#oliver is hissing at kate from the shadows

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

Ha ha just thinking about completely normal things like Kate Bishop starting to wear baseball caps after hanging out with Roy Harper ("it keeps my hair out of the way!") and Roy wearing scarves after hanging out with Kate ("honestly it's really handy for binding up wounds!")

[writerbyaccident]

Shards of a Soul: Part Two (Yandere Tom RiddlexReader)

Request:Is there going to be a part 2 to the Tom Riddle fic you wrote???i loved it and I need more💜👌🏽

So I decided to make the reader a Gryffindor in this chapter purely for plot convenience, sorry if that’s not your house

Part One

           You woke up in a haze, the fog wrapped around your mind unnaturally thick. The weight of it could be felt not just in your head, but also in your whole body, from your eyelids to your very bones. Peering around you, you realized that you were curled up in one of plush armchairs next to the common room fireplace. You hadn’t remembered falling asleep, nor even closing your eyes, but you supposed that you simply had been far more tired than you realized. Perhaps the beginning of term was finally catching up to you.

           Rubbing your eyes a bit, you looked down at your watch to see how long you slept, gasping when you did so. According to the time, you had been asleep for around two hours! No wonder then that the common room was empty, all of your fellow Gryffindors must have went down to dinner. With anxious speed, you began throwing your books back into your schoolbag, eager to make it down to the Great Hall before supper ended. Your remaining homework would just have to wait, a conclusion that your growling stomach made for you. But just as you were about to walk away, you remembered what it was that you had been doing before you fell asleep. You had been writing to Tom, and from what you recalled you had never actually ended the conversation you had been in the midst of. That was awfully rude, you thought to yourself, especially considering that Tom had no way of knowing what had happened when you simply ceased writing back. And he didn’t exactly have anyone else to talk to, making your inconsideration all the more hurtful. Frowning at your mistake, you set your bag back down on the chair, digging through it to find the diary. The least you could do was write Tom an apology before heading down to dinner.

           As you continued searching through your bag, a feeling of dread spiked through you when you finally had to concede that the diary was not there. Once you admitted this, you checked under the various armchairs and couches, but it was not there either. Fear and guilt worming through you, a barrage of scenarios crashed over you, each worse than the last. What if Tom’s diary somehow got damaged? Would Tom be able to survive something like that? What if someone discovered what the diary truly was and showed it to a professor? Or what if they decided to keep it for themselves? With all of those possibilities looming over you, you reached into your robe pocket and drew out your wand.

           “Accio Tom’s diary!” you called out, now thankful to be the only one in the common room. You waited for a minute, and then another, and yet there was still no sign of the small book. Running your hands through your hair, you collapsed into the armchair, chewing your lip anxiously, wondering what in the world you were supposed to do next.

           Days passed by, and you were no closer to finding the diary. There was an almost constant burn in your heart, a burn to find Tom before it was too late. Every time that your mind even began to wander from the task, whether you were in class or with your friends, your mind was tugged back towards it. It was maddening, almost as if each time you tried to distract yourself someone else tugged at your head and heart, as if someone else’s fingers were gripping your mind. Your friends noticed the way you always seemed distracted, your drop in energy and rise in irritation, asking you what was wrong. You had to bite your tongue though, unsure how to tell them what had happened, that almost foreign presence in your mind whispering that they wouldn’t understand anyway.

           Even when you had gone on your date with Oliver, which you had truly been looking forward to, things still didn’t feel right. You tried your best to enjoy yourself, to have a good time with the boy you had like for a while now, but it was as if something refused to let you. The whole time that you were with him, it was as if there was a shadow cast over your soul. What are you even doing with him, a voice tinged with familiarity hissed in your head. He’s a completely imbecilic dolt. Despite your best efforts, your strange aggravation came through with Oliver, showing in your impatient attitude and terse words. Honestly, once it was over you were so relieved, feeling horrible about the way you had been acting. You truly weren’t sure what had come over you, even though you were worried about what might have happened to Tom that was no reason to be rude to Oliver. It was as if some snake coiled within you had risen to strike him, the sensation especially strange considering that although your irritation had shown with everyone lately, it seemed to target Oliver with a marked vindictiveness.

           Back in the common room about two weeks after you had lost the diary, you were in the midst of writing an essay for Charms. Although a part of you was still worried about Tom, you had woken up that morning feeling as though that almost recognizable presence in your mind had started to fade. Now that its influence wasn’t as pervasive as before, you realized just how foreign it had seemed. Looking back on the past few weeks, it was almost as if the way you had been acting hadn’t even come from you. But that wasn’t fair, you told yourself. Just because you were feeling better now didn’t mean you could just shrug off responsibility for the way you had acted. Regardless, you were happy for the change. Focusing properly for the first time in weeks, you tore through the essay with an enthusiasm and sharp wit that you were sure Tom would have been proud of. Your fellow house members passed through the common room, some on their way to the Great Hall, others on their way to the courtyard, while some students had joined you in your attempt to finish some of their work early. Eager to join your friends outside by the lake, you were just writing out your conclusion when you heard a small thud in front of you.

           Glimpsing up from your parchment, you gaped in surprise. Before you, right on the table in front of the armchair you sat in, laid a very familiar book. You jumped from your seat, glancing about wildly to try and see who it was that returned the diary to you. The common room too full though, meaning it could have been anybody. It could have been Kate Bell, who had just sat down to join her friends; it could have been Lee Jordan, who had just rushed up the stairs to his dormitory. It could have been that third year chewing the end of his quill, or maybe that redheaded girl slipping out of the portrait hole. Whoever it may have been, you were simply glad to see that the diary was safe. Scooping it up, you felt the familiar worn cover, soft from the years it had seen, and pressed your quill to its pages.

           Tom!you scrawled anxiously. I’m so sorry! I fell asleep during our last conversation, and when I woke up, the diary was gone! Are you alright?

           I’m fine, Tom wrote back immediately. Someone took me by accident, but I am back with you now.

           Who had you? Did you tell them to take you back? Why did it take so long? you asked him, so many questions fighting for your attention.

           I actually don’t know who had the diary, they never gave me their name. As for why it took so long for me to find you, you have to remember that not all of our fellow witches and wizards are as intellectual as us. The stranger only first bothered to write in the diary last night. You gave a small smile as you watched Tom’s words fade away, having missed his strange, rather blunt sense of humor. Tom, meanwhile, was just as happy to be rejoined with you, if not more so. Throughout these past few weeks he had used the connection between the two of you to its fullest extent, needing to keep an eye on you even while he was gone. The bond, in his opinion, was used productively, ensuring that you couldn’t tell anyone about him while still keeping him in the forefront of your mind. That was where he belonged after all, any other concerns that might have vied for your attention were simply pointless distractions. The only thing you needed was him, and he was determined that you remember that.

           Although, in truth, Tom used his influence over you for more than just that. Despite the fact that he had to leave you for a time, Tom wasn’t about to allow you to gambol about with that utter dolt who had somehow deluded you into thinking that you hadn’t already been claimed. It was too simple really, sowing the seeds of doubt and agitation. And now that he was back with you, he could ensure that no one else would try to take you from him. If all went according to his plan as he was certain it would, he would be able to prove his ownership of you beyond any doubt by the end of the year. Though he was loathe to admit it, Tom had been foolish to forget the importance of having a body for this sort of circumstance. How could he show the world who you belonged to, after all, if the world didn’t even know that he existed? If he truly wished to claim you, he would need to reenter the world. Tom knew it could be done so long as he was able to steal enough of a person’s soul to do so. Considering that the process would result in the other’s death though, you were hardly a viable option.

           That had left Tom with no choice but to leave you for some time, possessing you to hand the diary off to another student, one whom he could easily influence. The whole time that he was stuck with that insipid little girl he had barely kept his fury at bay, every word the girl wrote reminding him just why he had been drawn to you in the first place. Even though he could still feel the cords tying you to him, could still plant his will in your mind, it wasn’t enough for his greed. He was only able to keep himself composed by reminding himself of the reward he would rightfully reap once it was over. When he felt the chains connecting your soul to him begin to fade though, he was forced to adapt his plan. Unwilling to risk you forgetting about him, risk you traipsing back into that imbecile’s arms, he had the Weasley girl return him to you. Now it seemed that he would have to compel both you and that child to hand him back and forth between each other. Despite the complication, Tom was glad for the excuse to see you again. He wasn’t about to let you get away from him.

           Besides, the whole reason he had left you in the first place was so that he could prove to you who it was that you belonged to. If he lost you in the process, what would have been the point? From everything you had told him, as well as from everything he had sensed, he knew the dangers of leaving you alone with your supposed friends for too long. They could make you believe the most insidious things, make you think that your decisions were your own to make, that your kindness was something that belonged to everyone. No, every last piece of you, from your mind to your heart to your soul, every last scrap of wit and compassion, belonged to Tom, and he refused to share.

[ceruleanmusings]

When the Clock Stops

Fandom: Flash/Arrow Pairing: Oliver Queen x Sage Moreaux (OC) Words: 1583 Note: Can be found on AO3 Summary: When the Crisis looms and difficult choices must be made, wedding vows are put on the line as they face down the swift moving hands of time. Warning: This ficlet has spoilers for Crisis on Infinite Earths Part 1. If you have not seen it yet, you will be spoiled. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

———-

Her finger pulsed on the trigger, sending arrow after arrow flying off her crossbow. Her heart jumped in her chest as she shuffled backwards, keeping close to her husband and her daughter. She cracked a grin, at the idea and at taking down a shadow demon. Fighting with her husband and daughter from the future? If she weren’t so used to this life, she’d wonder what Barry did to mess things up this time. Only he had no hand in bringing Izzy to her. That was luck she supposed. And she’d cherish this moment, seeing her daughter fighting with reckless abandon, saving the Earth, following in Oliver’s footsteps.

Sage returned her focus to the battle around her, ducking and dodging to hit every and any member of the Anti-Monitor’s shadow army. Ray’s blaster beams sliced through the air, dancing with Kara’s and Clark’s beams shooting from their eyes. The rest of them stayed on the ground—Barry, Oliver, Izzy, Kate—circling and keeping the enemy away one by one. Bursting into clouds of smoke and matter with every strike.

A flash of red. Barry punching out a demon.

Blue beams. Kara and Clark twisting around, taking down demons diving from above.

A smear of green. Oliver—no—Izzy flipping through a well-aimed kick, curly hair flying.

Sage’s heart swelled with pride at the direct hit.

Izzy would be okay.

They’d all be okay.

Blue flashing and twisting within a cloud appeared to Sage’s left and she cursed beneath her breath at the sight of the Monitor. No! Not now! This can’t be it!

“The battle is lost,” the Monitor announced, stepping out of the temporal gateway. “We must retreat and save our resources for battles yet to come.”

Sage glanced at Oliver, at her husband, out the corner of her eye. He barely reacted to the Monitor’s statement, still drawing back his bow, still fighting. But she spotted it in his eye, through the grease smeared around the skin, through the mask. A fleeting sort of hesitancy that made her, for one second, rethink everything. But then the fire reignited and he kept going, his movements so fluid and graceful that for a brief moment she stared, took in the beautiful sight of him. She steadied her jaw. That’s that, then.

Her finger pulsed on the trigger.

Puffs of blue clouded smoke enveloped them one by one. Kate. Ray. Kara. Clark.

Izzy! She turned a halfstep, a shout dancing on the tip of her tongue, to warn, but it died away when she was enveloped too. Doubts careened around her. She stood and watched as her daughter, her baby, disappeared before her eyes.

Was this still right? Was she doing the right thing? There was still a chance, to spend time with her, to be there for her little girl. One unplanned but never unwanted.

“Oliver!”

Barry’s shout made her whip around, a searing pain lodging in her chest at the sight of Oliver being knocked over.

She gripped her crossbow. No. She need to be here.

Her eyes locked with the Monitor’s and he lifted his hand. “No!” she snarled with such a ferocity that it rumbled in her chest. He paused and she shook her head. The Monitor’s head inclined, a single nod. Confirmation.

She nodded back.

“Oliver,” the Monitor called out, shifting his attention. Sage did the same, lifting her crossbow and firing more arrows. They whizzed through the sky, hitting each mark. Bursting every target. “It is time.”

“Has the planet been evacuated yet?” Oliver demanded, his gruff words sending a shiver down her spine.

“Not entirely,” the Monitor replied.

“Then it’s not time!” Oliver

Oliver looked at Sage. It crept all the way down to her toes, unsteadying her for a second in only the way that Oliver could manage to make her waver. She closed her eyes, engraving that look in her mind, in her heart.

“Sage—”

“Ollie,” she interrupted him, eyelids flying open, eyes hardening.

“Go.”

“No.”

“Sage, don’t—”

Sage grasped at the insignia on her midnight blue suit, twisted it to the left. It cranked and clicked until she stopped and then slapped it, pushing it a few inches inwards. Blue beams shot off from the insignia and traveled down the inner arms of her suit, crawling up to her palms. Energy surged through her and she dropped the crossbow, holding up her hands, thrusting them outwards as she concentrated.

A thin, blue dome popped up around them. The shadow demons all halted, stopped in midair, frozen. Pain rolled in waves in Sage’s head. Tears formed on the bottom lids of her eyes and a warm, wet trail slid down from her left nostril. It slipped over her lips and she stuck out her tongue, taking in the familiar metallic taste of blood. Oliver whipped around, looking this way and that as she gritted her teeth, straining.

“Wha…?”

“Froze time,” she uttered.

“You can—?”

“I can now,” she said. Her legs began to tremble. “It’s new. I don’t use it much.” She sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth as he approached. “Don’t have much time. Just needed…to say something.”

She focused on Oliver’s echoing footsteps rather than the flames licking at her muscles, coursing beneath her skin, and cracking her skull. Her breaths came out in ragged, hissing bursts but she kept her eyes on him. On Oliver. And she leaned into his comforting touch when his gloved hand cupped her cheek and his forehead pressed against hers.

“I’m…I’m s-so…proud of you,” she uttered, doing her best to keep her strength. In her words. In her body. In her resolve. “Oliver Queen, I’m so proud of you. And—and I love you. You gave me a b-beautiful daughter…and a beautiful life. And I th-thank you.”

“I love you,” Oliver said. He pressed a kiss to her lips, the blood clinging when he pulled away. He didn’t move to wipe it away. “You need to go.” His breath ghosted across her lips. She took in his scent, cologne mixed in with leather and mint. So uniquely Oliver.

Sage shook her head. ‘’Til death do us part, remember?” His eyes darkened and his jaw set. A little muscle twitched near the back, below his ear. His lips pressed into a line and, oh, how she wanted to kiss those lips again. One last time.

But she couldn’t move.

Not yet.

The field would break and then… It wasn’t time.

They needed to be ready.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“I can’t ask you—”

“You didn’t. And you won’t. This…this is what has to happen. I’m fine with it. This is what I want. You’re what I want.”

Oliver’s hand curled on his bow. He nodded, his nose nuzzling against hers. A low hum sounded in the back of her throat at their touch. She nodded. With a groan, she dropped her arms. The dome around them broke, shattering into small glittering pieces that rained down on the rooftop beneath them. Sound hit them all at once. The screeching of the shadow demons vibrated her bones and turned her stomach but her resolve steeled.

Staggering back to her feet, she pushed her hair back out of her face as Oliver lifted a bow and in one, fluid, sure gesture, shot it at the Monitor. Sage turned her back on him as he fell to the ground, electricity coursing over his body.

Lifting her stinging arms, Sage readied her crossbow, recalled all the marksman training her uncle Joe, and her father, and Oliver had put her through, and fought.

And fought

And fought. She rolled and dodged away from swooping shadow demons, landing swift kicks and punches to those that got close enough. A few exploded with the force of her swinging her crossbow around, catching them in the sides.

An explosion knocked her off her feet. A loud ringing screamed in her ears, her vision tilted, and her breath stuttered as she rolled around, trying to get back to her feet. Trying to fight. Soot and dirt coated the inside of her mouth, sucking the moisture out. Her coughs, ragged and hacking, seized her body and famed the flickering flames of ache.

Sage got to her feet, unsteady. Her eyes darted around until she spotted Oliver on the ground. “Ollie!” She clumsily skirted the debris and slabs of concrete on the roof top and dropped to his side. He swung his legs around, lifting into a kneeling position as he reached back for an arrow.

He grabbed air.

She held her gloved hand out to him and he grasped it, allowing her to help him to his feet. Their grip tightened as they looked in one another’s eyes, their breaths steadying. She squeezed hard and slipped her hand out of his grasp, turning to face the shadow army head on. Flashes of her family flittered through her mind: Uncle Joe, Iris, Wally, Barry, Nora, Caitlin, Cisco, Ralph, Cecile, her daughter Izzy.

Oliver.

“By the way.” Sage dragged the back of her hand against her mouth and turned a half-smile over to Oliver, coupled with a wink. “Happy anniversary.”

He blinked, uttered a short laugh, and shook his head. All at once the mirth in their faces drained and were replaced with stony acceptance. Oliver threw away his bow. Sage tossed down her crossbow and yanked ring daggers out the patches on her thighs. They tensed and, with simultaneous battle cries, they charged, united.