Love) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w., 12 of ? Ch. || Dev. Rel., Pining, Fluff and Romance, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Cuddles) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #texting and sexting #my fic recs #Anonymous

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sandwichrin · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Into You (Junkyu x Reader Fic) (Ch. 3)

Word Count: 3.6k words

Pairing: Kim Junkyu x Fem. Reader (Treasure members are all included as well)

Genre: PG-13, Comedy, Romance

A/N: Hi! Here’s the third chapter of the Junkyu x reader fic I’ve been working on! Tbh I really like this chapter because it has more of the other members in it :3 Hope you guys like it! Feel free to read the other chapters from my blog’s Masterlist! <3

Chapter 3 - The Girl?

It had been 3 days since the incident happened. Which one? Yeah, the one where Hyunsuk saved you from showing up to work all cat-urine-tainted by lending his shirt to you. It had also been three days of you bringing along his clean shirt that you’ve washed to work since you hadn’t bumped into him at all after the incident.

Did he forget about the shirt? You wondered if he even remembered the encounter you both had. What’s worst, you started to believe that he doesn’t even remember who you were.

What were you thinking? You both have only met briefly over a silly matter. You shouldn’t have expected that it could be anything more. Not that you were interested in him in any ways, you just thought that you could’ve at least made a new friend. The only friends you had were those whom you met in high school couple of years ago, but then you’ve lost touch with most of them ever since you moved out of your hometown after accepting the job your high school teacher offered you right after graduating.

It was a Friday, and you were looking forward to go to work because you usually only had to stay at work for only half a day on Fridays. You were even allowed to wear casual outfits on Fridays- since the company you work for encourages their employees to “have fun” at least once a week. (Weird, but sure dressing up casually to work isn’t something to complain about, right?)

“So, what are your plans today y/n?”, your colleague, Soomin asked. She was the one who sat not far opposite from your desk, and also the one who’s always making conversations in the office with you.

Not like you were unfriendly or anything, you just didn’t want to be too casual with your colleagues especially since you were the youngest there. The people in your office were mostly 6-10 years older than you, hence why you didn’t think you would fit much in their group. There’s also the fact where you’re an introvert at heart, which makes you prefer staying at home instead of joining any company dinners—but your colleagues never minded it, they knew you were the less social type.

“Oh nothing. I was thinking of heading straight back home after work. Maybe do some cleaning up at home later.”

“I see,” Soomin nodded. “Well if you feel like doing something fun, the rest of the department is going for a buffet lunch after work. You can join us if you want to.”

You smiled at her. “Thanks, I’ll let you know if I plan on joining.”

It was lunchtime at the YG Building for the boys, and the whole Treasure group was at the company’s cafeteria, all cramped up with two to three tables joint together to cater all 12 of them.

Jaehyuk was sitting at the end of one side of the tables, playing with his food on his plate with the fork in his hand.

“…isn’t that right, Jaehyuk?”, Jihoon asked his dongsaeng who was sitting two seats away from him.

Jaehyuk snapped out of his trance, not realising his hyung had been talking to him.

“What?” he said, clearly unsure of what was going on.

“I said, the part where Junkyu jumped on Hyunsuk in the choreography should be changed. You said that you were thinking of changing Junkyu’s part with yours, am I right?”

“Oh yeah. That’s right. I feel like the choreography would look more balanced like that,” Jaehyuk replied, looking at Hyunsuk who was paying attention to him and Jihoon.

Hyunsuk nods in approval of the idea. “I think we can try that this evening. We’ll need to do it part by part though, to see if the flow works that way.”

“Yeah sure, we’ll do that.” Jaehyuk answered him.

Hyunsuk continued eating his food, and once in a while he would laugh at the jokes Yoshi kept spewing at Asahi who was sitting beside him. Jihoon on the other hand, noticed Jaehyuk barely touching his food. He also noticed that Jaehyuk was staring back into space.

“Hey Jaehyuk…”

Again, Jaehyuk was back in focus and he spooned some rice into his mouth. While chewing, he turned his attention to Jihoon, “Yeah hyung?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been quiet today…and you’re barely touching your food,” Jihoon asked, worried if anything was bothering Jaehyuk’s mind.

Everyone else at the table stopped talking and focused on both Jihoon and Jaehyuk.

“It’s nothing, I just don’t feel too well.” He looked down at his food again.

The rest of the boys exchanged glances with each other.

“Are you coming down with a fever hyung?”, Junghwan asked.

“It’s not like that…I just..don’t feel well.”

“Could it be…,” Jihoon said, making everyone focused on him.

“OH! I think so too, hyung!” Jeongwoo exclaimed loudly. He stood up and pointed at Jaehyuk. “Could it be-“

“OUR JAEHYUKKIE DIDN’T GET HIS DAILY DOSE OF BANANA UYU?” Both Jeongwoo and Jihoon said at the same time. The both of them cheered loudly and high fived since the both of them guessed the same thing at the same time.

“Really? You feel down for not getting banana milk?” Junkyu asked, confusion written on his face.

“Heyyyy it wasn’t just today okay! It’s been this way since yesterday!” Jaehyuk whined frustratedly. He picked on his food with his fork again.

“Aish hyung! You should’ve said so, we could’ve gone and look for it for you,” Jeongwoo said as he approached his hyung to give him a back hug.

“There weren’t any at the convenience store. I wanted it so badly.” Jaehyuk was already pouting on his own as the rest of the group continued watching him.

“Wait, which store did you go to? The one in front of the building or the one inside the building?” Yedam asked.

“Man, I’ve checked the store in this building. They don’t sell the banana uyu that Jaehyuk likes. They have banana milk, but it’s the different kind.” Jihoon said, as he took a sip off his drink.

Jaehyuk was still quiet, lost in his thoughts. He felt a gentle pat on his back. He raised his head to see Jeongwoo standing by his side. “It’s okay hyung, we’ll get you one.”

Jaehyuk squints at his friend. “What are you saying, Jeongwoo?”

“Yedam and I were planning to go to the convenience store outside.”

“For the banana milk??” Hyunsuk asked.

“No, god no. We wanted to get that limited-edition ramen cup they’re promoting on TV.”

“What? They have limited-edition ramen nowadays??” Doyoung said in disbelief.

“Yeah, they’re just making it limited edition because you’ll get the chance to win that PS5 game- I’m not sure what game but Jeongwoo wants it badly.” Yedam explained as he noticed everyone was staring at him weirdly.

“Hey. If we’re commited, we might win okay?” Jeongwoo exclaimed proudly.

“And how many of those have you bought, huh?” Jihoon asked.

Jeongwoo rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…I’ve bought 8 already…”

“WHAT?”

“Aigoo Jeongwoo! What are you going to do with the ramen then? You can’t eat too much of those you know that,” Hyunsuk was already nagging at him.

Jeongwoo covered his ears in response to Hyunsuk’s nagging. The rest of the boys laughed seeing him react that way. Even Hyunsuk laughed along.

“Anyways, hyung, Yedam and I can go check it out for you.” He said softly to his hyung. “Yedam-hyung. Let’s go.”

“Now? You want to go now?”

“Yeah, if we go any later, students coming back from prep school might buy ‘em all.”

“Alright.” Yedam got up from his seat and followed Jeongwoo who was already heading out of the cafeteria. Man, that kid is fast.

“Hey don’t forget to put on your masks too!” Hyunsuk called out to them.

“Aight!” Both Yedam and Jeongwoo said in unison.

You just got out of your office, a little delayed than usual though since you had to apologize to each and every colleague you passed by for not joining them on their staff buffet lunch.

But the good thing about today was that, not only did you get to get off work in the afternoon, your casual attire made it easier for you to walk and move around. On the other days you would’ve worn your high heels to work but today you wore your white sneakers along with a matching white graphic tee under your cream-coloured cardigan.

You walked past the block of your office and once again, you were heading towards the YG building. This time, you weren’t distracted by it though. You were more focused on heading towards the convenience store opposite it.

Since it’s a Friday, you’ve made it a personal rule to eat ramen on Fridays as a celebration that you finished work early. You personally restricted yourself from eating any ramen on any other days simply because you wanted to make it seemingly special and worth looking-forward to eat them on Fridays.

You entered the convenience store and was greeted by a friendly welcome by the cashier. You smiled at him. You were sure he was already familiar with you since you made it a point to visit this shop every week to get what you needed.

You glanced around the shop to see if there was anything new being promoted. Your eyes landed to a customized aisle which showed a competition notice. You walked towards it to see what it’s all about.

Oh. A chance to win a PS5 game of your choice? The more ramen you buy, the higher chance of winning? You chuckled. It seemed that if one buys the ramen and gets a special code written under their ramen lid, they’d be one of the lucky winners. You tilt your head slightly and took one of the ramen cups off the shelf.

“Oh? Oh wait this isn’t the flavour I want,” you mumbled to yourself. You put the ramen cup back and scanned the rest of the shelf to see if the spicy stew flavour you liked was there. Unfortunately, it wasn’t there. Maybe it got sold out.

Sighing, you moved away from the shelf. You went to another aisle and grabbed yourself a bowl of instant cheese ramen. You walked up towards the cashier and placed the bowl onto the counter.

“This isn’t your usual pick, miss.” The cashier said, as he saw your slightly disappointed face.

“Yeah, the spicy stew one that I liked was out of stock I guess.” You smiled timidly at him.

“Oh right, that one. Yeah, it’s one of our bestsellers. But we have other spicy stew ramen too, if you’d like them instead.”

“Oh no, it’s alright. I’ll just have this one.”

“Okay,sure.”

He took the ramen bowl in his hand and was about to scan it when you stopped him. “Oh wait!”

The cashier seemed surprised by you.

“Sorry, I forgot to take a drink. I’m so sorry.”

The cashier grinned. “It’s fine, I’ll just scan this later.”

“Thanks.” You smiled. You left the counter and hurriedly walk up towards the refrigerator in the store.

As you were thinking of which drink to pick, two guys entered the store and you heard the cashier welcoming them from the payment counter.

“Hyungggg! They didn’t have the flavour I want!” You heard one of the guys said this.

“Come on Jeongwoo, you could just buy the game yourself you know. You already wasted plenty of ramen all for the sake of getting that winning code.”

“Hyung, you have to understand. If I win this, it shows how luck is indefinitely on my side! I worked hard for this.”

“For ramen?”

“Hyunggggg nooooo, listen, listen to me-“

Your focus was no longer on the boys once you heard one of them starting to give his hyung a pep talk about hard work and luck.

You picked up a carton of strawberry milk from the refrigerator since it’s what you always get from the store to pair up with your ramen. Your eyes landed on the small yellow bottle that was beside the strawberry milk you picked up.

Isn’t that the banana milk on TV? The one where most celebrities drink? You wondered, since you usually see artists drinking them in shows. You stretch out your hand to take it. It was the last bottle in the refrigerator.

You shrugged to yourself. Maybe you could try it and maybe you’ll know why everyone likes it so much. You closed the refrigerator door and carried both your drinks to the counter to pay.

You were about to take your money out of your purse to pay the cashier when you heard one of the loud boys earlier groaned in frustration. Your head turned to see what was going on.

“No way! It’s sold out again! What kind of spell did they use on that milk anyway?! It’s always sold out!”

Your turned back to the cashier and handed the money to him. After paying, you proceeded to put your stuff onto the table beside the payment counter. That spot was your usual seat whenever you were on your Ramen Friday days. (Yes, you actually named the occasion as Ramen Friday-- lol you and your dorkiness)

You heard one of the boys- the less loud one asking the cashier, “Do you have any backup stocks of the banana milk?”

“Sorry, we haven’t received the stock yet. It usually arrives around 3 in the evening.”

“God, how does it sell that fast!” The louder boy said, sounding very upset.

You glanced at the strawberry and banana milk in your hands. Should I give it to them? They seemed like they really need it, no?

“It’s okay Jeongwoo, we can come back later. I’m sure Jaehyuk doesn’t mind.”

“No. We have to go find one for him. Don’t you see how down he looked?” Jeongwoo whipped out his phone from his pocket. “There’s another convenience store two blocks away from here-“

“Jeongwoo-“ Yedam interrupted him. He was about to continue but you had already approached them by then.

“Excuse me,” you interrupted the both of them.

“Y-yeah?” Jeongwoo asked.

“I couldn’t help overhearing that…you guys were looking for this?” You showed them the banana milk in your hand.

“Yeah, we were. But it’s okay, that’s yours-“

“I actually bought it out of curiosity. I didn’t really need it. You can have it.” You held out the banana milk for them to take it from you.

Jeongwoo, who had been loud the whole time he was in the store, was the quiet one now. He looked at Yedam, relying on his hyung to deal with you.

“Really, just take it,” you smiled.

“I…thanks…I-I can pay for it,” Yedam reached for his wallet in his pocket.

“No, no! It’s fine, really. Just take it.” You pushed the milk into their hands. “It’s not gonna stay cold, so you should drink it fast.”

“Thank you, it’s for our friend actually.”

“Oh. Right. Then you better hurry up and give it to him or her then,” you grinned.

“Thank you so much.” Yedam thanked you again.

You smiled at them and made your way back to your seat.

Yedam and Jeongwoo was about to walk away when Yedam turned back around to approach you.

“I’m Yedam by the way. Thank you again.”

Jeongwoo’s eyes widened, seeing that his hyung exposed himself to a random girl. Jeongwoo tugged at Yedam’s arm, trying to tell him to stop.

You nodded at Yedam’s random introduction. “You’re welcome…Yedam.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to just take this and go without thanking you properly.”

“Come on hyung, we should go,” Jeongwoo whispered at Yedam.

You nodded again and smiled at them.

Jeongwoo was already pulling Yedam away from you when suddenly it hit you- Wait. Did he just say his name is Yedam? Your eyes shifted to them, the two boys wearing masks. You were sure that the other guy’s name was Jeongwoo when you heard them bickering near the ramen shelf. Jeongwoo….Yedam….? Could it be?

“Wait!” You called out to them.

The both of them stopped and turned around.

Oh no. Here it goes. She knows who we are- Jeongwoo panicked inside.

“Yes?” Yedam asked you.

“A-are you…Yedam from Treasure?”

“Yes.” Jeongwoo was surprised to see his hyung so confident in admitting who he was. He, on the other hand, was nervous since he had rarely interacted with fans without the supervision of their manager.

“Oh my god. That’s great-“you said but then you got cut off by Jeongwoo.

“Sorry, we can’t take any pictures with you without the consent of our manager.”

“What? Oh no-“You said, trying to stop them from misunderstanding.

“Jeongwoo! What are you doing?” Yedam whispered to his friend.

“Stopping us from getting into trouble!” he whispered back.

You shook your head, finding it funny that these boys were whispering in front of you but you could still hear them.

“No, I won’t take pictures or spread it to anyone that I bump into you both here- if that’s what you’re worried about,”

Jeongwoo’s eyes still showed that he didn’t trust you enough in your opinion so you went to your bag and took out a small paper bag out of it. You walked up to them and passed it to them, to which they took it with a confused look.

“I was hoping to give that to Hyunsuk-ssi, the leader of your group, but I haven’t seen him around so…if it’s possible, could you guys take it to him?’

Yedam and Jeongwoo exchanged glances with each other. Who is this girl? And why does she have a gift for their Hyunsuk hyung?? Does Hyunsuk hyung have a secret girlfriend they don’t know of??

“I…I’m sorry,” Yedam spoke, “I’m not sure if we can pass gifts to our members…I mean, we’re not sure if our manager allows it, since it’s not a fan event…” Yedam continued, sounding unsure of what he said either.

You chuckled. “I can assure you that’s not a gift. It’s his stuff. But if it might get you both into trouble, I can give it to him myself, no worries,”

Yedam nodded at your explanation. He was about to give the paper bag back to you when Jeongwoo’s phone rang.

“Hello? Ah, hyung! What? No, no, sorry! We’ll be right back! Yup, see you!”

“Who was it?” Yedam asked him.

“It’s Jihoon hyung,” Jeongwoo stuffed his phone into his pocket. “He was worried what took us so long here.”

“Oh right! We better go then!” Yedam turned to you and bowed slightly, “Thank you again for the milk. Our friend would appreciate it.”

“Yes, thank you again.” Jeongwoo said as well.

“Let’s go!” Yedam said to Jeongwoo as the both of them hurried out of the store.

You stood there, lost for words. Didn’t…Yedam said that they could get into trouble for passing stuff to their members from outsiders? But…why was your paper bag still with them when they left?? You started to worry if anything were to happen to them.

Jihoon stood up from his seat, both hands on his hips. “What took you both so long? Did you both get lost or something?”

“Pfft. Both Jeongwoo and Yedam getting lost in a convenience store right outside our building! That’s so funny!” Junkyu bursted out laughing.

Unfortunately for Junkyu, he was the only one laughing at what Jihoon said, as everyone was more focused on Jeongwoo and Yedam who looked like they had sprinted back to the cafeteria.

Jeongwoo was huffing when he approached Jaehyuk, “Here, hyung. Look what we got you! It’s the only one left too,” He handed the banana uyu to his hyung.

Taking the banana milk from Jeongwoo’s hand, Jaehyuk felt touched by his friend’s effort of cheering him up. “Jeongwoo…”

Jaehyuk got up from his seat and pulled Jeongwoo into a hug. “Thank you so much, both of you,” he looked at Yedam as well.

Yedam nodded and smiled at his hyung.

Jihoon was sitting back in his seat when he saw the paper bag in Yedam’s hands. “Hey, Yedam. What’s that in your hands?”

Yedam didn’t realise he was still holding your ‘gift’, in which he gasped out loud when Jihoon pointed it out that the bag was still with him.

Jeongwoo too, was surprised. “Hyung, I thought you gave it back to her?”

“I…I didn’t realise—” this time, Yedam was the one with the panicked look on his face instead of Jeongwoo.

“Wait, what’s in the bag? And who’s her?” Hyunsuk voiced out.

Yedam and Jeongwoo looked at each other. Jeongwoo gestured Yedam to explain to their hyung what happened.

“Well,” Yedam started to speak. He looked at Jeongwoo again. Jeongwoo nodded at him, telling him to go on. “Well hyung, you see…the girl asked me to pass this bag to you. I mean, I told her that I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to pass gifts to any of the members but…well, I think I might have accidentally taken it from her instead.”

Hyunsuk’s eyebrows furrowed. “A gift? For me?”

“No, no hyung. She said it was Hyunsuk-hyung’s stuff, didn’t she?” Jeongwoo confirmed with Yedam.

“Oh yeah, she said it wasn’t a gift. It was your stuff she wanted to pass I think?”

“Huh. I guess I might as well take it then.” Hyunsuk stretched out his hand, expecting Yedam to hand in the paper bag to him.

But then, just as the paper bag almost reached his hands, Jihoon snatched it away from him.

“Jihoon! Come on, that’s mine!” Hyunsuk whined at his friend who was giggling at his reaction.

“Oh come on Hyunsuk, you’re no fun! What are you hiding from us anyways? Who’s this girl you’re seeing behind our backs, huh?” Jihoon smirked.

“What? What are you talking about Jihoon?” Hyunsuk asked in confusion.

To be continued...

#treasure #ygtreasure #treasuremembers #kimjunkyu #kim junkyu #junkyu treasure #junkyu x reader #junkyu fanfic #treasurefic #comedy #romance

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years ago

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Surviving The Titanic (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series, Ch. 16

So, folks, the SC Titanic Zetta x Adele Series is BACK with a new chapter! Thank you so much for your support, hope you enjoy it!

Little disclaimer-favor: especially since the tags don’t seem to be working anymore, if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!

Word Count: 2000+

Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped @storyscapefanficarchive @marmolady @animus-and-anima @hayley-carter19 @escako @everlastingchoices @indescribablechoices @ahrielstuff @bornonawdnsday @nazario-sayeed @h-doodles @adele-serda @marlcasters @brightpinkpeppercorn @michelleconnoly @charliejane-blog @ghost-of-yuri @choicesgremlin @lanzhansguqin @orange-elephants @wonder-falcon

Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon @nydeiri

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15

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Surviving the Titanic. That's the title Richard chose for the picture: melodramatic, short, effective. It goes straight to the point, it's a good call probably. I try to stay away from the press as much as possible before the film is done and let him answer the journalists about this new project. Surviving the Titanic. The day I set foot at the studio I realize I must survive this.

Richard is already there, sleeves rolled up, discussing details with the cameraman while in the background workers are assembling the set design for the first scenes we're shooting: a deck facing the quiet waters of the ocean on a sunny day and a, a bit further, a common hall. They bear a pale resemblance to the lavishness and the grandeur of the real Titanic yet it's enough to ignite a certain sadness inside me. A new wave of grief that I better conceal soon enough: the producers are on their way to greet me. I swallow back my melancholy and flash them my signature smile. When I finally manage to take my leave, I let Richard know I'm here and greet John and the rest of the crew. I even praise the scenographer for his excellent work before heading to my changing room. I sigh in relief as I close the door behind me: I underestimated all this. I underestimated how tough filming this is gonna be. I take off my hat and take a seat at my table. I'm extremely thankful to whoever put a bottle of sherry in my room; I wonder if it was Sabine. I gave her half day off; of course she offered to attend me on set too, but I feel this is something I need to do on my own. I called for it when I wrote the script, after all. The alcoholic sweetness of sherry soothes my thoughts a little. It's fine, I'm a professional...I can do this. However, I feel less confident when a girl brings me my scenic clothes, the scenic clothes Richard and I agreed on for the role: a long dark skirt and an ivory blouse with an elegant silk tie. It doesn't bear even a slight resemblance to the outfit Adele wore on the Titanic: this is impeccable, no poor stitching or cheap fabric, it fits me perfectly unlike hers. Yet my mind races back to the day she walked into my stateroom and I first laid my eyes on hers, unimpressed. How wrong was I back then...but she was quick to make me change my mind with the fire burning underneath her skin. If I could go back to that day and start over, I wince, checking my full figure in the mirror. I finish applying my rouge in complete silence. After one last fix to my hair, I head out of my change room. The activity in the studio is in full swing, almost feverish: we'll be ready to roll in ten, Richard gestures me from afar. As I approach the set, I am greeted by the actress cast to play my fictional sister. In her early twenties, big blue eyes and wavy chestnut hair, 'a huge fan' of mine 'honored to work side by side' with me. I've heard it so many times I struggle to believe it but she looks genuinely excited, surprisingly. I offer her a smile and tell her I was quite impressed by her performance in her latest picture. Even she doesn't look like Hileni at all: too old for the part, too pale, too bubbly. I still remember the way her face twisted in grim skepticism on the boat while we waited in that chilly dark night and how she brightened up immediately as she spotted the Carpathia in the distance. Her endearing shyness when she didn't know how to refers to me and kept calling me 'Miss' or even 'madam' for the whole journey to New York despite me telling her to simply call me by my name. I'm secretly grateful to Richard for interrupting our conversation and my doleful memory lane. "Alright, ladies, we're ready when you're ready" he announces with proud excitement and I can almost feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins. "Now, as I was saying earlier, we will start with the scene on the deck: it's a lovely sunny morning and you just go for a stroll, marvelling of the ocean around you and playing shuffleboard with other passengers...where are the extras? Ah, there, coming...excellent! Then we will have the dancing sequence. I suggest we start it today but we can finish it tomorrow, no hurry. We'll have to wait a few more days for the arrival scene, a delay with the scenic design but no big deal. Any question?" I've always knew Richard is a wonderful director: diligent, scrupulous, focused. He knows what he wants and how to make it happen on celluloid and in this little world on set. And I knew he would have been possibly more attentive this time with a script we co-wrote in his hands...what I didn't know is that I should have probably said no to this project. His enthusiasm, getting back to work after my long break, starting my Renaissance and winning the favor of my fans over again while paying an homage to someone dear to my heart...it all persuaded me to do this. But as days pass, I start doubting my decision. At the end of the first week on set, I am falling apart behind the mask I put on as I walk into the studio. Memories and regret haunt me like relentless spirits. It takes so little to trigger them: a detail of the set design, a word... I'm leaning on the railing of the scenic ship waiting for the light issue to be fixed: it doesn't quite look like moonlight, too bright. I go through what I have to do in the next scene: I spot the iceberg looming in the dark, mouth slightly agape and terror in my eyes as my mind races back to my sister separated from me, I gotta warn her and bring her to safety. Like Adele did. The set goes suddenly dark as technicians keep adjusting and it's more like that last night on board when on a deck unlike this I stole a sweet moment with the woman I love. I turn my head haunted by a memory...as if I was back to that night. "If I'm honest, I don't even want to reach shore, I don't want to go back to the party...I just want to stay out here with you. Forever" "Let's just make a tent of this blanket - we can live off seal meat and rainwater!" The painfully tender smile on Adele's lips as she stroke my cold cheek. "What about your acting career?" "We'll make our own plays. Whaddya say?" A pang of excruciating nostalgia takes hold of me, cutting my breath short. It's almost a physical torture how badly I miss her. I feel a lump forming in my throat and gesture to Richard. "Zetta, are you alright?" he asks, approaching on the other side of the railing. I want to shout that no, I am not and run away to my changing room. But I refrain myself. He places a hand over mine and when I meet his gaze he looks genuinely concerned. "Can you give me five? I'm- I'm just a bit tired, I think". "But of course! Take five" he smiles before getting serious again, pondering. "This is probably a bit overwhelming for you, you were there...I didn't consider it properly" "It's alright, I'll be fine" I reassure him, impatient to take my leave and disappear. "I just need a moment" "Sure...tell you what? Why don't you take a real break? You can go home if you like and come back let's say...after lunchtime? This lightening issue is taking ages to get fixed, you don't need to worry about falling behind or anything" "You sure?" He nods, smiling encouragely. "Yes, darling. Go take care of yourself. I'll see you later. I can call you a car if you'd like" I thank him for his concern but I have a chauffeur waiting. After one last gentle squeeze to my hand, he lets me head back to my changing room. I get out of my scenic costume hastily, as if it was burning coal on my skin, and hastily put on my dress before walking calmly but quickly out of the studio. The back is empty, only me and the late summer wind blowing. I take a deep breath once, twice to swallow back the tears welling my eyes. I can't cry, not now not here. I don't want to cry...especially when the silence is broken by someone opening the door of a nearby building. I don't know whether I should be thankful or not to that stranger walking out with a box in his hands. The more I look at him though he looks oddly familiar. Hold on. He's not a stranger! He's...Lawrence! I call his name and he turns to the sound of my voice. He looks older than I remember, as if he aged all of a sudden. His blue eyes gleam in the sun as he recognises me and a warm yet tired smile cross his lips. We look at each other for a long moment then I run into his arms and give in a tight hug. Half an hour later we sit in front of each other in the private lounge of a fancy cafe not far from the studios. We chat a little as we wait for our drinks and I tell him about Surviving the Titanic. He'll hate it, I know it already, but I sincerely hope he and Felix will accept my invitation to the premiere and the movie party. He looks surprised at first by my offer, almost...touched? He says he will make sure to be there. I flash him a smile and my eyes fall on the box at his side. He follows my gaze and sighs. Before i formulate a proper question, he tells me he has just retrieved his stuff. The producers cancelled his latest project: it was almost done, only a matter of adding the finishing touches but they changed their mind. He smiles grimly, taking a sip of his drink. I know the feeling, I have been there too and I know how much it hurts. It's disheartening to see someone like Lawrence, a brilliant director and a good man, sharing the same experience. It angers me, I wish I could do something for him. When I ask him why, he gives me a searching look. "They don't want their name to be associated with me at the moment. For a while, I think" Seeing the confused look on my face, he informs me of the rumours the press spread over the past few months. Poisonous claims of cowardice during the sinking of the Titanic, of trampling kids to get on a lifeboat, bribing officers to have his life saved instead of waiting behind like a gentleman. "Thought you'd heard the rumours. Everyone believed what the journalists said. Even my wife, my son...he couldn't sleep one night, I couldn't too and he came to me. He looked troubled so I asked him what was wrong and...and he broke into tears asking me why I have always taught him to be a brave boy when I am such a coward" he winces, diverting his eyes to hold back tears. I knew nothing of it. Richard or Sabine must have gotten rid of the articles before I could read them to prevent me from finding out: it's the only explanation I can think of. I reach for his hand across the table. "But none of this is true, Lawrence! These are just vile lies-" "Does it make any difference? Press is the new truth, Zetta..." he notices sombrely. "No, I know the truth and I refuse to believe anyone who knows you believe such bullshit: you and Felix stayed till the very last chance to survive and helped many people to reach the lifeboats!" "Just like you" he smiles. "I can't believe I'm learning this now...but you know what? I will talk to the press. Yes, I will set the record straight and I'll write my lawyers, you can charge those bastards-" Now it's him placing his hand on mine and gently pushing it back. "That's kind of you, Zetta, but please don't. I beg you" "Why? This is outrageous and vile and-" Lawrence shakes his head grimly and adds, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This has nothing to do with what happened on that ship. This has to do with...me" He winces, we both wince as if at unison. He doesn't need to add anything else, I understand immediately what he means. You can't kill rumours but rumours can kill you slowly and there's little you can do about it. Especially if they deal with how close you look to your assistant, how much time you spend together away from your wedding nest, how it's almost like you have a liking for a man in particular. A man. It could be an innocent comment, but it rarely is. Generally it's malicious and poisonous and it can threaten your whole career. We keep quiet for a moment and our silence is filled with a mute mix of sorrow and anger we can't voice. "How's Felix doing?" I ask, offering a sympathetic smile. He seems grateful of the question. He tells me that he's still a bit shaken but working hard on the project. Well, he was working hard for the project they were working on. It seemed to have helped both of them to cope with the grief and the trauma of that night, it kept them busy. "I...I don't know how to tell him that it's over. He will be so sad...I procrastinated and postponed the moment but I can't do it anymore, I suppose. Maybe a bottle of brandy might help?" he says, adding a final smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe" I smile encouragely. "You two should come over for dinner sometime. I wanna hear everything of the project and the next one. And we could finally spend some time together. Richard would love it too, I'm sure. Maybe he can help" He looks surprised by my offer but thanks me. A silence settles between us: I hope he's not thinking I made such offer out of mere courtesy or - worse- pity...I hope he knows me better than this. After a while, he finally speaks again and asks me the last question I could have possibly expected. Well from anyone else, but Lawrence Yarrow. "I've been meaning to ask...how's Miss Carrem doing? Sadly I haven't seen her around since our arrival in New York" I freeze at the sound of my love's name. Lawrence gives me an encouraging look, playing with a ring at his finger. "I hope she recovered from the sinking, somehow. I remember her quite fondly" he adds. He's suggesting me ways to speak but no word comes. It's as if out of the blue I forgot the lines of my script and gasped onstage like a fish desperately grasping for air. And all it took was a mention to Adele. I lower my gaze. "I-I have no idea...I haven't seen her around since our arrival too" "Oh, I thought..." Lawrence doesn't finish the sentence. When I meet his eyes again, he looks saddened and troubled by my answer. No more sad and troubled than me, though. "I...I was actually hoping you had news of her" I add, failing to refrain my own thoughts and blushing slightly even if I am pretty sure there is no need to be embarrassed with Lawrence. "No, I lost sight of her at the pier. She was speaking to an officer, documents stuff I think" he shakes his head, reminiscing that day. Then, he offers me a tentative smile. "Maybe you could write her or visit her. I'm sure she will be happy to hear from you" Yeah, the thoughts occurred me too so many times, almost every night when I poured my heart over letters I never sent. I look at him straight in the eyes. I don't know if this conversation is a good idea but Lawrence is probably the only one I can let my mask fall for a moment when it comes to Adele. He can understand, even better than my little Napoleon. "I don't know, maybe it's better this way" I sigh. I thought I could hold his gaze but apparently I can't. I divert my eyes and the lump I felt in my throat on the set surfaces back. "You don't seem convinced" he comments, lowering his voice. I turn almost abruptly as if stung by a wasp. He's giving me a concerned look, a silent invitation to go on, let it all out. I look over my shoulder and lower my voice too. "What should I tell her, Lawrence? I have never felt more miserable than now! These months away from her, knowing nothing of her, if she's fine, if she's still hurting, if she settled down fine here have been a nightmare. And it's absurd cause I've known her for a week? Even less but I-my mind keeps getting back to those days. To her. I miss her terribly...but I am going to marry Richard in a few months. Let's be painfully honest: what can I offer her? This marriage has to go forward...I want to be with her but I cannot ask her to hide and live half a life as I do. To be what? A secret mistress? No, that would be offensive, both to her and what I feel! So tell me, Lawrence...what should I tell her exactly?" He keeps quiet for a moment, pondering my confession. When he thinks he found an answer, he speaks again. "Maybe you could tell her this?" he suggests, reaching out and giving a gentle squeeze to my hand. I give him a long painful look, fighting with the lump in my throat. "I would only make her suffer. I hate the idea of this marriage, Lawrence, but I need it. If I step back, I'm done. Gone, forgotten, and I'm not ready for it." I sighs and my face falls. "You know that I can't have both her and my career" Lawrence runs his thumb on the back of my hand as he considers how to soothe my pain. He looks into the distance as if lost in a train of thoughts. "The day I met Miss Carrem, she turned down my offer to be filmed. At that time I didn't understand why but Felix insisted to respect her decision. He said: we know what is like to keep secrets" A quick smile cross his face as he reminisces that day and those words, more meaningful to us than to anyone else. "Anyway...she helped us moving our stuff into the library. Once there, she asked us about the year you disappeared, if we knew why. Felix went all protective, he's such a fan of yours...for the whole day he set my ears on fire, repeating how suspicious your new secretary was 'poking around in Zetta's private matters like that'. I disagreed, surprisingly. You know I trust my instinct and she didn't inspire me ominous feelings. Later I understood it how right I was." He continues. "At your party, during your nephew's hysterical act, when he uncovered the deal he made with her, you told that you knew. You knew the whole time because Adele shared it with you, risking everything. I don't know if she ever found out-" "I told her" I say, a painful whisper. "She trusted me with her life, I trusted her with mine" Lawrence is taken aback by my revelation but he recovers quickly. An affectionate smile appears on his lips as he continues. "That's when I understood why she asked. It had nothing to do with James's request, she investigated to protect you. She protected your secret as, I'm sure, you would have protected her own, if James hadn't spilled it out. But that's not all that I remember from that night. Well, your party, at least. We may not be around each other all the time but we've known each other for a while, huh?" He winks, making me smile weakly at him. "Zetta, I have never seen you as radiant as you were that night before the tragedy. I can hardly imagine what you were going through, what depth of grief you were hiding underneath your dashing smile, knowing what sort of surprise your nephew had in store. But you were glowing, the happiest I've seen you in years" The cafe starts crowding, our words are no longer safe from prying ears even if we sit in a discreet corner on the balcony. We observe the people chatting and taking seats nearby in this late summer sun. Soon, Lawrence excuses himself, saying he better go and break the news to Felix. I thank him for his company, a company so dear to me, and we kiss each other on the cheek, like old friends. Before picking up his box and taking his leave, he meets my gaze again. A soft sympathetic smile lingers on his lips. "I cannot tell you what to say or what to do with Miss Carrem" he says, voice low so only I can hear. "I can only tell you what I know". "Enlighten me, my dear friend" I smile weakly at him as he sighs. "Sometimes our secrets are what makes our lives worth living. No matter with what high cost they come attached" And then, he leaves, waving me goodbye before disappearing into the crowd. Yet, his words stay with me for the whole day. For days and weeks, actually. They keep haunting me even when the last day of shootings finally comes to an end and I go hide into my dressing room. I get off my scenic clothes and put on my robe. Then I sit in front of the mirror and remove my makeup slowly, meticulously as Lawrence's words echo in my mind. I have no idea how long I've been there when I hear someone knocking at my door. "Zetta, darling, are you in there?" Richard. I tell him to come in and he obliges. He looks a bit tired but in good spirits. He's happy with how the picture is coming together, he's sure it will be a huge success at the box office. He praises the troupe's work and mine in particular: he kisses my wrist then my cheek whispering I was 'divine'. I feel him smiling against my skin and he doesn't let go of my hand, he plays brushing our fingers together as he takes a seat at the side of the table. A secretary knocks and informs us that they're ready to leave when we're ready; she offers to bring my costumes back to the dressing ward. I thank her and ask her to close the door behind her when she leaves. I resume my previous chore, calmly. Richard follows the with his eyes until the door closes then he turns towards me and gives me a questioning playful look. "So, you wanted me all for yourself?" I bark a laughter: I wish it was that simple. He probably wishes I was that simple too...poor Richard. "Kind of. I wanted to have a word with you but we have been so terribly busy lately" "We're not now. Give me your best shot, love" He shifts to sit more comfortably and nods me to go on. But I can't find words, not the right ones at least, to express what I feel inside. When the silence lingers, the excitement in his eyes inexorably vanishes, replaced by a vague concern. "Is it about the marriage?" he inquires, cautiously. I wince, diverting my eyes. I feel him reaching for my hand and sneezing it gently. "Hey, are you getting cold feet? Don't make that long face, it's pretty common, right?" He throws me his best encouraging smile in the mirror, I see his reflection speaking again as he caresses the back of my hand. "Unless you changed your mind?" He keeps stroking my hand but his voice betrays a concerned doubt. I must break this silence. "No, no of course not, Richard, I didn't change my mind about it" He looks instantly relived: another smile, more hopeful and bright, curls his lips. "It's perfectly natural getting cold feet, sweetheart, don't be so hard with yourself" "Have you?" I ask. He's young, a lifetime commitment might sound overwhelming to him...but youth is bold, their hearts easy to ignite with a stubborn flame. And Richard is a romantic. My question is redundant. "No, not really" he confesses. "Not yet, at least!" he jokes, probably hoping to cheer me up. I smile weakly at his reflection, unable to bring myself to laugh. Richard is a sweet young man, I feel sorry for him, for us. When he speaks again, his voice is less chirp. "What's troubling you, Zetta? Talk to me, please" I take a deep breath. This is harder than I thought... "Richard, dear...you know I don't beat around the bush..." I start. "That's one of the many things I like about you. Shoot" When I turn to face him, he's smiling at me. He must be cold sweating but he's smiling encourangely at me. "Richard, I...I'm afraid I can't love you the way you love me" His face tenses up a little but he's quick to conceal it. "What do you mean, love?" He doesn't know, I hid myself well. "You have the best qualities a man, a future husband could have: you're kind, sweet, romantic, you're passionate and have talent, more talent than half of the people in the movie business I know. You have dreams, ambition and a vision...but-" I pause, lowering my eyes. I ponder how far I can push myself, what words I should use...what I should say him. When I think I have found the right compromise between truth and secrecy, I look back into his eyes. "...but I'm not like the other women. I tried but I can't be. I-I'll never be the wife you look for, I can't be that type of woman and wife..." He listens to me carefully then meets my gaze in the mirror. To my surprise, he shrugs, smiling. "But I know that. I always knew it...even when I proposed you. Scratch that, even when I first met you" I am not sure he knows - or at least fully understood - why I am not like the other women but he surely must have come to notice some of my walls. My genuine - yes, I truly care for this romantic fool - yet rather cold affection, my not feeling the urge to hold his hand or spend ever day and every night together. By the way he looks at me, he must have found an explanation of its own. "You're a free spirit, a rare bird that cannot be put in a cage to be admired. Do it and the poor creature will die. You're stronger and more independent than that. To be honest, it's one of the things I love most about you" His smile becomes suddenly shy, flustered. "Like in Small-Town Showgirl, you remember?" I offer a weak smile to his endearing naivety. "I'm not a character of a picture, Richard" "Oh I know, still you remind me of her, that's all. But listen, dear, dearest Zetta" and he stands, moving behind me and placing his hands on my shoulders. "I know we will most likely be an unconventional married couple to some. I know you will need time and space on your own, to go on a trip without me or simply to be parted for some time. I know that maybe you will ask for things I will not understand at first and who know she? I might do it too, maybe we will quarrel from time to time like any married couple I know but...but to me it's still worth it, if it is for you. If I ever wanted to a wife all blind obedience, apron and rosary, I would have never fallen in love with you in the first place, don't you think?". I place my hand over his own and give it a squeeze, thankful. He continues. "We can be an artistic couple as Art is what brought us together, our shared consuming passion for the world of picture. A...partnership, like a painter with his muse. You're pretty much my Muse, I told you so, right? You inspire me and see what we crafted together, from scratch, working side by side? To me, this picture is the perfect prologue to our wedding". "I can't think of anything better than an artistic partnership, my dear. I promise you I will try not to put a fight too often" We look at each other then burst into a laughter. He didn't figure me out completely but if that's what he looks for, I can try and be a good Muse-wife for romantic Richard. It's all I can do for him since I cannot give him my heart. It belongs to someone else. "Thank you for hearing me out, darling. It means a lot" "Anytime, my sweet bride-to-be" He leans down and kisses the crown of my head. "I'll wait for you in the car while you change into your dress?" "Thanks, I'll be quick, promise" He makes to leave but stops on the threshold. "Or I can stay and help you-" I laugh again, throwing him a look in the mirror before turning towards him. "How dare you, Mr. King! That's not the kind of service to offer to a respectable lady!" I gape, amused. I playfully throw him a scarf that ushers him out of the door, laughing. At times I feel sorry for Richard...as well as for myself. Will we be happy as an unconventional couple as he put it? Will we be too unconventional for his liking? Will I be too much? At least, I've been as honest as I could with him. He's a good fella, he deserves it. As for me...I think I should find out if Lawrence is right about our secrets. I must find Adele.

#titanic storyscape #zetta serda #adele carrem #zetta x adele #zetta x adele series

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chidoroki · 4 years ago

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Head empty, pre-TPN season 2 thoughts only.

Normally I don’t even bother with hiding spoilers but since the new season is so close I’ll put everything below a cut (if tumblr cooperates) because I do want anime-onlys to enjoy the season with as little knowledge to what madness is about to happen as possible. This is just a bunch of notes that filled my head over the past couple days.. weeks? A long time.. and if I didn’t write them all down somewhere I wouldn’t stop thinking about them.. so if you understand this whole mess, then kudos to you.

So, here’s your post-season 1/ch37+ spoiler warning.

Demon language:

With Mujika and Sonju making their grand first appearances, I hope actually implement the demon language this time?

The only word spoken in the language in season 1 was the demon god’s name, which was just changed to “Him” (sub) or “The One” (dub), so ignoring it there was fine.

Granted, our demon friends don’t say much in their language during the upcoming arc, aside from this moment in ch48, but I can see the anime passing it off as a mere whisper between the two of them just so they don’t have to worry about it.

I don’t recall any of the GP poachers using the language though.. right? Pretty sure they don’t..

Anyways, all I’m saying is that they better figure something out by the Ayshe shows up way later in future seasons.

Episode count? 24?

Short answer: I don’t think so? Did once, but stuff happened. Anyways..

Season 1 ended in March 2019, which is also when we learned we were getting a second season and once we found later on that S2 was originally going to air in October 2020, I immediately thought we were getting about 24 eps.

I thought with all that time between seasons, 24 eps would be reasonable and that S2 would end at ch101. S1 managed to adapt 37 chapters, so 64 chapters in a season twice as long sound decent enough, right?

By the time we reach ch101, it would give us the demon forest, shelter B06-32, Goldy Pond and the short trip to Cuvitidala. (all of which would make this long wait for s2 sooo worth it btw.)

By this point we learn a bunch about the outside world, Norman being alive, what happened to Phil, and the demon bastard himself.

I bring up ch101 as a stopping point because it’s the last chapter before the two year time skip and.. I honestly can’t see them doing a time skip mid-season?

I mean, they could if they wanted to, I guess? Having everyone age up suddenly between episodes via a montage, a quick summary or even flashbacks of what we missed.. but maybe at the start of a season? Not in the middle.

Right now we know anime original scenes are going to be included into season 2 so I’m kinda hoping that once we do eventually reach the time skip we learn more about the search Emma’s group went on for T7W/golden water/temples.

I counted. If S2 does indeed get this many episodes, ep23 (or 22, if there’s a break in between somewhere or whatever) will land on my birthday and you can bet I’ll be beyond happy

HOWEVER! all the hope I once had about a 24ep season vanished due to the clusterfuck that was 2020. Thanks to the worldwide pandemic, many anime were put on hold and pushed back several months, with TPN airing this month rather than the original October date.

It was a bummer hearing about the delay at first but I never complained about it. I much rather have the studios prioritize their employee’s health over production.

Even if S2 did reach ch101, or even Goldy Pond, they would need to find a ton of new voice actors, and with how the world is working now.. eh, I have some doubts.

Cloverworks also has two other series airing this month aside from TPN so needless to say they’ll be a bit busy, especially if employees are still working from home, social distancing, or however they’re managing to produce these anime.

So, episode count.. 12?

The main reason I have a hard time grasping the idea of another 12ep season at all is because.. I don’t know where it’ll be a decent place for it to stop?

S1 ending at ch37 with the kids escaping? Perfect. You can’t question that decision. But now? When a whole bunch of craziness is about happen? How do you choose another perfect moment to end a season with?

No matter how many anime original scenes they have planned for the demon forest, I believe we’ll at least reach B06-32, which will get us to ch52.

Could they go farther? Sure. Perhaps ending at ch59-60? It would leave us off with Emma & Ray leaving the comfort of the shelter to follow Yuugo into yet another demon infested forest, much like how S1 left off, as the escapees left their once safe, comfortable life into the unknown world.

Or end at ch64? After Emma gets snatched by the poachers? It could work. It would certainly leave everyone wanting more, especially us manga readers because goddamn the GP arc would be SO close!

Perhaps ch74 after seeing Norman alive? Just so it’s not a big darn secret anymore to those who are going into this season blind? (how do people manage to stay anime only? i’m not trying to make anyone feel bad.. i’m just impressed? i caught up to the manga right after s1 because i didn’t have the self control to wait!)

Ending on that chapter would be so bittersweet to me.. because you know what appears in ch75 and it’s literally one of the only things I care about.

S2 preview trailers already teased some of the demon forest scenes I’m most excited about, so the only things left that will truly excite me are Yuugo and that darn outfit. (seriously, whenever we do get to see emma in her gp outfit for the first time, someone better scream at me so i can die from happiness.)

Okay, and all the GP kids too.. especially their trio!

Could they fit the Goldy Pond arc into a 12 episode season along with every other event that came before it? I.. seriously hope not?

Compared to s1, which was very dialogue heavy, GP is about as action packed as we’re gonna get in the near future, and those scenes are going to fly by once they get put into motion.

Quick example (because it was recent and i can’t think of something else atm): the Overhaul arc from My Hero Academia. Off the top my head it was about 40 total ch? That arc took up half of the show’s S4, which was a total 25 eps.

So with the GP ending at ch96, it’ll give us about 20-30 chapters (depending on where you personally see the start of this arc I guess? once yuugo leads the duo through the forest, when emma gets snatched or when the battle actually starts)

If GP were to happen in s2 where there’s 12 episodes.. literally everything would be so fast paced and I don’t want them to rush anything or leave stuff out?

Other options?

It’s very wishful thinking and I would be getting my hopes up for nothing, because I know it won’t happen, but I could possibly see them fitting GP arc if S2 was made up of 18eps?

6 eps for the demon forest, 6 for Goldy pPond, the remaining 6 to accommodate B06-32, Cuvitidala and any other anime original scenes as they wish.

Although fitting about 64 chapters into 12-18 episodes sounds a bit much.. but not really? I seriously have no idea at this point how much story we’re going to cover this season.

Could I perhaps place all my hopes towards a second cour later this year? Like for the summer.. or would I be expecting too much?

This all could’ve been avoided if they just tell us! Seriously, I’ve been thinking about episode count since last year.. and now you have to deal with this mindless chatter of mine.

I’d honestly be okay with another 12ep season though. We waited this long that I’ll just be excited to see all the children again.

Anime-only scenes:

Those 3 days the children spent learning from our demon friends? Yes please! Did you know Emma not only learned how to use a bow and arrow but a freakin’ harpoon as well? Like.. hello?? I must see this!

Perhaps they’ll even adopt some of the extra pages from some of the chapters, like they did in S1 with the flashback of Norman being sick in ep10.

I know this will be such a high hope, but I remember in ch177 how Emma claims that after they escaped, they all remembered how kind Isabella really was, so if they decide to adapt the extras from ch41-42 & ch45, I’ll cry.

And these pages? Cloverworks, please..

I’m literally begging here..

Especially these two! Even though I still doubt we’ll reach Goldy Pond if we get 12eps.. but in the future! Please!

Other random nonsense:

I may or may not get emotional upon seeing Isabella at the very start when she goes to confront Grandma Sarah. If her hair is kept down as it was at the end of S1 then I’ll give the anime staff my sincere thanks.

We only heard 15 seconds of “Identity” and yet it has been living in my head rent free ever since that trailer dropped. I need to hear the full song sooo damn badly, y’all have no idea.

Here’s hoping they don’t cut out the inner monologues again. At this moment I don’t remember any specific ones from the demon forest I want to see but I’m sure they’re present.

I’m ready to die at every cute Chris moment they give us.. and this entire scene where the kids scold Ray.

Literally every scene with Emma & Ray. They’re my top 2 favorites from this series okay? Of course I’m going to fangirl over them. (they already showed the hug in one of the trailers and i damn near cried)

If we see him, (which i’m sure we will, but i still have tiny some doubts) I hope they give Yuugo a fantastic voice actor.

Also, his nicknames for everyone!! Literally everything about that man I’m hyped for.

Again, very doubtful we’ll get GP in a 12ep season, but whenever that arc decides to grace us with its presence, “63194” better play on full blast when ch92-93 gets animated.

Speaking of music, while I’m completely excited to hear the new OST that Obata has in store for us (thank god he’s doing this season again btw!), I hope we hear some of those unused tracks from the first season, specifically “Their Own Thoughts.”

Every time Emma mentions their future, their goals or how her family will always be together, I’ll cry. (thanks demon god and your stupid reward)

Yes I’ll be doing those reaction posts (if you follow me i’m sure you’ve seen them by now) after every new episode as I do with other series I watch.. once I survive the usual long day at work, avoiding anything TPN related so I can watch in peace and quiet when I finally get home.. damn it, im already so anxious, help.

#the promised neverland #chidoroki used chatter

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nerdypanda3126 · 5 years ago

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It’s Complicated - Ch. 5

My apologies for the delay on this one! Brief warning: this chapter does briefly detail a panic attack caused by a PTSD flashback. There's a summary at the bottom for those of you who might feel uncomfortable reading through, but still want to keep up with the story.

Read on Ao3 Ch. 1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch. 4 Ch. 6

Chapter 5: Tangled Threads

Marinette swipes through her phone, reviewing the selfies she and Kagami had taken and looking for one to post. They all look about the same except for… that one. Kagami is hiding a giggle with her hand in that one. She leans over to show Kagami, but Kagami isn’t paying attention. Her eyes are across the deck, and she tilts her head to the space next to her.

She follows Kagami’s eyes and of course she’s staring at Adrien. Who wouldn’t stare at Adrien? As Marinette watches, he starts to blush and his hand goes behind his head in his all too familiar gesture. She drops her eyes quickly, terrified she’s intruded on some moment they were having. She’ll have to get used to this at some point. And Kagami and Adrien are kind of cute together. He really does seem to like her.

Besides, she thinks, she’s not much different from the probably hundreds of fans that will be disappointed when the news comes out about them. The only difference is that she’ll still have Adrien as a friend. And that’s better than not knowing him at all, any day. She captions the picture and posts it. She can show Kagami later, after the band performs.

When Marinette looks back up, everyone is starting to take their places on stage. Everyone except… where did Adrien go? The spot behind the keyboard is empty. She swivels her head, searching for him, but he’s nowhere on deck. Maybe he went below for something? She nudges Kagami. She had been watching, she would know.

“Did you see where Adrien went?”

“He talked to Nino and then he left.” Kagami has an unusual strain in her voice.

He left? But he was here with Kagami. Why would he just leave without her? Marinette is about to open her mouth to ask if Kagami's okay when Tikki nudges her thigh from inside her purse. It's the signal they've worked out for when Chat pings her if she's not Ladybug.

Now. He wants to talk to her now? He's had all week, but he chooses this moment. She shakes her head out of pure frustration. For a second, her concern for Adrien spars with her worry for Chat. She sneaks a glance at Alya. She's setting up her phone to record the band. Not an akuma, then. Alya has an alert on her phone set to go off for akumas. Maybe Chat can wait?

She makes her way over to Nino.

"Hey, Nino, do you know where Adrien went?"

Nino doesn't look up from his work, nodding along to the sound checks in his headphones. "He said he wasn't feeling well. He'll be back for the second set."

Well that explains nothing. But at least he'll be back soon. Tikki presses against her thigh again. She has to go meet Chat. Whatever he needs to say, it must be important.

"I'm gonna go... check on Adrien. Yeah. I'll be back."

Nino lowers his headphones and raises his eyebrows. He glances over to Alya and Marinette knows they're sharing that automatic communication they have. Maybe that wasn't her best excuse, but it was the quickest one she could come up with.

"You should definitely go check on him. Not that you should say anything else to him, though, because what else would you need to say to him, right? Just go and check on him and...make sure he’s okay." Nino finally says. She turns to look back at Alya, and Alya stops miming for Nino to shut up before she flashes Marinette a thumbs up. Oh. Oh. Right. She gives a weak thumbs up back before she speed walks away to transform.

***

When she swings onto the viewing platform of the Eiffel Tower, Chat is sitting with his legs dangling off the edge, swinging his heels back and forth, reclined back on his palms. He would almost look relaxed if it weren't for his tail twitching across the roof. He's thinking hard about something. One of his cat ears flicks towards her when she lands. He knows she's there. She takes a seat next to him without saying anything.

After a beat or two of silence, she can't stand it anymore. She reaches over to jingle the bell at his neck.

"You rang?"

He stiffens at her touch before he sighs deeply, looking down at the space on the roof between their hands. He’s never been this quiet. Her worry is increasing by the second, each one dragging out indefinitely.

Finally, he meets her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

"You know you can tell me anything."

"Right. Well, this is a bit awkward for me. I guess I just… I don't know. I'm confused."

She nods. She'd been expecting this conversation. And it makes more sense that he would want to come out to Ladybug. He's spent more time with her, as far as he knows. She settles her face into a neutral expression, hoping she can be there for him. She'll probably have to pull it out of him. As much as Chat talks, he hardly stays serious for long.

"Was there a question in there?" She prompts him, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers. He bumps back half-heartedly.

"You have to promise you won't get mad."

"Why would I ever be mad at you, kitty?"

His cat ears flatten against his head. "I… might've made a civilian friend. As Chat Noir."

Wait, hold up. Chat's been visiting Luka, too? How much free time does this cat have, anyways? Okay, calm down, let him talk.

"And this friend. You care about them?"

"Well, obviously, yeah. But I went to visit her the other night-"

Her?

"-and she was making something for this other boy. Something really special. She's never made anything like that for me before. And it’s not that I expect her to or anything, it just… caught me off guard, I guess. Because I know how much she likes him."

Tikki was right. Chat's feelings had changed, but it wasn't for Luka. He was jealous of Marinette. That's why he ran off. That's why he hasn't been back to see her. That's why he's confused. Deep breaths. Calm down. He can't know how badly she's freaking out.

"And then when I saw what she made him… it's beautiful, Bug, she's so talented. It's amazing. She's amazing."

She hadn't shown Chat the final product. He hadn't been back to see her. There is no way—absolutely no way—he could know what she made. Unless…

It was just their small group on the boat tonight when she gave that jacket to Luka. Only one of them was missing when she left to transform. One who made a lame excuse before disappearing. One who was very vague about where he was going.

Adrien.

Which explains a lot. Like how Chat Noir figured out she was Ladybug before. Because Adrien figured it out before. And she knows the consequences of Chat Noir knowing her secret identity. Is this how it happens this time?

She glances around as he continues, only half processing him talking about his dilemma. Eiffel tower. Moon is rising. Chat Noir is beside her. She starts scanning for purple butterflies on the horizon.

"I guess what I'm trying to ask is, do you think we’ll ever be more than just partners?"

She blinks back into the present, back to his pleading green eyes.

It was our love that did this to the world.

She scrambles to her feet, backing away, putting as much distance as she can between them. Chat turns and stands to follow her, and the movement is too similar. In her mind, she sees the white suit instead of the black. Blue eyes burning from behind his mask. He walks towards her with open arms, his palms out, concern written plainly on his face. He doesn't know. He doesn't understand. Her heart is jumping from her throat to her ears, and the white noise of her blood rushing is all she hears.

He’s still coming towards her. She puts out a hand to stop him, and he does, dropping his arms to his sides. She can see the hurt written on his face. He had asked her not to get mad but she can’t form the words to tell him what’s happening. That she’s not mad. That it’s not his fault. That she does love him.

That she's loved him before.

"Ladybug?"

Her breath releases in a whoosh, and she drags in another one. First there's the relief of not hearing her name. Almost instantly replaced by her guilt for reacting like she did. She blinks back the tears springing to her eyes, hiding her face with her hands.

"I'm so sorry, Chat. I thought I could do this, but I just can't. I'm so sorry. I can't."

"Milady, talk to me. What's wrong?"

She uncovers her eyes, and he's her partner again, the one who's been by her side through everything. She wishes she could tell him. She opens her mouth to speak again but no words come out. Instead she rushes into his arms, needing the solid comfort of his heartbeat. He's stunned for a moment before he wraps his arms tightly around her shoulders, pressing her to him and resting his chin on her head.

"It's you and me against the world, Milady. Always."

She takes a deep breath in, holding it before letting it out slowly. A rumbling purr starts deep in his chest. She had come here to help him, and here he is comforting her. Her tears start to fall, pooling between her cheek and his chest. She should tell him. She has to. If she explains, he’ll understand. She pulls away from him and wipes her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Chat. I promise I'll explain. Just… not right now, okay?"

"I trust you," he says, and she can almost feel his unwavering confidence in her. She squeezes his hand once before she pulls out her yoyo. She realizes she doesn't know where she wants to go. She doesn't want to leave him like this, but she can't stay.

She wishes she could go home and curl up in her bed under her covers. But she needs to get back to the concert before Adrien. She needs to act as normal as possible. Just get through tonight and they'll talk later.

With her destination in mind, she slings her yoyo as far as she can, glancing back at Chat once before swinging away.

***

Summary: Marinette notices that Adrien isn't on the boat anymore. When she asks Nino where he went, he tells her Adrien wasn't feeling well and left. Chat is trying to get ahold of Ladybug, so as an excuse to leave and transform, Marinette tells Nino she'll go check on Adrien. When she meets Chat Noir as Ladybug, Chat tries to explain that he's confused because Marinette made that jacket for Luka and unknowingly exposes his identity as Adrien. Marinette is worried about a Chat Blanc repeat and struggles with telling Chat (who she now knows is Adrien) they can't be together. Chat comforts her enough that she can yoyo away back to the concert.

***

@celestethegoddess

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #mlb fic #marinette dupain cheng #kagami tsurugi #ladynoir #identity reveal #angst with a happy ending #it's complicated fic

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libermachinae · 5 years ago

Text

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 6, Peace

Also available on AO3! Notes: @prowlweek Coming to the end here! Can’t wait for tomorrow’s prompt, which *checks watch* I haven’t started writing yet.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

There was something different this time. The push of the timestream was still there, its resistance to invasion, but now it felt confused. Hook’s legs were being pulled backward while his chest was lifted, his left arm drawn to his side. None of it was wholly uncomfortable yet, but the variety of sensations made it harder than usual to keep track of which way was up. He knew there was no choice but to keep moving forward, even as the building pressure started to remind him of that last fight with Victorion, feeling on the edge of victory only to be torn away from Long Haul without warning.

“Prowl!” he yelled, and the sound made his spark stutter. He’d never tried to talk in the timestream before, and it sounded like Soundwave’s multi-layered vocalizations, his own voice piled on top of itself many times over and bellowed into an echoless void.

He needed to get out. The timestream, empty and endless as it was, felt like it was pressing in on him, and there was nowhere to go. At the place where there should have been an end to the tunnel, an opening into whatever time Prowl had ejected himself into, there was nothing but more fragmentary space. There no footsteps in the timestream.

Hook wondered if this might be the end. He would be part of a legacy, anyway: dying in a state of heightened confusion, far away from the team. There were real reasons to be scared and upset about that, but the only thing he could think was that, having gone from prison to battle to hospital, they hadn’t even had a chance for a good frag before all this went down. He was going to die, and the main things on his mind were Long Haul’s tires. Great.

“Prowl!” he yelled again, bearing the unease caused by the sound of his voice. “It doesn’t have to be like this!”

“It does, Hook.”

The voice was so close. Hook whipped around, trying to find its source, but the familiar Praxian frame did not reveal itself. Space twisted around, obfuscating the way he’d come, and Hook became dizzy. There was no up anymore, no forward. Just time, its crystalline branches weaving over each other, incredible patterns that Scavenger or Mixmaster might have called beautiful. He thought of the possibility that he take an exit, the first one he came across, and just live through whatever time he ended up in. He survived the war once; he could do it again.

He’d come to get Prowl, though. He couldn’t leave without him.

“Come on,” he said, optics searching as though Prowl might be behind a spiderwebbing fragment. “That’s slag. I fragged up, but we can fix it.”

“You can’t fix this, Hook.”

He felt it like a blunt blow to his pride.

“What would you know?” he demanded.

Something shifted, its ripple out of time with the rest of movements of the timestream. Hook’s optics darted down to it, and he watched as the walls of time shivered and cracked, beams of darkness breaking through. Hook stumbled toward them, barely able to remember how his legs worked, his systems were to delirious with relief. Five windows opened, just the right size to peer into the times beyond.

“Enough,” Prowl said.

Hook couldn’t make sense of the scene at first. It was Cybertron, of course, but free of bullet hole pockmarks. Their missions had so attuned him to pre-war Cybertron that he didn’t immediately recognize the post-war (or at least the closest they’d come) landscape, though in time his processor did manage to make sense of it. It was somewhere in the depths of New Iacon, the sewer systems and maintenance lines that the Decepticons had made their base for a while.

Prowl stepped into view, still wearing his old frame. His optics were bright with stress and his doorwings arched high, but there was an air about him Hook wasn’t familiar with. The way he carried himself, dove so confidently around each corner, was removed from the mech he knew, who clunk through the shadows with the grace of a cybercat. Hook’s spark stirred again, though he brushed it off as the unnatural forces still toying with his frame.

He made to reach in, pry open the window a little wider so he could escape to freedom, but found that it would not allow entrance, an invisible force holding his hand back. He grunted in frustration.

“Prowl, what gives?”

“Just look,” the voice said, distant and yet chillingly, intimately close.

He shifted to the next window, wondering if maybe Prowl was waiting for him there. Instead, it was another scene, another Prowl. Above ground, under the Cybertornian sun, wielding a gun half his own height. So proud, so radiant, the sight drew an exvent out of Hook.

“Don’t get distracted, Hook,” Prowl said. “That’s not me.”

What? Of course it was. When Hook humored Prowl and looked closer, though, he thought he understood what was meant. The armor was different from the one shown in the last window, enhanced and bulked up to match the demands of his soon-to-be gestaltmates. His optics (two!) were as piercing as ever, but unlike the tactician Prowl, who took every opportunity to survey a situation and formulate evolving strategies, these were hard, intended solely to challenge anyone who returned their gaze. Hook remembered at last that Bombshell was the one behind them here, that It was his cruel smile twisting Prowl’s neutral features. The most uncanny part of it, though, were the rigid doorwings. Even as he spoke, inaudible through the peephole, and gesticulated to his onlookers, the doorwings were fixed, mute.

“Eugh,” Hook said.

“You understand?”

Hook glanced up, though there was still no one there.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You don’t believe me, that this is beyond your ability to fix,” Prowl said. “I’m showing you proof.”

Prowl’s processor was big, beautifully complex, able to solve problems with such elegance the rest of the swooned. But he was being shortsighted when he claimed there was nothing they could do. They were a team of builders, able to fix pretty much anything, and they did it together. Though they might have been temporarily pulled apart, Prowl just needed to come out of hiding and they would prove it to him.

Instead, he just said, “Keep going,” and Hook was obliged to obey.

He knew the next window before the entire scene had come into view. It was one of his favorite memories, one of the few he’d kept locked up tight during Scoop’s brief stint with the team: Megatron gave the order to combine, and after months of laying low, Devastator’s components came together again. The feeling of reconnecting had been like a rush of sweet coolant through Hook’s lines, and then invigorating energon, as a new mind swept them up with its incredible power.

Except, here, that perfect moment of synchronicity was delayed, and instead the view swept down. It found Prowl, splayed on the ground, screaming. All the way through that first transformation, as the power of combination lifted him into his place as Devastator’s head, his expression was warped in agony. Hook stared the whole way through, until the silent screams were encased within Prowl’s own body, folded and reshaped into the head of their combined forms. When Devastator’s mouth opened, it was to bellow with rage.

It… unsettled him. Hook had always known that first combination had been without Prowl’s consent, but the bliss that followed, Devastator’s purpose reborn, swept over his limited misgivings. Now, Prowl’s expression permanently etched in his memory core and knowing that Prowl had intended it so, the misgiving crept back in.

“You didn’t want to be a part of us at first, I get it,” Hook said as he moved to the next window. “But that’s not really unusual. Long Haul didn’t want to combine either, when Megatron first told us about it. You learn to like it more as time goes on, though, right?”

The next scene, not far ahead at all: Cybertron under siege from Shockwave’s assault, Metroplex barely holding out and in need of backup. Prowl looked up, into the sky, and Hook swore he saw his optics flicker the moment he made his decision. A second later, he gave his first order to combine.

“After that first time combining, though, things change,” Hook said. “You see each other, and then you can never imagine yourselves apart again.”

He hovered by that window, watching as Devastator met Monstructor head on, his rage and brutality underscored by a long-term strategy the rest of the team hadn’t been prepared for. The first time they’d combined with Prowl had been good, but this was the moment that had made them realize that they needed to keep their new teammate, that he was going to be a part of them forever, the same way Scrapper still was. He missed it, he realized, that moment of epiphany. It had been less than a cycle before they disconnected again, but in his memory, it stretched out, a breathtaking expanse of violence he wanted so badly to reclaim.

Prowl sighed, though it was more like Hook felt it than an actual noise he heard. Before his optics, the window stitched itself closed again, empty space left where one the chaos of battle had waged. To either side of him, the others did the same, once more enclosing Hook in the timestream.

“I hoped I would be able to show you and you would understand, but I guess I forgot what you used to be like.”

There was direction to the voice now. Hook whipped around.

“Prow—you’re not Prowl.”

The mech, standing a dozen or so meters away, had an all-black paint sceme and stood at eye-level with Hook. He was a vehicle, likely a car of some sort, but it was a queer blend of Cybertronian and Earth design, rubberoid wheels embellished with thick treads. His posture could have been described as casual or confident, Hook couldn’t decide which, though his doorwings twitched faintly.

The luxurious black was was so silky that the mech’s features faded against the bright background, though the matte gray Autobrand centered stark on his chest. The other most visible features were his gray faceplate and purple optics, frame under a familiar red chevron.

“…are you?”

The doorwings fluttered up.

“That’s my name, yes,” he said, the grin he bore making Hook doubt himself again.

“But you’re not my Prowl.”

“I am who ‘your Prowl’ is going to become,” he said. “I’ve come from your future.”

“Neat,” Hook said, and immediately wanted to punch himself in the face. Prowl was here, dropping revelations like that, and the best he could come up with was ‘neat’?

The smile, though, did not fade, even as Prowl strode forward to collapse the distance between them. Hook startled when the hand came up, fingers resting against the side of his helm, tilting it like he was a fine weapon being observed.

“You’re nervous,” future Prowl said.

“Yeah.” Prowl’s fingertips were smooth on his plating, barely making a sound as they glided along the delicate seams. “You said you were going to kill me a few minutes ago. Uh, years? How far in the future you from?”

“Several centuries.”

“Ah.” They caressed his audial receptors, the curve of his jaw. Was Prowl looking for something, a stasis switch hidden in the nook between lower jaw and throat cables? He didn’t know of anything like that on his frame, but it seemed more likely than what his processor desperately wanted to believe this was.

“Is the team, you know, still together?” he asked.

“That’s what I’m here to address, actually,” Prowl said, his hand pulling back with a final brush along Hook’s cheek. He could not help that his optics trained to the hand as it returned to his side, though the steady purple glow of Prowl’s optics eventually regained his focus. “This moment is a turning point, Hook. The team is about to enter a new phase in its legacy, and it’s on you to determine how this transition resolves.”

“Me?” No, that couldn’t be right. That wasn’t how they did things; they were a team, they smashed through their problems together. Yes, he’d decided that retrieving Prowl would be his responsibility, but there should still have been time to go get the others before anything important happened. “Shouldn’t we all be here for that?”

“No. You were alone when you found me,” Prowl said.

“Yeah, but I can go grab them and—”

“I mean the first time,” Prowl interrupted. “My first time. Your second.” Hook’s (voluntary) lack of comprehension must have shown, because Prowl sighed and tilted his head. That smile was back, and it didn’t seem to be mocking. “You’re about to go find him. I know, because I remember it happening.” He said it like a conspiracy.

Something inside Hook was rattling. Not audibly, but he swore he could feel it, a deep feeling that was probably going to shake his frame until it fell apart, limbs and plating in an undignified heap in this nowhere place.

“So, I’m going to go get the real—present—my Prowl, and I’m going to do… something that causes him to become,” he waved his hands in front of the tall, black mech, “this.”

There was a glimmer in Prowl’s optics, a tremble in his doorwings, but his vocalizer stayed silent. Hook sagged.

“Come on, Prowl, what do I do?” he asked.

Nothing.

“I don’t want to mess up.” He hoped it didn’t sound like he was begging. “You’re from the future, you know everything.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Prowl asked with a shrug. “That you find me, make a few more empty promises, and that’s what convinces me to come back to the present? That we finish up the mission, lock up our culprit, and spend the rest of our lives as Windblade’s secret task force?”

He advanced a step closer.

“Or the one where we leave Earth entirely? Travel from planet to planet, mercenaries one day and construction crew the next. Cybertronians are still generally disliked by most of the galaxy, so we spend nights piled up in whatever seedy motel won’t rat us out to the local militia.”

Another step. The rattling grew more violent.

“Our relationship gets pushed back to square one. We learn from the mistakes of our past, make more in the future, and figure out how to put together something that works. We stop letting the trauma that first brought us together continue defining what we could be to each other.”

Hook’s vents caught when he heard that word, though Prowl’s voice was so hushed he almost missed it. They were so close; he would only have to lean forward to…

But he stopped himself. He needed to know, first, “Do we ever combine again?”

This close, Hook could see Prowl’s lenses as they contracted, narrowing as he straightened himself into the rigid, unreadable posture Hook was more familiar with. Not mission relevant, he guessed, but not irrelevant, either. The futures Prowl described sounded… weird, but good. The team stayed together, got work doing things they were good at. He didn’t know how he felt about their employers, Autobots or aliens, but he could handle anyone if it meant he was with the whole team.

Could if be whole, though, if they were missing their giant, invisible seventh? The thought stung, a sharp pinch he felt in his inactive combination ports. To never again feel Long Haul’s ambition, Mixmaster’s curiosity, Bonecrusher’s protectiveness, Scavenger’s blend of emotions they’d never been able to put words to… Prowl’s brilliance… When they combined, the best parts of his favorite mechs flowed into him, meshed with his own processor to produce something greater, a feeling that they would never have to worry about being alone. Combining had become the means by which they understood each other, and even if they stayed together for centuries, he couldn’t see how they would last through millennia without it.

This was fear, he realized, even as the rattling inside of him stilled.

“Hook.” Gentle hands on his frame again: one back to cradling his helm, the other squeezing his arm, rubbing glyph-like patterns along the plating. Unfamiliar though they were, Hook found himself leaning into the touches. “Remember, that was all hypothetical. I can’t tell you what happens in the future. But I can tell you this: it’s good. No, better than that. It’s peaceful.”

“What does that mean?” Hook asked, even as his optics threatened to power down. When was the last time they’d recharged?

“What do you think it means?”

Prowl didn’t want to kill them. They fragged a lot. All the pests left them alone. They made a living working hard, working for themselves, without Shockwave or Starscream or Autobots telling them what to do. They were together.

If he was being honest, though, then Prowl probably knew all of that, and there were more pressing matters.

“What am I supposed to do with all this?” Hook asked.

His gaze had shifted down. He realized this when gentle persuasion from Prowl’s hand had him look up again, and he was met with those unfamiliar purple optics.

“You were on the right track,” Prowl said. “You go find me, and you say what needs to be said. We go from there.”

“But what is it? What do I say?” He didn’t care anymore if it sounded like begging; this was too important. He couldn’t screw it up. For as weird as this Prowl was, the futures he described sounded worthwhile. Hook wanted it, he realized, regardless of whether they could combine. It would be more work, to learn how to know each other without a direct connection, but it would be worth it to keep Prowl in their lives. For a few centuries, forever, anywhere in between, would be worth it.

Prowl’s expression softened again, his doorwings giving little flutters, and Hook wondered if he’d somehow revealed what he was thinking anyway.

“You’re going to keep this secret for a long time,” Prowl said. “From the other Constructicons, and especially from me. Once we’re collectively in a steadier place, then you’ll tell me about it. You need to tell me about this conversation, and that I need to trace our steps back through the mission and doctor things, a bit.”

“You…”

“Just a few details, to make me notice you all more, question some conclusions I’d come to,” Prowl specified. “Trigger one of Mesothulas’ experiments to combust; make Bonecrusher think I’m about to walk into a firefight.”

“You were the one leading me around Cybertron!” Hook gasped. “When you—past you took off, you knew where to find him!”

“My directions were a little off, but I got you there in time,” Prowl agreed. He sighed, a pleasant sound, pulling back again as his expression turned serious. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, Hook. All I have to offer is my trust that you will do this to the best of your abilities, and in return I’m asking you to trust me that, regardless of the details, it will be worth it. The conversation we’re about to have is…” But he stopped himself, started over. “I’m asking you to give me another chance. Can you do that?”

“Of course, Prowl,” Hook said. The answer was automatic. Regardless of the weird paint and far-fetched stories, he knew in his spark that this was still his teammate. “Always.”

Another smile. Hook realized that there were more to look forward to, in some hypothetical distant future, and a tentative excitement built in his spark. Yes, he could trust Prowl.

“I know,” Prowl said. He reached forward again, wrapping his fingers around Hook’s hand just long enough to squeeze, before letting go and stepping back as time started to stitch itself over and around him. “See you again soon.”

Then Prowl was gone, and Hook was alone. Something stirred within him, an old feeling, pointing off to the side. He turned toward it, letting it guide his steps until eventually he came upon the past.

He’d only heard rumors of the Arctic, a dreadful patch of Earth that was cold enough to freeze the fuel in your lines and with snow high enough to swallow a Cybertronian. Stumbling into the past, he was a little disappointed at what had turned out to be an exaggeration. Not a lot, just thinking it might have been cool. The snow barely covered his pedes, just enough to make driving a pain, though not impossible. He reasoned it wouldn’t be necessary, though, going by the deep tracks that led away from the portal and into a covering of dark trees. There wasn’t room for hesitation here: Hook stepped into the tracks and let them guide him forward. If Prowl had been lying, Hook would know soon enough.

He wasn’t surprised when the barrel of a gun appeared through the trees.

“I warned you, Hook,” Prowl said, stepping out. He didn’t have his finger on the trigger, but Hook raised his hands in surrender.

“We’re not great at the whole listening thing.”

“I’ve noticed.” Prowl’s optics, familiar blue, narrowed. He glanced to either side, not taking his sight off Hook for longer than a nanoklik. “Where are they?”

“The rest of the team?”

Cold silence.

“They stayed behind,” Hook said. “I told them to. I screwed up, so it’s on me to make things…” Well, not right. That had been future Prowl’s whole point, and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity he’d been given. “We need one more chance,” he tried instead.

“This was your chance,” Prowl said, his hand tightening around the gun, “and you failed. I can’t trust you to follow orders or respect my decisions. How do I know you wouldn’t have killed Springer on sight?”

There was no victory in learning their target’s identity; what had once seemed so crucial, the in that would give them access to everything else Prowl was holding back, became insignificant when spat from a face glowing with hate.

“Do you want to know why I really chose you?” Prowl asked.

Hook did. He didn’t. It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t the one holding the gun.

“You aren’t the only bonded Cybertronians still alive. There are other active combiner teams, and even splitspark twins would have done the job. I picked you,” Prowl’s doorwings trembled, “because I knew I could live with it if the timestream killed you all.”

Hook’s internals shifted. He hadn’t thought he’d expected an explanation like that, but he found no trace of surprise in his systems, nothing to indicate that this was outside of Prowl’s usual behavior. He’d been more shocked to wake up to that message left over their comms, a cryptic command left while they recharged, and it was that realization that had his engine rumbling in arrhythmic pulses.

“The timestream?” he managed to ask. Any other part of the admission would have been impossible to address.

“We’re not built to exist in a place like that, let alone survive,” Prowl said. “Excess exposure gradually tears your spark across multiple dimensions, photon by photon. Agonizing, and once you’re sealed in, eternal.” His optic flared. “I was ready to see every one of you fall to it.”

He couldn’t help it, Prowl’s stare too intense, his tone too earnest: Hook thought of Scavenger. The wild, honest fear he would feel, to be trapped in a place like that, and it was all he could do to keep his systems running normally. He forced a memory in, played it back multiple times until it maxed out his processing power and the dreadful fantasy was pushed aside: gentle hands, a kind voice. A promise.

“What about you?” he asked. Another chance. “You’ve exposed yourself just as much. More, since you can’t even sit out. What’s going to happen to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Prowl snapped.

The deflection was exactly what Hook needed to banish the ugly thoughts from his mind entirely, because it did matter. The future he’d envisioned was staked on Prowl being alive, and he wasn’t about to let anyone risk that, least of all Prowl himself. Hook wanted to assure him of this, but his first instinct was to step forward and Prowl’s finger moved to the trigger.

“Don’t!” Prowl shouted.

Hook froze. His arms dropped to his sides and stayed there, where they wouldn’t be taken as a threat. He knew to be wary of a scared mech holding a gun, but for each moment that passed he became more aware of the fact that it hadn’t gone off.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Prowl,” Hook said. What were they supposed to do next? “We need to talk.”

“You’re a bunch of brutes who kill without remorse and decimate populations for fun,” Prowl said. “You forced yourselves into my mind and took whatever you wanted. What could you possibly want to talk about now?”

The same thing he’d been shown in the timestream, just phrased in a few more words. For as gorgeous as Prowl’s mind was, as endlessly fascinating and precise and meticulously designed, it wasn’t something Hook had been offered. He’d taken, grabbed for that beautiful thing, because that was how you got anywhere in the Decepticons: you grabbed the things you wanted and stepped on anyone who tried to keep you from them. The whole team had been operating on that hard-learned principle when they drew Prowl in that first time, not realizing that by doing so, they’d inadvertently been crushing the mech, too.

That had been the basis for their new team, and it was a structurally stable as a building without supports, a project with no plan. They’d jumped straight to the best parts and doomed the whole structure to fail.

“We won’t touch you again, if that’s what you want,” he said. He turned his palms toward Prowl, though kept them low. “We’ll give you space. We won’t get repaired. We—”

“Your combination ports?”

“Yeah.” Didn’t matter that he hadn’t gotten the rest of the team in on the idea, yet. He would find a way to keep that promise if it were what Prowl wanted.

“You would put Devastator to death,” Prowl said. The wording made Hook a bit queasy, too reminiscent of Scrapper, but he nodded. “How? What are you if you can’t combine?”

A team, Hook’s spark wanted to say, but he stopped himself. Something had been lost in translation when they’d tried that before, he was sure, and maybe specificity here would ease whatever steps lay ahead.

“You took my spot,” he said. “I used to be Devastator’s head. Mechs who never saw us combined assumed it had to be Scrapper, since he was the leader, but he was a leg. Bombshell had to reformat me, because it was easier than making you bulky enough to hold up everyone’s weight.”

Prowl’s optics narrowed, and even from this distance Hook swore he could hear his processor working, plugging in all the variables to try to figure out where this was headed. Hook sped up: he needed to be the one to say it out loud.

“We didn’t need Scrapper to be the head to be an effective leader, and we didn’t want you to take over from him because you became the new head. Where you fit in Devastator and your role on the team are two different things, and we want to keep you as the leader. Or whatever you want to call it. You don’t have to stay a part of Devastator to do that.”

Four million years ago, on a planet that existed permanently in the past, the Constructicons had been a nameless construction crew, its foreman an imperfect and brilliant mech. Scrapper had the gift of a clear vision and ability to maximize his crew’s innate abilities, and it was under his leadership that they found purpose among the lowest rungs of Cybertronian society. They’d become a team deep in the foundations of future skyscrapers and city blocks, and when the benefits of that spilled into their off hours, Hook had thought nothing would ever compare. Scrapper’s death should have signaled the end of a dream. Instead, it had opened a door to something strange and new, and though the other side was looking less and less like what they were leaving behind, Hook knew that they had to go ahead through.

Prowl’s optic was still narrowed, but his finger was back to the barrel of his gun.

“I said I would kill you if you came after me,” he said. “How do we trust each other if you can’t hold me to that?”

“We’re a team,” Hook answered. “I’m going to take back what I said earlier. We’re not going to ask for another chance to prove it, because we’d just screw it up again. This time, we don’t make it about proving anything. Megatron threw us all into this without a plan or nothing, because nobody thought we’d stick together this long. We need to sit down, figure out what we’re doing, and then go after Springer or whoever. Once we’ve got our schematics down.”

He thought about turning his back on Prowl, a show of trust, but decided against it. There was a difference between trust and stupidity, and he liked to avoid being accused of the latter when possible.

The gun stayed pointed at him several seconds longer before, slowly, it lowered, pointed to the halfway point between them. Prowl’s optic was still fixed, but his doorwings no longer trembled.

“I’ll come with you to the present,” he said. “That’s the only guarantee I’ll make. I’m not promising to talk, or even that I won’t shoot the rest of the team on sight. Just that I will accompany you back through the timestream. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Hook said, and now he did turn around, following the tracks back to the tear in time. His footsteps were the only sound for a moment, before he heard the gentle crunch of another following him, their strides matching the prints in the snow.

#maccadam #prowl week #prowlastator #prowl #constructicons #transformers #my writing #longfic #schematics #peace

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agentdagonet · 6 years ago

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Echoes, Ch. 23

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 1516 1718 19 20 21 22

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

A/N Hey, everyone! A LOT has changed! So I'm sorry about the sporadic updates (who am I kidding, they've always been sporadic, but at least I have reasons?) but there has been LOADS of adjusting to do.I moved from Florida to Texas less than 2 weeks ago. The last couple months have been preparing for that move (it's my first time living away from my entire support system/family) and the next few months are going to be adjusting to my new job and unpacking and learning my new town.So. Updates will be delayed again! But I PROMISE I am working on this stuff, guys. It's really happening. Slowly, but surely.

Eggsy hated New Zealand. It was hot, everything wanted to kill you, and it was (too far away to even try to call home) just so off from the way they spoke to the way they dealt with the local nuisances.

Or maybe Eggsy was just Homesick, and couldn’t get himself to admit it.

The first time Eggsy had thought of the mews as home he’d stopped stock still in the middle of the aisle. He’d been grabbing some groceries, and texted Harry if he needed any more of that weird tea he liked to drink in their office- you need any of your gross tea or have we got enough at home? It had flown off his fingertips and been sent off before he realised what had happened. What he’d said. It made him paranoid about other untimely slips of the tongue (or fingers, in this case) but he couldn’t bring himself to care very much.

He had a home. He didn’t know if the concept was as novel for Harry as it was for him, but Eggsy was going to grasp it with both hands and take it for everything it was worth.

And that meant keeping a lid on his overall obsession with the man he lived with. It meant a lot of quiet wanking and false bravado- but he couldn’t risk home over something as trivial as lust (he refused to call it love, that would make it too real; too solid, too big ). He caught himself watching Harry’s mission archives more often, ostensibly to learn a thing or two from his mentor but actually because Harry flowed like water. Eggsy was all using his environment, there was only so much he could do about his habit of using parkour before some other fancy spy technique, but Harry just used himself. And it was probably the hottest thing Eggsy had ever seen.

See, not everyone had a library like this of their shit, but Harry had a habit of doing things in incredibly flashy ways and the Lake had started doing everything they could to get into security cameras specifically to see what fancy step he was going to do this time. Eggsy had been tempted more than once to ask about dance lessons, because there was only way to be that in tune with every centimetre of your body- but he didn’t want to risk Harry offering to teach him like he had etiquette.

A man could only stop himself for so long, and those circumstances lent themselves far more to intimacy than anything else.

As the jet touched down at HQ Eggsy pulled off his tie and threw his jacket over one arm, leaving him in the holsters and button-down, and made his way to Merlin for debrief. He still didn’t understand the point of debrief when one of the handlers was there the entire time and had talked him through almost every decision- but who was he to tell a spy agency how it worked.

He guessed it was also a way to trick agents into sticking around long enough to be dragged to medical, if unwillingly. Eggsy was too grateful to have easy access to the shit he needed to fight about getting looked over- even on days he just wanted to drown his sorrows at the Prince. But, he figured people who were used to saving the world on the regular probably thought their problems were minor in comparison. Maybe he was the outlier because it was still a novel experience?

But, honestly, what did it matter? All he had left was a debrief and a quick check at medical (no damage outside of some bruising this time, thank fuck) before he could go home.

Home. It practically filled him with glee, but Eggsy kept the skip from his step as he approached Merlin’s office.

‘So?’

‘What d’you mean “So”? I went, I got up close and personal with the target, got the info, and got out with minimal fuss. It’s all in the feed- I even followed the plan this time!’

‘See, that’s what’s got me so worried- Eggsy never follows guidance, so who are you?’ It was said blandly, but Eggsy stuck his tongue out and Merlin broke, smiling softly. ‘But seriously, Eggsy, are you okay?’

‘Why wouldn’ I be?’ Eggsy was genuinely confused, he was feeling better than he had in a long fucking time.

‘You look like you’re trying to keep somethin’ inside, and usually you only do that when it’s bad.’ Merlin’s unusually serious, and Eggsy can tell that he’s actually worried about him- it’d been a while since that happened.

‘I’m just happy, Merls- tryin’ not to skip about the place like a loon, to be honest.’ Merlin looked shocked for a moment, but he didn’t really relax.

‘Well, not to ruin your mood or anything- but I wanted to apologise.’

‘What for?’

‘I know it’s been some time, but I didn’t really understand how out of sorts the loss of Harry made you.’ This was a conversation Eggsy was expecting to happen exactly never. It’d been abouts a year now, what did it matter? ‘And I wanted to apologise for ignoring your struggles.’

‘I don’ get what that has to do with now.’

‘It doesn’t really, but I knew if I let you go I’d just put it off again, and again, and again. You deserved to hear it, and I needed to say it, but I have a procrastination problem, if you can believe- usually it’s only with emotional shite. Can’t predict an outcome, gives me anxiety like little else can.’ Merlin was rambling, just what had happened to pull this up to the surface?

‘It weren’t your fault, mate.’ What else could he say? It wasn’t Marlin’s fault that Harry’s death had fucked Eggsy up so badly. It wasn’t his fault that Eggsy had attached himself to the first positive thing that happened afterward that was his own- if only by a technicality. Wasn’t his fault that Eggsy had almost lost himself in the job, in being a Kingsman before being himself.

‘Knowing something logically and knowing something emotionally are two very different things, Eggsy- I knew I couldn’t actually get past this guilt until I made sure you were entirely aware.’

‘The fuck is your guilt for, then? You were here, you kept me after everything and helped me with Dean and so much else- what the fuck could you possibly feel guilty for?’ Eggsy was incredulous, arms loose at his sides and head cocked to one side- a very Harry gesture, Merlin noted, though it didn’t seem at all purposeful.

‘I made some assumptions pretty early on, without all of the facts, and it was brought to my attention that they did you a disservice.’ Merlin paused, and he looked simultaneously distinctly uncomfortable and as if he had much more to say.

‘You don’t have to apologise, Merlin- we all had shit to do and people to save; we’re through it now. We did it.’

‘I feel as if I was a lesser friend, for not believing that Harry was alive when I couldn’t find a body or remains. You never stopped believing, and I know that more than a little of that was denial- but I also know some of it was due to the holograms. A mixture of both, you got attached to them because they were almost Harry and-’

‘This debrief over? Cos I’m suddenly not really feeling up to being psychoanalysed.’

‘The point,’ Merlin took a steadying breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, ‘is that I assumed you had the resources to work through your grief. I assumed you had friends closer to your age you could commiserate with, I assumed you wouldn’t appreciate my butting in to your personal life; I assumed that you would be able to let go and move on without realising that you had never had to do it before.

‘I was a shit friend to you, Eggsy- and I was a worse friend to Harry, by trying to warn him of something he knew far better than I. I mourned my friend quietly and moved on- and then I left you to figure out how to do that on your own and I’m sorry.’

Merlin hadn’t broken his gaze throughout his speech, but Eggsy just looked untethered. Adrift in a moment he didn’t really understand the process of arriving at. Merlin swallowed thickly, but Eggsy let the moment hang in the air a minute before coming back to himself and breaking the tension.

‘Bruv, you’ve got the strangest sense of guilt- so stop. Forget it. Take a breath and let it go because it don’t matter anymore. Yeah, I was in denial, I’d lost the first good thing to happen to me in two huge ways that day- I thought I was fucked. And then I somehow end up saving the world after fucking it up. I was all over the place- I barely felt like I lived in my body some days.’ Merlin grimaced, and Eggsy hurriedly backtracked.

‘The point, Merlin, is that a lot of shit was going on then. And, yeah, I didn’ have the best coping mechanisms- but it’s in the past . It happened, we got through it, and we’re all better for it now. I’m made up of all the shit that’s happened to me- good and bad. And my life is better than I could have hoped, I’ve got a home to come back to after ops, and I’m making a difference.’ Eggsy shrugged, ‘That’s all I really wanted in the first place, to be honest- to be able to help people. So, actually, thanks. Yeah- thanks, Merlin.’

‘I’m confused. How did we get here?’

‘You started this emotional shit, so you can shut it and let me thank you. You took a chance on V-Day, took a bigger chance after, and it’s really thanks to you that I get to do this at all. Harry may’ve brought me in, but you’re the one that shaped me- you made me a Kingsman. So, long as we’re giving each other unnecessary emotional speeches, thanks.’ It was said plainly, no tears or other such nonsense, but Eggsy knew he’d gotten to Merlin from the slump in his shoulders.

‘You were a Kingsman far before I Knighted you, Eggsy.’

‘Oh I know- after Harry told me about how Arthur rigged the last test I figured it was cos I was a real threat to his worldview. I’d be flattered if it weren’t so fucking stupid.’

‘He what?’ Merlin turned from Eggsy and began angrily typing, a small downward turn to his lips between bouts of muttered cussing.

‘How the fuck did Harry get that information before you did-’ Eggsy cut himself off- both not wanting to make Merlin more frustrated than he already was, and knowing that Merlin probably wouldn’t hear him anyway. A focused Merlin was a deaf Merlin, unless you were what he was focused on.

Eggsy smiled to himself and sauntered from the room, eagre to get home.

#dagonet writes #kingsman fic #kingsman fanfiction

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write-havoc · 6 years ago

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This Is How I Disappear Ch. 6

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Completed (story continues in The Flame Is Gone, The Fire Remains)

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

The next couple of weeks go by quickly for Chuck, with her seemingly finding her groove at The Sanctuary. She makes sure not to skip her meals, per Negan's request. And even manages to strike up a few conversations with people in the cafeteria as she eats her breakfasts. Not that she made any real friends or anything, but she’s trying to be more sociable. Sometimes Simon would stop by to eat with her, too. And he is becoming a true friend. True to Negan's word, Carson makes sure she eats her lunch during her breaks, having a very awkward conversation afterward the first day about how unhealthy not eating enough is.

Chuck always has a few hours to herself after her shift before Negan retrieves her for dinner each day. She would usually take a shower and lounge in her room, writing in her diary, playing her guitar, and reading books. Sometimes, Chuck would go to Negan's floor early on her own to visit the wives. They like for her to play the piano for them and always seem so excited to see her. Chuck grows friendly with the women, over time. She discovers that the women have a lot to offer. They aren’t just the living sex dolls that people would talk about on the floors below.

Every night, Chuck and Negan would eat dinner together, sometimes he would cook, sometimes she would (with much help from Negan), other times they get food from the kitchen. Afterward, they would play chess and then go to bed. Chuck has platonically slept in Negan's bed every night, keeping her nightmares at bay.

Chuck begins to get fully comfortable with Negan, considering him to be her best friend. He never pushes her to talk about what she went through, but he always listens when she talks about it. With Negan’s help, she comes to terms with what happened to her. She’s by no means completely over it, but she feels much better. Especially knowing that Negan is there to support her.

Chuck saves up enough points to get a small tv and bluray player for her room. She practically squeals in excitement in the middle of the marketplace when she finds a box set of her favorite tv show. While Negan is away on a run for a few days, Chuck pretty much spends all night watching it. With Negan gone, Chuck knows that her nightmares will come back without him there, so she delays sleep as much as she can. The nightmares don’t affect her quite as much as they once did, but they still disturb her sleep.

She is fast asleep in her own bed, having finished season four an hour earlier, when a sliver of light hits her face, waking her instantly. Her door is opened and a man’s silhouette stands tall in the doorway. She is paralyzed for a moment before calling out to the intruder.

“Who is it?!”

“It's just me, sweetheart.” Negan's familiar voice calms Chuck's nerves as soon as she recognizes it.

“Jeez, Negan! You scared me half to death,” Chuck says as Negan closes her door and enters the room.

“Sorry, baby girl” he apologizes and strips down to his underwear. “Scooch over.”

“What are you doing?”

“I got back from that run later than I wanted to and I'm tired as fuck. I want to sleep.”

“But you never sleep in my room.”

“Are you fuckin’ kicking me out?”

“No.”

“Then scooch over!” he says, exasperated, and lifts the covers from the bed to get in on her open right side.

“You always sleep on my left, though.”

“I'm not sleeping by the wall. Jesus Christ, Chuck. If you don't shut the fuck up I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and drag you to my room so I can get some goddamn sleep. I haven’t slept for two fuckin’ days.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez, Mr. Crankypants.”

“Turn around so I can spoon.”

“Yes, sir,” Chuck says sarcastically. “Come into my room. Dictate how I sleep,” she mutters to herself as she turns.

“I fuckin’ heard that.”

The next morning, Negan is still asleep when Chuck wakes. She turns around to face him, trying to figure out how to get out of her bed. Negan is to her right and the wall is to her left.

“Negan,” she whispers loudly, trying to wake him up. “Negan, I have to get up and get ready for work.”

He lets out a groan. “Fuckin’ get up then. Why the fuck do I have to be awake for it?” he rasps sleepily and shifts onto his back.

“Because you're in the way and I can't get out of bed unless I crawl over you.” She pokes him gently on his cheek and giggles when he scrunches up his nose at her.

“Well, crawl over me. I'm still fuckin’ sleeping.”

She lets out a groan and starts to awkwardly crawl over him.

“Don't knee me in the dick.”

She giggles and finishes clumsily climbing out of her twin bed, practically falling onto the floor. Negan starts snoring immediately after.

“How does he fall asleep so quickly?” she says to herself.

Her shift later that day is mostly uneventful, so Chuck is reading about more advanced wound care while she sits at the counter. She is interrupted by Simon.

“Heya, angel.” He nods to the doctor. “Carson.”

Carson nods a greeting and goes back to his work at his desk.

“Hey, Simon. You need something?” she asks.

“The guys are bringing in some stuff from the run they went on yesterday. They’ll be around in a little bit.”

“Oh, good,” Chuck responds.

“So how are you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Just peachy.” Simon pulls at his waistband and puts his hands on his hips. “You look really good. Healthy, I mean.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Chuck feels her cheeks flush. “I’ve gained some weight back.”

“If you’re into gelato, I know this lady that makes it. We can get some... together after your shift-“

“Simon, the guys in the garage are fuckin’ idiots. Will you deal with that shit? ” Negan’s voice barks through Simon’s radio.

“On my way, boss,” Simon says into it. “See ya later, angel.” Simon turns to leave.

“Bye.”

After her shift, Chuck makes her way back to her room to relax for a bit. She turns on her tv and watches a few episodes of her show before Negan is due to come get her. Right on time, he enters her room, not bothering to knock. He looks at the tv screen for a few moments before speaking.

“The fuck are you watching?”

“Supernatural. It was my favorite show. I guess it still is my favorite show. It's not like any new ones are going to come out any time soon to replace it.”

“Oh shit! That’s a nice fuckin’ car,” he says as the ‘67 Chevy Impala races down the road on the screen. “I had one just like it!”

“No way!” Chuck exclaims. “I didn’t know that!”

“Wait.” Negan narrows his eyes at the screen. “Who's that guy?” He points as the camera focuses in on the driver of the car.

“That's Dean Winchester. He's my favorite character,” she says with a smile.

“That guy is?” he teases.

“Well, yeah. Look at him. He's perfect. He's funny and loyal. He's saved countless people. And he's pretty much the most gorgeous man ever.”

“You think he's gorgeous?”

“Yes, Negan,” she says, exasperated at Negan's questioning. “He's objectively beautiful, okay? Everyone thinks he’s handsome. It's not even a matter of opinion. It's just a scientific fact. That dude is perfect.”

“Come with me. I want to show you something,” he says with a mischievous grin on his face. Chuck follows, intrigued with what Negan is leading her to. They make their way up to Negan's room quickly. Once there, he goes to his closet and rummages in it for a bit, before finding a box. He sets it on the bed and pulls out a photo. He cockily holds it up to Chuck’s face for her to look at. It’s a picture of a young man who looks strikingly like Jensen Ackles, the man that played Dean Winchester.

Why does Negan have a picture of a younger Jensen Ackles with a bowl cut? Did he know him? Wait. That's not him. This guy looks a little different. His hair is too dark. And he has darker eyes and… dimples?

Oh god, that's Negan. He looked so much like Jensen Ackles when he was younger! Wow, he was hot! I guess me and my mom have the same taste in guys after all.

What am I thinking?! That's Negan I'm talking about! Oh man, he's going to tease me mercilessly now. That's why he looks so amused.

“Ah?!” He pulls the picture back beside his face and gestures between the two. “See the resemblance?” he teases.

“I see it,” she says, annoyance in her tone.

“So you have the fuckin’ hots for me.”

“No, I don't.”

“You fuckin’ just said you did!”

“No. I said I have the hots for Jensen Ackles . And you're not him.”

“You wanna get a fuckin’ closer look at that picture? We look fuckin’ alike!”

“Maybe young you did. But not you now.” She laughs.

“I didn't age that fuckin’ badly, Chuck. Shit.”

“Aww. I'm sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?” she says sarcastically, trying to change the subject and get the pressure off of her. “Would you like me to get one of the wives in here so she can stroke your ego?”

He lets out a booming laugh. “Did you just make a handjob joke?”

She furrows her brow at him for a second. “No! Oh my god! I didn't mean it like that!” she blushes heavily as he laughs loudly.

“Don't try to change the subject with dick jokes. I know you always had a crush on me in high school.”

“I never had a crush on you. All the other girls definitely did. And my mom, but not me.”

“What? Why the fuck not?”

She shrugs her response. Their conversation is interrupted by the kitchen worker bringing in their dinner. They settle down with their plates and continue their conversation, much to Chuck’s dismay.

“Why didn't you ever have a fuckin’ boyfriend in high school, then? I figured it was because you held a fuckin’ torch for yours truly.” He grins at her.

“Not everything is about you, Negan.”

“Then why no boyfriends?”

She lets out a huff. “I barely had any friends!” she exclaims and shakes her head. “I don't know, have you met me? I'm weird looking and awkward. Not everyone is as genetically blessed and confident as you are. Some of us are just… unattractive.”

He scrunches his face at her. “You're shy as fuck, and, yeah, kinda awkward, but you're not weird looking. You're not unattractive.”

“Well, my 25 years of life experience begs to differ.”

He raises his brows. “Surely after high school there were some nerdy college guys just itching to get in those panties of yours.”

“Uh, no. No guy has ever really been attracted to me. I've never even had a boyfriend,” she mutters as she pokes at her food with her fork.

“Are you exaggerating?”

She shakes her head in response.

“No fuckin’ way! Are you telling me you're a virgin?”

“Well, obviously not… considering how I came to live here.” Even though she never wants to talk about the specifics of what had happened to her at Rolling Acres, she is comfortable enough with Negan to mention it. She knows that he already knows her past and would never push her into talking about it if she didn’t want to.

“Fuck.” He drops his fork. “I didn’t mean... That shit doesn't count, Chuck. Jesus…” Negan snaps back quickly.

“Well, technically it does-“

“No, not fuckin’ ‘technically’. If you never consented for a man to stick his dick in you, you're a virgin.”

“Then, by that definition, I guess I am,” she says after a beat.

“No shit? That's interesting, ” He says as he smirks at her.

“Not particularly,” she throws out. “If you think that is interesting, then you must be really bored in life,” she jokes.

“Then I guess I am,” he says as he cocks his eyebrow.

The next night, Negan makes the two of them a full meal, along with a bottle of wine. Negan portions out the food onto their plates and pours the wine into two glasses.

“Wow. This all looks amazing! But, uh. I'm not really a big drinker.” She points to the glass in front of her that Negan had just filled with red wine.

“Just a few sips then. We're fuckin’ celebrating. And I’m not celebrating fuckin’ alone.”

“What exactly are we celebrating?”

“You putting on weight, being happy. Looking like an actual living person.”

“Gee, thanks for that sorta compliment.” She giggles and takes a sip of the wine. “Wow.” She smacks her lips. “This is really good. The wine I had before tasted horrible. I didn't know wine was this good.” She takes a bigger gulp.

“Well you have expensive fuckin’ taste, then. We got a bunch of bottles of fuckin’ primo shit from some upscale restaurant a while back. This shit would've been expensive as fuck before.”

“I like it a lot.” She takes another drink.

“Well slow the fuck down. I'm not trying to get you fuckin’ hammered.”

After dinner, they move into Negan's room, wine in hand, to play their nightly game of chess. Several minutes in, Negan excuses himself to use the bathroom.

Oh my god, this wine is soooo good, but Negan is being stingy with the refills. What he doesn't know won't hurt him…

While he is gone, Chuck chugs her whole glass of wine and refills it twice, before he sits back down to resume the game. Some time later, the wine starts to take its toll on her.

“Checkmate!” Chuck slurs then hiccups.

“That's not even fuckin’ close to checkmate, sweetheart.”

“Pfffft! Yes it is!” She slaps her hand down on the table and laughs as some of the pieces fell over.

“Oh shit. You are drunk as fuck. You really are a fuckin’ lightweight.”

“I drank a bunch when you were in the bathroom. Like a bunch,” she says, breaking into a fit of giggles.

“Shit, Chuck.” He lets out a disappointed huff. “I guess this game is over then. Your fuckin’ brain is definitely not working right. Time to get you to bed.” He starts to stand, but is interrupted by her.

“No, no, no, no. Wait! I want to ask you something.” She stands from her chair and tries to step over the coffee table in front of her to get to Negan’s couch. She stumbles and lands directly in Negan's lap.

“Fuck! What are you doing? Be careful!” Negan says as he tries to lift her up by her arms.

“Whoops!” Chuck laughs out.

With her upper half being held by Negan, she clumsily kicks out her legs looking for purchase, hitting the chessboard, and sending the pieces flying all over the room. Eventually she pulls herself up and brings up her legs to straddle Negan's thighs.

“Jesus Christ, Chuck! What the fuck are you doing?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“You can do that from any-fuckin’-where but on my fuckin’ lap,” he says as he holds his arms out awkwardly, trying not to touch her.

She takes off his glasses and turns to set them on the coffee table behind her. “Why do you have a beard?” she giggles and brings her hands up to touch his cheeks.

“That's your urgent question?” Negan says as he cocks his eyebrow at her.

“Yup.”

“Uh… I'm a grown ass man and I haven't shaved. It's not fuckin’ rocket science.”

She moves around in his lap and caresses his face and neck as she giggles. “No. I mean now . You didn't have a beard when you teached me in high school. Pffffft!” She laughs at herself while slapping Negan on the shoulders. “When you taught me!” She descends into a fit of giggles before bringing her hands back to his face.

“Fuck. Stop moving around so much, Chuck.” Negan squirms a bit underneath her. “Shit.”

“I like beards a lot. My mom probably wouldn't like your beard, though. It hides those dimples.” She pokes her index fingers into his cheeks, making him smile. “She always loved your dimples. I think they're stupid.” She traces the lines on his face.

“What? Why the fuck are they stupid?” Negan responds, suddenly a bit offended.

“They're not stupid! Don't say that! I didn't say that! I like them! They just don't fit. Like, why did you make them?”

“What?!” He chuckles. “What the fuck are you even fucking talking about?” He can’t help but laugh at her and her drunk logic.

“Like, your dimples are cute. But you're not cute, so they don't fit.”

Negan quirks a brow. “I'm not cute?”

“Listen!” She squeezes his cheeks together causing him to laugh. “Like, dimples are for cute boys and you're not a cute boy. You're a… manly… guy. All…” she gestures broadly at him, “… hunky and… dangerous, you know what I mean?” She taps his nose with her finger as she says the last part. “Not. Cute.”

“You think I'm hunky?” He grins at her.

“I guess. I mean everyone else does, right?”

“Is that why you're sitting on my fucking lap right now? Because you think I'm hunky? And drunk Chuck is just enough fucking uninhibited right now to crawl right the fuck on top of me?” He smirks at her.

“What? I don’t get it.” She giggles. “Oh! I think I’m in your lap because… I just fell into your lap!” She laughs so hard at her own joke that her whole body shakes.

“Fuck, baby. You are waking the fuckin’ beast right now.” Negan groans out as he tries to still her by placing his hands on her shoulders.

As her laughs die down, her expression gets more serious. “You're my best friend, Negan. I wouldn't be here without you.” She shifts forward to press herself against him and hugs him tightly.

“Shit. Is ‘cute drunk Chuck’ gonna turn into ‘weepy drunk Chuck’?” he says quietly as he reciprocates the hug.

“I like hugging you.”

“You do?” Negan whispers.

“Yeah. You're warm. And I feel safe with you.”

He pauses for several moments before responding. “Is that the only reason? I just make you feel safe?” He shifts to try to look at her face.

“Negan!” She starts to laugh and squirm around. “Your beard tickled my neck!”

“Shit.” Negan grasps her shoulders. “Okay, you really need to get the fuck off me now.” He tries to push her away from him.

“Wait! I want to touch your beard some more! I'm not finished!” She brings her hands to his beard again as he tries to stop her.

“Goddamnit. I'm gonna fucking finish if you don't stop grinding on my fuckin’ dick like that,” he says almost to himself.

“Oh my god. Did I hurt you?” she gasps. In her addled state, she doesn’t understand what Negan is really saying. “Let me see. Did I squish your… you know?” she asks genuinely as she tries to bring her hands down to touch Negan's lap. He quickly grabs her hands and pulls them up, stopping her.

“Don't do that!” he exclaims. “Goddammit, Chuck. You're fuckin’ killing me here.”

“I'm so sorry, Negan. I didn't mean to hurt you! You're my friend!” she says as tears well up in her eyes. She throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly.

“Fuuuuuck.” He breaths out heavily. “I'm fine, baby. You just… gotta… get the fuck off me, please. You don't know what you're doing to me.” He moves his hands to her waist and tries to lift her off of him.

“Wait, Negan! Wait!” She giggles and moves her face right in front of his. “Negan, I have to tell you something, but it’s a secret,” she says in a breathy voice.

Negan swallows thickly and runs his hands from her waist to her hips and thighs.

“Negan?” She pushes forward, closer to him, and puts her hands gently on the sides of his face.

“Yeah, baby?” He whispers to her, their lips so close that they graze each other with the movement.

“I- I think…” she swallows and clears her throat. “I think... the wine went bad. I don't feel very good. I'm gonna be sick.”

“Fucking shit!” He quickly lifts her up and carries her to the toilet just in time for her to empty the contents of her stomach into it. “There you go. Get it all out,” he says gently as he holds her hair and rubs her back when she retches. “You all done?”

She swallows a few times. “Yeah. I think so.” She cleans herself up a bit and Negan leads her back to the bedroom.

“Can you get yourself in bed while I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah. I can.”

“Do not fuckin’ puke in my bed.”

“I think I'm okay.”

While Negan is in the bathroom, Chuck tries to get herself dressed for bed. She takes off her pants and tries unsuccessfully to take her bra off under her shirt.

“How do I usually do this without taking my shirt off? Why can't I figure this out right now?” she says to herself. “Negan! Will you help me take my bra off!” she yells to him. When Negan doesn’t come out, she decides to just take her shirt and bra off all together and crawl onto the bed wearing just her underwear. She closes her eyes and immediately falls asleep.

Chuck starts to stir as she slowly wakes up the next morning.

“Ugh.”

God, I feel crappy. Why do I feel so crappy? Oh, right. Wine. I drank a lot of it. I. am. an. idiot.

What happened last night? Uhh. I remember telling Negan he was my friend. I remember hugging him. And rubbing his face. I remember him desperately trying to push me off him. I think I might have inadvertently molested Negan a little bit… maybe. Ugh! Kill me now!

Why am I wearing Negan's shirt? I don't remember putting that on. I'm pretty sure I didn't take it off him. I remember taking my shirt off. I must've gotten this out of his dresser. God…

Well, whatever. Don’t think about how much I embarrassed myself last night. I need to pull myself together and get ready for work. Ugh. Working with a hangover. How classy. I'm never getting drunk again.

Luckily for Chuck, no emergencies come up at the infirmary and she has a pretty lazy day. By the time Negan gets her for dinner, she feels pretty much back to her old self.

“So, how was your day?” Negan says with a smirk as he plates up the food he had prepared.

“I was hurting for most of it,” Chuck confirms. “I don't think I like wine anymore.” They both laugh.

“How much do you fuckin’ remember from last night?” Negan asks as he takes his seat and digs into his food.

“I remember most of it, I think. Bits and pieces, anyway. I know I puked at some point.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that. At least I got you to the fuckin’ toilet.”

“I vaguely remember talking about your beard.” She scrunches up her face in embarrassment, waiting for his response.

“Oh, yes. You were very interested in my face.”

“Ugh. God. Sorry! I didn’t mean to molest you.”

“You’re definitely a handsy drunk.” Negan lets out a booming laugh.

“I'm so embarrassed!” She brings her hands up to her cheeks. “I know I must've put your shirt on at some point.” She tries to change the subject.

“Nope. I found you fuckin’ spread out in my bed mostly naked. I put that shirt on you so you wouldn't freak the fuck out when you woke up.”

“Oh, no! Don't tell me that! You're lying. Just say that you're lying and that I didn't get naked in front of you,” she pleads as a blush spreads over her face. She is embarrassed at the thought of Negan seeing her naked, but she knows he would never take advantage of her.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I'm not gonna fucking lie to you. I got an eyeful of your titties.”

“Ugh!” Chuck screams and puts her head down on the table in an attempt to cover her red face.

Negan lets out a laugh. “No need to be embarrassed, baby. You got nice tits.” He teases.

“Stop!” She shoots her head up. “Completely forget about that! Just purge that image from your mind!”

“Nope. That shit’s permanently saved now.” They share a laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation and go back to eating.

The next day starts off like any other with Chuck having spent most of her shift helping Carson hand out medication and cleaning out various minor cuts. Near the end of her shift, two men come in, one worse off than the other.

“My buddy here, he, uh, he had a… seizure,” one man says as he leads the other one to a bed.

“Does he have a history of seizures?” Carson asks.

“Uh, yeah. He's had them before. Uh... yeah.”

Carson does a cursory exam and determines that the man is fine for now, but needs to be watched overnight. Carson dismisses the patient’s friend, telling him not to worry.

“Charlotte, would you stay here to watch over the patient?”

“Oh yeah, sure. Is there anything I need to do?”

“Just observe him. If he starts to seize again, give me a call on the radio. I'm going to head out to eat dinner and then I'll be back to check on the patient. Just keep him resting for now. When I come back, you can go and eat your own dinner. Because we’re going to be here all night.”

When Carson leaves the room, Chuck picks up the radio to let Negan know about what is going on. “Negan?”

“Yeah, Chuck? Problem in the doc’s office?”

“Nothing serious. We have a patient here that needs overnight observation. Just wanted to keep you up to speed.”

A few minutes later, Negan enters the infirmary with a plate full of food.

Chuck greets him. “Oh, hey, Negan. You didn't really need to stop by.”

“I brought you fuckin’ dinner. I didn't want you to go hungry if you're going to be here all night. Where's the doc?”

“He went to eat his own dinner actually. He should be back in a few minutes.”

“What's wrong with the guy?” Negan asks as he points to the man sleeping in the bed, setting the plate of food on the counter in front of Chuck.

“He had a seizure. His buddy brought him in earlier.”

“Hmm.” He pauses, running his hand over his beard. “Alright, then. You don't get out of your turn fuckin’ cooking for me because duty calls. You're cooking for me tomorrow night.”

She laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. It’s not like you don’t do most of the work anyway,” she says sarcastically. “See ya later,” she calls out as he walks through the door to leave.

Several minutes later, Carson returns and asks, “How is the patient?”

“He's just been sleeping. No new developments,” Chuck says between bites of the meal that Negan had brought her.

After several hours of nothing going on, boredom sets in for both Carson and Chuck. Carson has caught up on all his work and then browses medical texts while Chuck takes inventory of medical supplies.

“I don't think both of us really need to be here,” Carson says and he closes the book that he was reading. “I’ll be in my room. Just radio me if anything arises. And keep the door locked. It's technically after hours, even though you're still in here.” With that, Carson takes his leave.

“Great. Low man on the totem pole gets the crap job of babysitting all night,” Chuck mutters to herself. She finishes up the inventory and curls up in the empty bed with a book. Late into the night, Chuck’s story is interrupted by a light knocking on the door. She opens it and sees the patient’s friend standing in the doorway.

“Can I help-“ Chuck is suddenly hit on the head from behind, hard. She instantly falls to the ground, blacking out for a moment.

“I got held up so we need to hurry,” the friend says urgently.

“I think we really fucked up with this plan. Negan stopped by and I think he's sweet on the girl. He's gonna fucking kill us!” the former patient says urgently.

The other man gives him a look and picks up a pair of scissors from the counter. He walks over to Chuck, who is lightly moaning in pain on the floor. He covers her mouth with his hand, making sure the noises she’s making are muted. “We should be long gone before anyone knows what happened. As long as the bitch doesn't raise a stink and a savior comes running. Take that radio on the counter. We’ll be able to hear when the alarm sounds.” The man gestures to the other and he takes the radio. “Now go get the pills from the closet and I'll make sure she doesn't scream.” The man takes the scissors and stabs Chuck in the left side. He squeezes her mouth shut to stifle her howl of pain. “Fuck! Why are you taking so long? We only have a few minutes before guard change at the gate. Get that closet open and get the pills!”

Chuck is barely aware of what happens next, hearing shuffling around and hushed voices. She knows that she needs to get help, but she doesn’t dare move, fearing what the men would do to her. She tries her hardest to keep awake, but the darkness starts to seep in. She can’t fight it any longer and blacks out.

#negan #negan fanfiction #negans thirst squad #negan x oc #negan x ofc #negan / ofc #negan x original female character #negan / original female character #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead au #twd #tihid #this is how i disappear #writehavoc writes #writehavoc this is how i disappear

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hoodiesandcomputers · 8 years ago

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Shared My Body and My Mind With You (That’s All Over Now): Chapter 8/8

Six months ago Felicity did the unthinkable and paid to have sex with the one and only Oliver. Despite being worlds apart they’ve become close friends, but what happens as feelings change, a rival comes into the picture, and a friendship suddenly starts to break? A continuation of a prostitute/client AU, which comes from my one-shot “Taste of Your Poison Paradise.”

Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay -- this chapter ended up being a monster. So if you’re on mobile and don’t want to read this, I would absolutely recommend coming back to your dash or tag in an hour or so. You’ll be scrolling a lot, lol.

Many thanks to @curvy-tam and @the-mimi-hiddleston for supporting me when I needed it the most. They were so understanding and gave me all the time I needed to get back on track. And of course, I have to thank @awriterincowboyboots for making this chapter a thousand times better. <3

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // FF // Ao3

Nine months later

Despite moving her desk away from the windows, Felicity finds herself suspiciously staring at the windows and wondering when they’ll break off. Back at Kord her office was on the 51st floor, but now she’s all the way at the 60th and no amount of anxiety pills can make her overcome her fear of heights. She doesn’t doubt she could switch offices with someone else, but all the offices have windows on this floor, so it wouldn’t really make a difference.

Sighing, Felicity decides the best way to stop looking over to the side is to put a large plant that’ll obstruct her view of the ground below. Still, she shouldn’t complain too much when she’s got a nice view of Star City and the plaque outside her door which reads “Felicity Smoak, CTO.”

Now that is what success looks like.

It’s been nine months since Felicity left Chicago, and she’s starting to become accustomed to her new home. Star City is different from Chicago – it’s smaller and cleaner, and it feels more relaxed.

And not just the city. She was always stressed at Kord, wondering if she had done the wrong thing or overstepped her boundaries and she’d never had any time to breathe. Even though she’s CTO, Felicity actually has two full days off for the weekend instead of spending her Saturdays in the office. The workload is different and she oversees everything technology related in Palmer Tech, but it’s good. She’s busy and happy – her bank account is definitely happy, too.

Although she enjoys her time in Star City, making friends while being CTO is harder than she anticipated. Felicity essentially has to start from scratch, which is easier said than done. Even though she’s lived here for nine months, Felicity hasn’t ventured much inside Star City, let alone walked around her entire neighborhood. There are times when she feels lonely, and it’s during those moments a small part of her wonders whether it was worth coming to Palmer Tech.

Despite having gone on a couple quasi-dates with Ray back in Chicago, Felicity eventually chose not to be in a relationship with Ray. It would look completely unprofessional if she had decided to be with Ray, and thankfully he understood how important her job was. Regardless, it didn’t hurt to occasionally flirt here and there, and he was a good business partner. For once, she feels appreciated and revered.

In the end, Felicity knows she would never have had this opportunity if she hadn’t left Kord. As CTO, she’s begun to work with engineers to create ways to help those with spinal injuries and several other projects that’ll change the world. Felicity’s actually eager to come to work, and coupled with Ray’s enthusiasm, the company is always buzzing with excitement.

She’s in a good place.

There’s a loud knock on her door, and before Felicity can tell the person to come in, Curtis Holt barges into the room looking nothing short of frazzled. Alarmed, Felicity stands up while her secretary comes running in, confused by Curtis’ antics.

Nodding at her secretary – Kendra – that everything’s all right, she focuses her attention on Curtis and asks, “What do you think you’re doing here?”

Ignoring her, Curtis – one of Palmer Tech’s most revered engineers – continues to pace back and forth her office. His hair is wild and it looks like he hasn’t slept, which is definitely a bad sign. “Are you OK?”

“No, no way, not. At. All.” Stopping right in front of her, he looks at her with I-haven’t-slept-in-five-days eyes and whispers, “It’s done.”

Felicity’s heart begins to pound as she can only imagine what went wrong. “What’s done?” she asks carefully. A thousand scenarios run through her head, all of which end badly. So many things could be “done” buy Curtis’ definition that she can’t think.

“The chip. It’s totally done for like my late grandmother – bless her but not really because she was a little mean – and I don’t even know what we’re going to do because even I’m having a hard time trying to find a solution for this, and basically I need you A. S. A. P.”

Frack.

The spinal chip meant to save the world has had a lot of hiccups from the very beginning, ranging from lab disasters to not being able to get the funding they needed from investors. But seeing Curtis so uninhibited means something really went wrong, and there’s zero time to waste.

Grabbing her phone – and promptly dropping it before she picks it up again – Felicity kicks off her heels, getting ready for battle. “We’re going. Now.”

“Aye, Captain!” Curtis bolts out of there with Felicity in tow, as she tries not to slip on the marble floors due to her tights. She and Curtis run past Kendra and she looks at them with bewilderment, shocked to see her boss running in the halls of Palmer Tech.

“Miss Smoak! You have a meet–”

“Not now Kendra!” Felicity yells as she dodges her coworkers. She can only imagine how she looks with a tight fitted skirt while running down the hall at full speed. Curtis, being unnaturally tall, is almost at the elevators and she hates him for having a biological advantage over her. “Cancel everything today! And tomorrow!”

Thankfully Curtis is already inside the elevator holding the door for her and she runs inside, desperate to go down to the R&D floor. Realizing she forgot to say something else to Kendra, she sticks her head out the elevator and hollers, “And for the foreseeable future!”

She only manages to just bring her head back inside before the elevator doors close on her face, and it isn’t until Felicity hears how loud they’re breathing that she realizes the absurdity of the situation. Laughing, Felicity bends a little and places her hands on her knees, trying to regain her breath.

Curtis’ looks up at the ceiling to control his heavy breathing and says, “It’s the first time I’ve ran in six months.”

She laughs again and Curtis joins her, as she has no doubt they’re both wondering how they still have a job.

There’s never a dull moment at Palmer Tech and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

~/~

“If it makes you feel better, Hartley got a little too cocky with Ted Kord at the gala last week and got his butt kicked. For once he’s not walking around with a stick up his ass,” Caitlin muses.

Laughing at Hartley’s demise, Felicity continues to walk towards her house (a real, actual house that’s almost one hundred years old and large enough to fit a family of five), dodging runners and people casually walking about. The weather has gotten a little chilly and for the past week it was raining, but today the sun is out and warming everyone’s hearts.

Gripping the phone tighter, Felicity slows her stride and stands to the side, leaning against a brick wall as she continues her conversation with Caitlin. “I don’t think you have any idea how happy I am! You know what they say: karma’s a bitch.”

Chuckling alongside her Caitlin adds, “And the best part? He hasn’t come into my office since last week!”

“Finding out Hartley got his ass handed to him is probably the best thing I’ve heard in forever.”

“I knew this would be a better present than me coming to visit you.”

Stepping away from the wall, Felicity starts to walk when she spots a sign with a menu listed on it. Glancing to the side, she sees a small deli shop and wonders if she should waste time and buy something to eat. Looking back at the menu, Felicity scans it until she spots a four-cheese soufflé as their special.

Oh, I should send a picture to Oliver –

There’s a slight twinge of nostalgia and sadness in her chest, reminding her she can no longer do it anymore. Felicity can’t call him up and talk to him about the latest movie she saw, or joke about random things she’s seen on the Internet. She can’t sprawl all over his couch and complain about work and laugh at his escort stories. There’s no one to hang out with on Wednesdays and Sundays anymore.

There’s no Oliver in her life.

Almost every day Felicity catches herself thinking about him, usually when she sees something which reminds her of Oliver. She wonders if he’s OK and if he’s still working at Emerald, but moments later Felicity remembers she’s in no position to think about him anymore. She has to deal with the consequences of her decision.

No amount of success and money can make up for the fact that Felicity chose to run away from her problems instead of fixing them. But Felicity wasn’t prepared to find out Oliver Jones was, in fact, Oliver Queen. And in her panicked and angry state, she felt Oliver was using her to sustain a picture-perfect friendship, which was anything but perfect, and she pushed him away without talking to him like a mature adult.

It felt like a literal kick to the gut when she found out the truth, but there was also a sense of relief. She finally knew why he was so secretive, why he hated Ray, and (in Felicity’s eyes) seemed to be jealous of her accomplishments while he was stuck as an escort. Felicity’s no stranger to secrets, but when Oliver’s began to impact their friendship, she knew something was up. And sometimes Felicity hated being right.

After Oliver revealed everything to her, she quickly began to put the pieces together but she couldn’t help but wonder: had he ever planned on telling her? Evidence proved otherwise. Everything about Oliver’s behavior made sense, yet deep down Felicity knows she never really knew him. And it hurt her. She spent more time with him than anyone else, opened up to him for the first time since Cooper, and all she got was a box of lies.

So, in her anger Felicity left without patching things up between them, hoping a new environment would permanently erase any memory she had of Oliver.

Clearly her plan failed.

Yet, despite feeling lonely and wondering if she made the worst mistake ever, Felicity knows her feelings were justified. Had they not talked (or yelled) about their differences, they probably would’ve continued to be at odds with one another. In the end, their friendship would have dissolved like any other, to where their weekly hangouts would’ve turned into monthly, and eventually nothing at all. Their argument was a necessary evil, Felicity concludes, but one that still haunts her to this day.

“Hello, Felicity? Are you there?”

She hadn’t realized she spaced out, and honestly forgotten she was on the phone with Caitlin. Her heart still beating at an abnormal pace, Felicity reluctantly tears her eyes away from the menu as a pang of disappointment hits her.

“Yeah, sorry. I . . . never mind.”

Oblivious to Felicity’s inner turmoil Caitlin continues to chat, but Felicity can’t bring herself to pretend everything is OK. Regardless, she pushes through and swallows her feelings, marching forward into the unknown just as she’s always done. Even if it hurts to do so.

~/~

It’s Thursday now, and for the first time this week Felicity’s spent her entire day at her office. After the fiasco regarding the spinal chip, Felicity’s stayed at the R&D department to make sure everything was running smoothly. They found a whole slew of other problems, so Felicity’s been running on coffee and adrenaline for the past few days.

Needing another cup of Joe, Felicity heads to the kitchen and is surprised to find a couple of the secretaries there. Muttering a “Hello” Felicity goes straight to the coffee machine, only to find it completely empty.

I hate my life.

“Sorry Miss Smoak, I usually refill it but I thought everyone left,” she hears Victoria, Ray’s executive assistant, say.

Turning around, Felicity smiles tiredly at Victoria and another secretary, Carly, to let them know everything is fine. “I guess it’s a sign I should stop drinking coffee and go home, but I’m clearly an addict and don’t know how to stop.”

The girls laugh politely at Felicity’s lame small talk and return back to gossiping before her presence interrupted them. She busies herself by setting up the coffee machine when she suddenly hears an Oliver mentioned in the conversation. Her heart pounding, Felicity wonders if it’s Oliver Queen or someone else – yet deep down, she has a feeling it might be her Oliver.

Straining her ears to hear more, Felicity angles herself so that she’s a little closer and can listen to what they’re saying.

“I can’t believe you saw him! What did he look like? I used to have a major crush on him,” Carly says.

Victoria laughs and Felicity can imagine her shaking her head in disbelief. “He’s so hot now. He’s got a scruff, he’s super built, and ugh I’m drooling at the thought of him.”

So it is Oliver’s they’re talking about, and Felicity’s powerless to stop her legs from shaking. What’s he doing back in Star City and for how long has he been here? When Felicity last saw him, she was convinced he planned on being stuck as an escort for the foreseeable future. This information is sending her in a tailspin.

Confused by the turn of events, she tries to calm herself and listen once more to what Victoria has to say.

“Anyway, he was hanging out with Tommy Merlyn the whole night. I think he’s moved back permanently. I wonder what he was doing for all those years,” Victoria muses.

Felicity’s met Tommy at a Merlyn Global event, as it was obvious Malcolm Merlyn was trying to set the two of them up. Obviously nothing happened, but she can see why Oliver would be his friend. During her brief research session, she saw several tabloid articles detailing Oliver and Tommy’s panache for debauchery.

Deciding she’s had enough, Felicity doesn’t wait for the coffee to be done and heads straight to her office. Her mind reeling, Felicity shuts the door to her office and lies down on her couch, trying to even her breathing but to no avail. She doesn’t know what to think, other than Oliver Queen is back in town to disrupt her life.

Or maybe make it better.

In a twist of fate, this feels like a second chance to Felicity. She’s been feeling so guilty as of late, and misses Oliver more than she misses her father, more than she ever missed Cooper. There’s an emptiness in her heart, and she knows it’s due to not ending things with Oliver on a good note. What she needs is closure – their fight was a mess and Felicity didn’t get a chance to articulate what was on her mind. If they meet, maybe they can hash things out like adults . . . and possibly reconnect on better terms.

She wants to reconcile with Oliver more than anything. These past few months have given her plenty of time to dissect every second of their argument, and she’s come to conclusion they should at least talk. Yes, Felicity was deeply hurt, but she can see why he kept the information away from her. He was scared of opening up and Felicity shouldn’t blame him. She can only imagine how difficult his life has been, from starting off as a wealthy playboy to suddenly becoming a nobody having to whore himself in order to pay the bills. His pride wounded, Felicity understands why Oliver disliked Ray, even if the only thing Ray did was take over QC. Oliver’s future was stripped away from him without a moment’s notice and he’s barely hanging on.

Perhaps now that he’s back and they’ve aired their dirty laundry, they can move on from the past.

But she’s getting ahead of herself – Felicity needs to reach out to Oliver first. She owes him that. Sitting up on the couch, Felicity reaches for her cellphone and immediately searches for his number, even though her hand is shaking from doing so.

She can’t believe it – it’s happening. She’s actually doing this. For nine months Felicity’s taken out her phone various times so she could apologize, yet every time she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Coupled with her guilt and cowardice, Felicity held off on being the bigger person, but it’s time for a change.

She doesn’t know what she’ll say to him, and for a moment she stops herself from dialing his number. Sighing heavily, Felicity knows if she waits a second longer she won’t call him. For someone who prides herself in being strong, Felicity is undoubtedly weak when it comes to emotions.

Swallowing thickly and gathering whatever courage she has, Felicity dials his number and anxiously waits to see what happens next. Her vision blurs from being overwhelmed by an onslaught of emotions, and she prays Oliver won’t be able to hear her heart obnoxiously beat through the phone.

It rings once until she hears a beep, followed by “I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is unavailable.” Shutting the phone, Felicity sighs in relief and leans back on the couch to calm her nerves. She doesn’t want to be relieved Oliver’s ditched his old phone number, and therefore can’t talk to him, but she feels she dodged a bullet. Calling him now isn’t the right time.

One way or another, Felicity knows has to make amends with Oliver. She shouldn’t take this as an opportunity to not seek out Oliver at all, but perhaps she should focus on what she’ll say once she meets him . . . Whenever that happens.

~/~

It’s been a couple of weeks since Felicity found out about Oliver being in town. Once she realized he was back, Felicity promptly spent the next few days combing through the Internet, and found various articles on gossip sites discussing his new look and speculating on what he did for the eight years he was gone. Felicity wonders if people will find out about Oliver’s time as an escort and the thought worries her. It’s possible Oliver may no longer be ashamed for working as an escort, which is why he’s back in Star City. Yet, despite several valiant efforts from rabid fangirls and smarmy reporters, no one has a clue what he did during those eight missing years.

Despite her constant researching, she still hasn’t made an effort to contact Oliver. There’s a part of her afraid he’ll turn her away after what she did to him. She can’t call herself a strong, mature adult when she’s scared shitless to approach Oliver. If she doesn’t speak to him it would make her a hypocrite, and that’s the last thing Felicity wants to be known as.

She just – all she needs is practice. If Felicity doesn’t practice in front of a mirror and spend a few hours writing down what she wants to say to Oliver, she’ll definitely be a blubbering mess and she can’t afford for it to happen. Felicity likes to prepare for every situation and this is no different.

Which is why she’s completely shocked and petrified when she sees Oliver outside a building in the Glades on a cold Saturday afternoon, painting on the side of the wall with a serene smile on his face.

Her heart does a strange pitter-patter and her breathing gets shallower by the second, while her mind races with confusion. She’s bundled up in winter gear since it’s November, but she’s suddenly sweating buckets and doesn’t know if she should strip and wave hello, or get the hell out of here.

See, this is why Felicity needs practice and a blueprint for her life, because when things like Oliver randomly appearing in her line of sight happens, she loses her brain and the ability to function.

He’s looking at her like she’s the sun, never mind the fact they had a huge fight and haven’t spoken in nine months. And for a moment, Felicity feels so good just seeing him that she thinks no time has passed.

For a split second, Felicity imagines herself running into his arms and pretending everything’s all right between them. But reality is much different and instead she takes slow, robotic steps toward him, unsure of how close she can get to him.

Oliver drops his paintbrush and cautiously steps forward as if he’s trying not to scare her. And maybe that’s a good thing – as familiar as Oliver feels, there’s a distance between them caused by their unfortunate rift. It aches to see how far apart they are now, how the air is laced with trepidation, but maybe this can change.

At least she hopes so.

They finally stop moving towards one another, careful not to overstep their boundaries. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Felicity takes a good look at Oliver and notices a certain bit of lightness to him. His shoulders aren’t tight and ridged, his lips aren’t pursed in thoughtfulness and his eyes . . . they’re wide open, like it’s the first time he’s seeing the world.

Without a doubt, Felicity knows these past nine months have changed Oliver, and she’s unbelievably proud of him.

She can’t stop herself letting out a relieved smile, because all she’s ever wanted for him is to be the man he can be. Felicity can only imagine the emotional toll it took on Oliver to be an escort for so many years, and she’s glad to see him happy for once.

“Hey, Oliver.” Saying his name out loud feels foreign to her mind but familiar to her tongue. Her brain can try to push Oliver’s memory away from her, but every inch of her body and soul will always remember.

“Felicity.”

He’s bundled up as well, but there’s some paint littered on his jeans and his nose is red from the cold. Shuffling his feet, Oliver shyly glances down before looking at Felicity. “It’s good to see you.”

It’s good to see him, too. “Yeah” is all she can muster, as her mouth – for once – is unable to embarrass her any further.

There’s an awkward pause, and in order to distract herself she looks at everywhere but him. For the first time Felicity notices where she’s at – the building Oliver was painting on appears to be a small business, maybe a coffee shop. It doesn’t look like it has opened yet, she spots equipment, tables and chairs scattered about inside. Her heart leaps as her mind wonders whether Oliver came back to start a business, one that doesn’t require illegal activities.

Over to the side she spots someone watching them, and as she takes a good look she realizes it’s Tommy Merlyn. It feels a little weird to be speaking with Oliver when she’s also met Tommy, and especially since he seems to be spying on them. Felicity sees no one else inside the building or around it, which makes her feel a little better, but she’s still nervous.

Realizing it’s been silent for a good ten seconds, Felicity takes a deep breath and rocks on her heels, unsure of what she wants to say.

“I . . . called but your phone isn’t . . . working anymore. It’s been disconnected. Obviously.” She feels herself blushing, which is stupid and annoying. She needs to be stronger than this.

“Uh yeah, sorry about that.” Oliver exhales loudly and adds, “After I moved back I changed numbers. I was getting . . . calls. Ones I didn’t need anymore.”

Her eyes snap up to his and Felicity immediately understands what he’s getting at. It seems Oliver’s officially stopped being an escort, and really did intend to come here as a fresh restart. And she’s happy for him.

She sees him in a new light now. Felicity was convinced Oliver didn’t care about moving forward, or was so focused on being stuck in his misery, but she was so damn wrong about him. Life pushes unwanted circumstances onto so many people, and some get dealt with a horrible hand – Oliver was one of them. To see him in the process of (possibly) opening a business means he’s taken control of his destiny, and for that, Felicity is unbelievably proud of him.

“Oh, gotcha.” Nervous once again, Felicity counts backwards from three to control her word vomit, since she’s positive she’ll say something totally embarrassing, but she has a feeling she’s only delaying the inevitable.

Oliver shuffles his feet once more and shoves his hands inside his coat pockets. Felicity steals a quick glance at him, and she’s once more annoyed-yet-slightly-happy Oliver is as handsome as he is. But it’s how his eyes are devoid of any haunted memories, which gives her a pause for thought.

Oliver’s become the man he was meant to be, and she’s so glad to have gotten a chance to witness it.

“Hey, uh, I’m opening a café – this café, actually – next Saturday.” He’s nervous too – maybe their breakup affected him more than she thought, because Oliver is anything but nervous. “I’d . . . really like it if you could come by.”

Her heart skips a beat, and an overwhelming feeling of hope etches into her skin. Although Felicity doesn’t want to expect something from Oliver’s invitation, as it could very well be him acting nice for the sake of being nice, she wants nothing more than to support Oliver in this endeavor. And if he’s inviting her because he wants to become friends with her, then she should definitely take this opportunity to mend old wounds.

“I might have some company event to go to . . . but I’ll try to make it.”

Lies.

Why is she being so difficult? She spots the exact moment Oliver’s face falls, and she wants to kick herself in the face, even if it is impossible to do so. This is what she’s wanted for so long – a chance to make up and get closure, and now she’s throwing it away. Felicity doesn’t understand why she’s pretending to not care as much as she does, but it pisses her off to the point she can’t think clearly.

She’s about to rescind her comment until Oliver nods. “That’s fine.”

Shrugging then taking a deep breath, he smiles gently and Felicity’s in awe of how unbothered he is. “It was . . . really nice seeing you, Felicity. I hope you can come.”

For some reason her throat closes up, and she can only nod before tears threaten to spill over. Oliver smiles softly once more before turning around to finish painting the wall. She watches him walk toward his friend, his steps carefree and light, and for a moment Felicity wishes she met Oliver when he was like this. But she knows if she didn’t, then she wouldn’t appreciate the struggle he’s gone through, and for that she is forever grateful.

Turning around, Felicity composes herself as she takes long, deep breaths. Today was unexpected and she needs time to think about what happened with a big bottle of wine.

As she starts to walk away from Oliver, she hears Tommy loudly ask, “Dude, how do you know Felicity Smoak?”

Well, wouldn’t he like to know.

~/~

The obnoxious wall clock Felicity bought on a whim ticks incessantly, its sound getting louder and louder as the hour hand inches toward six o’clock. She’s spent the last four hours following Twitter mentions of Oliver’s café opening, searching for something but she doesn’t know what. According to visitors, Tommy Merlyn and Thea Queen – Oliver’s sister – are working there and hundreds of people have come. A line started to form an hour before the café – Nocking Point – opened, and since then it’s been nonstop traffic.

She debated going there, but chickened out no less than seven times. Felicity doesn’t know why she’s having a hard time going, especially since this is what she’s wanted for a long time, and Oliver personally invited her. There’s a part of her deathly afraid of the possibility of not getting together as friends or . . . something more.

After finding out Oliver’s no longer a prostitute, her mind wouldn’t stop thinking about what ifs. What if she and Oliver get together? What if they turn into something more than friends? What if their relationship is really good? What if it’s not? It’s the first time she’s allowed herself to think of these questions and they’re making her dizzy.

During the course of their friendship, Felicity found someone who made her happy and excited and less lonely. It was different – she had been intimate with him before she knew him. Oliver saw a part of her very few people did and that will forever tie her to him. And amidst all the weirdness, they became fast friends over the mundane aspects of their lives.

But Felicity held herself back. She didn’t let herself get too attached to Oliver in fear of totally falling in love with him, or forcing him away with her neediness. There were times when she teetered back and forth, unsure if what she felt for him was her projecting a romantic relationship on a friendship because she was lonely, or whether underneath their easy smiles there was something hidden there. In the end she pushed it away, believing their delicate, easy friendship and her career were more important. Felicity didn’t want to disrupt that balance.

Now . . . she doesn’t know what to think. Oliver’s working legally – he has his own business. Felicity didn’t think something she mentioned in passing would actually happen but it did, and he seems happier, less anxious. And, coupled with knowing who Oliver really is, maybe it’s not as unfathomable to be with him.

Letting out a strangled breath, Felicity admits she wants to be with him. She wants to be his girlfriend. She . . . loves him.

The last thought gives her pause, but it’s so honest it aches to admit it. Oliver withholding his secrets from her hurt her more than usual because she cared – cares – about him. A lot. If Oliver were any other friend she wouldn’t have exploded on him as she did, but Oliver was more than a regular friend and it destroyed her when he lied. She thought there was a closeness and understanding, and when Oliver said otherwise, it crushed her soul and any self-esteem she had.

Their breakup has affected Felicity more than she thought, and after seeing Oliver so carefree she wants nothing more than to be a part of it. Nothing’s holding them back – they’re free from societal expectations, shame, embarrassment and stubbornness. For so long Felicity’s been denying the truth, but she has to face it head on.

And tonight is the perfect night.

Without wasting another second, Felicity gathers her coat and purse, her confidence increasing as she realizes she’s this close to meeting Oliver again. Taking her car, Felicity speeds her way to his café and hopes he hasn’t left yet. The shop closed at 5:30 – it’s possible Oliver’s already gone home. This causes Felicity to drive faster, not caring about breaking any traffic rules.

As she speeds along Star City’s streets, she can’t help but snort at how very rom-com this is. Felicity half expects Nora Ephron to jump out of nowhere and direct her reunion with Oliver, and there’s a part of her slightly giddy at the thought of seeing him and telling Oliver her feelings about him. She’s no doubt scared – her mind is an Internet browser with a thousand tabs open, but Felicity plans on going there and being honest.

If things don’t work out between them, or they’re able to forgive one another but it’s still too hard to move on, then she’ll be OK with it. At the end of the day, she hopes they’ll get the closure they need and can look back at their friendship with fondness instead of bittersweet nostalgia.

Lost in her thoughts, Felicity almost misses the café before she screeches to a halt. Luckily she’s able to find parking nearby, but once she kills the engine Felicity’s courage vanishes into thin air. Her mouth pools with saliva, her palms moisten in fear, and she feels her confidence waning.

Glancing at her phone, she sees that it’s already 6:30 and another dose of panic hits her. Oliver could very well be gone, and she’ll have missed her chance to tell Oliver how she feels about him. Inhaling deeply, Felicity checks whatever makeup she has remaining on her face, but she stops for a moment to look at herself. For the first time in awhile, Felicity seems . . . excited. It’s like she’s been on a month long vacation and the summertime glow hasn’t faded away yet.

Felicity does her best to shake her nervousness away and exits the car, because it’s now or never. As she inches closer to the café, she sees the lights are off and her heart drops in disappointment. If Oliver’s not here this will all have been in a waste, and she has to wonder when she’ll get another perfect moment like this. Hugging her coat closer, Felicity stops in front of the café and tugs on the door, finding it locked. Undeterred, she goes over to the window and presses her face against it, hoping someone – preferably Oliver – is inside.

And he is.

He’s sitting on one of the chairs, looking over some papers as his head is bowed in concentration. His collared shirt doesn’t even try to cover his impressive physique, and Felicity finds it endearing there’s a tiny apron wrapped around him.

She spends another few seconds watching him from afar, but her private peep show is over the moment Oliver’s head snaps up and his eyes land on her. Feeling like she got busted for doing something wrong, Felicity blushes furiously and awkwardly waves at him – she can only imagine how weird this looks. He doesn’t move for a moment, no doubt shocked she’s here, but Oliver quickly springs to actions and practically runs to the door.

Felicity can hear him fussing with the lock, and when he manages to unlock it the door swings wide open as Oliver holds it. He’s smiling and Felicity’s heart leaps – he looks so happy and good here. An overwhelming desire to hug him grabs a hold of her, but Felicity manages to restrain herself. Now’s not the time to freak him out.

“Felicity.”

He says it with such wonder, curiosity and something else that she can’t think. There are times when Felicity’s convinced Oliver says her name like it’s a sentence; as if there are too many words to accurately describe what he’s feeling, so he pours it all into saying her name with whatever emotions grab him.

She missed him. So much.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Depends. Do you plan on buying anything?”

Felicity’s suddenly reminded of their Sundays at Jitters, and she can’t stop herself from grinning like an idiot. “If it’s any good.”

Oliver laughs and it’s absolute heaven to her ears. “I guess you’ll see for yourself.”

Beckoning her to come inside, Felicity steps forward and enters the café, keenly aware of how close Oliver is. He shuts the door behind her and clasps his hands as she surveys the space. “Anything in particular you’d like?”

She’s quiet for a moment as she digests everything in. The café is stunning. It’s modern yet classic, with hints of green tastefully peeking out. There’s a corner dedicated to large, comfy sofas, the chairs and tables are sleek, and coupled with a brick wall Felicity has no doubt this will become the latest hipster spot in Star City. It’s clearly a labor of love and Felicity wants this to succeed as much as Oliver does. He deserves it.

“Oliver, this is amazing,” her voice laced with equal amounts of awe and excitement. She can’t wait to see what’s in store for him.

Turning around, she fondly looks at him but he’s bashfully staring at the ground. A small grin creeps up to her lips and Felicity says, “I’m really proud of you.”

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Thanks.”

The air is suddenly rife with tension and unspoken admissions, and Felicity finds herself awkwardly standing there. “Can I sit?”

Oliver nods and waves his hand around the café’s general direction. “Take your pick.”

Sitting down at the table nearest to her, Felicity takes off her coat and continues to admire the café. Her eyes touch upon the paintings and vintage posters on the walls – she spots a poster for The Adventures of Robin Hood, and briefly wonders if Oliver put it up there on purpose, especially since it’s her go-to background movie to play during the weekends.

Maybe she shouldn’t read too much into things.

“You still didn’t tell me what you want.”

Snapping out of her daze, Felicity shrugs because she knows anything Oliver gives her will be delicious. “Surprise me.”

Nodding once more, Oliver smirks knowingly and heads to the kitchen, while Felicity tries to rehearse what she’ll say to him. Unfortunately the gorgeous location keeps distracting her.

She had expected the café to look and feel great, but she didn’t expect how amazing it turned out to be. It feels comfortable and familiar; all this place needs is a bed and Felicity could easily call it home. There’s a lingering smell of cookies and other food, and for a moment Felicity feels she could sleep here without another thought.

A couple of minutes later Oliver reemerges from the kitchen with two plates. As he gets closer, she grins at how serendipitous this is – of all the things Oliver chose to bring out, it’s a soufflé, and a chocolate one at that. He smiles at her and places the soufflés on the table, settling down next to her. Its aromatic smell makes her dizzy with exhilaration, and she sees that it’s been drizzled with chocolate on top of it.

“I feel like I’m on an episode of Top Chef.”

Oliver laughs tiredly and Felicity immediately feels guilty for coming so late. After all the craziness of today, she doesn’t doubt he’s exhausted and wants to sleep.

She’s tired, too. Tired from being sad, of wishing she could change the past, of her mistakes, and of being scared. Felicity tries so hard to be something else other than honest. She’ll run away as far as she can, push her feelings to the back of her mind believing they’ll only ruin her future, and in the end it leaves her broken.

Despite having a decadent soufflé in front of her, she doesn’t feel like eating it anymore as her thoughts continue to cloud her mind. But once she takes one savory bite, Felicity can’t help but moan as its flavors make her mouth dance in ecstasy. It’s soft, warm and gooey on the inside, and it’s quite possibly the best soufflé she’s ever tried.

“Do you like it?” Oliver grins, no doubt amused by her reaction.

“Are you kidding?” she says with a mouthful of food in her mouth. Swallowing, she immediately digs her spoon inside for another bite. “I could eat this for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

Smiling once more, Oliver stays silent as Felicity continues to eat. He doesn’t touch his own soufflé, and feeling a bit self-conscious, Felicity slows down and tries not to shove the entire thing in two seconds. It’s painfully quiet now, and in order to not embarrass herself she takes one more bite.

“I’m glad you came.” His confession startles Felicity – glancing up at him, she’s surprised to see how sincere he is. “I was . . . worried you wouldn’t.”

Crap – she feels bad for getting his hopes up and crushing it. But now that Oliver’s being honest, Felicity knows she can’t continue to skirt around the truth anymore. If he can open up to her then so can she. Still, it causes a rush of adrenaline and nervousness, and Felicity does her best not to freak herself – and Oliver – out.

“Yeah I . . . I – I didn’t have anywhere to go.” She spots Oliver’s eyebrows rise slightly, and for a moment she feels she’s about to get reprimanded by her mother.

“I wore PJs the whole day and stalked you on Twitter.” Realizing how horrible it sounds, Felicity tries to remedy her faux pas even though she knows it’s pointless. “I mean your Twitter mentions. Mentions on Twitter about you.”

Frack. She really can’t go a minute without embarrassing herself, can she? Her skin burns in humiliation, and closing her eyes, Felicity collects herself before saying what she really meant. Oliver’s got a hint of a smile forming on his lips, and his reaction makes her marginally feel better.

Taking a deep breath, Felicity pushes the soufflé aside and puts her thoughts in order. “I’m sorry. I guess I . . . just didn’t want to show you how much I . . . “ Missed you. So much.

It’s at the tip of her tongue, and God, she wants to tell him how much she missed him. But it doesn’t feel like the right moment, and she swallows her confession away, unsure of when she’ll get the chance to say it. There are several other things she needs to tell him first.

Sensing her hesitation, Oliver purses his lips and slightly turns his chair towards Felicity. She can tell he’s trying to find the right words to say, and she patiently waits for him, just as he’s done a million other times. The silence doesn’t feel unbearable but there’s a layer of unsaid words begging to be let out.

“Felicity, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was back in Star City.”

As his jaw tenses he glances at the floor, and Felicity wants nothing more than to make him feel better. She doesn’t know why he feels the need to apologize for not contacting her, since they fought and she made sure he wasn’t allowed to be in her life anymore. Sometimes Felicity wonders what causes Oliver to shoulder everyone’s burden, because he does it often.

She shrugs. “It’s OK.”

Oliver’s not having it. Shaking his head, he shifts in his seat as he gathers his thoughts. “I just – I needed to figure myself out.”

“Oh.”

She wonders what it means – figuring yourself out. Perhaps it means moving to another environment and pushing yourself until you can’t, until you’re so exhausted from running that you finally have to stop. Or maybe it means going back home and finding ways to come to terms with your past, present, and future.

Felicity doesn’t know if she’s figured herself out yet. She’s still stubborn, is prone to hacking when she knows she could go to jail for it, worries she’ll get abandoned by anyone and everyone at a moment’s notice, and can’t for the life of her want to workout. But she’s also figured out how to balance her work life, and how to stay calm in stressful situations. She knows her limits. She dresses better, she finds happiness in smaller things, and knows what it’s like to lose missed opportunities.

She’s lost, loved, and won. And that’s all part of figuring yourself out. Seeing Oliver take a chance and reevaluate who he is as a person encourages her to do the same. And maybe, just maybe, they can work this out.

For the first time since she woke up this morning, Felicity finally takes a moment to soak this all in and let fate take its course. She’s just . . . happy she’s here, sitting next to Oliver for the first time in months. It feels like things are starting to happen the way they’re supposed to – naturally and without expectations.

Glancing up at Oliver, she gives a shy smile before looking down at the table and toying with the napkin. She doesn’t know what to say, but she figures she should start small.

“How did you leave Chicago by the way? You know, with Emerald and all . . .”

Clearly, Felicity needs a lesson on how to start a conversation without going straight to the heavy stuff, but she is curious and wants to know.

Oliver takes a deep breath and stares off as his eyes harden. “Let’s just say Isabel won’t be a madam for the foreseeable future.”

Well, that was unexpected. “You know you can’t not finish the story,” she says with a laugh. “I’m dying to know the rest.”

He raises his eyebrows and fiddles with the spoon on his plate, his mouth pursing as he tries to find a way to tell Felicity the truth. She doesn’t know much about his time at Emerald – he would hardly talk about it unless there was something funny, and she finds herself wanting to know everything he kept hidden. Felicity wants him to know she’s there for him, and listening to every sordid detail is one place to start.

“I’m sure you remember me occasionally complaining about her. “ Felicity nods – there were only a handful of times Oliver slipped how it wasn’t so great to work at Emerald. “She wasn’t a good person. So I made sure she didn’t hurt anyone else.”

Felicity can only imagine what pushed Oliver to do something like that, but she trusts his judgment and knows if it weren’t Oliver, it would’ve been someone else who would send Isabel to jail.

“Good.”

Her steely response causes Oliver to look at her peculiarly, but as someone who’s seen the worst of humanity more times than she can count, Felicity’s glad Isabel won’t be able to prey on escorts anymore. They’re more alike than she realized.

Wanting to change the heavy subject, Felicity clears her throat and smiles awkwardly. “Anyway, how long have you been back?”

He seems thankful for the change of direction and quickly says, “Four months.”

A pang of disappointment hits her – he’s been here for this long and she didn’t know? In the back of her mind Felicity knows he didn’t contact her because he needed time for himself, but she wishes so much hadn’t passed.

“Oh. OK.”

Oliver notices the mood shift and explains, “I – I was going to . . . I got busy with opening this business and personal things.”

“Like I said, it’s fine.” She doesn’t want Oliver to feel bad when it’s not his fault to begin with. “It’s not like we were on speaking terms or anything.”

Giving her an odd look, he begins to rub his fingers and stares at the table. “Still.”

It annoys her Oliver feels it’s his fault for not contacting her – he shouldn’t blame himself for wanting some distance and taking time to focus on his wellbeing. Felicity’s tempted to press him, but things are a bit delicate right now and she wants things to go smoothly.

Clearing her throat once more, Felicity relaxes in her chair and looks around at the café, marveling once more at the décor. She feels the need to change the subject again and asks, “How did you manage to open a business in four months?”

He grins and stops rubbing his fingers. “It helps having friends in high places.”

Snorting, Felicity shakes her head but there’s a smile on her lips. “That doesn’t sound ominous whatsoever.”

A soft chuckle emanates from Oliver’s lips, and she’s suddenly reminded of how beautiful it sounds. She’s missed his smiles, laughs, and his presence by her side.

“How do you like Palmer Tech?”

“It’s great.” Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, she takes a deep breath and tries to find a way to tell Oliver how amazing it is. “I’m having fun, actually. We’re developing a spinal chip that’ll hopefully end any sort of paralysis, so . . . I’m doing big stuff.”

Cringing on the inside, she wonders how she managed to boil down her very important CTO role into “big stuff.” She might as well have finished the sentence with bigly and ended the night there.

“Wow, Felicity. That’s incredible.” Oliver’s eyes shine the same way they used to and for a moment she can’t breathe.

“Yeah, it is.”

Some days it doesn’t hit her she’s made it – she still thinks she’s back at MIT in her horrendous goth clothing, aching to make a difference in the world. There are days – months, even – when Felicity feels she hasn’t done her part yet. While she exceeds in one aspect of her life, she totally fails in the other. Yet through it all she’s trying and it’s all she could ask for.

It’s why she’s here in the middle of Oliver’s café, hoping she can make her past a little more bearable and her future a little more exciting.

“Oliver, I really do need to apologize. For how I ended things.”

Her breath stutters in her chest and her throat dries up in nervousness and anticipation. She’s waited months to tell him what she really feels, and she wants nothing more than to have everything go smoothly.

“You don’t.” Oliver looks a little scared, as if he doesn’t want to discuss how painful their breakup was.

“But I want to.”

“Felicity –”

Shaking her head, Felicity brings up a hand to signal him to stop. This is her time to tell him how she feels. Instead of yelling at him and asking what his last name is, she has to say what was – is – bothering her and how sorry she is.

Seemingly afraid of what she has to say, Oliver looks a little cautious but patiently waits.

Taking a deep breath, Felicity gathers her courage tries to stop her voice from wavering due to an overwhelming amount of emotions. She can feel her arms shaking from an overabundance of adrenaline, and curls her hands into small fists to control it. The moment she’s been waiting for is here – she can’t fuck this up.

“It – it really hurt me, when you lied. I thought we were so close. You were the first person in . . . a long time I was this close to, and I thought I was wrong.”

The air is rife with tension, and she has to shrug off her jacket so she’s not sweating buckets from nervousness. Oliver’s carefully watching her, but she has to focus on her thoughts and take this one step at a time.

“I know I wasn’t totally open with you. I – I thought as long as our . . . secrets weren’t brought up then there wasn’t a reason to mention it.”

Her heart loudly pounds deep beneath her chest to the point where it actually hurts her. Although Felicity told Oliver about her mother and growing up poor, she never told him about Cooper or her dad. Worse, she didn’t feel like they were in a stage to discuss their fears and insecurities, and Felicity chose not to take the first step in solidifying their friendship. She wonders what would’ve happened had she opened up to him first – she’s pretty sure they wouldn’t have gotten to this point.

“I just . . . I was OK with us not spilling our deepest secrets, as long as it didn’t impact us. But once yours did impact us, and when I found out everything, I felt . . . betrayed.”

Briefly, Felicity glances up to look at Oliver and she’s not prepared to see his face completely devoid of emotion. It kind of scares her how distant he is, but Felicity soldiers on and hopes her apology doesn’t push Oliver further away.

“But I could only imagine how hard it was for you, you know? Leading a double life and all. And how you probably wanted to keep your secrets to yourself because it hurt to think about them.”

She knows exactly how he felt, since it still hurts to think about her father and Cooper even after all these years. But unlike Oliver, Felicity managed to pull herself up and succeed despite everything, while he was literally and figuratively stuck being a prostitute. Their circumstances were different and she should’ve understood.

“I’m sorry for forcing it out of you. I’m sorry for leaving like I did.”

Black dots dance around her vision and Felicity suddenly remembers she needs to breathe – she immediately gulps as much air as she can, and tries to steady her racing heart. It feels like her chest might explode and her vision blurs from unshed tears. She’s equal parts relieved and anxious, and prays he doesn’t run for the nearest exit. But he hasn’t yet, and she thinks maybe he’s been waiting for a moment to tell her what he feels, too.

His mouth open and closes for several seconds until she can hear him take a deep breath. Shifting in his seat, Oliver leans forward and she’s hit with a whiff of his scent – a mix of cookies, chocolate, and something a bit woodsy. It’s uniquely him and Felicity wants nothing more than to be in his arms.

“Felicity, I’m glad you forced it out of me.” Her eyes snap up to his, surprised by his confession. “I probably wouldn’t have said anything until you did. I took advantage of the situation.”

She appreciates his honesty, and gives him a small smile to let Oliver know she doesn’t begrudge him for it.

“Still. I left like a kid who didn’t have their way.”

He laughs at her word choice then gazes off into the distance, which causes the atmosphere to shift back into something a little more serious. Felicity’s not done apologizing, and she vows to say everything that’s been on her mind for months.

“I hurt you by not introducing you to my friends, to the other side of my life.”

Shame begins to coat her skin, lighting every inch of it on fire, reminding her what she did to keep Oliver away was so damn wrong. Putting Oliver in a tiny box labeled “Only For Felicity’s Consumption” did nothing but push him further away, and she hates how much it hurt him. He had every right to be introduced to her work and other personal life. Felicity separated their friendship from other aspects of her life, because she didn’t want people’s judgments to ruin things between them and her career. It wasn’t fair to him.

“I kept you away because I valued my career over our friendship. And I’m really sorry.”

Tears prick her eyes and she rapidly blinks them away – she doesn’t want the waterworks to spill just yet when she’s not done with this conversation. Swallowing thickly, Felicity has to look away for a moment, because she doesn’t know if she can handle staring at Oliver right now. She wants nothing more than to be in his life, especially now when things are looking up for both of them, but she hopes her confessions won’t push him too far away.

Suddenly, Oliver shifts and scoots his chair closer to Felicity – she thinks he’s about to take her hand in his, but nothing happens. Instead, he stares straight into her soul, his cerulean eyes quickly moving back in forth as they search for something. Felicity thinks he’s looking for acceptance and she wishes he didn’t feel the need to ask in the first place.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Felicity.” His voice wavers and Felicity wonders whether this has been as hard for him as it’s been for her, too.

“I should’ve told you . . . why Ray was bothering me.”

For a brief moment, Oliver’s eyes harden and she suspects it’s due to mentioning Ray. His reaction would’ve annoyed her before, but now that she knows the truth she understands why he has ill feelings toward him. At least Oliver’s come to learn how to separate his personal feelings from Felicity’s professional life, and for that she’s forever grateful.

“I shouldn’t have let my – my issues ruin an awesome opportunity for you. I attacked you when instead I should’ve been honest about why I was acting out.”

She can tell how sincere he is from the way his shoulders have dropped and how he never stops looking at her – even his fingers aren’t rubbing together, a nervous tick she’s seen time and time again. Seeing how different Oliver is now astounds her, and his journey to this point only encourages Felicity to make changes in her life as well.

“And I’m sorry for not telling you how I felt . . .” He hesitates then adds, “About all that. I really am.”

For months Felicity’s been aching to hear Oliver’s apology. She’s imagined a million different scenarios, all of them abruptly ending because she couldn’t ever dream of this moment happening. But instead of feeling a weight get lifted off her shoulders, she simply digests Oliver’s words without another thought. It’ll probably hit her when she’s back in her bed, going over this conversation on repeat, but for now Felicity’s satisfied they’re in a place to be this honest with one another.

It’s all she could ever ask for.

“I should’ve been honest about how you were hurting me, instead of letting my anger . . . boil over.”

“And I should’ve told you the truth.”

They smile shyly at one another, and in that moment Felicity just knows they’ve moved on. Whatever was bothering before will no longer have to power to control them, because the desire to be in each other’s lives is more important than focusing on the past.

“Now you can. If you want.”

I want to be there for you.

There’s a pregnant pause and Felicity’s afraid she may have pushed it too far. Oliver leans back against the chair and his eyes darken – whether it’s from sadness or anger, she doesn’t know. But Felicity wants him to know he can be honest with her and not worry about judgments, and most of all, not feel like he has to hide things from her.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, like he’s trying to rid his head of certain memories. Looking off into the distance, Oliver starts to rub his fingers and Felicity knows things are going to get serious.

“The night before our movie hangout, I was called to join a house orgy.”

She sees Oliver swallow thickly and she can imagine how difficult this may be for him. Felicity almost wants to take back her offer, but they’re already being so open with each other – it would be a shame to revert back to who they were a mere ten minutes ago.

“And instead I saw . . . a young escort getting assaulted. She was barely eighteen, Felicity.”

Shaking his head once more, Oliver lets out a breath and looks down at the floor. His shoulders sag and in this moment he looks so defeated. She wants to tell him to stop or even hug him, because this is obviously hurting him. But suddenly, he sits right back up and looks at Felicity, his face betraying no hint of emotion. She doesn’t know what to think of this mood change, but chooses to wait and see what happens.

“When I went to Isabel, she . . . You have to understand, the girl was going to be indebted to Isabel forever. She would’ve never been able to get out from Isabel’s grasp.”

Felicity quickly digests the information in, and she’s hit with such sadness and pity she doesn’t know what to think. It appears Emerald was a mafia, with Isabel in charge of destroying people’s lives and stuffing her bank account. For Isabel to use young girls and keep them as modern day slaves is nothing short of disgusting. Now Felicity understands why Isabel’s in jail.

“So I had to do something to keep her safe.”

He’s seen so much – from having his money, parents and house snatched away from him to becoming an illegal escort under a literal mob boss. After all these months, Felicity understands why Oliver wouldn’t speak about his time at Emerald: it was too painful. And she feels so fucking guilty for asking him to open the can of worms. She should’ve known what his silence meant, why he only shared funny escort stories, why he did whatever he could to get Felicity talking so he could focus on something other than his horrid job.

“I’m sorry that happened to the escort . . . and to you.”

Oliver probably doesn’t want Felicity’s pity but she can’t help feeling that way. She wishes he didn’t have to go through all of it, yet she’s glad he had the courage to take down Isabel in a way he saw fit.

Unaware of Felicity’s inner turmoil he simply shrugs. “And another escort I was mentoring overdosed the following night,” his voice grave as he recounts the incident.

Holy shit. No wonder he looked so haunted on their last movie night, and worse for wear the following Saturday, on the day of their fateful fight. She remembers how off he seemed. She took his sullen silences as him being jealous of her, Ray and a million other stupid things, but he was quietly suffering the whole time. And she freaking spent that time fighting with him.

God, how bitchy could Felicity be? She made it all about her when it was anything but that. Granted, Oliver not telling her the truth made things a bit more complicated – it certainly would’ve stopped Felicity from accusing him of numerous things – but she just wishes she knew before blowing up on him.

She’s feeling nothing short of guilty. This whole debacle could’ve been avoided had they been honest with each other, but everything seems preventable in hindsight. Maybe Felicity had to lose Oliver in order to really appreciate him.

“I could’ve . . . You know I’m there for you, right?”

Her voice drops an octave and she finds herself whispering – there’s a part of her wanting him to know how serious she is, but most of all, this promise is only meant for him. There’s no one else she’s willing to stand through thick and thin for. Oliver has to know this.

Oliver’s mouth twitches as he leans forward, clasping his hands in his lap and watching her intently. The way Oliver’s looking at her reminds her of their Sundays at Jitters and Wednesdays curled up in each other’s couches, and it’s so familiar that Felicity almost cries at the thought of it. Her heart stops and restarts, her stomach doing flip-flops without her permission and she feels complete.

“Yeah.”

They fall into an easy silence, and Felicity doesn’t know how long they simply stare at one another. It should make her feel awkward but it doesn’t – it’s like coming home. She can feel her cheeks heating up, though she doesn’t know why, and immediately looks away to cover it up.

The spell now broken, Oliver ostentatiously clears his throat before saying, “I – you were right, about me wanting to keep our friendship a fantasy.”

Of all the things Oliver could’ve said, this was a bit unexpected. She doesn’t know how to respond to it, and firmly keeps her mouth shut before she embarrasses herself.

Oliver glances down at his hands and shakes his head as he does so. “I didn’t want to tell you about work because work didn’t exist between us.”

He struggles for a moment – his brows furrow and Felicity suddenly has an itch to smooth it over and take his worries away from him.

“I wasn’t happy at Emerald . . . I wasn’t happy in general.” Shrugging, Oliver smiles sadly and continues, “And I didn’t want my job being the topic of our discussions whenever we were together.”

Her chest pinches painfully and it takes every bit of strength not to launch at him. There’s a chance Oliver was severely depressed back in Chicago and she only made things worse for him by pushing him to open up. Yet, hearing how their friendship made him happier warms her body and soul, and she just knows they’re meant to be in each other’s lives.

“Sometimes I wondered why you hung out with me, you know? I was a nobody.” Felicity snorts but when Oliver’s silent she realizes how much it hurt him to be a prostitute. Naturally, his profession forced him to be isolated and prevented him from having a well-rounded social life, but despite all of it, he was – is – somebody to her.

“I was an uneducated former playboy turned escort.” Blowing a breath, Oliver briefly begins to rub his fingers, and Felicity can only imagine what’s going on in his head.

“I – I felt abandoned when I heard you were hanging out with Ray, or with your other friends.” Scoffing, he inhales deeply and rubs the back of his neck. “Which is . . . stupid, since you’re allowed to have a life.”

Combined with refusing to introduce Oliver to her friends and keeping their friendship in a small bubble, Felicity hadn’t realized how her social life clashed with Oliver’s nonexistent one. From what she can gather he spent most of his time with her, so it’s understandable why Oliver would feel that way. In an ironic twist, it’s Oliver who felt abandoned even though Felicity constantly worried it might happen to her.

“If it makes you feel better, I only met Ray twice after I saw him at the gala.”

Oliver blinks rapidly. “Oh.”

She feels the need to tell him she enjoyed hanging out with him, and that whenever she spent time with her friends they didn’t hold a candle to spending time with Oliver. “I never meant to blow you off when I hung out with my friends.”

“I know that now.” He nods solemnly and his eyebrows furrow once more in contemplation.

Hearing how Oliver felt about Felicity’s social life reminds her of last Saturday, when she saw Oliver for the first time in months. Seeing him blissfully painting away and starting a business without her knowledge made her jealous. She wanted – wants – to be a part of his life, and now she knows why Oliver felt abandoned in Chicago.

“You know, when we ran into each other last week, I saw how happy you were without me, and I guess I . . . finally realized you didn’t need me. I got . . .” Toying with the hem of her shirt, Felicity searches for another word besides jealous except she can’t. She doesn’t want to say the word in fear of making things awkward.

Oliver Hmms and when she looks up at him he’s staring thoughtfully out into the distance. It used to bother her so much when he would look away, because it usually signaled the end of a conversation. But times are different now, and she can’t be more proud of them for being able to open up like this.

“It’s funny – I thought the same thing back in Chicago,” he casually admits. This night has been filled with confessions and apologies, but Felicity’s glad they’re at a point where they can hash things out as adults.

“It made me – what’s the word – not sad, but frustrated to see you having a life.” Felicity quizzically looks at him, but he only grins lopsided at her, her heart skipping a beat as he does so.

“I wasn’t jealous, but I knew you went to work, had fun and were excited about it. Me?” Oliver shrugs and if Felicity paid closer attention she could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “I could barely keep my head straight. I wanted what you had – stability and a . . . passion.”

She almost tells him she was never really passionate about being a consultant, but another second passes and she finally understands what he’s trying to say: she cared about the work she did and he . . . didn’t. And although Oliver probably cared about his clients, he went home everyday wishing for something more fulfilling.

“A reason to live.”

Felicity’s sad Oliver didn’t feel like there was a reason to live in Chicago, but seeing him here, alive and happy makes her slightly glad they fought. If they hadn’t, then Felicity doesn’t doubt she wouldn’t have come here, and Oliver would’ve been under Isabel’s firm grasp, working at a job he didn’t love.

“Well, you’re free now.”

He smiles contentedly. “Yeah, I am.”

They fall into another silence but a hint of panic hits her. She feels like the conversation is winding down but she still hasn’t told him everything. She hasn’t told him she loves him. That she’s in love with him. That without him in her life, she’s barely floating by and can’t function.

Her mouth pools with saliva and she can’t bring herself to look at him. This moment is too important to screw up, but she’s never been in this situation before. She’s never felt so uninhibited that it causes her to throw caution in the wind. She feels so out of control she’ll do whatever it takes to grab a hold of it.

Gathering any bit of courage she has, Felicity breathes in deeply and finally looks up at Oliver, albeit shyly and without any bit of finesse. “Oliver, I missed you.”

For a moment nothing exists between them – time has been erased, their past is forgotten history, and the gods from above collectively hold their breath. Felicity’s vision blurs from fear of rejection, but the possibility this might turn into something good stops her from running out the door. She has to know what this is between them, otherwise it’ll kill her.

Something changes in Oliver – his shoulders drop, his head tilts to the side, and he’s staring right at her like she’s the only person in the entire world. It’s as if he’s allowing himself to see her for the first time, not as a friend but as someone more. Someone who can make him happy, someone to encourage him to live another day.

“Me too, Felicity.”

Relief washes over her, coating her skin with tenderness and chills. After finding out Oliver was back at Star City, Felicity felt she was not longer in a position to be missed, because he clearly didn’t need her anymore. Yet hearing him admit to missing her causes her to feel more loved than she has in her entire life, and she wants nothing more than to wake up to the feeling every day.

Oliver suddenly scoots forward, and for a second Felicity thinks he’s going to grab her hand, but he doesn’t. He continues to look straight at her, as if he wants her to know how important his next words are.

She takes this opportunity to really look at him – his hair has gotten a tad longer, the wrinkles on the corners of have gotten deeper and his lips, which were always in a tight, pursed lines have loosened up. He’s always been handsome, but in this moment he’s nothing short of beautiful, especially in the dim café lighting.

God, Felicity wants him so bad, and the ache in her chest intensifies as each second passes.

“Those seven months we spent together were the first glimmer of light in a long time, Felicity.” She hadn’t realized he began speaking, and she has to lean forward to hear him talk.

He’s entirely focused on her but he seems a tiny bit distant, yet it does nothing to dissuade her from losing herself in him. He’s gotten her wrapped around his finger, and the thought of it doesn’t shame her – it makes her giddy with anticipation.

“And I want to say thank you for making me . . . happy.”

Oh no. Not this – anything but this. She came here tonight for the sole reason of apologizing and telling him how she feels, not have Oliver give up on any romantic – or platonic – possibility of getting together.

But something stirs in Felicity: hope. It gets her heart racing and her palms sweaty – she doesn’t doubt that Oliver can hear her heartbeat as it covers the air with it’s fast and thrumming pace. She entertains the idea maybe, just maybe, she’s not alone in her feelings. If he’s willing to write off a potential relationship, it means he was at least thinking about it before, and it’s all the evidence she needs.

And for the first time since Felicity’s met Oliver, she fucking fights to keep them together. To have them as a single unit, bound by admiration and love. Felicity’s not going to go home and tuck her tail between her legs – she’s already done that. No, this time Felicity’s going to make sure they’re in a place where there’s nowhere to run except into each other’s arms.

“Oliver, I –”

It happens without her own accord, but before she knows it she reaches over to grab his hand. Her fingers curl around his calloused palm, igniting a path of electricity she didn’t know was possible and gasping at the sensation. Oliver flinches from the contact, and Felicity would like to imagine Oliver felt the same spark of electricity as she did. But without a moment’s hesitation, he wraps his hands around hers, holding it tight and doing everything in his power to not let go. And it fills her up with such warmth she wants to cry, because there has never been a moment in her life where she’s felt this way.

He’s taught her what it means to love, to laugh, lose and gain it all back. Oliver’s everything to her.

“I want . . . the next day, month, and year to be happy.” Her voice wavers and her vision blurs for the umpteenth time, but she soldiers on. This is it.

“And I want you to be a part of it. With you.”

She shakily lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and she’s hyper aware of everything around her – Oliver’s fingers tightening it’s hold around hers, his scent, the long forgotten soufflé, and the fact all time has seized to exist. What Felicity feels is so powerful that it threatens to unbalance her, but she welcomes it with open arms.

“I love you, Oliver.”

She can feel the exact moment her soul leaves her body, anxiously waiting above her to merge with Oliver’s. All this time she’s been missing a piece, and it’s Oliver who’s been able to patch her up in ways she didn’t think were possible. He’s made her feel things she never thought she could, and no matter what happens Felicity will never regret hiring him more than a year ago. He’s meant to be in her life in its weird and awkward glory.

Oliver inhales sharply but his body doesn’t move an inch. His eyes rapidly move back and forth, searching and searching, until he’s found the answer he’s been waiting for.

“I love you, too. God, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

Letting out a relieved sob, Felicity clamps a hand over her mouth as she tries to suppress her emotions from tumbling forward. But she can’t help it – she’s been waiting for this moment for so long, and for it to actually happen . . . she can’t believe it.

And neither can Oliver – he laughs, the kind filled with delirium and happiness, the kind that shows up in true, honest moments. The sound is so beautiful and her laugh mingles with his, creating a symphony of love unknown to mankind.

She doesn’t how moves first, but their hands leave each other’s and Oliver immediately cups her face with both of his hands. He’s so close – she can see every single eyelash, pore, and truth hidden beneath his skin.

Placing her own hand on top of his and the other curling over his thigh, Felicity leans forward the same moment Oliver does, her eyes closing in contentment. Their lips touch like two missing pieces of a puzzle, and the sheer intensity of the kiss causes her to gasp – her womb tightens, her toes curl, and her skin erupts in chills as the sensation overtakes her. It’s the single most amazing kiss she’s ever experienced, and she’s already imagining what it’ll taste like years into the future.

Love does a number of things to you – it makes you irrational, angry and jealous, but there’s that other part, the part which makes you complete. The part that feels like coming home, the part that hurts so much you can’t bear to be without it.

And Felicity knows, without a doubt, all the hardships she and Oliver have gone through were meant to lead them to this point. There’s no other explanation for it – if it weren’t for Oliver working as an escort, Felicity would’ve never met him, would’ve never felt such intense pleasure, sadness and happiness.

She never would’ve known what being in love means, but she does now. As their foreheads touch one another’s, their souls mingling for the first time, Felicity has a feeling things are only going to get better. And she’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto it.

Holy shit, last chapter! Epilogue will be posted on Thursday. :)

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfiction #olicitysquee #oliver queen #felicity smoak

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araneaes-order · 7 years ago

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In the Bleak Mid-winter Ch. 3

LAST HERALD-MAGE FANFIC

Fix-it…ish. canon mm

Young Stefen, living on the streets, found out someone was looking for him and decided to lay low, avoiding the mysterious stranger in red, so he’s never taken to Haven by Bard Lynnell. It was an unfortunate decision, but in spite of it, he and Van do meet up, just later, and under less kind circumstances. Basically a redo on the ending. ~55k words Finished.

Word Count: ~4960

Rating: Mature for, sorry, lots of bad stuff, rape, sexual abuse, child abuse. Canon was pretty dark, especially what I was redoing here, so’s this.

On AO3.

Chapter Synopsis: We see something of Stefen’s life over the last few years. Also this is where we cross with some of the darkest events in canon. Mind the rating and the warnings.

They rode through the night and much of the morning, Stefen only kept awake by the rough, punchy gate of his little mount. There were mountain passes only the bandits who claimed these woods knew, where only their stocky, sure-footed ponies could climb; once they’d reached them they had little fear of the guards catching up to them even if any of them noticed in time that the Herald and minstrel were gone. Stefen was in no hurry to reach ‘home’ but he couldn’t put it off either.

Rendan’s hall was hardly worthy of the name, but it suited the bastard who’d claimed it. Largely lacking in amenities, and barely more than a tumble-down hovel for all its size, Rendan wasn’t the sort to waste time and men on repairs.

In the winter—so most of the damned year—just like the guard post, they didn’t bother with the kitchen, just roasted meat and stewed up boiled whatever over the fire in the great hall. The boy, Damen, took care of that, though he got little thanks for it. Rendan had tricked the poor thing into coming to live with them while Stefen had been with Master Dark and the kid counted himself lucky if cooking was all that was asked of him when Stefen wasn’t there to keep Rendan and his men off.

“Oi, and what pretty little snow hare did you bring us back for dinner, eh?”

Stefen’s mouth twisted in disgust but he knew Gerth wasn’t talking to him. He slid off the unpleasant pony, dodging both its snapping teeth and its side-stepping attempt to trample his feet. “Back off, you, or I’ll make a blanket of you yet,” he hissed at it.

“Got the Master’s boy, sure enough,” Tan answered, dismounting and hurling the Herald back over his shoulder again with a hollow, meaty thud, letting Gerth take the horse. “Was our sweet Stefen ran him to ground though. He did alright. Might be time we stop leaving the little bugger behind when we go hunting. Good as bait even without Master Dark’s tricks, I reckon.”

Stefen’s hands fumbled at the pony’s reins so badly the ill-tempered beast managed another snap at him. He wanted no credit for bringing the Herald to them and he certainly didn’t want to give them ideas of dragging him along on their raids.

He knew better than to respond though. Instead he wrestled the pony back under control and silently took the reins of Tan’s mount from Gerth and led both animals away.

Stefen let himself into the hall as quietly as he could.

He needn’t have bothered though, Rendan and his men were entirely preoccupied with their guest. Many of Rendan’s boys originally hailed from further south, but had been driven hard into the far northern wilderness beyond the border, Heralds ever on their tails. There wasn’t a one in the lot who didn’t fully deserve to dance a hangman’s jig, but that didn’t stop them from blaming the king’s men, and especially the Heralds, for their sorry lots now.

Stefen winced and broke through the circle gathered around the Herald. They were holding him up like a rag doll, and Heverd was driving his fists hard into the man’s torso like he was just a training dummy. Gods.

He headed for the fire where Damen was turning the remains of a deer on the spit in a slow, mechanical measure, though he stopped first to fill a dirty bowl from the barrel of beer always given the place of honor on the table in the center of the room. Damen side-eyed him as he took a seat beside the fire and tucked his gittern against the wall.

“Want a bowl?” the boy asked, not to be caught shirking, though Stefen wouldn’t cuff him or rat him out to Rendan if he hadn’t.

He just shook his head and reached for the flask in his breast pocket. A small measure added to the beer would make things better. As better as they ever got for him.

Damen didn’t say anything else, not until Stefen had taken two long sips, with a weary, bow-headed pause between. Old Berte—he’d been so prickly towards her and her vices once, but he knew now what peace dreamerie could provide when nothing else did. It went down bitter but the clouded mind it left you with couldn’t mourn for choices made or choices never given. Gods forgive them both.

“They’re gonna kill that ‘un,” Damen said quietly and Stefen groaned a little, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. As a liquid instead of smoke the dreamerie was more potent, but he also seemed to be adjusting to it faster. He’d need a double dose to really push the world away and he was running low. The blood price on the Herald’s head should be worth a good size bottle, and spare him having to deal with Master Dark again for a bit, not that he wanted to think about that.

If the boy would just shut up—but no, even if Damen kept his tongue, Stefen would still hear the grunts and thuds and jeering of Rendan and his men as they played with the Herald.

Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron, living legend, savior of the meek and the lost inside his borders and beyond, brought down from grace by a worthless street rat with a pretty voice and a quick hand at doctoring a drink.

“They won’t,” he promised the boy as he stood and moved to the corner and the threadbare pallet that he’d claimed as his bed long ago, before they’d had Damen to tend the fire. “They don’t dare. Master Dark would flay us all.”

He turned his back on the wide-eyed, shivering boy and pulled the piece of cloth that passed for a blanket up over his head.

For a while, between delayed sleep and the little bit of dreamerie he’d portioned for himself, Stefen was able to escape, but he woke to Damen, sniffling now, hunkering down beside him in the corner.

“Wha’s’a matter?” he slurred and yawned at once.

The boy’s expression was haunted but he just shook his head and hid his face against the wall, curled up and looking half his already meager years.

Thrice damn it, they hadn’t killed the Herald after all, had they? Stefen wondered in alarm, panic forcing him to his feet for a better view of what was going on on the other side of the room.

Rendan and his gang had been at the beer too long, the taste of it permeated the air. The Herald was laid out across the bench near the door, tied to it, belly down. The bench. He’d have known what had spooked Damen then even if Rendan wasn’t in the process of undoing his trews and Tan wasn’t holding the man’s head up by a fistful of silver and black hair and crooning in that awful way he had.

Shiteshiteshite. Too far was too far, even for Stefen.

He crossed the room in a heartbeat, weaseling in between the eager observers who hadn’t already crashed into drunken stupor on whatever surface was convenient. He grabbed Rendan’s hand before he was done freeing himself.

“Wait now! No need to waste that ona fucking Southn’r like ‘im!” he tried to purr, but the dreamerie tangled his tongue and made his words come out slurred. It didn’t do enough to dull the pain when Rendan backhanded him hard enough to send him flying, skidding on his arse across the flagstones.

He’d expected it. He welcomed it. He was too old to be of much interest to them anymore, Tan in particular liked them much younger, and they were mostly bored even of knocking him around these days, but he was younger than the Herald and unlike the Herald he was conscious enough to cry out and cower, both definite attractions to this crew.

He crawled back to Rendan’s feet like he couldn’t keep himself away, feigning at being more drunk than he was.

He was also damned good with his mouth, if he did say so himself, and with more than music.

Rendan only shoved him away in disgust one more time—perverted shaych fucker, he muttered, like Stefen was the disgusting one—before he gave in with a sneer and fisted Stefen’s hair to pull him closer.

When the last man wandered away, sated, Stefen collapsed against the bench where the Herald was still bound. He wiped at his mouth, not sure, with his bleary eyes and so far from the firelight, if the wetness he found there was his own blood or something worse. His head spun, he couldn’t catch his breath and he desperately wanted to vomit but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His hands shook as he set his pants to right.

A darting glance showed him Damen had taken the bed in the corner, hidden under the blanket, facing the wall. He didn’t have the stomach for this life. He wasn’t as practical as Stefen had been, even at his age.

His stomach heaved and his head fell back and he cracked it on the bench, seeing stars for a moment. He licked his lips and the taste made him instantly regret it.

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there before Damen shook himself free of the blanket and his own memories and started scampering around the fire to gather a chipped bowl full of melted snow and a rag torn off a dead man’s shirt.

Stefen closed his eyes, hating the boy and the Herald both. I’ve done this for you more than once too, you damned little git, he thought. He didn’t remember anyone ever taking a punch for him, let alone a cock up the ass. He turned his head and subtly tried to hide his tears against the Herald’s soft, quilted doublet.

He heard Damen’s sharp gasp when he was still a few feet away and opened his eyes to find the boy stopped, chewing at his lip, worry carving lines too deeply in his young face.

“He don’t look good,” he said, eyes past Stefen, on the Herald.

He didn’t look good? Stefen was the one who’d—

But he craned himself around to check the Herald and his breath caught just as Damen’s had. The Herald looked more than half dead. His face, turned to one side against the rough-hewn bench was a mess of bruises and swelling, probably a broken nose, definitely a split lip, but worse, under the rising black and purple he was frighteningly pale, utterly bloodless, and his lips had a blue tinge.

Not daring to breathe at all Stefen reached for the high collar of his shirt, fumbling it aside to feel for the pulse in his neck.

His breath was a shuddering sob when he managed one and then, “Rendan!” he screamed.

Even Rendan had the wit to look a little worried when he felt the Herald’s weak, thready pulse for himself.

“He’ll probably be fine—” he started to say, no conviction in his voice.

“He’s on death’s door, you idiot! What the fuck were you thinking?” Stefen’s words were cut off in a gasp when Rendan grabbed his throat and used that grip to pin him to the wall, lifting him so the toes of his boots strained to find enough purchase on the smooth stone to keep him from choking.

“You’ll mind that sharp tongue, boy. I can do worse to you, right enough,” Rendan growled through gritted teeth, his foul breath washing over Stefen and doing as much as the grip around his throat to make the world spin and darken.

But he’d left him enough leeway to shake his head, a little. “Good! Because what Master Dark’ll do’ll be worse than anything you can come up with. Kill me now and face him yourself!”

Rendan’s own younger brother was a good enough example of that: when the nights were calm enough you could still hear him screaming, and it had been years. Even a painful death was better than one that just wouldn’t come.

He frowned and let Stefen down, but didn’t take his hand away.

“The damned pretty boy needs help,” he mused, looking over at the Herald.

“He needs a goddamned miracle!” Stefen squawked. “He needs—”

“A Healer,” Rendan announced slowly, a smile stretching his lips.

“A miracle’d be more likely. There’re no Healers within leagues of here and with the storms—”

“I have a Healer,” Rendan said.

“You have a…”

Rendan nodded and grabbed his cloak where it’d been flung over a pile of still unsorted plunder. He stopped in the doorway to look back at the frightened circle of his men—and Stefen.

“You!” he barked at Stefen. “Take care of him. If he’s not still breathing when I get back I’ll just see if I can’t come up with something to rival the Master’s tricks—before I hand you over to him. And the rest of you lot, keep your hands off of both of them or I’ll cut them all the fuck off when I get back.”

Every man there turned away as soon as the door closed, not willing to even breath too hard in the Herald’s direction and risk being blamed for worsening his condition.

Not that Stefen could imagine how his condition could be any worse, short of death itself, which would probably be a mercy at this point. He should’ve just let them bugger him to death, saved himself the pain and the Herald the lingering, he thought, using the knife from his boot to carefully cut the Herald loose.

He stared at him hopelessly. He didn’t stir, not in pain or complaint or even just restless dream. But he was still breathing.

“Damen,” he called over his shoulder. “Go grab me some blankets from Rendan’s bed.”

When Damen returned they made a nest of the blankets and a few musty pillows and Damen helped him lower the man onto his back in this softer new refuge.

They stripped him and Stefen was aware of the irony, considering how hard he’d been trying to keep the man in his clothes only a short time ago. The rest of him looked as bad as his face: broad, darkening bruises and a maze of cuts all laid over a whipcord lean body that didn’t look like it had any reserves to spare for surviving such a brutal assault. His hands and feet and head were like ice, but his chest was so hot it seemed to scald Stefen’s hand as he used the rag and the melted snow to try to wipe away the crusting and oozing blood.

Between his pallor and his fever, Stefen would’ve laid odds that he was bleeding internally. He wouldn’t survive the night, let alone being transported to Master Dark, unless Rendan came through with his Healer quickly. Stefen wasn’t certain it still wouldn’t take a miracle, Healer or no, to fix what Rendan and his men had done.

He finished cleaning him up as much as he could do with a rag and water and pulled the rest of the blankets up around him, leaving only his head uncovered so he could breathe.

With his back to the room, Stefen touched the ruined face, under the guise of turning it as gently as he could towards the light for a better look. It would be best if he never woke at all. Stefen could smother him with a pillow before Rendan returned—even if the Healer was good enough to put the broken man back together, Master Dark would surely just rip him apart again.

And it was Stefen’s fault for bringing him here. For giving him to Rendan and his jackels. It didn’t matter that he’d had no choice, that a command from Master Dark was a death sentence to those whose efforts failed, or that he was Rendan’s cur, dependent on him for everything and due for worse than just a beating if he tried to run off again.

He ran his thumb through the air above the swollen, cracked lips, and felt the soft puff of the Herald’s feeble breathing and knew he couldn’t do it.

With a sigh of frustration he sat back on his heels. “Get my gittern,” he snapped at Damen, who hadn’t gone far from his side since he’d returned with the blankets.

If he couldn’t help him and he couldn’t free him, at least he could make sure that if the Herald still felt anything, it wasn’t pain.

“Outta the way, half-wit,” Rendan growled, toeing Stefen away from the Herald with unusual gentleness.

He blinked, scrambling to his feet to allow the stranger Rendan had brought to take his place at the Herald’s side.

“What in the hells did you do to him?” the older man demanded, going to his knees and rolling the blankets partway down the Herald’s chest before stopping to split a glare between Rendan and Stefan.

Stefen didn’t care whether the Healer blamed him or not, he was dizzy from playing so long and his throat was parched.

Gods, and how long had it been? he wondered. His fingers burned and cramped when he flexed them, and he stared down at them as though he didn’t recognize them. They didn’t even feel like they were still fully a part of him.

“Don’t worry none about that,” Rendan said gruffly, but Stefen could still hear the worry behind his words. “Just fix him up neat. Master Dark wants him alive and you’re the one he’ll want to talk to if you botch it.”

It was an empty threat, but the Healer couldn’t know that, and he paled. Or maybe it wasn’t completely; Stefen wouldn’t put it past Master Dark to level the forest and everyone in it for the loss of the Herald, as bad as he’d apparently wanted him.

“Then take yourself off and let me work,” the Healer snapped pointedly and after a short stare-down Rendan snorted and withdrew, filling an old mug with beer and taking it to nurse across the hall, literally kicking one of his lackeys from the seat he wanted.

As soon as Rendan was gone Stefen felt something bump him in the back of the arm and he turned to find Damen standing behind him with a clay goblet full of beer.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even meet his eyes but Stefen took it gladly and folded his legs beneath him to sit again and watch the Healer at his work. He could mix in another precious dose of his dreamerie, even just a few drops, to take the edge off. But he couldn’t help feeling he’d need to be sharper than it would leave him for whatever was coming.

Because something was definitely coming, he thought, as the Healer put one hand on the Herald’s forehead and one on the center of his chest, and closed his eyes.

The beer did soothe his throat at least, though his fingers continued to ride an uncomfortable edge between numb and burning and he rubbed them absently. Near as he could tell he’d been singing a good six hours; it was a wonder he’d hadn’t played his fingers down to nothing and sung his voice away entirely.

“What’s he doing?” Damen asked.

“Healing magic,” Stefen said, wincing at the way his words came in a croak.

“Will he really save him?”

Stefen shrugged. “Who knows?”

“What happens to us if he don’t?”

“Just don’t think about it—”

The Healer’s head shot up and he pulled his hands back to grab his knees so tightly his knuckles showed white. His eyes blazed and his face was drawn in tense, hard lines. “He’s as near to death as anyone I’ve ever seen. I don’t even understand how he’s still alive. But he won’t be much longer if I—” He stopped, inhaled deeply, and shot a quick look over at Rendan before turning back to Stefen. “I can’t get in to heal him, there’s some sort of barrier.”

Stefen’s eyes widened. The damned powder that was keeping the Herald quiet was keeping the Healer from his work?

“I can take it down—” His thin smile said he had some idea what that would mean, but not enough, if it didn’t frighten him. “—if that’s all right?” he finished. “I can’t do anything for him with it up.”

Stefan looked at the Herald, still and quiet as he’d been since he’d drugged him. Even if he hadn’t been aware of everything that happened since—good, if it meant he wouldn’t remember the beating at the hands of Rendan and his men, or what Stefen had been up to afterwards—when he regained consciousness he would probably remember the last face he’d seen before he’d gone under, which would mean it was Stefen he’d be after.

Demonslayer. Shadowstalker. Valdemar’s Vengeance.

Shite.

Stefen licked his lips and nodded.

The Healer returned his hands to their places at the Herald’s head and chest and closed his eyes again. If he could actually do this…

Stefen snaked around and grabbed Damen’s wrist.

The boy jerked and then froze at the unexpected touch, his expression one of terror and betrayal.

“Go to the storeroom and lock yourself in and don’t come out no matter what you hear,” he told him.

For a moment the boy just looked at him, paralyzed by fear.

Stefen shook him, harder than he’d have meant to. “Go!”

As soon as he released him the boy took off running. Stefen watched him shoving the heavy door of the storeroom closed behind him—the door was still cracked when there was the first sign of movement from the Herald.

A gasping breath, deep, ugly, shuddering.

Rendan and his men took no notice.

The Herald opened his eyes, bloodshot, the silver of his irises standing out even more.

Half the roof exploded, like a giant had reached down from above, torn it off and crumpled it in an enormous fist, allowing the debris to rain down over the hall, dust and snow and sharp bits of wood and stone and mortar. Stefen dove to the side, close to the wall, hiding from the worst of the falling rubble, which was so far mostly concentrated over Rendan and his crew.

They’d been completely engaged in their beer and dice games until then, but after picking themselves up and shaking away the strange, wooshingsound that had accompanied the violence, they’d grabbed their weapons and were squaring up to face their attacker.

The Herald was clambering to his feet as well and his eyes weren’t just bloodshot, they were glowing an infernal red. The Healer had been knocked aside at the same time the roof had exploded and lay crumpled against the wall, unmoving, and Stefen didn’t know whether the brave fool lived or not. Either way the Herald paid him no attention, and neither did he look at Stefen, who kept himself very, very still while the Herald stalked across the remains of the hall to Rendan.

He spoke, but his voice was low and deadly quiet and Stefen couldn’t hear what he said over the wind that moaned across the open roof of the building like breath at the mouth of an open bottle.

Three of the men, Resley, Gerth, and another Stefen couldn’t see, suddenly fell to their knees, screaming so loudly he could hear them even over the wind. Some of the others panicked, scrambling away from their fallen companions, others, hardier or more foolish, stood their ground, but none dared advance.

Then out of the sky above them, still swirling with falling snow and bits of the roof, a finger of lightning reached down like an arrow and struck Gerth, lighting the hall with a terrible glow, leaving a smell of ozone and burnt meat and a smoldering, black pile of refuse. One after another the lightning took out all the kneeling men, as though they were no more than ants being crushed by a capricious child.

Who’s next? Stefen thought he heard the Herald say, but he couldn’t be sure.

Two men, Kef and Jess, tried to make a run for it, stumbling through burning wreckage for the door, but the Herald waved one hand and both of them flew at the wall as though they’d been struck by cannonballs, and they hit the stone and timber with such sickening crunches that Stefen wasn’t surprised that they didn’t rise again from where their bodies fell.

Five more went to their knees, screaming like Resley and Gerth before them, unholy screams, like something was tearing them up from the inside, until the lightning silenced them each again.

Stefen couldn’t find pity for them. Rendan’s men were black-hearted brutes without exception, but he couldn’t stand to keep watching as the Herald picked them off.

Hoping the Herald remained distracted, though he fully expected to face him soon, he shuffled forward along the wall to the slumped Healer. The man was not only still breathing, but he was already stirring, twitching at Stefen’s cautious touch and stretching from his crumpled position with a pained expression.

“God’s, what’s going on?” he asked weakly, blinking and clearly unable to focus on the massacre happening before them.

“Shhh!” Stefen hissed. He’d had some vague thought of shooing the man through the door that was only a few short feet away, but the old Healer was so woozy he doubted he’d make it without help and he didn’t trust that the two of them moving together wouldn’t attract the Herald’s fury.

He couldn’t stop thinking now that the Herald-Mage was accounted a hero in all the songs out of Valdemar—but the songs that came from Karse called him the demon. How could this much power, even if used against evil men, be anything but evil in itself?

Surely the magic wasn’t endless? Surely he would tire soon?

Stefen let himself collapse against the wall. His hands hurt when he used them to brace himself and adjust his position and it took him a moment to remember why that was. Could it have been such a short while ago that Rendan had stopped him playing?

Across the hall there were only three left standing: the Herald, Rendan, and Tan. The Herald could have been the stone effigy of some ancient god, naked and beautiful in it, even with the bruises like blooms of darker stone in white matrix.

It was quiet. Even the wind had calmed. Had that all been the Herald?

Tan moved stiffly away from the two other men and picked up the shaft of a spear, broken at each end by the carnage that had gone on around it. The Herald made no move to take the weapon as Tan brought it back, and held it out between himself and Rendan.

They each took a stiff, unwilling step towards the sharp points of broken wood nearer to them.

He’s going to make them impale themselves, Stefen realized, and turned his head so he didn’t have to watch.

The door of the storeroom caught his eyes—because it was creeping open. He tried to shake his head in warning, but Damen wasn’t looking at him, hidden in the shadows of the wall by the bench, a direction the boy had never liked to look too often anyway. The boy’s eyes were wide on the wreck that had been made of the great hall: the bodies, the fallen ceiling, the scattered fires, the little whirlwinds of snow.

He took a faltering step out into the room, not seeing anything but the chaos the Herald had left, not noticing the danger he was stepping blindly into.

He was closer to the Herald than he was to Stefen and the Healer.

Stefen held his breath, hoping the Herald would remain focused enough on Tan and Rendan that Damen would have the chance to run either back to the storeroom or to the door.

The gods protect fools and children, Stefen had been told, but he’d never found that to be true.

Damen’s shocked gaze finally fell on the strange tableau the Herald made with the robber lord and his man, and he gasped, a sound so loud in the silence that had fallen that Stefen could hear it clearly from his place by the bench.

The Herald whirled, hand outstretched to the boy, a white glow kindling in his empty palm. His face was already looking more like it had when they’d first met, the bruises fading, the swelling diminished. A terrifyingly beautiful face with no mercy in it.

Stefen flung himself to his feet. “Damen!” he shouted, distracting the boy and the Herald both.

Though that glowing, outstretched hand turned menacingly towards Stefen, the Herald’s eyes clearly tracked the boy, who’d immediately started running, even when Stefen himself ran a few paces to meet him and shove the child behind his back.

Stefen was panting with fear, not exertion, so lightheaded he had good reason to hope he’d pass out before the Herald turned his powers on him. Damen was clutching his hands, burying his head in the small of his back. It only struck him then that Damen would probably have been safer if he hadn’t let him come hide behind him. If the Herald called his lightning on him now, Damen would be caught by it.

He forced his breath to steady; forced away the black edges of terror closing around his vision; forced his spine to straighten and his chin up, and stared square into those disturbing silver eyes.

Continued in Chapter 4

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#LHM #the last herald-mage #Vanyel Ashkevron #stefen #Tylendel Frelennye #my writing #fanfic

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