#the colour coordination is accidental if u can believe

[earthmoonz]

fit checks for my toxic lesbian throuple :)

[alexiablackbriar13]

Birds of a Feather [teaser]

As many of my followers may know, I have been working on a little something new recently (not that I’m neglecting any of my WIP fics, which there are many of).

When I approached @thatmasquedgirl with this idea, for a oneshot set in one of her Arrow AU ‘verses, the Flying High ‘Verse (which incidentally was inspired by one of my own ‘verses, weird how things come around), I was so excited I could barely form words. Wonderful wifey as she is, she allowed me to go ahead with writing this and I’m so grateful to her, as she has supported me the entire way throughout, acting as a cheerleader and a beta. There were some hiccups along the way, including me freaking out over how the fic I planned to be 5k words ended up being way over 20k, but things smoothed out, and the road to the finish line is clear.

The fic is semi-completed, but with Masque’s permission, I’m posting a teaser now so that people know that there’s a good reason why DNTMBTM and puppy!fic updates have been sporadic (and late) of date.

In case any of you need a reminder: Here is Crash Landing, which this fic is set a few weeks/months after.

“Reckless. Irresponsible. Impulsive. Ignorant, mindless -”

“Are you done?”

Felicity turns and shoots Oliver a scornful look due to his exasperated tone, pausing in her pacing across the Foundry. She warned him that this would happen. It’s barely a month after she found him injured, bleeding and flightless and Oliver has healed, but not completely. He still finds it difficult to fly and move around too quickly. So, when he insisted on heading out into the city that night to perform Hood duties, Felicity told him it was too soon. And it had been. Oliver arrived back, ashy grey feathers ruffled and wings bristling, with blood dripping from a bullet wound in his side. A brush, he calls it. The bullet has clipped him, but it hasn’t hit any major blood vessels. He persists in informing Diggle and Felicity that he’s fine, but the IT girl can tell he isn’t.

Concern marrs her brow as she slowly moves back towards the winged vigilante, observing him quietly as Oliver is patched up by Diggle. He’s squirming in his seat, scowling as he’s fussed over. The massive wings are twitching behind his back, and Felicity sweeps her gaze over them, admiring for a brief moment how the white coverts at the top of the wings, near the wrists, darkens down into a grey gradient, before the tips are coloured a stark midnight black. The vigilante grumbling causes her to raise her eyes up to his face again, and she frowns.

Oliver looks tired. He’s been looking tired for days now, and she’s just been thinking it’s the fact that he’s back training again, preparing to get back onto the streets. But no, she can tell now that this is a deeper exhaustion, something that has been plaguing him for a while. She’s been watching him closely over the last few days, and it’s easy now to see that something is, in fact, wrong with Oliver. Maybe he’s ill. Maybe he’s just overworked. But whatever it is, she doesn’t like the way that it causes black bags under his eyes, his shoulders to slump and feathers to droop. It isn’t healthy, and just seeing it all presented in front of her now is causing a lump of anxiety to form in her throat, forcing her to swallow.

“I told you it was stupid,” she whispers, flicking her finger into his bare arm, and drawing back when he gives a slight flinch, throwing her a wary glance.

Sighing, he fixes his intense blue gaze onto the floor, kicking his legs back and forth as he shifts uncomfortably on the gurney. “And I admit, you were right,” Oliver grumbles. His massive wings are still bristling slightly, white feathers gleaming, highlighted in the sharp light of a medical lamp. Diggle has to sidestep them to avoid getting hit by the occasional sporadic flap he gives. “But I don’t regret going out there. I took down three criminal one-percenters tonight that have been embezzling funds from charities supporting the Glades. It was worth it.” Softening his voice, he adds tenderly in that tone he reserves for her, and only her, “You understand that, don’t you?”

Okay, he has a point there. Oliver’s work truly is creating a positive change in Starling City, and Felicity has to give him his dues, because she knows that he is significantly altering thousands of people’s lives for the better. But she can’t help but worry about him. Before she can say anything else, however, Diggle steps around to the other side so he’s in front of the winged crusader, getting in between Oliver and Felicity so they have to break eye contact.

“It needs a few stitches,” Diggle says, somewhat apologetically. He reaches for the first aid kit and begins threading a needle with one hand like a professional, whilst his other keeps a piece of gauze firmly placed on the wound. Felicity flits forwards and taps his hand, giving him a small smile to say she can take over for him. She flushes as soon as she presses the bandage into Oliver’s side and the vigilante jumps, gaze flitting down to aim very ardent, cobalt eyes at her. “I can’t give you any local because of your metabolism, and the fact that your air sacs are still healing.”

“Do it without,” Oliver shrugs.

“Are you sure? This is going to hurt.”

“Do it without,” he repeats, and when a troubled expression crosses Felicity’s face, he leans in and murmurs softly, “Felicity, it’s fine. It’s just a few stitches.” Mirth sparkles in his eyes as he finishes teasingly, “You can hold my hand if you like.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but still allows a smile to quirk at her lips in amusement, reaching out to squeeze lightly on his shoulder before pulling away, letting Diggle tend to the wound. Oliver has opened up to her and Diggle in ways Felicity never thought he would over the last few weeks. Although Oliver still remains the gruff, suspicious, hesitant individual that had confronted her in that parking lot when he first crashed into her, Felicity can now see what an absolute wonder he is at heart.

He likes to touch affectionately, probably because he was severely touch starved in the past, but Felicity certainly isn’t complaining; thrill flashes through her whenever Oliver brushes his wings up against her side in a kind-hearted motion, or whenever he carefully settles his hands on her shoulders, rubbing his thumb gently into her neck to relieve the tension there. He still speaks harshly, sometimes turning cold and stony towards them if he is pushed too far, or doesn’t like what they are discussing, but Oliver’s true voice that he’s began using with both Felicity and Diggle is low and warm, like melted dark chocolate or a big cat’s rumbling purr. So when he teases her to hold his hand - she does. But not for too long, otherwise he’ll get uncomfortable, and Felicity respects his boundaries.

The blonde doesn’t notice that Diggle is stitching the wound and Oliver’s gritting his teeth with his eyes closed until a single, lithe, feathery finger inches around her open palm to curl around her hand. It makes her jump with a squeak, and then Felicity’s eyes flash down to look at what that finger is and it’s Oliver’s wing. There’s a tiny, white feathery thing wrapped around her fingers, and it’s Oliver’s wing holding her hand. She’s so astonished for a moment that she freezes, not moving, but before she can yank her hand back in shock, that feathered finger tightens and Oliver releases a deep pained sound.

He’s tensed, breathing heavily, and his left wing twitching anxiously. It’s his right wing that has extended out and wrapped around Felicity’s hand, and the realisation strikes her directly in the chest, making her exhale with a whoosh. Oliver is in pain, but he doesn’t know how to ask for comfort. He’s reaching out for her to soothe him instinctively.

Sweeping back towards him, Felicity keeps a firm hold of Oliver’s feathered finger whilst her free hand snakes over his shoulder to gently trace circles in the space between where the two wings are attached. At first, he straightens, snapping upright with a low gasp, and Felicity winces, afraid that he’s going to pull away - but then Oliver’s eyes flutter shut and he relaxes, leaning into her touch. Diggle’s just finishing up the stitches, watching them both with such an impassive expression that Felicity knows that he definitely has an opinion on this, and it makes her blush, biting her lip as she decides to instead fixate her gaze on that feathered finger hooked around her hand.

“It’s an alula.”

She glances up, taking in Oliver’s scrunched up face and closed eyes. How he knows what she’s going to ask before she even opens her mouth to speak still amazes her. “An alula?” she repeats, twisting her hand within the ‘alula’s grip so she can gently run her fingers down the light grey, white-ish feathers there. “What is it? Like a wing finger?”

“Exactly,” Oliver nods, managing a tight smile. “A wing thumb, actually. All birds have them. One on each wing. Our wings are essentially feathered arms, you know.”

The talking seems to be distracting him from the pain, so Felicity quickly draws him into conversation, saying disbelievingly, “I can’t believe that I never knew that birds have thumbs.”

“You wouldn’t know if you’ve never looked. I flare them out when I fly, they help coordinate with my tertials so I can steer properly without a tail. Birds can’t usually use their alulas to hold onto things, but - well...” A somewhat smug look passes over him, and he preens, left wing half flaring and very nearly smacking an annoyed Dig in the face. “I’m not a bird.”

“That’s genius.” She rubs the pad of her finger down the thick white feathers that line the finger, but goes completely still, breath catching in her throat, when one of the feathers comes loose and falls into her palm. Oh god. Is this meant to happen? Has she just accidentally pulled one of Oliver’s feathers out without even realising it? He just said he needs them for steering - has she just crippled him?! “Uh… Oliver?”

“Hmm?” He raises his head to survey her, and then when he sees the feather in her palm, he goes rigid. He stares down at the feather, a whole mixture of emotions flickering over his face. The fact that he goes motionless must startle Diggle as well, because his partner pauses in his wiping the wound with antiseptic, blinking. Felicity peers back at Oliver with wide eyes as he struggles to find words.

“Your feather fell out,” Felicity says, although she internally berates herself because yes, that is rather obvious. She’s holding the feather in her hand, it’s very obviously not attached to his wing.

Oliver stares at it for a moment, and then he moves so quickly that Felicity has to blink several times, and Diggle has to draw back to avoid accidentally stabbing him with the needle. Felicity’s heart aches and her legs feel numb as she watches Oliver desperately rake his hand through the feathers on his right wing. His blank expression as several of his peppered grey primary coverts fall out chills her to the bone, but nothing is more alarming than the tiny, frightened, “Oh,” he emits, swallowing.

“Oliver?” Diggle asks, taking a cautious step backwards just in case the winged vigilante reacts violently, because he looks shaken to the core.

“They’re - they’re falling out?” Oliver finally questions, his voice strained.

Oh god, this is bad. His reaction is bad. She HAS just crippled him. Trembling, Felicity whispers, “Oliver, I - I am SO sorry, I didn’t -”

“Hey, Felicity, no, this -” His hand darts out to grasp her wrist, and his tone’s steady as he shakes his head, firmly reassuring her, “This wasn’t you. You didn’t do this. It’s alright. Feathers - feathers fall out sometimes.”

“So it’s - it’s alright?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” Seeing the way that his left wing shakes, Felicity swallows. It isn’t fine.

“It’s not a big deal if feathers fall out?” Diggle questions hesitantly.

“No, it’s - not a big deal. It’s no deal. It’s fine.” Except the dread in his expression as Oliver plucks the alula feather from Felicity’s hand tells her that this is a very, very big deal. The several primary covert feathers that came loose with his fingers have drifted down, and remain scattered, like tiny pieces of ashy down littering the ground. Oliver refuses to meet their worried gazes as he stands on wobbly legs, wings flaring and tucking to steady him, hand tightly clenched around the alula feather. “Thank you both for your help tonight, but really, I’m okay. You can both go home.”

Felicity crosses her arms over her chest, hand flicking up briefly to straighten her glasses on her nose as she observes the winged vigilante calculatingly. Her heart is doing a merry jig due to her anxiety about Oliver’s reaction. He’s not acting as if he’s okay; he’s reacting as if this fallen feather is leading to the whole wing falling off. He’s shivering like a leaf, obviously shaken, but she isn’t going to press him, not when he’s in such a vulnerable and emotional state. Instead, she gently reaches out to caress the top of his wing wrist for a second, smiling sadly when he stiffens at her touch, before motioning to Diggle that they should leave. Diggle raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question her, offering Oliver a gruff farewell before grabbing his coat and clunking up the stairs out of sight.

“Change your bandages in four hours,” Felicity reminds him softly, withdrawing and picking up her coat and bag. Oliver nods, eyes lowered as he shuffles awkwardly, wings spreading to half span in such a way that she can tell that he’s feeling guilty at kicking them out. “Please try and sleep tonight, Oliver.”

“I will,” he answers.

She smiles again, and then heads for the stairs. Before she can reach the security door, however, Oliver calls her name quietly, causing her to whip around with a hopeful expression. It’s ridiculous, but she’s silently hoping that he’s going to ask her to stay. His wings are ruffled and a mess, and although he has only let her touch his wings once or twice, she will help him groom them if he asks.

“You don’t need to worry,” Oliver says quietly. “I promise you, I’m fine.”

“Goodnight, Oliver,” she responds.

Tags: @geniewithwifi @writewithurheart @bushlaboo @muslimsmoak @melsanfo @imusuallyobsessed @latinasmoak @nodecaff4me @myhauntedblacksoul @almondblossomme @callistawolf @thatmasquedgirl @queensoverwatch @pleasantfanandstudent  @valin-dana @fallingmeleth @skcolicity @lunarsilverwolfstar @tdgal1 @olicityandsteroline @michealajulius @cris101071 @ohmyemilybett @blushorchid ��@selena-diaries @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @the-silverforked-sky @jaspertown @n4r4nch4 @nvwhovian @miriam1779 @sunshine0977 

[yoi-secret-valentines2017]

Victuuri Hot Springs/Colour Soulmate AU for mochhio!

For @mochhio!

Hi!! it’s rachelcantwalkonwater, i forgot that you can’t submit through a side blog so I had to use my main blog, i hope that’s ok >.<, anyways here’s a fic I put together for my secret valentine!

Ever since I was born I haven’t been able to see in colour.

It’s not like it’s uncommon, every human being is born without the ability. We see everything in black and white, the beauty of the world being withheld from us until we find “the one”. Honestly, at this point, I’ve given up all hope in ever finding love, doomed to a black and white world for the rest of my uninteresting life.

My name is Katsuki Yuuri, I’m a 24 year old man, helping my parents run a hot springs resort in Hasetsu, Japan. There’s nothing interesting that happens around here, it’s the same boring town with the same boring faces. Hatsetsu used to be home to many hot springs, but over the years, they’ve all closed down due to lack of clientele. The only hot springs left is the one my parents own, and even now we don’t get many customers.

“Yuuri! Can you help me put these dishes away, dear?!” My mother calls out to me.

“Uh—yeah! Yeah I’m coming mom!” I reply.

I make my way across the main floor of the resort, and over to the kitchen. My mom greets me at the door, chuckling.

“Yuuri dear, what on earth are you wearing?”

“Huh? W-what do you mean? I thought I looked alright.” I say in self-defense.

“My, my, Yuuri, we really need to find you someone, and fast! You’re wearing teal pants, a purple shirt, and a red hoodie!” She states, snickering once more.

My face goes red as I realise what I’m wearing. Teal pants?! I didn’t even think I owned a pair of those! Well it’s not like it’s my fault anyways, I can’t see colour.

“I-I uh…” I mutter as I scratch the back of my head, losing eye contact with my mother.

“It’s alright Yuuri, come with me, I’ll help you pick out an outfit.” She smiles.

I follow her up to my bedroom and she picks out a colour coordinating outfit. She tells me that my three quarter length shirt is navy blue, and my pants are black, with a blue stripe running down either leg. As soon as she sees I’m content with my outfit, we go back downstairs and continue our chores.

I’m putting dishes away in their normal places when the phone rings. My mother rushes over to and picks it up.

“Hello, this is the Yu-topia Onsen, Hiroko speaking,”

I hear a muffled voice over on the other end of the line, and a small gasp from my mother.

“Really? He would like to stay here? Of course he can!”

This immediately piques my interest. Who exactly was on the other end of the line?

“Alright then, tomorrow at 3:30, have a great day!”

I rush over to where my mom is standing.

“Who was that?” I ask her.

She tells me about how she was talking to Yakov Feltsman, coach of the famous figure skater, Viktor Nikiforov. She tells me that they want to stay at the Yu-topia Onsen because it’s secluded, so Viktor will be able to relax, and not have to deal with fans before an upcoming exhibition skate. As I finish processing this information I realize, Viktor Nikiforov. Is coming. Here. To Yu-topia. Tomorrow. I promptly freak out.

Viktor is my ultimate idol. He’s graceful, kind, talented, and holy crap is he attractive. His confidence has helped me through many anxiety attacks, and bouts of depression. Now that he’s coming to Yu-topia, you’d think I come up to him and tell him how much he means to me, wrong. I’ll be too terrified to even come within 3 meters of the guy. My mom suddenly calls me down for dinner, I look at the time, 5:30 already? I could’ve sworn it was earlier.

As I eat dinner my family talks about the up and coming arrival of Viktor and Yakov.

“We have to provide Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Feltsman with first priority services. That means we need our best robes, best sheets, best dishes, and, well, you get it.” My father tells us.

“And Mari, not flirting with Viktor, understand?” my mother adds.

“Aww alright,” Mari, my older sister replies with a groan.

After dinner, I help my mom clean up. Afterwards, I walk upstairs to my room and watch some videos I have saved of Viktor. I pull up the video of him skating to ‘Stand by Me’, his free skate program from a few years ago. I watch as he gracefully skates around the rink, as calm as can be. He jumps and perfectly lands his quadruple salchow, his signature move. I watch in amazement, knowing that I could never do what Viktor is capable of. He glides around like he’s skating on air. It’s time for his step sequence, which he nails absolutely flawlessly. No wonder he won the world championships that year. I sigh as I gush to myself about how amazing I think Viktor is, then attempt to fall asleep.

The next morning, my mom calls me down for breakfast. As I eat, we talk about the final preparations that need to be made for Viktor’s arrival. After breakfast, I change into my clothes from yesterday, and set off to work.

Everything is ready, nothing needs to be done, it’s 3:00 and Viktor should be here very soon. I’m panicking, Viktor’s going to be here in thirty minutes, the Viktor Nikiforov, my idol, I’m so nervous. What if he doesn’t like me, what if he think I’m weird, what if I accidentally pour hot water all over his fantastic body and—

“Calm down Yuuri, everything will be okay.” My father reassures with a pat on the back. I give him a nervous smile and attempt to calm my nerves, to no avail.

The door of Yu-topia open with a swift swoosh and in waltz’s Viktor himself, Makkachin, his poodle right by his side, and Yakov tagging behind. Before any of them realise I’m here I bolt for my room.

I can’t do this, I can’t do this I can’t do this, I’m too scared!! I have to calm down, I need to make a good first impression for Viktor. He’s my idol, I don’t want him to think I’m some crazy fanboy.

My mom walks into my room to give some words of encouragement. She tells me that I can do this, to pretend like he’s any other customer at the hot springs, even though both her and I know that’s not true. I hear another voice coming up the stairs, his voice.

“Ms. Katsuki! Ms. Katsuki!!!! Where can Yakov put my bags?” Viktor’s happy-go-lucky voice rings throughout the hallways.

I quickly stand up as I hear him walk closer to my room. My mind finally catches on to the fact that all my posters of Viktor are still hanging in my room. As fast as lightning I take them all down, in case he decides he wants to enter my room. My mother softly chuckles at my behaviour and opens my door to greet Viktor.

My parents invited Viktor and Yakov to have dinner with us. I actually gathered the courage to go downstairs and eat with them. I walk towards the dinner table and sit down. My parents, Viktor, Mari, and Yakov engage in small talk while I quietly eat my katsudon. Suddenly, Viktor asks a question I knew would come up sooner or later,

“So, who’re you?” Viktor asks with a silly little grin on his face.

My face flushes red, “oh u-uh… m-MY NAME IS KATSUKI YUURI!”

Dammit. Good job Yuuri, first time meeting your idol and you mess it up. I quickly finish my katsudon and run upstairs into my bedroom. A few minutes later I hear soft knocking in my door.

“Yuuri?”

It’s Viktor. The door slides open and he enters. Good thing I took down all those posters earlier.

“U-uh, Viktor I-I’m sorry for the outburst at dinner I—”

He grabs my hands and I close my eyes. But he doesn’t say anything else. I open my eyes and my world changed forever,

Is this colour?

It’s beautiful.

At this point I’m too shocked to even register that I’m staring at Viktor, all I know is that I’m no longer seeing in black and white. These are colours, I tell myself. I take in the vibrancy in his eyes, and the paleness of his skin. I blink a few times to reassure myself that this is happening. Viktor’s “the one”? He can’t be, I don’t believe it.

“You’re—” We say at the exact same time.

Is Viktor experiencing this too? His goofy smile confirms my thought as he pulls me into a hug; I don’t object. As if he was some kind of medicine my nerves vanished. I give him my best smile, and he gives me his. We both get up off the bed and go downstairs to tell everyone about our new, colour-filled lives. From this moment on we both knew,

He is the one.