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writing-the-end · 5 years ago

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Chapter 1- The Letter

Master Post

A Wizard Hermit tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

The Order of Hermits is an illegal guild, hiding out on the fringe islands of Lairyon. But when they get a mysterious letter from the capitol city Milliara, their curiosity gets the better of them- and who wouldn’t take up an opportunity for good money, good adventure, and good opportunity to get their license?

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“Mail’s here!” Grian cheers, seeing their carrier bird appear over the horizon. He pulls his arcanum spell from Mumbo’s throat, and hops off the newest member of the guild to greet their phoenix friend. He pulls out a few pieces of charcoal, the favorite treat of their carrier phoenix. “Over here Phoebe!”

“I feel like she needs a better name than that.” Doc mentions, tightening the straps of his robes and helping Iskall bring Mumbo to his feet. Dazed, and thoroughly thrashed by Grian. “Look, she didn’t even answer you. Phoenixes need a cool name- like Ember, or Blaze.”

The bird swoops low, completely ignoring Grian and his tasty morsels of charred wood. A single feather falls free, caught by Cleo from midair. She holds the luminous material, glinting in sunlight like silver and blinding the whole group. “That’s...that’s not Phoebe. That’s an Alicanto.”

Everyone’s head snaps, following the bird’s path as it comes to rest on TFC’s arm. Searching for the guildmaster of the Order of Hermits. Scar slips closer, awed by the opalescent white wings of such a noble bird. “I thought alicantos were only found in central Lairyon.”

“It’s from the capitol.” TFC states, pulling the parchment from the parcel on the bird’s back. The scroll is stamped with a symbol everyone knows, whether the hermit is from the distant poor swamps of east Lairyon or the rich crystal mountains of the southern Fartop Peaks in the Lionheart Mountains.

The scrawling laurels and crystals of the magistrate’s office. The alicanto pecks at TFC’s metal gloves, searching for food in the form of silver or gold. But every member of the guild has completely forgotten their divine visitor. They’re terrified of the contents within the parchment carried upon it’s back.

“Oh my word, this is it! We’ve been found!” Mumbo shrieks, feeling his head get dizzy and light. He’s hardly been here for more than a year, and he’s about to get arrested. Years of following the rules, and the one time he goes rogue he’s been caught.

“The arcane guard must be on their way. This is their letter telling us to surrender.” Cub shakes his head, watching as TFC opens the wax seal.

“If we surrender, will they be light on us?” Ren questions, biting his lip and adjusting his sunglasses as Xisuma brushes past. He can smell the ozone scent of void on the previous guildmaster, pacing back and forth across the grass of the training field. Muttering something about his brother.

“I’m not surrendering. I’m not going back to jail!” Doc crosses his arms and turns his nose up and away from the letter in defiance.

The entire guild, twenty something strong, creeps closer to TFC as his eyes scan across the parchment. The entire island is holding their breath, waiting for their guildmaster to tell the guild what’s waiting for them. Etho turns, falling into the shadow of the group and reappearing from TFC’s. “What does it say?”

“We...it’s a contract.” TFC rereads the words again, and again. Trying to make sure he has everything right. That he read everything correctly. “The magistrate wants us, all of us, to go to a town called…” TFC squints his eyes and tries to read the name, before giving up. “Whatever, somewhere in east Lairyon. There’s been a disturbance that requires our help.”

“All of us?” Xisuma stops dead, pulling off his mask so he can be sure he’s hearing everything right. “What needs an entire guild to take care of a ‘disturbance’?”

“Forget that, why would the magistrate request the help of an illegal guild?” Doc waves his metal arm out, catching the attention of the alicanto. It hops free of TFC’s shoulder and swoops onto the puppeteer mage’s arm. Immediately, it begins pecking and pulling on the delicate materials and magic that makes his prosthesis. “Isn’t his entire job to arrest groups like us?”

“That is kind of suspicious.” Iskall pipes up, tapping a gloved finger on the brown beard of his chin.

TFC clears his throat, taking a deep breath. He brushes the white braid along his face, collecting himself. He needs to be the man in charge, cool and calm. “The letter isn’t officially from the magistrate’s office. It’s stamped like one, but it’s on personal parchment paper. The magistrate needs us because he can’t send official guilds without raising alarm. He wants this done discreetly, and none of the other council members agree with his actions.”

“But us?” Cleo can’t help but agree with Doc. They aren’t exactly law-abiding citizens. They’re a mercenary group, flying under the radar of the Council of Lairyon. Doing the work they refuse to do, helping towns too poor to pay the hefty fees legal guilds require. “What do we get out of this? How do we know this isn’t some trap to lure us out of the Ashioll sea?”

“And how does he know about us?” Mumbo adds, wringing his hands.

“I...I don’t know, but I guess our reputation precedes us.” TFC nods to the guild hall, rising above the training grounds of the island on a soft hill. Where they can all talk. No one wastes time filing in, hungry for answers and completely ignoring the leftover breakfast still set out on the tables. The alicanto notices the metal cups, and sticks it’s head in search of a treat. And getting it’s golden crested head stuck in the pewter mug.

“Well? Tell us what it says!” Stress bounces in her seat, short brown hair bouncing along with her.

“This town, Gildara, has been having what the contract only calls a ‘disturbance’ for the past few weeks. The council refuses to send a scout group, but the magistrate here says he can’t sit idly by and let people continue to get hurt. If we take care of the problem plaguing Gildara, we can…” TFC takes a deep breath, the excitement starting to fill his own voice. Calm, he needs to be calm. He’s the guildmaster. “We’ll be given the title of official guild, as well as a hefty sum of gold. We’ll get our magic license.”

The reaction of the guild is mostly positive. They had given up applying for their license ages ago- before Xisuma gave up his role as guildmaster. They were always rejected, and warned to disband every time. But the Order of Hermits only have each other. Leaving their island, leaving each other, was never an option. They’re a menagerie of people, of criminals and runaways, S-Class mages and academy flunkies. Some people are skeptical of such a proposal, others are ecstatic. All are curious.

“What an opportunity of the lifetime!” Grian whoops, his wings appearing with hardly even a thought. Magic overflowing through the sky angel wizard, held down by his robes by Iskall and Mumbo. “Did it really say for all of us?”

TFC looks back down at the paper, before letting it fall so everyone else can see. The hermits butt heads trying to peak at the contract before them. Jevin shakes his head, slimy hair squishing and getting stuck against Ren’s wagging tail. “It’s really for us all. The whole damn guild.”

“I never saw that many zeroes in my life.” Grian whispers, his voice quiet for once. “That could fix all the damage from our battle with those creepy creatures.”

Mumbo looks back, seeing white bandages peeking out from the sleeveless red hem and blue cloak around his shoulders. They almost didn’t survive that- if it weren’t for Grian and his archangel aura they wouldn’t have made it. His train of thought is disturbed when False pushes herself in, hands planting with challenging eyes towards Tango and Impulse. “Maybe you two can finally fix that hole you blew into my forge.”

“I quite like the cross breeze our...modification gave.” Tango rests a hand on his chest, a snickering smile appearing across his face. Mirroring emotions fall across Impulse and Zedaph at his side, peeking around his arms.

“Then move out and make your own modifications!” False shouts, but a coy grin and sharp eyes appear across her features. This won’t be the first time False and team ZIT have gotten into a duel over their accidental explosion, and it likely won’t be the last. “Zedaph already has his own place.”

“He lives in a barn!” Impulse moans. “I hate how pokey hay is.”

“You say barn like it’s a bad thing. The sheep are great roommates, they don’t light their pillows on fire.” Zed stares up at Tango. Quips trade across everyone, ideas brought up and shot down as quickly as Scar’s terraforming magic, all what to do with the money offered before them.

TFC snaps his fingers, the ruby in his other hand glimmering with the magic circle. Lighting up lanterns that hang from the copse of trees and nestle in rock outcroppings of the outdoor guild hall. The fire burns bright, blinding the order even in the midmorning sun. “We should decide whether or not we all want to do this. We’re a guild, we should vote.” TFC raises his right hand. “Anyone oppose this contract? Please answer honestly..”

The hermits look at each other, but no one’s arm even twitches to put their hand up. The contract is too curious to deny. So much to offer, including an adventure. TFC nods, and lifts his left hand. “All in favor?”

Robes and sleeves snap up, twenty something hands raised into the air. It’s unanimous. TFC signs the contract, pulling over the alicanto and pulling it’s head free of the empty cup. He opens a hand to offer the divine bird a nugget of gold, which it greedily snaps up while he snaps on the response. “So it is. Alright, hermits. Let’s get packing. We depart for Gildara tomorrow at dawn.”

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suncityblues · 4 years ago

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Bad Luck and Sunshine

Part 1/5 - SPN - 3k words

read on AO3

He can fit all his worldly possessions on the passenger seat of his car.

Car keys, red bic lighter, a toothbrush in a ziplock bag. Cellphone, charger, brown faux leather wallet. A maxed out credit card with the name James Ledbetter on it, and a fake ID to match the card. Fourteen American dollars, one Canadian quarter, a Blimpie’s buy-one-get-one coupon.

A pen with the name of a bank on it, a tin of salt. A paperback with a four leaf clover carefully pressed into the pages between the title and the acknowledgments, and that’s it.

Castiel taps the book in the spot where the clover is pressed. He can feel the slight bump of it.

“They’re supposed to be good luck,” Dean had told him with a shrug when Cas asked why he was rooting around in the grass that day. Dean had handed Cas the book with the clover inside and said, “I used to search for them sometimes when I was a kid. It’s dumb but, hey, I figure we could use all the luck we can get.” Dean had smiled softly then, a bit sheepish. The tips of his ears had gone red.

Back then the world had been ending, so Cas supposed Dean was right, they could use luck.

He remembers trying to be encouraging, saying something about the placebo effect that made Dean roll his eyes and laugh at the same time. He can’t quite recall the specifics of it anymore.

A while later he had reached out to the clover with his grace and found nothing particularly special about it, but kept it and the book anyway. He reaches out again, now, with what little of his power he has left. It’s still just as lucky as any other dead plant.

He takes stock of his possessions again, focusing in particular on the fourteen American dollars and the one Canadian quarter. He checks how much gas he has left in his car and it’s not much. If he keeps going he’ll have to choose between food and gas, just to run out of it again anyway.

He needs to eat sometimes now, and drink water. He needs a shower and a bed if he can get them. Clothes, shoes, soap, toothpaste. All of it costs money, and to get money you have to trade time. Castiel has always found that a little ridiculous but it’s not like he makes the rules anymore.

He’s been pulled over in a dark parking lot in a truck stop town called Laurel for a while now thinking about what to do. Sam and Dean had set him up with the card and the fake ID before he left and Cas doesn’t want to ask them for any more help. He decides Laurel is as good a place as any other to get stuck in.

It’s 9:52 on a Tuesday.

A day and a half later Castiel is once again employed at a gas station. He’d tried a diner, a vegetable canning factory, a hardware store, and a rundown CVS but the gas station is the first place that got back to him. They were short staffed after someone named Ricky had walked out, and desperately needed a replacement. Kendra, the manager, had said “it’s like you were sent by an angel!” When she read through his mostly fictional work history. It had made Cas laugh.

This one is called Sunshine Gas and Go. They have to wear ugly yellow polo shirts that say “Let me know how I can help make your day sunny!” On the back. They keep the beer on the left side of the cooler bank instead of the right and the jerky next to the self-serve coffee but aside from that it’s remarkably similar to a Gas-N-Sip.

He wonders bleakly if he should have been the patron of gas stations while he had the ability.

The angel of Thursday, the angel of gas stations, that’s Cas. The guardian of the spaces you have to pass through on your way to better days, better places.

He sometimes wonders how Nora’s doing; if her kid’s okay.

It takes Sam and Dean five weeks to cave and check in on him. Cas has been in Laurel for the last three.

They pretend to be on their way back from a hunt, a totally routine salt and burn, and just so happen to be refueling at that particular gas station in this particular truck stop, exactly fifteen minutes after his coworker leaves Cas alone to cover the overnight shift. It’s an obvious and flimsy excuse to make sure he’s okay, but he’s known them long enough to understand that obviousness and flimsy excuses to see one another are gestures of affection in the Winchester family. He finds it somewhat exhausting to witness, and even more so to experience but he doesn’t call them out on it.

He does, however, make pointed eye contact with Sam who waves his hands in a placating gesture behind Dean’s back and excuses himself to go stare at the overpriced air fresheners on the other side of the store. He had hoped Sam, at least, would have had the sense to text first.

On the counter next to the cash register there’s a plastic bin with a picture of a bald child in a hospital bed taped to it and some loose change inside. Dean picks the can up, looks inside it, shakes it a bit, puts it down. It’s mostly empty.

“You’d think people’d be a little more generous, what with the cancer kid at stake and all,” he says. When Cas doesn’t immediately reply Dean continues, “Or is this one of those, uh, charity scams? You know, where the evil mega corporation asks you to pretty please donate so they can use it as a tax write off?”

Castiel shrugs, he doesn’t know what the Sunshine Gas and Go does with the money. Says: “I’m not sure, Dean.”

He pretends not to see Dean stick some gum from the display under the counter into his coat pocket. He’s watched Dean do this before to other casheers, leaning close to flirt and making off with what he can. Cas supposes old habits die hard. The gum is sugar free cinnamon.

Dean sees him pretending not to see. He smiles big and bright, his nose does a little crinkle that Cas always liked. The term “shit eating grin” comes to mind, Cas must have heard it somewhere, probably about Dean that time too. He rolls his eyes and says, “How was your hunt? Were you or Sam hurt at all?” He can’t do much besides heal minor cuts and bruises these days, but for the Winchesters he’d still offer what he can.

Dean waves him off, “Fine, fine, got shoved around a bit but it’s nothing a cold compress and a good night’s sleep can’t fix.”

“Speaking of,” Dean segues in a breezyl tone Castiel knows is dangerous territory, “Where are you sleeping these days? You gotta sleep now right?”

The ghost of Rexford sits heavy between them, though it’s been years since then. Cas realizes being back at a gas station might have caught Dean off guard, or felt like some kind of dig at him. He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s just bad luck, and he’s not sure Dean would believe him if he did.

This time around he’s not squatting in the back room with the cleaning chemicals but he is sleeping in his car, just until he has enough money for a place to stay or decides to hit the road again. He knows that’s not anything Dean wants to hear.

“Yes, Dean, I need to sleep” he answers, then pauses. He considers lying but it never works out when he does, and this isn’t life or death; just embarrassing.

Besides, Sam and Dean are observant and thorough even during a glorified social visit, so Cas figures they’d put two and two together as soon as they walked in the door. There’s no way they hadn’t clocked his too-big thrift store jeans under the uniform shirt, or the circles under his eyes. The way his beard is a little patchy from shaving in the bathroom mirror in the truck stop visitor center. It’s likely they’d found his car in it’s discreet parking space at the edge of the lot before coming into the Sunshine Gas and Go.

Cas tries tactful honesty: “I’m saving up.”

And it’s true, he is, though he’s not sure what he’s saving up for. But every Friday he gets a paycheck and brings it to the check cashing place in town. After the fee, and groceries, and little necessities he carefully stores what little he has left in the locked glove compartment of his car, under the book with the clover in it.

Dean’s lips press flat together. He stops leaning over the counter and stands at his full height. He makes an aborted head shaking gesture. He speaks like there’s an awful taste in his mouth.

“So,” he says, slightly too loudly to pay it off as cool. Out of the corner of his eye Castiel sees Sam’s head wip towards them, no longer pretending he’s not eavesdropping.

“So, ah—“ Dean repeats, “you’re gonna, what? Drift around? Lay low in some podunk shit hole for the rest of your life?“ he stops, puts his hands on the counter to steady himself, or to keep from reaching over and grabbing him, Cas isn’t sure. A beat.

“You know what?” Dean says, “Nevermind.”

Cas deflates. He knows Dean disagrees with him leaving so soon after becoming human again, and feels guilty about so many things it’s hard for Cas to keep track of them all, but he knows he couldn’t stay either. Just like lying to the Winchesters, it never works out in the end. With almost no power, he’s no help to anyone, not Sam and Dean, not heaven, not even himself. It hurts to think about but maybe that’s just part of being human.

“Dean—“ he starts to say but he’s cut off.

“Don’t worry about it, man” Dean says, he taps the counter twice with his knuckles, “nice place you got here. I’m glad you’re doing alright.”

Dean swallows and abruptly turns to leave, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. Cas watches him go until Sam comes to the counter with two bottles of water, a coffee, and an energy bar.

He puts a twenty down, says apologetically, “For this stuff and whatever Dean stole on his way out.”

“Gum,” Cas supplies, and slides the twenty back towards Sam. “Don’t worry about it,” he says.

The cameras don’t work inside the store, and according to Joanna, the only reason they’re still up at all is to deter would-be armed robbers. Castiel watches less deserving people steal from them all the time, so it doesn’t seem worth it to take Sam’s money.

Sam shakes his head and gives him a flat smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes his things but leaves the twenty. Says, “See you around, Cas.” He pauses for a moment, and seems to debate something with himself. Then: “Check in sometimes if you can, okay? You know how Dean can be when he gets worried.”

Castiel knows. He waves to Sam as he walks off into the dark.

Cas checks the gum display, then manually rings up the items Sam bought. He puts the change into the plastic jar with the kid in the hospital bed on it.

A few days later a woman comes in with a ghost behind her. Cas checks the time to keep from gaping. 11:27 AM.

The ghost is a man, perhaps in his mid forties. Too young to be dead, but Cas supposes most people feel that way when they die, no matter how old. When the woman comes to the counter and gives him thirty dollars to put on pump six he sees a wedding ring on a chain around her neck. He puts two and two together.

“That’s a lovely necklace” he says, he looks directly at the ghost when he says it. They make eye contact. The ghost does a sharp inhale for a moment and the lights flicker. The ghost disappears.

Cas frowns, “Sorry about that. It happens all the time,” he lies. He wonders if he could purify the ghost with what powers he has left, that way she wouldn’t have to burn her wedding ring.

The woman seems caught off guard, then smiles politely.

“No worries, it happens all the time at my house too. Must be a faulty power grid in this town or something, my kids swear it’s a ghost or something,” she says.

There’s an apprehensive edge to her voice then, hastily: “have a good one.”

“You too,” Cas says. He thinks about following her out, trying to explain. He thinks about texting Sam and Dean.

The slushie machine makes a mechanical crunching sound and suddenly there’s red goop all over the ground.

Joanna starts yelling and runs for the mop. He goes to unplug the machine and gets sticky pink syrup all over his last clean pair of pants. The ghost slips his mind.

Two days later Dean shows up by himself. It’s 6:43 in the morning on a Tuesday.

Cas has been finished with work for fifteen minutes already but there’s a rush at the end of his shift so he says on to help Javier and Kendra out. It’s mostly people stopping for gas on their way to work, or truckers picking up breakfast before heading back on the road. He doesn’t mind sticking around in the mornings, everyone’s usually too tired to be angry and it’s a nice break from the drunks and the sad eyed kids he usually meets on overnights. The extra money doesn’t hurt, either.

Cas doesn’t notice Dean until he’s placing two coffees on the counter in front of them.

His first words are a surprised, “Oh, hello Dean. Where’s Sam?” Which makes Dean huff, and shift from one foot to the other.

“Not here,” he says, then points at the coffee closest to Cas, “That one’s for you. Milk, no sugar still, right?” Cas nods. He knows this is Dean Speak for an apology. He can feel Javier and Kendra look over at them from behind the other register and the cigarette display, respectively.

Dean smiles, all charm but Cas can tell his face looks a little more drawn than usual, like he’d been driving for too long without a break, “You get off work soon?”

Kendra answers for him, “Yes, he does.” She has a maternal look on her face when Cas turns to her. Javier rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“Shoo,” she says, with a smile. She points at the slogan on his uniform shirt, “Go have a sunny day, James.”

Dean nods, “Yeah, James. Have a sunny day.” There’s that smile again.

Cas closes out his register and gets his coat from the back room. Dean’s waiting for him outside, drinking his coffee and leaning against the Impala. The lighting is the soft grey-blue of the morning, and it feels nice compared to the white fluorescents of the store.

Before Cas can say anything Dean scrubs at the back of his neck, then says, “This coffee tastes like piss. Let’s get breakfast.”

There’re a few diners in town but Cas has never been to any of them. Dean picks one on a whim, because the sign has a 1950’s pinup girl in a skimpy waitress uniform.

It’s warm inside and smells nice, like syrup and strong coffee. Dean orders something called The Lumberjack Platter and when Cas tells the waitress, “Just coffee, thanks” Dean overrides it and orders him scrambled eggs with a side of sausage and toast.

“My treat,” Dean says. Cas shakes his head but doesn’t fight him on it.

Dean avoids talking about anything personal. Instead they mostly chat about the case Sam and Dean are currently working on. Apparently they’ve hit a wall with the research and Sam’s been holed up at the bunker for days pouring over blueprints and hacked security footage. There’s a cursed object in a locked bank vault in Little Rock that’s making people have violent outbursts. The questions are: why did it start acting up now, which lock box it’s in, and how to get to it.

Cas wishes he could still fly, then at least he’d be able to solve two of their problems. He runs the idea of trying to find a spell to make the object useless by Dean and Dean types it into his phone to send to Sam. A moment later it lights up with a call but Dean mutes it and sticks the phone back in his pocket.

Dean changes subjects and tells him about the latest Dr. Sexy storyline, about a vampire nest he took out a few years back, about running into Garth in Topeka. Cas talks about the gas station a bit but mostly just listens. He always likes listening to Dean talk.

When they leave the diner and get back into the Impala, Cas realizes this is the first time he’s enjoyed himself in a long while. He smiles over at Dean, expecting to be asked where he’d like to be dropped off. He’s thinking about the park by the river on the far side of town, it’s a long walk back to the truck stop but he likes to watch the trees shift in the wind and the fresh air there is a nice change from diesel fumes. Instead Dean says, “You still don’t got a place to stay right?”

Cas nods cautiously. He puts his hand on Dean’s upper arm and, not willing to let the day go south, says sternly, “I assure you Dean, while I’m not strictly an angel anymore I still don’t need nearly as much rest as you or Sam do…”

Dean nods at the steering wheel, his jaw moving. Cas can tell he’s also trying to not turn this into a fight.

Dean shifts towards him, Cas keeps his hand firmly on Dean’s arm. The energy in the car changes and suddenly Cas realizes where this is going. Dean puts one hand on his waist and the other comes to rest on Cas’ neck behind his ear. Cas breathes in sharply.

“Dean,” he says, then he broaches the subject he’d been painstakingly avoiding all morning: “Why did you come here today?”

Dean blushes and goes still for a moment, he swallows but doesn’t say anything. After a moment tugs him in gently and Cas takes pity on him. Dean tastes like maple syrup.

It’d been a while since they’d done this, but they fall back into it easily. After a few moments of kissing Dean pulls back. Their foreheads and noses are still touching and they’re breathing hard.

“What I was trying to say was, uh,” his ears get red at the tips, “that I got a room at that Budget Motel by the gas station.”

All Cas can think of to reply is, “Oh, I’d like to see it.”

It makes Dean laugh and wiggle his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah wanna come up and see my art collection?” He says. Cas doesn’t know what he’s talking about but he likes that Dean keeps his hand on his thigh while they drive.

By the time Cas wakes up for his next shift Dean is gone. There’s a text on his phone that says Sam finally had his breakthrough based on something Cas had said. Then a second one that tells Cas the room is paid through till the end of the week. He can stay in it or not, doesn’t matter to Dean one way or the other. A third one that just says: Thanks.

Cas lays in bed for a moment enjoying the soft sheets and suddenly remembers the ghost.

++++++++++

Thanks for reading :)

#spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #Dean Winchester/Castiel #supernatural fanfic #my fic #dean winchester #castiel

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anika-ann · 5 years ago

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Nothing but the Truth - Pt.4

The Interrogation

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 2890

Summary: A fake dating AU. Time to seal the deal; you become Steve’s fiancé, officially. Kinda. You really have to talk about the rules of engagement; read PDA.

Warnings: the fluff gets real y’all, some swearing

Story Masterlist

Your life took quite a turn after such an insignificant event as knocking over your lunch on you.

Here you were, an engagement ring sitting on your finger, twisting as you fiddled with it nervously, seated next to Steve on a too comfortable sofa in a TV studio.

Everything was hazy, like a dream. You blamed the sharp lights of which you hoped were about to get dimmed at least a fraction, because otherwise you’d be blind before the interview was over.

As if the gaffer could read your thoughts, he dimmed the reflectors a bit, allowing you to see the interviewer’s face. Yay for you.

You were not in any sense ready for the questions, let alone coming from a TV host. You had been skilfully dodging your family’s inquires by telling them you’d explain later, you ignored your friend/colleague who was blowing your phone with texts and phone calls and you avoided everyone at work, mostly because for the past two days, you weren’t there to begin with; not in your office anyway.

Steve might be sitting by your side, his hand around your waist reassuring, but it did little to soothe your nerves. You truly were an awful liar and people from TV industry, reporters and such, there were like sharks; you did not feel like facing the sharks, thank you very much, they could smell lies as if they were blood.

Tony Stark had sworn that the host was an acquittance of his, good people, he had promised, and in collective effort, you had put together a list of acceptable questions for her to ask and a list of answers for you. Also, you had received one simple advice: stick to the truth as much as possible, because it is easier to keep track of. Also, Tony Stark had smirked when you confessed to being a terrible liar and had told you that you and Cap were apparently a match made in heaven and that it was just another good reason for you to try and lie only as little as possible.

Surprisingly, once the interview started, you felt yourself relax only enough to not to stutter too much when speaking, so it only appeared you were shy and nervous and not losing your mind. It had little to do with the friendly host who somehow managed to make the interview flow naturally despite using rehearsed questions and everything to do with Steve’s comforting presence, his thumb drawing calming circles on your hip.

You successfully got through the questions about how you met – via Sam, of course, stick to the truth as much as possible –, how you started dating, adding only tiny bits of information about you too, easily explaining that you wanted to keep your family and some of the privacy out of the spotlight.

It all naturally led to another burning question.

“So, it might be obvious, but I gotta ask… why all the secrecy?” she queried, still smiling invitingly and Steve shrugged in response as he clearly did find the answer evident.

“I like to keep my private life separated. This…” he looked at you with one corner of his lips raised and continued, “she doesn’t deserve thousands of people trying to stick their nose into her life – into our life. I just… I guess I wanted… uh, I wanted to spare us that for as long as possible.”

You confirmed his words with few delicate nods.

“Well, people know now. How do you feel about that?” the host turned to you.

“Mixed feelings, I think? I don’t enjoy being the centre of attention much. On the other hand, it’s a relief not having to hide.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Steve agreed. “I mean, we didn’t plan it, I honestly wasn’t thinking about anything than cheering up my best girl after a bad morning that day, but this might be a truly good thing. Maybe now, her other suitors will finally lay off.”

Your heart skipped a beat and judging by the subtle squeeze of your hip, Steve noticed and was trying to tell you to stay calm – despite the fact that this was not planned at all.

What the hell was he doing?

“Other suitors?” the host questioned, intrigued, as she eyed your reaction; which was absolutely genuine, a 100% undiluted shock.

If you were lucky, the audience would think it was you being self-conscious, surprised at the idea of other people being interested, which… wasn’t that far from the truth, but seriously, Steve, what the hell?

Utterly confused, you attempted to cover your shock with only thing you could think of; with humour.

“Yeah. There are so many! I can see the line forming right there,” you joked lightly, making the effort to point somewhere behind the cameras and the host chuckled when she caught on the playfulness in your voice, knowing all too well what you were doing.

“You’d be surprised,” Steve stated lowly, making you pause and blink in confusion. He was just messing around, right? There were no other guys interested in you. Yes, you had been complimented before, yes, you had been in relationships before, but it wasn’t like guys fought over you or something.

Once more hiding your inner turmoil, you turned your head to him, eyes narrowed.

“Steve!” you scolded him, mocking offence. “Are you telling me you knew there were others and you didn’t introduce us?!”

The interviewer’s eyes flickered between the two of you, an expectant smirk forming on her lips. Well, glad you’re having fun, because I still have no idea what this is all about, apart from Steve proving a point which I’m not quite getting yet. Though you had to admit, it probably looked natural, a banter between friends turned to lovers and you suddenly realized that this was Steve making this whole one single interview you were willing to give, which was suspicious enough, much more believable.

And damn, was he smooth about it.

Steve’s smile was innocent, a glint of mischief in his irises as he shrugged. “What can I say? I just want you for myself.”

Feeling heat rising to your cheeks at the confidence he spoke with and at his palm squeezing your hip once more, shifting you subtly and yet visibly closer to his side, you smiled at him and leaned your forehead onto his shoulder. His lips landed in your hair so easily as if he had done it thousand times before.

“I guess you are forgiven then.”

“Well, it looks like you two have it figured out,” the interviewer, Laurel, because you were all on the first name basis to cut the tension, remarked. “And I suppose the strategy would work, Steve, the ring isn’t extravagant, but it is hard to miss.” She beckoned to it and looked at you expectantly. “What was it like? The proposal?”

Well, shit. You really wished Steve would get this one to answer, because you would have to lie through your teeth, but it was expected that you’d be the one to be asked about it since being proposed was a big moment in woman’s life. Or man’s, sure, but in your position… stop trying to distract yourself, big lie ahead! Focus!

“It was… a blur. I mean, we aren’t together for too long despite knowing each other for over a year now. But… I guess when you know, you know, right? It was just so sudden! This ring is beautiful, but we actually picked it after the question.”

You were meant to say exactly that – just in case someone who was too close to you noticed the absence of the ring before – and overall, you weren’t lying in the true sense of the word, only omitting the truth… it was just so damn complicated!

“Oh?”

“Eh, that one is on me,” Steve saved you and you truly tried your best not to show your relief when he took over. “I wasn’t prepared. She deserves the best, but… eh, I suppose that with all the secrecy I was bottling up emotions for too long and I couldn’t contain it anymore, I… I asked without finding the perfect ring.”

You weren’t sure how he accomplished that, but a blush actually crept its way up his neck as if he was embarrassed at his own impulsiveness. You found it unbearably cute and clearly, you weren’t the only one.

“Aww, that is so precious! Can’t imagine any woman to be oppose to that. Right? Truly romantic, succumbing to the spirit of the moment, the rush of emotions!” the host gushed and you grinned at the nice pass she offered.

“Don’t I know it. It was… unusual. But our relationship isn’t exactly typical.” No shit. “So it suits us, I think. And yeah… I…uhm… I couldn’t believe it was happening.”

Once again, 100% undiluted truth.

“I have no doubt. The important thing is the two of you being happy. And I think all of our viewers can tell you two look very happy together.”

Did you?

“Well, she is a wonderful woman and she said yes. How could I be not delighted?” Steve beamed, effectively causing your heart to flutter foolishly.

A part of you – a very sizeable part of you – was enjoying this little pretending immensely, alright, trying to push all the possible outcomes for the two of you after breaking the fake relationship aside and succeeding, but at times, you couldn’t but feel overwhelmed anyway.

Like when Steve said that and it warmed you from inside out, your brain screaming at you that had this been real, you would have melted into a puddle of lovesick jello.

‘She is a wonderful woman and she said yes. How could I not be delighted?’

Why did he have to sound so unbelievably genuine? He had told you he was a terrible liar. Liar!

You forced a shaky but hopefully sweet smile and stretched your neck to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. In for a penny…

“That is so sweet!” the host commented instantly, basically cooing. “And chaste!”

SHIT, you totally walked into that one! But Steve kissed your head before and had got away with it without a single remark! How was this fair?

You tried to swallow your panic, instantly explaining, while your heart raced, slightly panicking.

“Uh, we’re not much for showing affection publicly and with the secrecy-“ you babbled, while Steve started his own reasoning: “The time I grew up in-“

“Ah, that’s understandable,” the woman agreed and the sound of the heavy rock which had seated itself in your stomach hitting the floor must have been caught by the audio tech, you were sure. That was how loud it must have been. Crisis averted. “But… come on. Don’t play all coy on us…”

Spoke too soon.

You gulped, eyeing Steve, who was no doubt better at hiding his panic than you were. You could tell by the intensity of his gaze though that his nerves were as wrecked at the moment as yours.

What else could you do though but comply, being on a TV and being asked to kiss? How obvious would it be if you refused?

…in for a pound.

He searched your face, observing every tiny motion of your mimic muscles, every twitch. You lowered your gaze to his lips – and damn, didn’t you, in your heart where you pretended this whole situation on hand was not going to end up in a terrible heartbreak on your part, want to kiss those full lips, so tempting – and raised you gaze back to lock it with his. You hoped you looked determined enough, but you confirmed it in soft-spoken words, simultaneously checking if he was alright with this.

“It’s okay, Steve. We can handle a bit of PDA this once, can’t we? I mean… we’ve made it official, after all.”

A barely visible smile appeared on his lips, an inconspicuous nod sealing the deal.

Two of his fingers slipped under your chin, angling your face just a bit, brining you closer to the paradise. That was what it was; your eyes fluttered shut and the moment his lips brushed yours to test the waters, you knew you tasted heaven.

You felt the shudder running through your body, but you couldn’t help it, unable to conceal the excitement mixed with nerves. Your palm found haven on his toned chest, an anchor to the ship raging on the sea of emotion that pulled you in, just as his lips explored yours more thoroughly, as if searching a haven of their own, finding it exactly where yours were. They sank in, thirsty for home, caressing and oh, oh so soft and warm, safe and wonderful.

He was the one to withdraw for some oxygen, reminding you that breathing, in fact, was a thing. Quite an essential thing. On instinct, you breathed in swiftly, but couldn’t help but kiss him again, only a tender brush of lips on lips, relishing in the sensation for only a fraction of second longer.

You forced your eyes open and your hand to slide to his waist, trying so hard to remember that you were, in fact, not alone. At all.

“Well… wow,” the interviewer breathed out, her chuckle carrying a pinch of surprise in it. “That’s what I call pure love. Thank you so much for coming here, Captain and future Mrs. Rogers.”

You wanted to say thank you for having us, but your brain was buzzing with million thoughts, still processing the sensation of Steve’s lips on yours and was epically failing, colours bursting inside instead, sending pleasant heat through your veins.

Luckily, Steve composed himself much faster and boy, wasn’t it saying something about your dynamics with each other.

“Thank you for having us, Laurel.”

Yeah, thanks, Laurel. Thanks to you, I reached the point of no return.

In other words; now I’m officially screwed.

Sam overestimated his time-managing skills, still finishing the stretching after his training when the interview started. For once, he was grateful for Tony’s need for extravagance, as every one of the Tower gyms offered a TV for Sam to watch while he wrapped it up.

At few times, he wasn’t able to tell whether he was groaning at his sore muscles or at the way his little sister and his best friend were sickeningly sweet on each other.

Seriously. He wouldn’t have questioned it if it they truly had been in a relationship (read: if they pulled their heads out of their asses and finally admitted how they felt about each other, for real), but the fact it was all pretend (not, except neither of them was aware of the other not pretending and Jesus, Sam’s head hurt) was worrying him.

The kiss was a case of its own.

Would they be able to walk out of that mess and stay friends, possibly more? Or would it drive a wedge between them forever, messy feelings and misunderstandings getting in the way?

He resumed watching on his phone as he made his way to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of juice, but stopped at the door when he heard voices coming from the room and instantly knew what was the subject of the discussion.

“Well. I say the interview was alright, not perfect, but alright, almost cute like the two of them together, after all… but the kiss did look like their first time,” Tony stated, sighing in disappointment.

“It was their first time, what did you expect? You didn’t really think they would be practicing beforehand, right?” Natasha snorted and Sam couldn’t but agree.

This was Steve they were talking about. The man had done a fair share of changes to his believes as he found himself in the new millennium, but certain principles he stuck to, which was something Sam was immensely grateful for.

He was about to join the discussion with his own input, when he froze in his tracks at Tony’s next words.

“Good point. But hey, she made them finally smack their mouths together. I call that a win. She was a good choice, we’re geniuses.”

“Yep,” came Natasha’s reply and Sam heard the distinct sound of a high-five, only to see their hands still up when he stormed into the room.

For the moment, he ignored the creepy fact that the screen was frozen at the image of their lips locked together and glared at the two Avengers, irritated and hungry for answers.

“What the hell do you mean you’re geniuses?”

“Blyad'!” Natasha cursed, frowning as she spotted the look on Sam’s face and how his hands were balled into fists with enough force to nearly snap his phone in half.

Tony eyed Natasha, not sure what exactly she said and not quite caring; the sentiment behind the word was apparently clear enough to him as it was to Sam.

The expression on Tony’s face spoke a thousand of words; or perhaps only three: We are screwed.

Sam wholeheartedly agreed as he paced to the pair, fuming.

“Start. Talking,” he hissed, each word clipped, as he was staring them down, ignorant to the fact these were a billionaire and a former KGB assassin he was ordering around. “Like right now.”

Part 5

Tags: @mermaidxatxheart @bobertswagert @kakakatey @ccolz88-blog @joeyrumlow @lovemeterwrites

If anyone wishes to be added to/removed from the tags, shoot me a message or something.

#marvel #mcu #fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america fanfiction #fake dating #fake dating au #reader insert #fluff #nothing but the truth #anika ann #avengers

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sir-huffman · 4 years ago

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Volume 03: the Founders of Delphi

TL;DR: In the end, it is up to you to decide what is true or not. And if you really don’t want to believe the God of Truth and Prophecy with all his power and knowledge beyond this world is nothing more than an unimportant lowly knight, then who is he to judge? That is not his place, he is just another god in many places representing the truth and foretelling the future for those who wish to hear it.

NOTE: A self indulgent messy headcanon that started because Huffman’s name appears in Vera’s Melancholy.

Volume 01: Vera’s Melancholy - a unanswered love letter

Volume 02: Delphi - the ancient capitol of Khanrie’ah

Volume 03: the Founders of Delphi - Huffman and the Witch of the East

Volume 04: Author’s Notes

the Founders of Delphi

"...Afterward, the great king's first messenger, the brave knight HUFFMAN strode west across two continents, crossing great oceans and rivers. As for the IMPERIAL SAGE, the witch from the east, she passed by her hometown on her road eastward, and then came by the land of the Nether. Thus, they finally met here." - Vera from Vera’s Melancholy, Volume VI

Long ago in ancient times, when humanity was but benighted creatures that roamed the land, the envoys of the gods walked along side them. The heavens would watch from above, sending their messengers one by one to answer the questions of the people. But as time and time went on, humanity found out the answers of the truth of the world.

The first chief priest was but a knight who donned a crown of Irminsul branches looked for the land where they could seek the truth. The imperial sage headed east and they finally crossed paths near the land of the Nether. Together, they built a small village, comprised of just themselves before it grew and fell into antediluvian ruins and long-buried altars of sacrifice upon learning such truths.

They praised the god of truth and prophecy, granting them knowledge the heavens forbade.

the Brave Knight | Huffman (the God of Truth and Prophecy)

“They say that, the line of chief priests have always seen this same sight as their days draw to an end: A mountain of crowns in a secret place, beneath a withered tree - each one hiding a lifetime of secrets kept. Each retiring chief priest offers up their crown of flawless white branches to this world. Every mighty and ancient city, and every austere place of sacrifice must one day return to profundity in the earth.” - Prayers of Springtime

From an ancient kingdom, Huffman was a lowly shepherd before he became a valued knight. As time passed and humanity was beginning to question Celestia, he was given the honor of becoming the first chief priest in search for answers.

Huffman made his way into the deepest places of the world. He fought many monsters, slayed many creatures in order to search for the truth. And eventually, when he reached the center and saw the bough of the white tree...he built the city of Delphi.

He built the sacrificial alters and dedicated himself to the god of prophecy, the one who had graced them with the knowledge and truth of this world. With this knowledge, he decided that such secrets must not make its way to humanity. And as such, upon his death he gave back his laurel of Irminsul and his spirit became one with the god of truth and prophecy.

For he was the first worship him in this world, the God of Truth and Prophecy took his likeness. Not that he mattered as the god resided deep in the depths of the earth. But as he loved his people, he loved the brave knight’s more. He spends his time across the universe, across the planes of space and time, as nothing but a lowly human. A mere mortal who is not important in the world. Pretending that he was a brave knight so that he may show his friend the joys of a better future and maybe...one day...it’ll get brighter.

"I am but an echo of time," Ike said as he began his preparations. "As I've said, the past cannot change the future, for the predetermined rules of equilibrium are slightly more powerful than me. But the future, with its infinite possibilities, could save the world." - Ike from Vera’s Melancholy, Volume X

the Imperial Sage | the Witch of the East (the Oracle of Delphi)

“The confluence between the past and future. The original calamity had been overturned, yet the island in the sky set the earth to burn. Chalk pursues gold, in this time inopportune, the eclipse is swallowed by the crimson moon. The future must atone for bygone mistakes, as the bond familiar falters and breaks— of the same blood, elders and the youth... Such is the cycle of the world, in truth. Dain, what is that strand of blonde hair to you? Someone you must kill? Or the object of your penitence?” - the Self-Proclaimed Prophet to Dainsleif

She was known as the witch of the east, the imperial sage in the ancient kingdom. As the co-founder and mother of the city of Delphi, she became the speaker of the truth. The oracle who spoke the words of the God of Truth and Prophecy to the children and people of their village. And over time, only her spirit will remain, taking the form of a young maiden or an old woman. She is timeless, the oracle who spoke of what was to come.

And now, the Oracle of Delphi looks at the stars and celestial bodies, knowing that they have already crumbled away just as they have done in the past. The eclipse had been swallowed, shaking the roots that held up the roofs of what is now known as Khaenri’ah and the branches that pray to the skies of Celestia. It was be the beginning of the end, Ragnarök, once again. And she will watch as humanity struggles to save itself once again - trying to save it from the fate of the gods.

But humanity was already far too late...the long icy winter had already thawed. And the raging war of the axe, the sword, the wind, and the wolf age have already passed. The sun, moon, and stars have been devoured. And the heavens has once again begun to crumble.

So, humanity, will you defy the gods once again and try to overthrow their rule? Or will you perish once more and have the cycle of rebirth continue again...and again...and again?

All prosperity must someday end. But this does not mean that nothing is eternal.

At the end of a cycle, the earth shall be renewed. Thus eternity is cyclical. The search for truth is a product of prosperity, and not the seed that plants it.

They say that, once upon a time, the people of the land could hear revelations from Celestia directly. The envoys of the gods walked among benighted humanity then. In those days, life was weak, and the earth was blanketed in unending ice. - Prayers of Springtime

#ooc: { post }#ooc: { long post }#ooc: { references }#.: { delphi | the land of truth and prophecy } :.

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lcklustering · 4 years ago

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𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 — 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 ! hey there, i’m loey and welcome to my crib. you’re definitely going to want to click on the image above to view it in its full splendor because t*mblr is a bitch and reduces the quality. you’re going to be meeting the only man i’ll ever consider dating and who just wants to be back on his family farm with his family. he’s not much for words but he’s a great listener and take care of your plants when you’re away. if you want to get a piece of this lovely irishman, please leave a like and i’ll come sliding into your dms with a joke or a pun — whichever i find funnier at the time.

waves crashing up against boat . fog laying low on an abandoned meadow full of wildflowers . quiet serenity of walking through a field barefooted . lingering smell of gun smoke in the air . softs bahs of lambs . high-stressed situations being calmed down by a friend's smile . ——— oh gosh, sorry 𝐅𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐇 ! i didn't see you there ! y'know, i can't believe you're already TWENTY-SEVEN years old; seems like just yesterday you were tripping over yourself, or was that yesterday ? just kidding, just kidding ! anyway, i hear that you've been here since 1916, or so you think; congratulations ! at least that shining DECISIVE personality of yours hasn't changed a bit, especially that 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃-𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 + 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓, but 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 + 𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 way about you. look, i gotta get back to the group, but i'll see you around !

trigger warning(s): religious themes, death, death of a loved one, pregnancy, war, drowning.

a humble sheep farmer.

siblings: one older sister, three younger sisters, and two younger brothers.

met the love of his life when he was 19, imogen, and they were married when he was 21.

built a cottage on his father’s land for them and their future family.

shortly after their marriage, they were expecting their first child.

the pregnancy was really hard on imogen and the baby came early at almost 8 months.

imogen died during childbirth due to major loss of blood, but gave birth to a baby boy and named him callum - after his father.

when callum was two, he was being watched by fionn’s sister, shannon, when he traveled too far away and got lost.

they looked for him and soon found him near a river, completely drenched, and he became extremely sick.

tried to get him better but little callum passed away.

after two deaths of the people he loved the most, fionn pretty much swore off love and focused back into helping his father’s farm.

when world war 1 came around, he immediately volunteered to the british royal navy.

he was soon assigned to the hms queen mary.

on may 21, 1916, the queen mary was in the battle of jutland.

the queen mary was shot at repeatedly and split in two, causing multiple explosions.

somehow, fionn survived the explosions but fighting the ocean would be the next challenge.

only after a few minutes, he was starting to drown due to just fighting to keep his eyes open.

he was saved by hms laurel and was 1 out of 17 crewmen to survive the sinking of queen mary. in total, there were 1,266 crewmen who, sadly, didn't make it.

was stabilized on laurel and found out that he had broken multiple bones and had several lacerations.

laurel immediately docked at portsmouth, england and rushed the survivors they saved to the hospital.

fionn was in the hospital for about a month before moved to a newly-renovated hotel nearby to rest up more due to overcrowding.

this is when he was taken to raven house.

up above was just a very simple background outline, i’m working on writing up a more formal background and i’ll be posting fionn’s full application soon so then you can read the answers to the questions. i do have some statistics up on the blog, which will be linked here. you can always read that as well but it’s pretty simple. down below are some headcanons that i have for him.

born and raised in ireland until he volunteered for the war.

has a pretty large family, consisting of 4 sisters and 2 brothers.

left-handed originally, but was forced to write right-handed making him ambidextrous.

smells of cigarette smoke, vanilla, and the faint briny sea

he doesn’t talk much but when he does, it’s a thick irish accent.

his family farm was raising sheep and the occasional cow.

he loves fishing. even taught his younger siblings to fish.

he loves dogs, even had 3 of them back on the farm.

his hotel room is full of plants and spends most of his time at the rooftop garden.

is pansexual but not really looking for love.

has his wedding band on his dogtag.

#rhintro #whoever say this yesterday...#no you didn't #i made a Mistake #saw*

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avengerscompound · 5 years ago

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Not So Different - Chapter 3

Not So Different: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 899

Rating: G

Square filled: @happystevebingo - Rooftop/Indoor Farming for Novices

Warnings: None

Synopsis: When Steve Rogers comes across you liberating hens from a battery farm his initial reaction is to arrest you. He certainly wouldn’t assume that the woman who he initially pegs as a criminal might not be so different from him after all.

Chapter 3

The pickup rattled into the compound laden down with lumber, mesh and other supplies to build a hen house and chicken run. Steve guided you to park near the building the Avengers called home.

The two of you climbed out and you looked around. “Henhouse is going to look so strange out here. Where were you thinking?” You asked.

Steve looked around. He really didn’t have any idea. Yes, there was a lot of land around here but there were always people training with guns, or jets landing, or trucks driving through.

“I know this might sound weird but could we put it up on the roof?” He asked.

“Yeah, we could. You’d need to put turf up there though.” You said, looking up. “There’s a lot of roof space though and it might be a good way to protect against predators. Still, need to worry about hawks.”

“Turf’s doable,” Steve said.

“You could put a little vegetable garden up there too.” You suggested. “Get some railway sleepers to box them off. It’d be nice.”

Steve nodded. It was actually a pretty nice project. Bucky had been talking about growing produce and Wanda and Vision were both very into gardening. Currently, they had a little flower garden around the edge of the building. With how Wanda liked to cook, Steve thought having fresh eggs and vegetables would be something that she loved.

“Alright. Let’s go up and see what we’re dealing with.” You said.

You and Steve had plotted out a site that filled the roof of the Avengers living quarters. It was a large even space and allowed for a lot of creativity. In the end, it became quite elaborate. Especially when Wanda, Vision, and Bucky all started to add their opinions in.

The turf was delivered. As was mulch, pebbles, soil, and manure. There were more trips out to the hardware store with you for lumber and other supplies. It took a few weeks of work to get done but in the end, there was a large run for the chickens that ran down one side of the building and was caged off to protect from birds of prey.

Deep garden beds were erected out of the railway sleepers. Long wide ones that were planted with various seasonal vegetables. Square ones that housed apples, orange and lemon trees. Long narrow ones that had blueberry bushes, rosemary and Bay Laurel. Between the planters, the pebbles were laid out and on the opposite side of the building an arbor was erected and they’d planted passionfruit vines, in the hopes they’d grow up over it to create a cover for the table and chairs they’d put up there.

By the time the chickens were returned by the vet, it was looking really good. It would make a nice spot to just relax and hang out.

Steve invited the team up to check out all the work, you, he, Bucky, Wanda, and Vision had done. He set up a grill and brought up drinks so that everyone could just enjoy the new space.

“Damn, Steve. You guys have been busy.” Sam said as the group all came out through the door onto the roof.

“Chickens? You have chickens?” Clint asked beelining straight for their run.

Steve gave you a look and you smirked at him. “I suggested he get bees as well.” You said.

“Oh yes!” Wanda said excitedly. “We should get bees. I would love fresh honey and they could pollinate our plants.”

“So who’s your friend, Cap?” Tony asked. You offered Tony your hand and introduced yourself. “I know that name.” He said. “Of Genexis?”

“Yeah, that’s my dad’s company.” You said. “I don’t have a lot to do with them.”

“Man, my dad used to joke about marrying me off to someone from your family,” Tony said. “How did you meet Cap?”

“I plan out this kind of thing. Steve had an idea that he wanted a rooftop farm. He called me up.” You lied. Steve was impressed by how quickly it came to you, though he did worry about lying to Tony again. But it wasn’t his story to tell. You being some kind of animal liberator wasn’t going to hurt Tony. Tony know could hurt you. So Steve didn’t say anything.

“Still can’t understand what little city boy Steve wanted in a mini-farm, but I gotta admit. It looks great.” Tony said.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a great place to hang out,” Sam said. “Drink a few beers, grill some steaks.”

“That’s the idea.” Steve agreed. “Plus, Wanda, Vis, and Buck are all into the gardening.”

“And you’ve got a reason for your new friend to come around, huh?” Sam teased.

A blush crept up the back of Steve’s neck and he wasn’t even sure why. He hadn’t even particularly thought about you like that. Now that it was pointed out to him though, he’d actually really liked spending time with you. You were intelligent, passionate and fun to be around. You were, however, a criminal. How successful could anything between you really be? Even a friendship? He was supposed to be one of the good guys.

“Look at him blush,” Natasha teased. “I guess we will be seeing more of you around.”

“I guess we’ll see,” you agreed. Though when you looked at him, he could see in your eyes, you were thinking the exact same thing, Steve was.

// NEXT

#happy steve bingo #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #not so different #fanfic

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raywritesthings · 4 years ago

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Bird in a Storm 15/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, John Diggle, Quentin Lance, Captain Stein, Lucas Hilton, Frank Pike, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Roy Harper Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

Laurel was still having trouble processing what had happened at the memorial.

On some level, she knew Tommy’s dislike of the Hood wouldn’t mean good things if he ever found out Oliver’s identity, but to hear the words that had come out of his mouth that day had been another thing entirely. Where had that boy with the devil-may-care smile gone? Had she done this to him?

Laurel wasn’t naive enough to assume she was the only reason for Tommy’s new outlook and attitude. Her friend had always had an anger under the surface for what had happened to his mother, what his father hadn’t been able to be for him. There wasn’t anything she could have done to change those things, and so she had let it be. But maybe that had been wrong. She and Oliver had failed to be there for him, no matter their reasons for it, and now he apparently didn’t want or need their help. Who did they have to blame for it but themselves?

She was tackling Oliver’s salmon ladder today. The nice thing about his setup down here was that there was plenty of new things for her to learn that weren’t in the classes she had taken in self-defense, from Ted or with Anita. She was going to keep learning whatever she could get access to, because if she couldn’t help her friend then she would do everything she could to be ready to help others.

Oliver and Diggle sparred down below on the mats. After giving her a demonstration and watching her get up onto the first rung by herself, Oliver had left her to it. She liked that about them. One good thing about the distance they had had the last few months and her suiting up on her own was that he’d already realized she could handle things. For her part, Laurel knew that if she couldn’t, he and John were ready and willing to help out.

Laurel breathed in and out once on the top rung, her legs swinging back and forth in a slow, controlled manner, before she prepared to head back down. A beep from the computers distracted her, even more so when Oliver called out a halt to Digg and headed over.

She exchanged a look with the other man before hurrying to get back down, almost missing the last rung with the bar. She grabbed her water and towel and walked over.

“Something about Athena turn up?”

“No,” Oliver said with a frown. She could tell it was bothering him, the lack of information on this woman who had replaced them both as Tommy’s confidant. “It’s the worm I sent into the SCPD’s computer system.”

Laurel felt both eyebrows raise. “You infiltrated the police’s computers?”

“Not the first time we’ve hacked them,” Diggle informed her.

“In my defense, this time was on your father’s orders,” Oliver added. “He’s worried about corruption and asked me to look into things.”

She was torn between laughing or screaming. “Okay, so my father, who had me surrounded by a SWAT team for asking you to help me on a case… wants you to help him on a case.”

Oliver blinked. “Uh… yup.”

“I can’t believe him!” Okay, maybe the anger was winning out. “He is such a hypocrite!” Even if she was at peace with how her life turned out, it wasn’t like it had been fun to get shot with a rubber bullet and lose her job, all for the exact thing her father was doing right now. It wasn’t like she wanted those things to happen to him, too, just some acknowledgement that maybe she hadn’t been wrong to do it. That there was a need in this city for vigilantes.

That he might not be angry if he ever found out what she was doing now.

“Trouble is, looks like he’s right,” said Diggle, who had taken possession of the mouse and was clicking through some of the data this data worm of Oliver’s had been collecting. “Look at this stuff from Nudocerdo’s time. Missing or deleted files on police misconduct, no records of disciplinary action, which means they either didn’t discipline anybody or they don’t want people to know if an officer’s been disciplined.”

“Lucky for us, it looks like Nudocerdo’s personal devices were connected up to the police systems at some point before he was fired. The worm got into them, too. Let’s take a look at his campaign finances.”

Laurel stopped pacing in order to come stand at Oliver’s side. He rubbed a hand up and down her back once in a show of comfort which she appreciated, especially since she was sweaty so it couldn’t have been very pleasant.

“You seeing what I see?” John asked a minute later.

“Yep,” Oliver answered grimly. “Tempest.”

“And what is Tempest exactly?” Laurel asked.

Oliver blanched, and Diggle sighed and looked down. “We should’ve told you this…”

“Told me what?”

“The reason Oliver agreed to interrogating his mother as the Hood,” Digg stated. “It was cause we found out she’d recovered the Queen’s Gambit wreckage, and it proved the boat wasn’t destroyed in the storm. It was sabotaged.”

Laurel felt her mouth drop open. “Sara wouldn’t have died out there?”

“Not if the boat hadn’t been targeted, no,” Oliver said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

She stepped back, trying to reconcile this was the anger and grief and the slow sense of a new normal she had been building for herself. Her sister had been murdered. Not intentionally — in fact, she probably hadn’t even been a thought in the perpetrator’s mind. But she could have come home. They could have had it out, the betrayal and all it had done. So much could have been different; maybe her whole life. Sara would have had a life.

“Laurel?” Oliver was hanging back, clearly unsure what he should do given the subject.

“It’s fine,” she said out loud, even if it wasn’t. But they were here to work. She could deal with her feelings in her own time. “What’s this got to do with Tempest?”

“It was the name of the shell company she used to pay to have the boat moved and stored somewhere. It’s been destroyed since,” John added before she could ask. “And it looks like Tempest also made regular contributions to Nudocerdo while he was Commissioner.”

“So he wasn’t just bad at his job, he was dirty,” Laurel concluded. “What about the other cops? The detectives, captains? How many of them can we tell are on the take?”

“I’ll have to comb through the files the worm grabbed. It’s gonna takes while,” Oliver said with a grimace. “I don’t think I can patrol tonight.”

He had gone out the last couple with her as she had been showing him her own method. Looking for crime as it happened rather than setting out for a predetermined target. Laurel couldn’t tell if he liked the imprecise nature of it or not, but she didn’t think he was saying this to get out of it.

“Maybe we could see if Felicity wants back in now that we know Tempest is still involved,” Diggle suggested.

“It’s not about Walter, so I don’t see why it would interest her,” Oliver replied. “And I’d rather not risk her feeling pressured.”

He’d been touchy about the amount of people who knew his identity and what they might do with it since the memorial. Laurel couldn’t blame him. It had to feel like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“It’s okay, I can do a solo one tonight.”

She started to walk over to her bag where she’d stored the black, gray and dark blue clothing she typically fought in, though Oliver called out to her.

“Laurel, are you gonna be okay?”

She looked back at him. “Yeah, Ollie. Just as soon as we figure out what Tempest really is and what they’re up to.”

Just how Mrs. Queen was mixed up with them? Was she Tempest or was she under their thumb? Laurel couldn’t get a read on Oliver or what he might be thinking about his mother. Did they need to question her again? And if they did, should Oliver really be the one in charge of it? She didn’t doubt he wanted the answers as much as she or John, but this was his mother. It would be hard for anything to think objectively in that situation.

She went into the back to change and headed out for the streets. Oliver had indeed upgraded her motorcycle, which had been quicker for him to do than the suit he claimed he was getting her custom made from a few different sources in order to avoid it being tracked. In some ways, she felt a little miffed that her version of things was being deemed inadequate, but Laurel knew that was pride over practicality. This was dangerous work, and it was better to have the best quality tools and materials available.

And it wasn’t as if the stuff she had put together on her own was going totally to waste. She had kept the bike she had bought for cheap for her day job, which made getting to work quicker and also opened up the possibility for her to make deliveries. Pam had been delighted by the suggestion; a couple of her older customers couldn’t always find someone to drive them to the store, and this way new seeds, pots or plants could be delivered straight to them.

She refocused on the present as she came across a mugging, quickly driving off the attacker with the roar of her bike and her collapsible staff.

“Where were you trying to get to?” She asked the boy who had been held up. He was pale with dark blonde hair kept fairly long, sort of a bohemian-type.

“My apartment. It’s just up that way,” he said with a nod. “But thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Laurel kept up her patrol, sending a couple men running from a car parked on the street they’d been trying to jack. She was finding that with her swift approach on the bike, it tended to increase her intimidation factor. That or her reputation was growing. Maybe it was a little of both, and that thought made her grin. She had gotten her own police sketch, after all, she’d been amused to find out when John told her. That made her pretty official.

It also made her her dad’s problem to target. Assuming he was even doing that thing anymore. Dirty cops or no, this sort of thing he was doing with the Hood was so beyond what she ever would’ve thought him capable of.

Or what if it wasn’t? What if it was just another ruse, an attempt to lure Ollie into a trap? That sounded more like her father. He would never ask a vigilante for help; he’d deal with the dirty cops situation on his own. What had even caused him to realize it? Maybe he’d been making it up, only for Oliver’s computer virus to lend credence to it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp whistle. Laurel glared at the mirror before catching sight of the red hoodie in its reflection. Her annoyance disappeared as she pulled the bike around and followed Roy Harper into an alley.

“Nice ride,” he commented. “Pretty sure it’s out of your price range.”

“Yes, well the Hood and I have come to an agreement of sorts.”

Roy’s eyes widened. “You’re not just working for him now.”

“We’re working together. I thought you’d be happy about this,” she remarked. “The more the Hood and I work together, the better chance I have of bringing you in on things.”

“Yeah, I mean, I do want in,” Roy agreed, scuffing his shoe on the ground. “But people need you here, you know? Stopping the small stuff. The things he doesn’t always notice.”

Laurel hesitated. She had heard more than once from people in the Glades that while they may have no objections to what the Hood did, that it wasn’t really reaching them where they lived. They weren’t exactly wrong, but there was so much about the situation they couldn’t know, that she and Oliver and John didn’t even fully know yet.

“I think he’s noticing more all the time,” she finally answered, which was the truth. Whatever her own indignation towards her father, Laurel couldn’t have imagined the Oliver of two months ago let alone last year getting involved with systemic corruption in their city’s police force. “But don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. And I did ask him about you. He’s thinking about it.”

“Thanks,” Roy said. “Guess I should get out of here before anyone spots me with you.” He pulled his hood down further over his eyes and slipped back out into the main street. Laurel sat back on the bike seat to wait a while before heading back out there herself.

Roy’s words remained on her mind, however. What did she look like to the people who had noticed her in the Glades, zipping around on her top-of-the-line bike? Some kind of sellout? As much as she appreciated Oliver giving her access to better equipment and gear, she didn’t want people to think she was losing sight of what she had set out to do.

“That’s really what people think about me?”

She jumped, one arm already pulling back to deliver a punch before her mind caught up to the familiar voice. Laurel blinked at Oliver in surprise. “I thought you weren’t coming out tonight.”

“I ended up showing John what to look for in the files. He said he could handle it.” Oliver walked closer to her. “He also thought I should see how you were really feeling about everything.”

Laurel sighed, leaning forward on the handlebars. “What do you want me to say? I already knew my sister was dead. Now I know someone was indirectly responsible. Are you ever going to ask your mother who?”

He looked down, the hood he wore hiding his eyes. “I should. I just… something has been off about her ever since I came home. And especially since we got the news about Walter. I guess I’ve been afraid to find out what that is. I already know my father wasn’t who I thought he was. If my mother…”

Laurel reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. In a way, she understood. After losing her mother all those years ago, she had been desperate to keep the peace with her father and probably put up with more warning signs than it was worth instead of forcing them both to acknowledge his problems. “Our parents are going to disappoint us at times. Sometimes in a bigger way than most people go through.” She doubted many people had to deal with their father using them as bait for a SWAT operation gone wrong, after all. “But it doesn’t mean the things you know about them suddenly stop mattering. Whatever else, your father loved you. Your mother loves you. And if you still want her in your life, I think you can make that happen. But ignoring the problem isn’t how to do it.”

He nodded with a sigh. “Soon as I help your father, I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

His lips pulled up in a half-smile. “Maybe not, but it isn’t exactly a part of your mission.”

“My ‘mission’, if we’re calling it that, is to help people. And you fall under that category,” she reminded him with a prod to his shoulder. “You’ve been doing things my way the last couple of nights. It’s only fair I return the favor. And that starts with my dad’s thing.” If he thought she was sitting on the sidelines while her dad got involved in all this, he had another thing coming.

Oliver was silent for a moment, which had her narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“Your father… he’s hoping by resolving this issue, it will mean the city won’t need people like you or me. That things can go back to normal.” He frowned. “But seeing how widespread the corruption is, everything with Tommy and my mother, I don’t know how it can.”

“And normal isn’t exactly a good thing,” Laurel pointed out.

They both looked up at the sound of a scream from what sounded a few blocks away. A depressingly normal sound in the Glades.

“No, it isn’t,” Oliver agreed grimly. He raised his bow and fired a grapple arrow. Laurel gunned the engine of her bike, and they each took off toward the sound.

Whatever came next in their personal lives, acting in the face of injustice had become their new normal. And as far as Laurel was concerned, that was definitely a good thing.

---

Quentin started in his chair early that morning when a phone in his desk drawer started buzzing. It was the vigilante phone, which meant he really shouldn’t answer it inside. He quickly stood, doing his best to avoid Hilton’s questioning look as he headed out of the bullpen and out into the back alley. He was lucky enough to find it free of anyone on their smoke break. Finally, he answered the call.

“Yeah?”

“I have the information you requested, Detective,” the archer’s modulated voice spoke. “When and where can I deliver it to you?”

He had a feeling the vigilante wouldn’t react well to an immediate request, considering how light it was outside. Harder to hide in the shadows when they weren’t nearly so deep. “Uh… tonight. Down by the docks. Eleven?”

“I’ll be there.” With that, the line disconnected.

Quentin let out a breath. Tonight. He would know just which members of the force he was part of were dirty and which weren’t. He could take the information to Pike — at least, he hoped his gut was right that Pike was one of the good ones — and they could start cleaning house and getting this city back on track the right way.

He went back to his apartment to sleep off the night shift, showered and got some food in him. Then it was all down to waiting, which felt like an eternity rather than the few hours he knew it logically was.

Quentin took his own car rather than one of the squad cars, seeing as it would attract less attention. He kept his badge tucked away for that reason as well as he made his way down to the docks. He found a stack of crates to wait by that kept him mostly shielded from the lane trucks traveled up and down picking up or dropping off shipments. Not that there was much of that going on just now, but better to be safe than sorry.

Quentin kept checking his watch. He’d shown up early, sure, but it was already five past and no sign of him. What exactly was going on here?

“Seems your friend isn’t showing, Quentin.”

He startled as a flashlight beam hit him and straightened up. “Captain Stein.”

His superior raised a hand, the signal, he realized, for a number of SWAT lead by Warner to move in, surrounding him. Quentin raised his hands; he’d be a fool to reach for his gun now.

“Just what is this?” He knew he hadn’t been followed, so where had all of them come from?

“Ever since one of the copycat’s arrows disappeared from evidence, I knew we had a leak,” Stein stated, an underlying smugness in his tone. “And given your possession of a phone with a direct line to the Hood, you were the most obvious candidate. So I ordered Brock to take it out of your desk to have Crosby in CSU put some additional spyware on it. You could say your maneuver with your daughter inspired me,” the man added with a smirk.

Quentin’s blood ran cold as he noticed Brock standing there with his weapon raised alongside Hester, Lopez and — least surprising of all — Daily. These weren’t really his people, not besides Warner, and given the harsh glare she was directing his way, he didn’t think he’d see any leniency from her. The lack of Hall, despite her recruitment to the anti-vigilante task force nearly two months ago now, told him that this was Stein’s own hand-picked crew.

“We weren’t able to crack the encryption to follow the calls back to their source, unfortunately,” Stein continued on. “But I’ll consider bringing you in just one step closer to bringing down these vigilantes.”

Denying what he had been doing would get him nowhere, so Quentin didn’t even bother. “Look, I am trying to do the same thing. By tackling the problems that created the Hood and those like him in the first place. Bringing him in by force wasn’t working.”

“Because you lacked the conviction to do what was necessary. It’s why I had Daily join the Winick Building raid.”

Quentin’s breath stuttered in his chest. “You put him there so he’d shoot my daughter?” The younger officer was smirking where he stood, and if there weren’t a dozen guns pointed at him, he might have gone for the cocky bastard.

“You’ve failed to handle the situation objectively, Detective. Things were running just fine before this vigilante menace showed up, and I intend to see it return to that no matter who gets in the way!”

“Because your backers at Tempest have an interest in seeing it return to business as usual.”

Quentin had never been so relieved to hear the vigilante’s altered voice. Apparently the guy hadn’t pulled a no-show after all.

Two flechettes were thrown into the wrists of Warner and Hester, both of whom dropped their weapons. There were a couple grunts as Quentin caught movement near the back-left of the group; two of the men had fallen down. A few more of them turned, and it was this break in the formation that allowed him to glimpse a woman standing up from a crouched sweep kick, her fists raised. Dressed in black and dark blue with a mask and long, blonde hair, Quentin knew this could only be the Woman of the Glades.

This break in the formation gave the Hood time to rappel down from the roof of the warehouse he’d been waiting on top of, though Quentin didn’t watch to see where he landed as he was busy ducking around the crates to avoid Stein’s gunfire.

He quickly got out his own handgun and raised it, peering around the side to locate his enemy. Stein had moved back, out of reach of the Hood’s blows as he engaged both Daily and Lopez at once.

The Woman had gotten possession of one of the SWAT shields and was using it as a battering ram on one side while she swung a staff with her free hand, throwing men twice her size to the ground. Quentin watched, however, as Cutter — the department’s first ever female SWAT member, battered the Woman back with her own shield. The Woman stumbled but kept her feet, her head giving a dazed shake for a moment. The two then circled each other before each charged.

Quentin circled around the other side of the crates, doing his best to crouch low in the hopes of getting the drop on Stein. The captain noticed him at the last second, forcing Quentin into a drop and roll as he fired on him.

“Attacking your own, Lance?”

“Trying to put a stop to this before anyone’s seriously hurt!” He called back. These people would have had enough evidence on him to arrest him at the station, but they’d waited to stage a sting operation with the clear intent of getting him and the Hood, and he doubted they’d stop at the Woman, since she’d been good enough to show. There weren’t rubber bullets in those guns, either, and judging by Stein’s attempt on his life just now, the order was shoot to kill.

An arrow sailed through the night and hit Stein’s gun, making him drop it. Quentin charged forward, knocking the older man to the ground and rolling him onto his chest. He wrenched Stein’s arms behind his back and got out his cuffs.

“If you’ve been listening to that phone since the Winick Building, then you could’ve shown up to catch him at Merlyn Global. But you didn’t, because it wasn’t personal yet, was it? You got nervous when I asked him for help rooting out corruption. Well, I’m gonna look through the evidence, find out just what this Tempest is and then it’ll be over for you and them!”

He looked up to take stock on the situation. Officers were either knocked out or tied up with those cable arrow things. The Hood was lifting Cutter up and away from the Woman, who had a split lip. She hauled back and punched the SWAT officer right in the face.

Quentin stood up. “Hey!” He didn’t need them doing that!

The Woman startled and looked away from him, her shoulders hunched. There was something almost sheepish in the gesture. He could also see a small tear in the shoulder of her jacket.

The Hood placed Cutter back on the ground considering she was knocked out cold. Then he walked over towards Quentin, his head ducked to avoid showing much more than his chin.

“This flash drive contains everything you’ll need.”

Quentin took it with a nod of thanks. He couldn’t help noticing that the Woman was already retreating back towards where he could just see the handlebar of a motorbike sticking out from the shadow of a building. Even less talkative than the Hood, apparently. Though that didn’t match the scant reports about her they’d gotten.

Before the Hood could take his leave as well, Quentin gestured towards her retreating form. “So is this, uh, a regular thing now?”

“It won’t be easy cleaning up the corruption and its effects on this city, Detective. You’ll need people like me and her for a while yet.”

It was the opposite of what he had wanted to hear tonight. But the one comfort he could draw was that the Hood sounded far from smug about it. He likely longed for the days when this city wouldn’t need him, too.

“Alright. I better call this in.” He turned away to get out his radio and heard the Hood depart. Now what the hell was he going to say about all this exactly? Best thing to do, request Hilt and see what he thought.

Predictably, his partner felt Quentin had landed them in a whole heap of trouble. “Even if what’s on that flash drive is a hundred percent genuine, you did agree to meet with a vigilante to get it, Quentin. What are we supposed to say to Pike about that?”

“Pike’s gonna have to accept that cops on some special interest group’s payroll is a bigger problem.”

Sooner than he would have liked, they had more officers on the scene to help get the injured parties treatment and to bring Stein, at the very least, in. It turned out he hadn’t put this little raid on the books, so it wasn’t only Quentin who would be answering some awkward questions.

To his great relief, Kelton took the flash drive. He made the CSU promise to guard it with his life. Quentin didn’t doubt that Crosby or someone else in on all this would love to make it disappear.

He sat waiting inside Pike’s office for the rest of that night, waiting for his direct superior to go through all of the evidence and question who he needed to. Quentin knew this probably didn’t look great for him, but he also knew he had done the right thing, and if he could just convince Frank of that, then maybe he might walk out of here a free man.

His real phone buzzed with a text just as the early light of dawn was creeping in through the window. Quentin glanced at it, saw Laurel’s name, and sat up to rub at his eyes. It read how’s everything?

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Somehow his girl always knew when to check on him. He considered it a good thing Laurel was actually reaching out considering they’d still only made a few halting attempts each to patch things up. Quentin wrote back, long night, but fine. At least he hoped it would be. But considering he hadn’t been hauled into a holding cell yet, he had hope.

Like a summons, the thought was immediately followed by Pike opening the door to his office and coming around to his side of the desk. A large folder was under his arm that he set down and opened.

“Quentin,” his long-time superior sighed. “This would’ve been easier if you would have just come to me.”

“Maybe, but sir, I did point out my concerns about Daily in particular to you, which you said you couldn’t do anything about. Now we both know why. Stein was protecting his man.”

“But a vigilante? The same vigilante you told me you didn’t want to give up hunting even when I scaled back the taskforce!”

He winced. “Things… changed. I realized I needed someone independent to look into what was going on here. What did Kelton find on that flash drive? Did it say what this Tempest is?”

“I already know what Tempest is,” Frank answered.

That caused his mouth to snap shut for a moment. “What do you mean, ‘you know’?”

“I mean I was informed about this Tempest just this past evening,” the Lieutenant clarified. “If I’d known it related to the vigilante case, I would have called you in.”

Quentin sat back. “Well, hang on, what is it really about?”

“It appears there is a group of the city’s most wealthy who got together to form a bloq,” Pike explained. He passed over the file, and Quentin took it, flipping through. The bribes were there, though not just to the SCPD. As he continued reading, he also came upon a record of property purchases in the Glades. “They’ve been behind a lot of the decisions made in the last several years, deciding what they think is best. And I have to warn you, Quentin, their end goal is… I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around it.”

He flipped another page and came upon schematics. Bomb schematics.

“What the… what the hell were they doing with this?”

“Nothing, yet. We were informed about this with enough time to do something. Now that you and, well, the vigilantes, have taken care of the people on the inside here that were working for them, we’ve got the upper hand. Now my source has identified the ringleader of this high society club, and I’m sending you and Hilton with backup to make the arrest.” Frank leaned forward. “You pull this off, Quentin, and no one’s going to care who you’ve been enlisting off the books. We’ll be heroes.”

He opened his mouth to tell his superior to get on with it and tell him who they were bringing in, but then he turned the final page. Quentin froze, his eyes widening.

“I’ll be damned…”

He should have known.

---

Thea relaxed on her bed, taking full advantage of the day off from community service. She was enjoying CNRI more now that Joanna was back and they occasionally actually did stuff, but she wouldn’t be a normal teenager if she wanted to work every single day. Besides, she had a kind of special event planned.

Thea was finally introducing her newly-christened boyfriend Roy to her mother. Thea had never bothered running her previous relationships past her mom, partly because she’d thought she hadn’t cared and partly because Thea hadn’t wanted it to be anyone’s business but hers. But if Walter’s loss had reminded her of anything, it was that you never knew how long you had with family. And truthfully, she thought it might bring her mom some comfort to know that Thea had someone special in her life.

She’d bullied Ollie into promising he would actually show for this since he had a bad habit of ditching family functions at the last second. It had helped that she had pointed out he and Laurel had ditched them at Mr. Merlyn’s memorial, and thus she and their mom hadn’t had the chance to catch up with what appeared to be a rekindling of their own relationship. So Oliver was supposed to be bringing both Laurel and Roy over to the manor.

Thea heard the sound of tires on the drive, so she quickly got up, checked her hair in the mirror and then raced out of her room and down the steps. Just as she reached the foyer, she heard a knock on the other side of the front door. That was weird, unless Ollie was making Roy knock in some stupid big brother intimidation routine.

She wrenched open the door, the smile freezing on her face when she found not her boyfriend, brother and his girlfriend waiting for her, but Detective Lance and his partner Hilton. Both officers grimaced at the sight of her.

“Is something wrong?”

“Where is your mother, Miss Queen?” Detective Hilton asked calmly. Thea couldn’t help noticing, however, that there was another car and two more officers waiting further down the drive.

“She’s, uh—”

“I’m right here.” When she turned around, she saw her mother descending the stairs in an outfit she called her ‘casual best’. Thea had already told her Roy had never had much money. “Can I help you with something, officers?”

Thea watched as Lance gave a shake of his head. “Let’s not drag this out in front of your daughter, alright? You’re coming downtown with us.”

“Wait, what?” Thea asked, only to be forced back as both Lance and Hilton pushed their way through the door, Hilton taking out a pair of handcuffs.

“You must be very mistaken,” her mother said gravely, though Thea couldn’t help noticing how very pale she looked.

“Not unless the thing we found them building at Unidac was actually a piñata,” Lance quipped. “Moira Queen, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, murder, conspiracy to commit murder, hiring an assassin, and conspiracy to commit mass murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Murder?” Thea echoed, somehow both hoarse and shrill at the same time. “No, no that’s crazy.”

“Miss Queen, if you could stay back,” Detective Hilton requested, gently buffeting her aside when she tried to move towards her mother, who had frozen in shock and only started moving when Lance marched her along with one hand under her arm.

“Mom!”

“Stay- stay in the house, baby,” her mother called over her shoulder.

Thea followed them out to the front stoop, her hands pressing to either side of her head as she watched them put her unresisting mother into the back of a squad car and drive away. The other two officers came inside and went up the steps, heading in the direction of her mother’s office.

How could this be happening again? Was she going insane with her life just repeating itself in circles? Her dad dying, Walter dying; Oliver being arrested for murder, her mother being arrested for murder. And how did that make any sense?

What was she supposed to do? Did she call Jean? Ollie? Thea sunk down onto the front step, her knees to her chest as cries were choked out of her.

How could everything have changed so fast and so horribly?

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #bird in a storm

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centuryofdean · 5 years ago

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When Lightning Strikes - Chapter 13

Author Disclaimer:: The Hobbit, Middle Earth and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. The story line and even some dialogue–also not mine. Instead I claim my Original Character Laurel and the adjustments to the story line.

Summary:: From when Laurel Took was small she dreamed of a man. Every time she dreamed of him, he could not see or hear her. Over time they are able to communicate–but he’s been dreaming about her too. Finally after years of anticipation Laurel takes the leap and kisses him. Only for her to wake up and dread the real world. Then lightning strikes and she finds herself in a familiar place, with a familiar face.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+ At this point in the story there isn’t much, but later on the M rating will come into effect.

Warnings:: Language, Violence and Scenes of Sexual Nature

Pairing:: Kili x OC (Laurel)

Kili

We traveled forward without haste. Though they were surely chasing us, we had enough of a lead to continue on without running. I could feel Laurel walking awkwardly behind me through our grasped hands. With difficultly I took my hand back to adjust my pack to wrap around my waist. "Climb on," I murmured, "I will carry you for a while."

When I stopped I felt her grasp my shoulders and start to hop onto my waist. Her legs wrapped around my hips, one underneath my pack, and her thighs squeezing tightly around me. The action and feel of her legs on me brought a smirk to my face. It was pleasant, and brought back fresh memories of how just a few mere days ago she was wrapped around me and kissing me with vigor.

A soft even sigh caressed my cheek. Her head had come to rest on my shoulder, and by the lack of pressure around my shoulders and hips, I could tell she had fallen asleep. Fili slowed down to match my pace, offering me a smirk at the sight of Laurel wrapped around me. "She must be tired," he murmured, "we have been running day and night. If you tire I will carry her for you."

Against my will my eyes turned to slits at his words. I have listened to Laurel tell me that there was nothing to be jealous of when it concerned my brother, but I could not help but feel it anyway. The thought of any one—dwarf, man, hobbit, elf—touching her in any way that was more than friendly had my blood boiling. Even that of my brother.

Fili sighed, "All harmless brother."

"I saw you looking at her… like I look at her," I mumbled off softly slightly saddened by the thought. It was not something I told Laurel. When her and my brother were talking, Fili gazed at her with satisfaction and appreciation. A look that said he wanted to keep.

Fili had the decency to look a little ashamed, a tint of red coating his cheeks. "I did for a moment," he uttered, "but it is difficult not to. She is very beautiful, even without a scruffy face. You have nothing to worry about. Even if I wanted to sweep her away from you, which I do not, I simply could not. Lady Laurel talks too highly of you."

After a while we stopped to fill our water pouches at a stream. Laurel did not wake as I laid her gently on the ground. The Hobbit offered to scout and see how far we were from the orc pack and if the Lonely Mountain was within our reach. I drank heavily from one pouch before retrieving one from Laurel's pack to fill it for her and refill my own. The rest of the company were sitting about near a very small fire in the rising sun.

"Kili."

Thorin's voice was always so serious and demanding. Just now it was soft and tired.

"Yaes uncle," I murmured, rising to meet him.

He sighs while he plopped down and hissed at his injuries. His next words threw me off guard, "We must talk about the girl."

"What about Laurel," I asked, eyes seeking out her slumbering form. Fili was sitting next to her drinking his water. I was curious to hear what Thorin had to say, seeing as he was so kind to Laurel just a while ago.

"I was wrong about her," he started looking a little lost, "she was brave and loyal, even to me who treated her unfairly. Anything that happens between the two of you, I cannot stop. A bastard child I cannot bless. A union between the two of you is something I wish to bless, but our brethren will not allow for it."

The words he spoke of were contradicting. It sounded as if he was okay with the idea of Laurel and I, but he hated it. "If you were not a prince," he huffed, "perhaps no comments would be made. The court of Erebor that would come would not tolerate this of a prince."

A snort tore through my nostril, "I do not care of what the court of Erebor thinks. I care only for her and her safety. Once we take back the mountain and you are crowned a king formally, you will be in control of whatever you wish, and the court will abide by it."

With those words I rose, taking guarded steps to the red-head's sleeping form only to rouse her from sleep. Confusion clouded her eyes as she started to wake, the limbs of her body begun to seize as she begun to tense. My hand found her cheek where my thumb rubbed just under her eyes, "It's just me little doe. We are resting, drink up."

The other hand that was holding her water skin up to her lips. Without attempting to raise her own hand, she leaned into me and closed her eyes once more as she drank heavily, every last drop. Fili offered to take the pouch and refill it.

Bilbo rushed into our clearing, huffing.

"How close is the pack," Dwalin urged.

"A couple of leagues, too close. That isn't all though," he gasped.

Gandalf rose pulling his staff up to its great height before looking around, "What is it Bilbo?"

"A bear, larger than any one I have ever seen."

The old wizard stood straighter, huffing as well, "There is a house, it is not far from here, where we might take refuge."

Thorin arrived closer with Fili at his heels. "Are they friend or foe," uncle asked hotly.

"Neither, he will hunt us or he will kill us."

The roar of an animal ripped through the forest. Laurel tensed from under me, hands pushing herself up from where she lay. "How far is the beast," she croaked.

"Just a bit closer than the orcs," Bilbo responded.

In seconds everyone was up, preparing for another run. Once on their feet and ready to move, we started out at a mild jog through the woods, Gandalf leading the company. Laurel had a look of determination set on her face as she kept pace with me at one side, Fili reacting much the same on my other.

This was no easy journey. First there were trolls and goblins and orcs, now there was a giant bear chasing us.

Once we cleared the forest we were running through an open meadow, in the distance there appeared to be a stone and wooden enclosure. "There! That is the house," Gandalf bellowed from the front of the front of the company. We were moving from a slower pace to a flat out run at the sight of the house hidden behind the walls. Each of the dwarves were huffing as their legs worked to reach the house faster.

The ground beneath us started to shake every other second. Another roar tore through the air around us, shaking even me to the bone. Laurel looked behind us and screamed softly, "Fucking shit!"

What did she see? I turned around to gaze at what she was scared of.

Standing at least ten feet tall—on all fours—was a ferocious dark brown bear, baring all of his sharp white teeth. Just behind us. I turned back around, ready to pick up my pace when I noticed Laurel was running almost as fast as a gazelle. Bombur was right behind her. They were the first to reach the gates of the enclosure. As soon as Bofur, the last dwarf was inside the enclosure we all started to push the gate door closed. A ruff snout and teeth growled at us through the crack attempting to get inside, but we were able to lock the door with the monster out.

"What was that," Ori trembled from the ground.

All around us there were beautiful flowers and plants, each larger than I would have normally seen. There were also large animals coming closer to sniff at each and every one of us.

"That is our host," Gandalf gruffed as he started to go towards the moss covered house. "His name is Beorn, and his is a skin-changer."

Skin-changer? So that beast was actually a man that could change from the skin of man to the skin of bear when he saw fit? The idea sent chills down my spine.

"Sometimes he's a huge black bear, sometimes he's a great strong man. The bear," Gandalf laughed without humor, "is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However he is not fond of dwarves."

How incredibly fantastic. Run right into the den of the beast that does not like dwarves. At least the wizard, Bilbo, and Laurel might be spared.

"Rest for now," Gandalf sighed, "until tomorrow we are safe."

The company trudged into the house, finding that inside there was a stable of sorts without any horses or ponies. Just a lot of hay. Laurel went to one of the corners and lay on her side, tossing her pack out of her way along with her weapons. I followed her lead and left my pack and weapons next to hers. We had been running all day again, most of the company already drifting off to slight snores. My brother settled down next to me as well. Thorin and Gandalf spoke softly. By the rays of the sun that were filtering into the windows, it was probably a little past half of the day was gone.

I laid back against the hay with my arms stretched out behind me, letting the aches in my muscles take time to adjust to relaxing. Soon I was slowly drifting off to the sound of Laurel's even breathing.

A soft low moan and a kick to my leg woke me. The darkness covered the house we slept in, and a quick glance around let me know that the rest of the company were sleeping soundly. As my eyes settled on Laurel, I remember why I woke. She moved slightly, moaning low in her throat. The thrash of her head back and forth led me to believe that she was having a bad dream. I rested my hand on her hip, about to shake when she moaned softly again.

"Kili."

The way she said my name was similar to the night at Rivendell when I was kissing her neck earnestly.

A heat started to emit from my groin, blood pumping a little faster at the sound. So she was dreaming of me, and by the sounds of it, it was a very good dream. Why was I not dreaming with her? The more I thought about it, I have not dreamt of her since she arrived to Middle Earth.

Another moan rippled through her throat, but slightly louder. I feared she would wake the company, but at the same time I did not want to interrupt her pleasant dream. Maybe it would give her the push she needed to embrace me in such a way when she woke.

Hay was grasped tightly in each of her hands at either side of her hips, which were thrusting upwards subtly.

My member grew with the sight, the ache in my loins came strongly as I fought the urge to run my hands all over her body. With all the members of the company sleeping just mere feet away, I could not try to do what I truly wanted.

There were countless nights where I stayed awake in my bed or on my roll thinking of her in inappropriate ways. Every time I imagined her naked, she was always on top of me or below me. Those nights were long and full of frustration as I always fulfilled my need. It irked me how some mere girl of my night time dreams drove me to madness. My days were filled with her in my head and how she would love to have lived in my world. Sometimes I day dreamed of her there with me when I hunted and did chores, almost as if she were my imaginary friend.

"Oh Kili," she moaned more softly again, teeth catching her bottom lip as her hips made a larger thrust, "don't stop yet."

Feeling ashamed, one of my hands grasped myself through my trousers while the other hand hesitantly ghosted over her through her own. A soft gasp came from her as she thrashed her head to the side and her hips ground against my hand. With careful timely hand movements I rubbed her softly, my hand becoming hot with the heat she was emitting. The other hand of mine was just holding myself, I was fearful someone would wake and catch me in the act of doing anything more.

I moved the fingers at her core a little more swiftly in the same rhythm of her thrusting. Suddenly she seized upwards sharply before moaning once more her face scrunched up in ecstasy, lips forming a small 'o'. She then became limp, breathing heavily before rolling into me and snoring softly.

By the Valar. Softly untangling myself so I did not wake her, I rose and cringed at the tenting of my trousers. I was going to be a while outside.

Previous Chapter << Chapter 12: Home is Where the Heart Is

Next Chapter >> Chapter 14: Moonlight Hues

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #kili x oc #kili x reader #kili durin #kilixoc #kilixreader #the hobbit fanfic #kili fanfiction #kili fanfic #when lighting strikes

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years ago

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Pining

I can’t decide if this was the most or the least obvious route to take, but here we go: day 11 of @drawlight‘s advent challenge.

Totally lighthearted fluff this time, since the chapter I posted to AO3 was pretty dark. But it was fun!

11 - Pine (1,642)

Pine: To yearn intensely and persistently for something unattainable.

The first thing Aziraphale ever remembered wanting was a twig of evergreen.

“It’s the smell I miss, really,” he explained over the campfire, out of sight of the humans in their camp. He and Crawley sometimes waited out the nighttime hours together, mulling over their thoughts of the world. “The other plants just don’t smell the same.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Crawley, who hadn’t actually paid attention to the smells in Eden. “Any particular kind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. White pine? Or black? I don’t think it matters.”

The next day, Crawley disappeared, as he sometimes did. Aziraphale kept a sharp eye on the humans, to make sure the serpent wasn’t causing trouble again, but no sign of him there.

After almost a week, the demon returned, bearing a branch of black pine, the sap still sticky and fresh. “Saw some of this when they sent me up north,” he said, handing it over.

It smelled even better than Aziraphale remembered.

The first thing that Aziraphale really missed – in a deep, intense way – was a song played on a reed flute, the words lost to time.

“I don’t know why I miss it so,” he sighed, a century after he’d last heard it. “It just popped into my head one day and I felt... sad.”

“Nostalgic, probably,” corrected Crawley, sampling a new ale. “How did it go?”

“You know the one. “Dee-dum-dee-dum-dee-da-dee-dum.”

“Devastatingly beautiful,” Crawley laughed. “That could be any song!”

“Fine. It was the one we heard that first time we went to Knossos.”

The demon nodded slowly this time. “Ah, that was a lovely song. Whoever wrote it really understood pain.”

“I don’t know about pain, but…” Aziraphale sighed, looking out the window, feeling the strange lethargy take him again. “Lately I’ve not been able to get it out of my head. Something to do with the long nights and cold weather, I’m sure.”

Four evenings later, Aziraphale suddenly heard a strange, high wailing sound outside the inn where he was staying. He rushed out to find Crawley with a reed flute he’d made himself, carousing drunkenly in the street, trying to play the lost tune.

The angel had very nearly laughed himself sick before taking the flute for himself. By the morning they’d managed to mostly reconstruct the song.

They invented new lyrics – in Aziraphale’s, a tiny bird flew home in the spring; in Crawley’s the bird ate some strange berries and got very ill all over town. The angel wanted to scold him, but he was too busy laughing.

The longest Aziraphale ever yearned for something, was during the years he spent in Rome, working alongside the imperial family, influencing the younger members towards good.

He would never admit how draining the job was, how isolated it made him feel. He longed for simple companionship, someone he could talk to, even just for a day. Someone he could be himself around, instead of playing a part.

Then he’d heard a familiar grumbling – turning to the counter of the thermopolium, he saw a figure in black toga (if you could call that a toga) and red hair. He jumped up, abandoning his table and his game, determined to seize this opportunity no matter what.

Though he probably should have taken a moment to come up with something to say first.

Still, several plates of oysters and copious amounts of wine later, they ambled back up the street, passing the last jug back and forth between them, Crowley quite nearly smiling.

“My dear fellow, what is that thing on your head?”

“Oh, I forgot.” He pulled off the laurel wreath, studying the silver leaves where they reflected the moonlight. “Won this, you know. Fair and square.”

“You had a sussez-suckstes- victorious military campaign?” Aziraphale took another sip of wine. “Awarded a triumph an’ all?”

“Nah. Just arm wrestled a general.” He chuckled, tossing the wreath in the air, and trying to catch it – missing it, so that it clattered and rolled away up the street. “Caligula said it was the greatest military victory he’d ever seen.”

“I’m starting to think that child does not have much of a background in warfare,” Aziraphale opined as Crowley snatched the wine away.

“You get executed for saying things like that,” Crowley scolded.

The angel gave his best look of utter shock, rubbing at his throat, until he and Crowley both burst into gales of laughter, stumbling against each other in the street.

The thing Aziraphale wanted the most was for Crowley to be safe. This, perhaps, went on longer than any other desire, but it rose and fell, moved from the front of his mind to the back, pushed aside but never fulfilled.

He felt it in the fifteenth century, and the sixteenth, and the seventeenth. Meeting in taverns and tea houses and theaters, trading jobs, planning miracles and temptations together.

Again and again a worry rose within him, this could go wrong, they could find out, they could hurt him, destroy him.

But he didn’t allow the desperate fear of it to overtake him until the day he thought Crowley might destroy himself. “Just insurance,” he said.

Aziraphale put his foot down. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – give Crowley the means to end his own life, to take that smile and that laugh and those beautiful eyes out of the world, even if it was to end his suffering.

There was only one other way to keep him safe.

And so for over 80 years he didn’t want anything. Even if the demon hated him, even if they never saw each other again, Crowley was safe, and what else could possibly matter?

Until the day Crowley danced up the aisle of a church and back into his life, saving him, saving his books, and giving him a smug grin and a lift home.

And Aziraphale realized that wanting things could get very complicated indeed.

One August night when the world hadn’t ended, Aziraphale stepped onto a bus back from Oxford, his mind racing with wishes and fears and regrets and things longed for but never named.

When Crowley sat down, the angel sat beside him, shaking hand grasping the edge of his seat, so close the knuckles were just shy of where Crowley’s fingers lay limply at his side.

“You must have wanted this,” Aziraphale suddenly spoke, breaking the silence of at least ten minutes. “For a very long time.”

“Hmm?” Crowley, exhausted, emotionally wrung out, had nearly fallen asleep where he sat. “Wanted what?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but found that he didn’t have any words. Not for the first time that night, the tears filled his eyes.

“Hey,” Crowley turned toward him, their knees just touching. “Don’t…don’t be afraid. We’re going to think of something.” How could his voice be so gentle? So calm?

“I…I don’t think I am afraid.”

“You’d be mad not to be. Isn’t this what you’ve been worried about all along? That they’d find out about…about us?”

“Oh, I’m terrified of that.” Aziraphale almost laughed, still trying to blink his eyes clear. “But… us. I don’t think I’m afraid of that anymore.”

Slowly, carefully, with utmost certainty, his hand drifted across the last few inches of space and clasped Crowley’s.

Behind black lenses, the demon’s unreadable eyes stared at their hands. “Are you… are you sure? Is this what you want?”

Aziraphale wiped his eyes with his free hand. “I don’t have the first idea what I want. I just know…” with a watery smile, he lifted their hands to rest together where their knees met. “Any time I’ve ever wanted anything, it’s been you there to bring it to me. Even when I didn’t really know what I wanted, you were always there.”

Crowley turned his hand, threading the fingers through Aziraphale’s, letting the warmth of it fill them both.

“And I think…” the angel continued. “I think that’s what I want. Whether we have another six thousand years or only tonight, I want you to be there. With me.”

“Ok.” It wasn’t even a whisper, just a movement of the mouth, a nod. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, brought it to rest against his cheek. “Ok.”

He couldn’t help shivering just a little from the thrill of it. Aziraphale had to almost fight to keep from doing something that would ruin the moment. “So, ah, so that’s why I said. You must have wanted this for a long time. I’ve…I’ll admit I’ve not thought about it nearly as much as I should, but I suppose I at least missed out on any pining. You, though…”

“Pining?” Suddenly the gentleness was gone from Crowley’s voice. “You think I’ve been pining?” He threw back his head and laughed, hands falling again to rest in his lap.

Embarrassed, realizing he’d ruined the moment anyway, Aziraphale tried to pull his hand back, but Crowley only clasped it harder.

“Angel, all I’ve wanted for six thousand years is to see you happy. And you were, most of the time, so I was, too.” He finally let go of Aziraphale’s hand, but only so he could clasp both shoulders. “People who pine are idiots who don’t appreciate what they already have. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but that is one I have never, ever made.”

Without thinking, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, pulling him close, resting his head against his demon’s heart, feeling those thin arms surround him, the long fingers bury themselves in his hair.

“Oh, my dear Crowley. I think it would take another six thousand years for me to learn to appreciate you.”

Aziraphale could feel the nod as Crowley’s chin brushed against him, felt the shaky breath pass his ear. “Well. We better make sure we’re around to enjoy that, huh?”

#good omens fanfiction #31 days of ineffables #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #crowley #fluff #romance #hand holding #they're a pair of adorable babies really #advent calendar #writing challenge #my writing

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monikafilefan · 5 years ago

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One time on an airplane

This is a chapter from a very old outrageous UST fic of mine that I had way too much fun writing as a newbie. Really, it’s just for shits and giggles.

Tagging @today-in-fic

———

There it is. That rounded tight piece of perfected ass displayed right next to your shoulder. If he told you his ass was used as a template and chiseled into a statue of stone that women came to worship on Sunday, you’d believe him. Because that’s practically what you do yourself. Worship, adore, honor, drool—

Doesn’t matter, you do it all.

Mulder lifts the last piece of luggage into the overhead compartment across the aisle from your assigned seats. You hear him shove the bag in further, yet you don’t see him do it. No, you aren’t watching what his hands are doing at the moment; just his chiseled ass cheeks as the muscles ripple underneath his tailored Armani.

You hear him huff in frustration and mumble the word, “dammit,” and then, “tiny fucking spaces…”

You’re not frustrated at all. In fact, you’re extremely relaxed as you lay back and rest your head along the seat. You see, that ensures you use your trained investigators eye appropriately by examining the evidence from every angle possible. You feel a languid grin take over your face while your eyelids droop and you stare and stare and… you see him turn and hear the compartment snap shut; and you make your rebellious eyes do the same.

You fake being asleep which is completely STUPID because you’ve just sat down less than five minutes ago. You panic but don’t show it. Hell, you’ve gotten so good at not showing the deeper side of Dana since med school, that you can officially add professional fucking faker to the list of labels that follow your name.

And you carry a mass amount of guilt for it.

You can feel the intense stare he’s giving you while you impatiently wait for him to say something. But no, oh God, he’s going to do something instead! You hear his shoes squeak against the metal sides of the aisle, you feel him lean in so close that if you open your eyes, you’ll be nose to nose. He audibly gulps, and you hear his breath puff out in a long drawn out exhale. And you smell him—oh Jesus you smell him— his own unique bouquet that flips your belly around like a fish out of water.

Instantaneously, your nipples harden, digging into your useless too thin bra, as his breath caresses your ear. The anticipation is absolute torture to your body and your mind while the thoughts of what you wish could happen next dance around your brain.

You, with your legs spread wide while he pounds into your core over and over. Him, meeting you thrust for thrust as you straddle his hips, riding him sweet and slow. You, with your hands pinned above your head while he teases your entire body until you fall to pieces in his arms—

Oh Christ! His fingers run through a stray lock of hair and he tucks it tenderly behind your ear, his mouth sending streams of warm air against it. You bite your lip to keep it from yanking you over to meet his face and plant itself on his pouty mouth. But you’re weak; so weak in fact you that can’t help but open your eyes and see his hand sensually moving down your face while his fingers still glide along your hair.

You try not to look at him while he does it—his Mulder scent, his proximity—but his eyes are invading your whole fucking bubble. You can’t avoid them. They’re green and gold and swirling; they’re a goddamn vortex sucking you in.

It’s so intense! You flutter your lashes that feel like lead, while your vocal cords act before your brain does and you say his name right into his cheek. “Mulder.” No, you moan it as he leans back into you, branding your ear with his mouth. You take the opportunity to look down at his cock. Yes, you bravely look down at your partner's hard thickening cock, and just before he’s able to witness you’re appreciative assessment, the flight attendant snatches you from your sexually charged universe.

“Excuse me, Sir, but you’ll have to take your seat now.” The sickeningly sweet way she says it only pisses you off. How could anyone be so joyous as they interrupt one of the hottest fucking moments that you’ve had in years?

Son-of-a-bitch!

Yet, Mulder surprises you. He doesn’t jerk his mouth away from the lobe of your ear as if he burned his lips on scalding hot coffee. He doesn’t even move. He only blows out a steady cascade of air along the shell of your ear. You immediately begin to pant like a dog in the hot hot sun, deprived of water for days on end. Your mouth is dry as a bone, and you realize the wetness that once resided there has shot straight into your lace panties, flooding you.

You gasp, loudly, too goddamn loud for him not to react. You feel him blink rapidly against the side of your face, his lashes titillate and make you shudder from tits to toes.

Oh. My. God.

He can’t get any closer to you—while clothed anyway—and stays frozen like a statue while kneeling in the aisle of a packed airplane with his skin attached to yours. Just when you cannot take another heated second he suddenly, as if shocked by electricity, jolts to his feet and nearly takes out the attendant with his head. She stumbles backward, and you see him react with his arms flailing out completely uncoordinated.

You watch paralyzed and wide-eyed while gripping the armrests as he trips over his own feet, ramming his open palm into the woman’s breast and knocking her into the lap of an elderly man.

Gasps, shouts, and a rush of passengers move forward to assist the ruffled attendant who was just felt up by the careless FBI Agent who’s also sporting an impressive rock solid erection that tents his pants.

You’re too stunned to move so you can only watch as a red-faced Mulder awkwardly apologizes to her and the man, whom you pray won’t have a stroke from a pretty young woman’s ass being plopped onto his crotch, while Mulder jams the heel of his hand against his now inappropriate yet mouth-watering hard-on.

Jesus, your ogling has turned into a clusterfuck and you don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or ignore the fact that you were both two seconds from tongue wrestling while eye fucking each other in front of 60 strangers.

No, no Dana! Do NOT think about fucking of any kind!

Another flight attendant swoops in at that very second and takes charge which forces Mulder to make a decision. You’re not able to move with the crowd of people now standing next to your seat so you’re stuck looking at Mulder’s panic face that you’ve recently become quite familiar with since Texas. You see the hesitant look in his eye and immediately understand the problem. He’s afraid to slide past you to get to his seat while jutting his raging erection into your face.

So It’s your turn to gulp, and you toss up a quick please God, just in case He chooses now to answer one of your prayers. But as soon as you get your hopes up, you realize that he has turned around with his back to you. He bent himself at the waist to tuck his head under the fasten seat belt sign, and starts to squeeze himself along your front, simultaneously disappointing you and exciting you at once. Because yes, his perfect perfect ass and all its glory is now just inches from your face. He’s rubbing his legs along your own as you suck your entire bottom lip into your mouth and—oh you’re in trouble now—you have to actually slap your hand over it to contain the guttural moan you feel vibrating up your throat.

Your hand that’s not currently covering your mouth twitches and by its own volition, seems to rise in mid air, intent on grabbing just one of his fantastic cheeks.

God must be listening, because you’re able reassemble a monicome of self-control to stop your wandering hand from reaching for its laurels.

The last part of his leg leaves yours just in time for you to clasp your hands together and shove them in your lap. Christ, you hope he can’t smell your arousal when he sits down the same way that you can smell his heady scent wafting up your nose.

Mulder sits down right next to you and immediately leans forward, shedding his jacket and draping it along his crotch. You try not to stare out of the corner of your eye, yet those damn swirling whirling eyes of his draws yours to his like a magnet. You stare into one another. And stare and stare until your brain screams at you to breathe. Apparently, eye fucking Mulder shuts down your body’s autonomic response.

Point taken. There will be no more of that, you lie to yourself.

You tear your eyes away and suck in a breath as the flight announcements take place. You know Mulder is brewing up a way to discuss this heated moment in which, you know, will inevitably lead to a discussion of what you have pegged as “the hallway incident”. And in no way shape or form, are you ready for that mind-fuck of a conversation.

Disecting a body is what you should be focusing on, not the dissection of your feelings you hide deep in your soul. Because you know you’re weakening, mind and body.

You now have the rest of the flight to fantasize and down-right torture yourself with thoughts of that perfect ass, and now that perfect hard-on he’s probably still sporting, all the while you tune in and out to Mulder’s ramblings about the body you have to, in his words, “slice and dice.”

Over the next 29 minutes of shared sexual tension at 36,000 feet, Mulder wiggles, fidgets, and flips absently through a file repeatedly after filling the silence with case information that you already know. And you? You angle your body away from his and repeat the mantra of autopsy lingo in your head just to keep your attraction for him from banging against your Cerebellum.

Just as you start to contemplate that physically banging your head against the seat in front of you would work better, the seat belt sign turns off and you’re out of your seat in a flash, making a beeline to the tiny ass bathroom.

You’re summoned by the announcement of arrival seventeen short minutes later, so you settle back into your seat after your alone time where you splashed cold water on your face and aired out your arousal filled panties.

Just as you think you’ve reigned yourself in, you feel a warm hand grip your knee that sends tingles up your thigh. You gasp and vaguely register Mulder asking you if you’re okay. You nod and his hand disappears. Thank God!

You’re teetering on the precipice of erotic anarchy on a fucking airplane with nowhere for you to escape.

Twelve minutes. Twelve long agonizing minutes later you land, and Mulder stands next to your still seated form. You haven’t taken the chance to make eye contact again after earlier instances proved to be physically debilitating for you. So you just wait for him to slide past you once again to grab the luggage.

Oh shit! You forgot. How could you’ve forgotten he was going to need to shove your weakness into your face again? You should stand instead. You really should, but you don’t. You don’t move a damn muscle. And you suddenly realize, that no amount of avoidance will curb your desire for him or his luscious luscious ass.

There he is right in front of you now slowly rubbing the back of his legs along your knees and your eyes are glued to the glorious image before you. The rebelliousness of your eyes from the beginning of of flight has moved on to overtake control of your hand this time. Somehow, you forget you’re only supposed to look. Not touch. Never touch. Touching is too dangerous, too much, too stimulating, too—

Amazing! You yell silently as you run your hand over one taunt cheek, providing gentle pressure. You ensure—for the second time today—that you use your trained investigators eye appropriately by examining the evidence from every angle possible. It only seems fair you assess him with touch now as well as sight.

You feel Mulder stiffen and his glute muscle tightens. Because yes, your hand his still palming it. He spins his head around and down to gawk at the act at hand, literally. Your eyes don’t flick, dance or drift away this time. You keep them locked onto his like a vice. You can’t hold back a smirk at the sight of him attempting to swallow through what you can only assume is now a moistureless mouth.

Finally, he glances at you through his lashes and clears his throat to speak. You swipe your hand one, two, three times across his ass cheek before he can utter a thing. And by the grace of all that his Holy, you’re able to school your face enough to seem as serious as any human possibly can who’s been creaming her panties for an entire flight.

“You had some of my hair stuck to your pants,” you blurt out, hopefully in an unaroused tone since you can’t hear a goddamn thing with the sudden blood whooshing in your ears.

It’s getting too much, this voyeuristic obsession of ogling your best friends ass. Except... he’s not just your best friend anymore, he’s the only man that you want in your life, and you’re too damn chicken shit to admit it beyond your array of dirty dirty forbidden thoughts.

And that turns you on, unfortunately.

You wait for him to say something. Anything at all to break the tension, but no innuendo comes out of his slack-jawed mouth. Only the truth.

“Well at least one of us got to touch today,” he murmurs with a pinkening face, eyes still drilling into yours.

“You’re forgetting about your groping of flight attendants, Mulder,” you quip with a smile in order to deflect the attention off of your own indiscretion.

Oh no! You’re being pulled, pulled into his vortex of green and gold AGAIN, and you fear you might never come back this time. “Ouch!” A bag belonging to the teenager behind you whacks you in the head, yanking you out of Mulder’s swirling gaze.

You don’t even give a shit about how bad your head is now throbbing. You’re thankful for the blow to the head that knocked your sense back in. But if you could do what you really wanted, you’d laugh hysterically at how insanely close you are to sprinting right out of the best friend zone you and Mulder are encompassed in, and happily violate your number one rule.

Mulder’s mood from the beginning of the flight has changed drastically right along with your own. He’s no longer frustrated; you are. Both emotionally and physically, and you just can’t take it anymore.

The airplane exit doors open as soon as Mulder steps up to the overhead compartment. You see your opportunity to run from the area that’s been mercilessly taunting you with your every desire.

You stand, and you move with purpose.

“I’ll meet you by the gate,” you toss back over your shoulder as you hightail it down the aisle, fleeing yet again.

----------

#ust #scully likes to ogle

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sentfromwolves · 5 years ago

Photo

oc prompt game . ( queen of the meadows. uselessness / mars & laurel )

< hoes b4 bros >

hwa: mom

starmom: son wuat the fuck its 4am

hwa: o fuck i forgot timezones again

hwa: wait

hwa: why r u up ! !!

hwa: MOM

hwa: go 2 SLEEP

starmom: no now im here and awake and alive enough whats up son

hwa: mom we need an intervention (go 2 sleep)

starmom: jesus christ

starmom: for who

hwa: mars said he wants 2 marry the dude from his plant class (seriously!! GO. TO. BED)

starmom: that class started literally 2 days ago

hwa: I KNO!!!!! (pls, mom, for the love of everyone around u and also me, get some sleep)

aspen groans and rolls over in his bed, peeling himself away from his sheets and staring groggily at his phone. it’s not unlike mars to get fleeting, would-be crushes on other green witches in his classes. usually he’ll ogle them for a day or two, wax poetic about their ass, and then move on. he’s a tall kid with a heart of goddamn gold, and wears every single emotion he ever owns on his sleeve. it’s caused trouble more than once, but generally he’s pretty good about loving, and realistic expectations, and knowing that you can’t marry a guy you met two days ago. frozen proved that much, if nothing else.

still, he cracks open the door to his room and sidles down the hall and peeks up the stairs. there’s no movement, but something clinks in the kitchen that connects to the living room, and he ambles in that direction, wondering what he’ll find. maybe yonghwa had also been texting cobalt, who is a habitual night owl. maybe cobalt is also in on this intervention thing too. after all, their witch bonds are stronger than most. when one of them feels something too strongly and doesn’t clamp down on it, often times the others will feel it too. and aspen knows that most of them have been feeling pretty ecstatic over the last few days, the stress mitigated by the unbridled adrenaline and raw energy of diving back into classes, into a sea of new faces and old as the new semester cracks open like an eggshell suspended above all of their heads.

what he finds isn’t cobalt hunched over the fridge with three popsicles sticking out of his mouth (a regular occurrence during summer). what he finds is mars draped over the living room couch holding his hand over his forehead dramatically, a spoon hanging from his fingers and a half-empty jar of gelato (his gelato, aspen realizes with a little bit of exasperation), looking like he’s ready to be painted by a young leonardo dicaprio.

“um,” aspen says, “you okay in there, buddy?”

“aspen,” mars says. “can you marry a guy you just met?”

goddamn it. they really do need an intervention.

“no, mars,” aspen says with all the patience of a man who just woke up at 4am because his witch family are being dumbasses. “you can’t marry someone you just met.”

“fuck,” mars says, and sits up. “okay, plan b.”

“plan b?”

“i’m gonna ask him on a date.” mars looks fiercely determined. so determined, in fact, that aspen breaks out into a laugh that threatens to wake cobalt up from his dead slumber upstairs.

“what?!” mars demands, his voice pitching high. “what’s so funny?”

“it’s just,” aspen says. “no, you know what? i’m not even going to say it. okay, so you’re gonna ask - “

“hot greenhouse man,” mars says dreamily.

“you’re gonna ask hot greenhouse man on a date,” aspen says. “cool. and how are you gonna do that?”

mars face drains of all color. because for all of his open-hearted adoration for people, his poetic compliments, his easily obtained sincerity, mars has never asked a person out before in his life. in the realm of dating, he’s as good as useless, and aspen’s gonna let him flounder a bit in the blind, desperate hope that he learns how to swim.

“i’m,” mars says, sputters, and says again, “i’m gonna figure that out. right. now.”

“cool,” aspen says, planning for the inevitability of mars chickening out by the time the sun has risen in the sky. “i’m going back to bed while you do that. wake me up when there’s breakfast being made.”

mars, in fact, wakes him up later on when breakfast is (rather poorly) made.

he also tells him that he knows hot greenhouse mans name courtesy of one of his rather nosy, gossipy friends.

his name is laurel. and aspen is worried he’s going to break mars heart.

***

aspen doesn’t have to worry for long.

the moment he meets laurel, he knows that this is as good as fate crashing into his living room floor and starting a forest fire. laurel has the fucking heart eyes of the century every time mars back is turned, and for all of their early floundering, he’s a good soul with a cute smile and (currently) light blue hair that fluffs up to minty green whenever he gets excited or happy.

however, there is one big problem. the biggest fucking problem in aspens world. something that keeps him up late at night, staring at his ceiling, asking the universe how two people can be so stupid that it’s almost funny for everyone involved except it really isn’t because how is he, the good samaritan stuck between a rock and two love-struck people so dumb about the feelings of the other that they don’t even know how to act, supposed to sleep soundly when he can’t knock the minute amount of sense into his best friends head to do the right thing?

the right thing, of course, being to ask one another on a date.

“three months,” yonghwa says on the phone with him one night. “aspie, it’s been three months and neither of them have asked each other out?”

“i know,” aspen moans, hitting his head against his desk, hands in the air. “i know! they’re both like, oh wow, look at this beautiful friend i made. and then mars waves him out of the house, turns around, and starts screaming because he’s so fucking in love! how can he not just - just ask him out? how is this hard?”

“listen,” yonghwa says, “i’ve seen one whole picture of them together and i don’t think i’ve ever seen someone look at mars the way laurel looks at mars. that guys whipped. and he’s not even gonna ask him out?”

“they’re dense, hwa,” aspen bemoans, lifting his head. “dense as bricks. denser than bricks. it’s like the cauldron gave them all the good looks in the world and then was like, hey you know what? good looks? well then i guess you can’t have any braincells around each other!”

“could you,” yonghwa asks, “could you like, give them a nudge? a push? a kick in the ass? throw them off a cliff.”

“i’ve tried everything,” aspen says, and looks up at his computer screen. yonghwa is bent over, painting his toenails as he speaks, the glittery polish he’s using apparently magically scented with blackberries and vanilla. “i straight up said, now is your chance mars, go ask him out! and he just looked at me like this deer in headlights. what if he says no, he said. what kind of bullshit!”

“useless,” yonghwa says, blowing on his big toe. the enchanted blow dryer aspen had sent him for christmas dances around his head, drying out his recently dyed silver-purple hair. “i wish i was there. i would just do it for them.”

“i wish you were here too,” aspen says, breaking from his complaints to let his words flow with genuine fondness. “i’m excited for when i can finally have you back here for real. i miss you.”

“i miss you too, aspie,” yonghwa says, and smiles up at him through the camera. “it’s only a while longer. and then the whole family will be together.”

“not quite,” aspen grumbles. “laurel should be part of this family. hell, he spends enough time over here that he should be on my chore wheel.”

“ah yes, the chore wheel,” yonghwa says sagely. “you should just add him. maybe they’ll finally get the hint.”

“no,” aspen says. “they’re both fools in love. i really don’t know what to do.”

yonghwa tilts his head thoughtfully.

“maybe,” he says, “they just need to suffer a bit more, and then they’ll figure it all out.”

“maybe,” aspen replies, but he really doesn’t think so, but he pulls all of his blind hope and shoves it into that one, tiny word.

***

one month later, aspen snaps.

it starts on a friday afternoon, when he hears the door bang open and closed, and a wail reaches his room where he’s trying desperately to finish a lit essay while talking with emerson about latin translations and books that he wants to set on fire.

“i gotta go,” aspen says, glancing behind him at his door.

“gotcha,” emerson, “wanna come over and dramatically recite shakespeare with me while i pretend to care about grading these papers?”

“please,” aspen says, “i think i’ll need it.”

“cocoa or tequila?” emerson asks knowingly. “or do you want some sort of bliss tonic? I think we have some leftover from the party.”

“cocoa,” aspen says, “i love you. talk to you later.”

“doors unlocked!” emerson calls after him before he ends the call.

in another life, aspen thinks, he’d ask emerson out on a date. but harper is madly in love with him, and aspen is madly in love with harper, and so he stays out of both of their paths, knowing better than to get in the way of something that could be wonderful for the two of them.

sighing, aspen closes his laptop, stands up, and prepares for the worst.

mars is on the kitchen floor.

aspen fights two spontaneously grown thorn bushes, a snapper plant that descended from the ceiling to eat his hair, and three rows of angry, bushy cactuses that have since surrounded the open dishwasher and its surroundings with all the grace he can muster.

mars doesn’t so much as move or bat an eyelash at him when he comes to stand at his head. he’s face down on the granite, arms splayed out in front of him, and he looks, quite frankly, like he’s just keeled over and died in the middle of the day.

aspen does the nice thing.

he kicks him (gently) in the head.

mars lets out a pathetic cry.

“what happened,” aspen says, and it’s not a question.

the only other time mars poisoned the whole kitchen with toxic plants, it had been because someone had called him a giraffe and he’d cried all the way home. he’d been seventeen at the time.

mars rolls over onto his back and stars up at aspen. he’s on the verge of tears.

“oh my god,” aspen says, crouching down. “baby.”

“aspen,” mars croaks. “i’m a dumb person.”

“oh my god,” aspen says. “no you’re not, mars. tell me what’s wrong.”

he sits down gingerly, ignoring the cactuses around them, and mars scoots up a little so he’s laying with his head in aspens lap as aspen brushes his fingers through the boys hair.

“i really like laurel,” mars says, like it hasn’t been painfully obvious for four months now. “like, really, really like him.”

“yes,” aspen says. “i know.”

“cool,” mars replies, staring glassy eyed at the ceiling. “so today, i go into the greenhouse early because like, i’m planning to give him this cactus i found down at the gardens to laurel, because the needles don’t hurt at all and make little bubbles when you tickle the head.”

“okay,” aspen says.

“and there he is,” mars says, lifting his hands to the ceiling like he’s looking at heaven and laurel is up there somewhere too. “beautiful. haloed in light. perfect. the most amazing guy i’ve ever been blessed with. and he’s getting kissed by some other dude.”

okay, that’s a hold up. laurel? kissing another man?

“are you sure?” aspen asks.

laurel has been madly in love with mars for months. this story doesn’t make any sense.

“yes!” mars exclaims. “like, the cutest fucking gesture and he’s just sitting there, laughing as it happens! and i’m sitting there with this stupid cactus like, oh! that’s why he never asked me out. he must’ve been like, dating this hot dude this entire time and was just taking - what, i don’t know - pity on me or something! i look stupid.”

mars actually wails at this.

“i’m a dumbass!”

aspen frowns.

“no,” he says, leaning down to kiss mars forward. “you’re absolutely not a stupid person, mars. you’re the best, sweetest, greatest person i know. and if that’s really true - which i’m not saying it is - then laurel is missing out on something incredible.”

“but i don’t want him to miss out,” mars says, and sobs.

“i know,” aspen says, immediately planning either murder or the biggest fucking Mom Talk he’s ever going to have in his life. “i know, baby. you’re the best thing i’ve ever had in my life. and you deserve the stars.”

***

the stars hiss at aspen the moment laurel makes it into their front garden, telling him hurriedly that the boy he’s been waiting on to arrive is finally here.

aspen checks his watch.

cool, three hours since mars breakdown.

enough time for aspen to school all of his emotions into neat little lines and prepare for whatever the fuck is about to happen downstairs. as requested, cobalt is diligently distracting mars upstairs with video games and an ongoing call with yonghwa, who’s hollering memes at them while dancing to the ponytail song aggressively.

aspen goes downstairs and opens the door.

laurel is standing on his porch looking wildly out of breath.

“is mars here?” he asks, all of his words blending together into one massive slur.

“amazing,” aspen replies. “you’re both useless.”

laurel freezes.

“um,” he says, very eloquently. which is great, because aspen doesn’t have time for him to go on any sort of ramble that dodges the point. aspen’s nonexistent love life might be a hot garbage fire that he’s given up controlling, but he’s not about to let mars go down in flames over what he hopes and prays is a misunderstanding of cosmic proportions.

“no,” aspen says, shutting laurel’s mouth with an audible click. “nope. don’t talk, laurel. it’s my turn. i get to talk now. mars is upstairs, by the way. my kitchen is a nightmare. and if this conversation doesn’t go right, i’m going to make you clean every single cactus out of my dishwasher before you leave.”

“what?” laurel asks, dumbly.

“listen to me very carefully,” aspen says. “mars likes you a lot. he might even love you, and for mars, that’s a monumental thing. he’s wanted to ask you out since he met you. he’s so far down the rabbit hole of affection for you that i don’t think his heart has room for literally anything else.”

laurel sits there gaping like a fish out of water. jesus christ - had he really been so dumb?

aspen tries to boil down every strand of exasperation in him.

“today,” he says, “even after months of friendship, you kissed someone else in front of him.”

“i - what?”

“don’t ‘i - what’ me, mars was crying on my kitchen floor for two hours because of this,” aspen says. “if you really didn’t notice that he was madly interested in you and you were just wanting to be friends, then i might be able to forgive that when mars recovers. and that’s a big if. but if you were leading him on, thinking it was cute to have him fawn over you while stringing him along, i will personally - “

“waitwaitwait,” laurel says, loudly, holding out his hands. “wait, aspen! please!”

aspen frowns at him, in what he hopes is his best scolding mom stare.

“you have five seconds,” he says, “go.”

“this is a whole, big, wild misunderstanding!” laurel says, so loudly his voice has to carry out through the whole house. “the guy that kissed me was one of my old frat brothers! he was just coming by to say hi! he’s got a girlfriend and a boyfriend for godsake! it was just - just platonic. i don’t feel that way about anyone but mars! i’ve wanted to marry that guy for months now. literally marry him! i’ll even get down on one knee - “

laurel is jumping down onto the ground before aspen can stop him, even as he rushes forward, trying to stop this mess of a man from also destroying his house with blooms of crazy fucking plants. he can already see the dirt around his front yard sifting, little tendrils of greenery poking on through.

“laurel!” aspen says, loudly. “laurel, please - “

“i love him!” laurel shouts. “please, aspen. i really love him! can i see him? i can explain it all, really, i just want to see - “

“laurel?”

aspen turns around.

mars is standing in the hallway, illuminated in the soft gold of the fairy lights floating around the ceiling, swimming like snakes above their heads.

he looks stunned and a little bit awkward, his massive cardigan slouching off of his shoulders, hair a mess, eyes tear-streaked and nose rudolf-red.

“mars,” laurel says, from his kneeling position in front of aspen. “mars.”

he stands up and aspen moves out of the way. laurel crosses the hall to mars and without hesitation, takes mars face in his hands and kisses him hard on the mouth.

aspen feels like he’s part of a korean drama. he thinks he must be at the season finale, because how could anything in his life get more dramatic than this?

“oh my god,” cobalt says from the stairway, holding his phone up and videotaping the entire thing. “they really are useless in love.”

aspen knows he should say something, because the whole hallway is filling with cherry blossoms and red roses, massive lilies and blooming sunflowers. but for a moment, he just sits down hard, and agrees with cobalt’s assessment. mars and laurel are useless in love.

but their love is more gorgeous and brilliant than anything aspen has ever seen before.

and how could something so beautiful be useless at all?

come ask my flower prompt questions here!

#long post #my writing #writeblr #wip: saturday sang your name #oc: mars #oc: laurel #oc prompt game #please validate me i loved writing this #i love my boys #come ask me things!

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saundraswriting · 4 years ago

Text

Hercules Chapter Nine

SUMMARY: Things finally get moving. The BAU starts making moves to find this killer by going to the RR meetings. Spencer and The Team finally get some pieces they were missing.

WARNINGS: (I kinda hate this chapter ngl) No warnings.

Previous // Next

Garcia and Spencer looked up aviaries and stables and butcher shops in the city. The police helped build a team to stake out the private meeting area, where the unsub would see select members of the RR group it seemed and from there pick his victim. The smaller group could get together for a couple weeks but people were starting to notice they don't come back, Cameron was for one, Leo another. Cameron told his brother which is how they got this far to begin with.

All that was left was getting Reid and J.J, ready for the meeting tonight. The team also decided to plant a few people on the surrounding rooftops to try and land some surveillance equipment. The team and the police helped change the two agents appearance enough to not be recognizable, they also worked on the cover stories, making them separate and vague. The plan was to get in and get out and not bring attention to themselves.

Dr. Spencer Reid and Agent Jennifer Jareau were ready. The rest of the BAU and members of the Police that were helping out were ready. Spencer stood of to the side at a member of the tech department finished with J.J's wire.

""Pretty Boy, You'll be safe." Derek didn't ask. He demanded, his voice firm and steady, leaving no room for doubt.

"I know. You have my back. I am always safe with you around." Spencer admitted almost nonchalantly. He beamed at Derek unaware of the effect his words had. Derek felt his heart skip a beat, the trust and warm smile Reid gave him just about brought him to his knees.

"You got that right." Derek squeezed Reid's shoulder. "I'll be in your ear the whole time."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Spencer teased, trying to ease his nerves.

"Yes. Don't even try to fool me. I know you, Spencer Reid. Don't tell me the idea of me having you back, being in your ear isn't easing those nerves? I know you are on edge lately with this case. I know and you know that you will be fine." Derek's attempt to soothe Spencer was successful.

Hotch and Gideon came over with a techie. Derek took the tools and shooed the techie away.

"Remember Reid, all we need is the description of the man holding the meetings. A name would be best. The point is not to be taken for further meetings. J.J is going to help you find possible future victims. We need some possible names before the end of the day. Be small, discreet, unnoticeable. We want you in and out." Hotch said. Hotch had bags under his eyes like deep purple bruises. He looked paler but his eyes were as alert and sharp as ever. He had a small smile lie he knew he was wasting his breath.

"You are under no circumstances to go any farther into this group. This is purely recon to figure out what is going on. Nothing we could learn is worth your of J.J's life. Do you understand?" Gideon looked similar to Hotch, like he knew his words were heard but instantly ignored.

Spencer nodded. "I understand. Now let's get me wired and get to the warehouse." Spencer's nerves were regaining traction. He was beginning to tremble and lost what little color he had left.

Hotch and Gideon looked at Morgan who looked fiercely determined and they took that as their cue to walk away. The two of them had said their piece, made their point as useless and ignored as it was-Spencer was a well trained troublemaker. Derek began unbuttoning Spencer's shirt trying not to ogle his pale chest. For a Brainiac with not enough gym time Spencer was well toned and defined. The dips of Spencer's abs made Derek drool. After a few minutes of non-subtle staring Spencer began to blush, a deep red creeping down his throat and across his chest. Derek gently ran his fingers down Spencer's chest lingering in the feel of skin on skin. Derek was stuck, imagining how else he could get spencer to tremble and blush underneath him. Spencer shivered at the sensation bringing Derek out of his brief fantasy.

"They are right, you, know. This isn't the final showdown. we have time. Don't be foolish. I won't be there to tackle you put of the way of any danger." Derek spoke while outfitting him with the wire. He could see his words didn't ease his nerves as much as before. "I know you will be fine. You know you will be fine. You are smart. You can only be successful if you have all the facts. I want you to be able to make the best decisions available to you." Derek buttoned the last button on his shirt. "Are you ready, pretty boy?

"Yeah, as ready as I will ever be, going into a possible UnSub's lair with little to no backup or weapons. Just another day. "I'll be careful. Use my brain and stay sharp." Spencer rattled off, forcing a smile that didn't turn out quite right. "I'll have you in my ear the whole time. I am only an observer."

Derek pulled Spencer into a tight hug, nuzzling his hair. "You bet your sweet ass I will be. You just say the word and I'll be there." Derek murmured into his ear. Spencer hugged him back, sighing at the sensation, remember how it felt to have Derek touching him.

"Aw. You think my ass is sweet?" Spencer giggled at Derek's dumbfounded face. Spencer didn't flirt well on a good day but after the way Derek had just touched him and the fact that they were soulmates paired with the effort Derek was putting in, made Spencer want to push a little.

"Pretty boy... you ass is sweeter than sin. Sometimes, I can't help but stare, thinking you have to know how I feel about it or you wouldn't wear the pants you do somedays." Derek muffled a groan into Spencer's hair. "One day soon, I'll show you how much I love your ass." Derek whispered filthily into his ear.

Spencer's face lit up instantly with a blush and he squirmed in Derek's embrace. "We should go, you're just gonna kill me with your teasing." Spencer said. Derek let him go with a laugh. Derek often teased Spencer but Spencer rarely if ever started their banter, it was a nice change of pace for their dynamic.

The BAU, police and stakeout team left the department and split up. The BAU went to an abandoned warehouse to monito their agents at a very small mini command center. A few police officers set up shop on the surrounding roofs to hold position and plant surveillance equipment for the future. The third team went to the second meeting location and prepared for a long stakeout waiting to see if any of the possible victims show up in the next few days. J.J and Spencer hesitated outside the warehouse, separately. J.J finally took a breath and pulled her cover over her like a second skin, a woman with a deep inner strength that came from pain. Reid loitered outside a few more minutes, gathering his wits and strength. His dithering was interrupted by his coughing, as his stood there looking frail and ill someone helped him into the building.

"Come. Sign in. I will pray to Apollo for you. " They said. Spencer nodded and thanked him and signed in, using his reading skill and memorization his picked some names that could be referenced later, he looked for names revolving around horses and stables and cattle and birds and swamps and metal, names for either of the next two labors, trying to get ahead.

The warehouse was well lit, there was pews divided into clearly divided sections laid out like a clock. Each section was decorated to indicate which god or goddess the pews were for. Spencer shuffled over to the pews painted yellow with sunflowers and lyres and bows with full quivers. There was fresh bundles of laurel and oranges on the sides of each pew. Apollo was the God of sun, art and healing.

Spencer picked a seat and settled in tiredly, he barely needed to exaggerate his sickliness to promote distance thankfully. He used the distance to speak into the wire describing all he saw. There was a dais raised slightly higher than the pews, all around the inner circle of pews. The inside of the dais had a large fireplace as well.

At 7 pm on the dot, the lights dimmed and the fire was lit dramatically. A man stepped onto the platform. The meeting of the Religious Revolution had began.

Spencer sat perfectly still, waiting as the man droned on, he was reciting a Greek myth but not the Myth of Hercules. So Spencer paid bare minimum attention. The man was far more important. Spencer sat studying his mannerisms and characteristics. He was tall medium build blonde hair. He was warm and welcoming and unimposing almost gentle as he recited the myth. 'A small to medium sized group he can charm but lacks the confidence to manage large groups. He is smart. He could be the one behind this.' Spencer thought. He committed the leader's face to memory. Spencer was unsure if that was the only man to be in charge of sermons so he made the plan to speak to him after the meeting, not wanting to tell the others and have them yelling in his ear. Spencer looked around and didn't see anyone with awe or reverence in their expression further confirming the man speaking was the man behind this. Another hour passed and the sermon came to an end. A few gathered around the man, the lights were turned back on, some people used the dying fire to throw in offerings while they prayed.

Spencer saw J.J. head towards the door, pausing at the sign in book. While he waited to step over to the speaker he whispered into his mike about staying a few minutes. The few people that had stopped to visit the speaker left leaving an opening for Spencer.

"Hello! Welcome to Religious Revolution. A place open to the idea that the Universe is managed by multiple deities. We share and revel in other's ideas and beliefs." The leader welcomed Spencer. "My name is Evan Lafferty. This is all my doing, the layout and idea but the comfort others receive here is all on their doing with those they believe in." He swung his arm out wide to encompass all the building.

It may be on them, but you orchestrated it. You have done a wonderful job." Spencer agreed. He could hear in his ear piece the team objecting.

Spencer was aware that their were pieces that fit the profile, Evan was good with small crowds but one on one and he floundered slightly, lost some of the charm. Spencer hypothesized it was social anxiety. One person full focus was too much, but several people's partial focus was okay.

"Thank you. Now why are you here Mr...?" Evan trailed off questioningly.

"Konkle. Mr. Konkle. I am here to appeal to Apollo. I have been too sick for too long. Modern medicine and my family's prayer tree aren't enough. Spencer told Evan. "My wife and I had a big fight recently and I have been sick since. I was thinking of appealing to Hera for marriage assistance as well but historically she is hard to please." Spencer took a breath. "Take Hercules, he was made to do all those labors and one extra because he tried to benefit off them." Spencer knew it was a risk but he needed to see what Evan's opinion was, see what the next step was. The UnSub was killing to fit a delusion, a long deep one.

"Hera was in the right. First her husband had an affair and the child is named in her 'honor' but the act is a slap in the face. Then to benefit off his punishment of going mad and killing his family. There is no conceivable way the cleaning of the Augean Stables would be a pittance in her eyes. And he cheated on the labor to begin with." Evan ranted. Spencer felt his nerves finally settle, he had done it. He solved the case. Found the UnSub. All he had to do was end the conversation and leave. He finally got the Team ahead of him.

"I agree. To cheat on your punishment for being responsible for your family's death is very unbecoming." Spencer mollified. "Evan, I believe we will get along just fine." Spencer smiled at the man before coughing long and hard into a tissue. Evan led Spencer to a pew and sat him down to wait out the fit. After a few moments the fit stopped, his head pounded and his stomach cramped as if he was about to vomit. He caught his breath again-it rattled in his chest and was quick to go and quick to leave. "I'm okay. Ii just need a minute." Spencer was speaking to both Derek who he knew was quietly panicking and Evan. "I am sorry. Where are my manners?" Spencer admonished himself. "I know your name but you don't know mine. Let me properly introduce myself. I am Mr. Arnett Konkle." Spencer held out his elbow, Evan looked at it confused. "My hands are dirty." Evan gave a nod in understanding and bumped his elbow against Spencer's.

"I have to say I agree with you, Arnett. We will get along sickeningly well." Spencer hid the thrill of satisfaction. Evan didn't count the Augean Stable labor as legit, meaning the Stymphalian Birds with bronze beaks and toxic dung were next. With one comment, Spencer knew that Evan was looking for his next victim and who better than a sickly estranged man with a name meaning Eagle in Greek?

"Let me give you my number? We can meet up again outside of congregation. I can give you my undivided attention." Evan said. He handed Reid a slip of paper with his number on it and bid him goodnight. "And don't forget to sign in." He reminded before moving towards some waiting folks.

Spencer hobbled to the door, he could feel his pneumonia, lack of sleep, and lack of food catching up to him. He didn't let himself falter, moving to the book of names to peruse it for names again. Once done, Spencer exited the warehouse and saw a car was waiting for him, The driver nodded and Spencer got it.

They got the precinct quickly and as soon as the car stopped Derek was at the door pulling Spencer into his arms. Derek's eyes were hard and angry and lips pressed thinly together. His hands were gentle were they touched Spencer, he was a giving as a brick wall. They didn't speak, Derek needed the physical reminder that Spencer was safe. Spencer could feel the anger radiating off his soulmate. Once they got to the others, Derek let go of Spencer, waling over to the others. Spencer tried not to show how much his distance and anger affected him.

"I know I went off script and off plan but! I had good reason. Now, let me get stripped of my enhancements and I will explain." A Techie popped up and had him back to normal in a flash. Spencer relaxed at the removal of makeup and contacts and the wig. They also took the wire and comms to return them too. "So, I sat and observed but it didn't lead to much so I had to push a little farther. So I decided to speak to him-"Spencer was cut off by the others talking over him. "Yes, I know. But I had to know. His delusion doesn't allow for the Augean Stables to be consider an action of repentance. So he won't make that killing public. The next one we will see is the Stymphalian Birds. The only was to catch him is to be on his radar. So I go names that may be important but I also made me one of those names. If I am chosen, we have a direct connection to the action of killing. I have the ability to save myself or be saved. If not me the next person he chooses will be a victim." Spencer explained. He was speaking to everyone but kept looking at Derek, who still had anger in his eyes but his body softened.

"Reid, that doesn't matter. You put yourself in danger. You made contact when we said not to." Hotch tried to lecture, but knew Spencer was right.

"I know but I have his name and number. We can see if it pings near any of the sites. We can do this. I got it all figured out. We have options." Spencer tried to reason.

"Spencer, you are not wrong. but we wish you'd clue us in on it. You did the right thing. Hopefully yes you turn his attention on you and buy us some time. But you still took a huge risk that could have ended badly." Derek gently scolded. Spencer looked up at him with watery eyes and a trembling lip. "Oh, pretty boy, I'm not mad. come on, it's fine."

In front of the slightly confused team Derek stepped into Spencer's space-a privilege he didn't take lightly. "Pretty baby, everything is fine. I know, you're tired and sick and hungry. We'll get you all sorted and then we'll talk okay. Hush now, I'll take care of you." Derek said. The team knew the two were close but they were getting closer. J.J looked on with pride and happiness shining in her eyes, She could see Spencer finally letting Derek in. Slowly but surely.

"D'r'k, pl'se." Spencer slurred, sloughing into Derek's side.

"Anything for you, my pretty baby." Derek willingly took all his weight and made eye contact with J.J.

"Hotch, let's call it a night. We can regroup tomorrow." J.J. grabbed her and the two guys' bags before hopping into a car the Seattle PD let them borrow. Once at the car, Derek climbed into the back dragging Spencer with him. J.J. drove.

"Baby, we're heading to the hotel for the night. I'll take care of you." Derek whispered in his ear, cuddling him intensively in the backseat.

"You're good for him. I am glad you are his soulmate." J.J said. "I know you are chomping at the bit to claim him but you are doing well. He is opening up to the idea of you and being with you."

"I hope he realizes that I will always be here. He will never be alone again." Derek told her.

"Trust me. Spencer loved you long before he knew you were his soulmate. But that is something you should talk to him about."

"Yeah but I didn't say anything until I knew. To him that will make my feelings seem invalid. Even though they have been there for years." Derek sighed.

"That is a conversation you will have to have with him. He has know for 9 plus months you were soulmates. That doesn't mean he hasn't been paying attention. He wouldn't say anything if there wasn't anything to say." J.J said.

The trio got to the hotel, Derek pulling Spencer out with him and J.J grabbed their bags. The car was parked by a employee who saw the struggle. They got to Derek and Spencer's room, J.J dropping off the bags.

"Thank you for everything." Derek winked.

"Take care of him." J.J ordered. There was the promise of bodily harm if he failed, Derek knew it was coming. He nodded solemnly.

"Yes ma'am. Now go call Will and Henry. Tell them we said hi." Derek politely kicked her out. J.J laughed at the clear dismissal and left."

Derek laid Spencer on the bed and cleaned up the room a bit, letting Spencer doze. After he was done Derek hopped into the shower and cleaned up letting the water ease the tension remaining from hearing Spencer make contact with the UnSub. Derek had been so angry and worried not being able to help. Derek stepped out of the shower waking Spencer up.

"Pretty boy, come on. Spencer wake up. I am going to order some dinner. Go get cleaned up." Derek shook Spencer awake. Spencer woke up slowly, fighting it.

"Okay. Thanks Derek. Then I think we should talk." Spencer said. He hopped in the shower and was done quickly. By the time he was done, the food had arrived and Derek leaned against the headboard of one bed, patting the bed in invitation.

Spencer smiled and climbed in, sitting cross-legged very close to Derek's warmth. He began eating, not paying attention to the fact he was scarfing food down at an almost disgusting rate.

"Slow down, kid. We got time." Derek laughed eating a much slower pace. Spencer blushed and slowed down.

The finished eating and sat quite absorbing each other's warmth and presence.

"What did you want to talk about Spencer?" Derek finally asked. Spencer played with his fingers building up the courage to answer.

"Us. I wanted to talk about us." Spencer looked up and locked eyes with Derek. His soulmate, Derek Morgan. The man he had been in love with for years.

Previous // Next

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So that is terrible chapter nine. I am hoping to finish this up soon but we will see.

#saundraswriting #saundrasays #dr. spencer reid #derek morgan #spencer x derek #spencer reid x derek morgan #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #Criminal Minds #cm fanfiction #hercules fic

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brax-was-here · 5 years ago

Text

Scarlet Briar: Unrequited Love

For Tyria’s Library Valentine’s day “Disastrous Date” prompt.

Written by Braxxus

Editing by Arwen Darkblade

The midday sun shone down upon Amaranda as she walked the dolyak drawn wagon up to her home in Brisbane Wildlands. Dragonflies danced around the plants growing along the exterior of the sylvari style house that now bore traces of asuran architecture mixed in. She had just returned from her bi-weekly trip to Mabon Market in Caledon Forest for food and supplies. In the past the trip would have taken a full day, but with the hovering carriage her sister had designed and built, the dolyak is able to travel much faster instead of hauling her old wooden wagon. Since Ceara’s arrival so long ago, her life had become more sophisticated, but easier at the same time. It was tough to adjust at first, having someone so adept at technology living with her. But the items and gadgets that Ceara had created for her home soon proved their worth. There was even a security system around the perimeter of the area to alert them if anyone was approaching. She paused outside the home for a moment wondering where her sister was. Normally she would be outside to help her bring the supplies in. Entering the front door, she could hear soft music coming from Ceara’s room. She stepped into the doorway to find her sister sitting at a low table dressed in her trademark armor looking into a small mirror. She noticed a wreath of laurels adorned her sister's head, which led her to realize what was happening.

“It’s that time of the year again, isn’t it?” Amaranda asked.

“Mmhmm, yes, it is,” Ceara replied, turning to her sister. “How do I look?”

“Well, you look…” Amaranda paused, noticing the earrings her sister was wearing. They were small white crystals that gave off a slow soft pulsating glow. “Earrings?”

“Yeah,” Ceara said with a smile.

“Who are you?” Amaranda asked in a serious tone. “Where is my sister?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You never wear earrings. Why all of a... wait a minute…” Amaranda further realized what was going on as she stared at Ceara, who was beaming. “Please tell me you aren’t going to try to impress Lord Faren.”

“Yes!” Ceara raised her voice excitedly. “I’m going to show him this year that he has nothing to fear from me.” She turned back to the mirror and started checking herself again.

“At least wear something a little more conservative. You mostly wear human clothing these days. Shouldn’t you be wearing something a little more formal, perhaps?” Amaranda suggested while rubbing her forehead.

“You never know what might happen at the Crown Pavilion. I need to be ready for anything. The Seraph might try to pull something.”

“That was five years ago. If they were going to do anything, they would have done it long before now. I don’t know what mother did, but she must have pulled on a lot of strings to get even the highest powers of the land to look the other way for you.”

“Your choice of words hurt me, Amee.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not how I meant it.”

“I know. It just still...still hurts sometimes. Here, smell this.” Ceara sprayed some perfume into the air. Amaranda took a light sniff.

“Smells like lavender,” She noted.

“Yes. You think he’ll like it?”

“You know that outfit might spark some bad memories for him.”

Ceara hung her head low and sighed deeply. “Fine. I’ll change my clothes.” Ceara got up from the table. “You should come to the festival as well. It’ll be fun!”

“No thank you,” Amaranda replied sternly as she left the room to retrieve the supplies. “You know I can’t stand being in the big cities.”

“Feh,” Ceara chided as she followed her. “You do need to get out more. Travel more. Adventure more!”

“I’ve had enough adventure to last me a lifetime,” Amaranda replied while unloading the carriage. “And just how do you plan to win over Lord Faren?”

“With my wily ways and upbeat charm, of course.”

Amaranda snorted, stifling her laughter. “What? You don’t think I have what it takes?” Ceara placed her hands on her waist and struck a pose, shaking her hips in the process.

Amaranda smiled, chuckling to herself. “Dear sister, you know as well I do you’re going to need more than that to win him over..”

“Well, I have a plan!”

“Ok, and what is the plan?”

“You’ll have to come to the Crown Pavilion to find out, won’t you.” Ceara smiled at her.

“No, Miss Silver Tongued Sylvari, I won’t be.”

“Fine, I’ll just have to go by myself.” Ceara playfully sighed.

“Have fun and be careful,” Amaranda said to her as Ceara activated her waypoint device. She drew a deep breath. “She never changed her clothes…”

Ceara stepped out of the waypoint beam onto the landing at the top of the stairway that lead into the Crown Pavilion of Divinity’s reach. Taking a deep breath, she made her way down the crowded steps in the pavilion proper. The smell of fresh fruits and vegetables floated through the air, mixed in with the aroma of various meats cooking at vendors around the pavilion. Visitors set off sparklers and small fireworks as the festival celebrating the Canthan New Year.. Citizens from all over Tyria and as far away as Elona were present for the festivities. Sylvari, norn, charr, asura, and humans all intermingled, joyously celebrating, enjoying hearty meals and frothy ales, and partaking in festival events.

“Now where would he be?” she softly said to herself, a sly smile across her face. She slowly started walking through the crowd, searching for her heart’s desire.

“Lord Faren, the first race will start soon. Should I check to make sure your steed is ready?” an attendant asked.

“First, Amanda, I am not Lord Faren. You will address me as Masked Racer F, the champion of racing in Tyria. And yes, please see that my trusty-“ Faren paused abruptly.

“Lord Faren?” the attendant asked, noticing his eyes wide behind his visor.

“Oh no…” he gasped, beads of sweat started forming on his forehead.

“My lord, is something the matter? Are you not feeling well?”

“It’s…it’s her…” a slight tone of panic in his voice.

“Who? Who is it?” Amanda asked, turning to look over the crowd. Faren didn’t answer as he watched Ceara make her way slowly through the crowd, stopping at a food vendor.

“I…I need a moment to freshen up. Please see to my steed,” He stammered anxiously as he quickly dashed from the area.

Ceara looked over the selection of delicious looking food on display at one of the various vendors. A male asura was busily preparing meats and vegetables as a dark skinned sylvari stood by a makeshift grill, steadily searing the ingredients, filling the air with a delectable aroma of spices. Ceara breathed in deep, savoring it. A young human woman manning the small counter turned to her.

“Can I help…you?” The woman asked, her tone changing when she looked at Ceara. Ceara’s face fell as she knew the woman recognized her.

“Hey!” the cook shouted while banging one of his cooking utensils on the side of the grill. “You treat her just like any other customer.” The woman glanced at the cook, sighing deeply before turning back to Ceara.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Ceara paused for a moment, looking at the cook, who gave her a quick smile before returning to his food. Ceara looked at a small rack. It was heated with a display of meats and vegetables skewered on small wooden rods. “What is that?” she asked.

“Beef from the farms of Ascalon, and vegetables grown right in the Grove itself,” The cook shouted over the grill.

“May I try a sample?” Ceara asked the woman. She reluctantly served her a strip of the meat. It was very tender, almost melting in Ceara’s mouth. “I’ll take one.” The clerk handed her a rod from the rack as Ceara laid out some coins on the counter.

“Thank you,” the woman said.

“Please come back again!” The cook shouted as Ceara lightly sprinkled some spices on the food. She smiled at the cook before turning away making her way through the crowd.

“Lord Racer F will return shortly! Please be patient!” A woman’s voice caught Ceara’s attention as she slowly picked at her meal. She spied a human woman dressed in an ornate gown standing on a small platform, looking somewhat distraught. Ceara approached her.

“Who is Lord Racer F?” she asked, swallowing a piece of tomato.

“Lord Racer F is the greatest mount racer in all of Tyria! He’s never been beaten in any race!” the woman responded, seemingly very excited. Ceara slowly chewed on a piece of beef.

“Lord Racer F, huh?” she asked the woman, a half smile on her face as she disbelieved the woman. “Isn’t Lord Racer F actually…”

“Isn’t his name Masked Racer F?” Ceara was interrupted by a charr standing behind her.

“Ah! Yes! It is! I’m so sorry! Masked Racer F will be back shortly!”

Ceara snorted a chuckle. “You can’t fool me, Lord Faren,” she said to herself as she slowly walked away from the platform, finishing off her meal.

“You don’t understand!” Lord Faren pleaded with a Seraph guard. “She’s here to kill me!”

“Lord Faren, rest assured that we are keeping an eye on her. She’ll be stopped long before she even tries to raise a hand to you.” The guard smirked slightly. “And besides, aren’t you Master Swordsman Faren now?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes, I am. But right now, I have a persona to keep up, and having that woman here…she’s…she’s insane!”

“Your people are waiting for you, Lord Faren,” the guard said to him in a commanding tone. Faren sighed furiously and turned and stormed out of the guardhouse.

“Sam, follow him to make sure he gets back alright. And keep an eye out for that sylvari.”

“Scarlet Briar, sir?” the soldier asked, seemingly unsteady.

“Yes,” the guard said wearily, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly.

Fashioning the end of the wooden rod into a makeshift toothpick, Ceara approached the registration booth for the daily festival race around Divinity’s Reach.

“Yes?” a gruff charr stationed at the booth asked.

“I’d like to register for this race.”

“Have you ever ridden a raptor before?” he asked, pulling up a sheet of paper and a quill.

“Yes, I have. I’ve even raced some out on the beetle course in Brisbane.”

“Ah, so you have some experience. Good. What name will you be using for the rank board?”

Ceara smiled slightly. “Scarlet,” she said slyly.

“Scar…” the charr looked up at her smiling face. He held the quill up to her. “That’s not funny.”

“What? Is something the matter?”

The charr breathed deeply, staring at her. “Here. Sign this paper. It absolves the race organization of any injuries and damage you may incur during the race and places the blame on the rider that caused them.” Ceara read over the paper carefully before signing it.

“The race starts in 30 minutes. Be sure to be at the starting area early.”

“Gladly!” Ceara smiled as she turned away and headed to the race area.

Lord Faren steadied his raptor as he sat at the starting line. Normally he would be focused and riding high on the wave of excitement of the race, but this day was different. Seeing the sylvari that tried to turn him into “Faren Chowder” years before at the first Queen's Jubilee walking the streets of Divinity’s Reach rattled his nerves to the core. Yet, he knew he couldn’t let that show. He had to put on a good race no matter what. He breathed deeply and focused on the route that took him through the streets of the capital city.

“So tell me, M’lord, what happens if you lose this race?” an all too familiar voice spoke behind him. He froze, a chill running down his spine. Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes wide under the visor of his racing helmet. He gasped as he saw the smiling visage of the insane sylvari that tried to cook him long ago. He snapped back, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

“Come now, Lord Faren. I don’t bite. At least, not anymore. I’m all better now. Come, you can talk to me,” she spoke softly.

“What?” Faren said shakily through gritted teeth.

“Just calm down M’Lord.” She continued. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to prove that you have nothing to fear from me.”

“You put me in a cauldron and tried to make “Faren Chowder” out of me!” he shouted. “You’re insane!”

“Lord Faren, keep your voice down. People are staring at us. They might get…the wrong idea.” She looked at him playfully. “I will admit that I was not myself at the time. Life is pretty rough when you have dark primal forces controlling you. They make you do the strangest things sometimes,” she spoke thoughtfully, looking off into the distance.

“What do you want, woman?” he asked.

“Well, Mr. Fancy Panties, since you asked. How about a little wager?” she asked in a sultry tone. “If you win the race, you and I will spend the evening together over dinner and drinks at the Maiden’s Whisper. How does that sound?” She said in a raised voice, making sure others could hear her.

“If…If I…If I win!?” he stammered.

“Oh yes, it should be rather easy for you. You are the greatest racer in all of Tyria!” she smiled brightly, mocking his attendant from earlier. “Besides you wouldn’t want to tarnish that perfect record, would you? Especially in front of so many people watching. Also, I believe I hold the upper hand. How many people here know that the so called “Masked Racer F” and the illustrious Lord Faren are one and the same? It would be a shame for your secret to get out.”

“You. You disgust me. You are nothing but wicked and evil.” His voice rose in pitch and volume as his lip began to tremble.

“Lord Faren, how could you!?” Ceara gasped, holding her hand lightly over the middle of her chest. “You wound my tender heart. I cannot believe that you of all people would say such a thing to a lady.”

“Sir, is this woman bothering you?” a voice spoke behind them. They both turned to see a Seraph soldier standing near them.

“Kind sir, Racer F and I were just having some pre-race chatter discussing our dinner plans for tonight. Nothing to be alarmed about, right darling?” Ceara replied, throwing a playful glance at Faren, who was none too pleased.

“Sir, please remove this woman from the raceway. She is a nuisance to everyone here,” Faren demanded.

Ceara gasped again. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing.”

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the area immediately,” The soldier ordered.

“Hmph,” Ceara grunted as she dismounted off the raptor. “Remember our wager, dear!” she shouted at Faren. “Seven thirty sharp. I’ll be waiting!”

It wasn’t long before the race was underway. Masked Racer F took the lead instantly and made his way through the twisting course through Divinity’s Reach. The course ended in the courtyard of the palace where the “greatest racer in Tyria” crossed the finish line almost a full minute ahead of the next racer. A cheer went up through the crowd as he pulled his raptor to a stop in front of the heavy palace doors. Turning, he waved to the crowd, pausing when Scarlet’s foliage caught his eye. She playfully blew him a kiss and made a heart shape with her hands and mouthed the words “seven thirty” to him, smiling coyly. He stared at her a moment before turning his attention back to the crowd.

The time was approaching as Ceara arrived at the Maiden’s Whisper Tavern. The whole area was in a festive mood as the place was crawling with citizens of all kinds happily drinking and celebrating the night. She paused momentarily, looking at the clusters of patrons.

“Maybe not my best choice,” she thought. She hated the thought of being surrounded by large groups of people. Especially in a small area. At least the pavilion had lots of room to move about. She sighed deeply and entered, taking in the smells of food and beverage. A busty human woman approached her.

“Welcome to the Maiden’s Whisper!” she shouted over the raucous crowd. “What can we do for you this evening?” she asked, a bright smile on her face.

“I’m here for a dinner engagement. There will be another joining me in a few moments,” Ceara replied somewhat smugly.

“Oh! Then take a seat at any open table! And I love your earrings! Where did you get them?”

“An acquaintance made them for me,” Ceara replied as she scanned over the large room.

“Oh! Well I would love to have a pair if you could have another made!” Ceara paid no mind to the woman as she looked over the crowd. There were people everywhere. Her hopes of finding a table away from the crowds quickly diminished. She eventually took a seat at a small table that had a view of the entrance. She called for a bottle of wine, which was brought to her quickly. It wasn’t long before Lord Faren entered the room.

“He actually showed up,” she thought to herself, holding one of the small wine glasses up in front of her.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Faren muttered to himself as he walked into the Maiden’s Whisper. It didn’t take him long to spy the bright foliage of the sylvari woman he hated. He approached the table where Scarlet Briar sat, who was smiling brightly at him. He stared at her in disdain as he dropped a single black rose in front of her, tossed a few coins on the table, and grabbed the bottle of wine before turning to leave.

“Lord Faren,” she called to him, her voice serious. “Have you ever…” she paused. “Do you know what it is like to have an elder dragon rampaging through your mind? Controlling your every thought? Not knowing if…what you are thinking, what are you doing is actually you or someone else?”

He turned and looked at her, tempered anger still burned in his eyes.

“You’ve seen it, haven’t you. In the Jungle of Maguuma when Trahearne ordered the pact to attack Mordremoth. The sylvari fell under his sway and turned on their friends and allies.” She paused, staring at the candle in front of her. “I fell under Mordremoth’s sway 6 years ago.” Her voice was solemn, quiet.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Just give me this evening.”

Faren stared at her briefly before sitting across from her. “You have one hour,” He said reluctantly.

“Good!” Ceara shrieked excitedly, her eyes bright.

Faren sat mostly in silence, focused on the meal he had ordered while Ceara talked about anything and everything that came to her mind. After he finished, he stood from his chair.

“Oh! Is the time over already?” she asked, eating a strawberry.

“Yes, finally,” he snapped at her, pushing the chair in. “You have a lot to learn about love and kindness, woman. I hope you find it one day,” he said as he turned away from her to leave. Ceara watched as he disappeared out of the door.

“One day,” she whispered to herself as she sniffed the aroma from the black rose.

The morning sun was rising over Venin Vale of Brisbane Wildlands, washing the land in bright hues of orange and red. Amaranda stepped from her home, stretching as she breathed in the fresh morning air. She could see Ceara casually walking up the hillside towards her.

“Are you just now coming back from the festival?” she asked as Ceara approached.

“Mmmhmm…” Ceara replied. Amaranda took notice of the black rose sitting in Ceara’s foliage. She also could smell the aroma of winterberry ale on her sister.

“How did it go?” Amaranda asked.

“I had a date with Lord Faren!” Ceara shrieked whimsically, chuckling to herself with excitement.

“Why…you know, I would think you are lying to me, but I have the feeling you’re telling the truth.”

“Why would you think I was lying? We had dinner at the Maiden’s….place…whatever it is. And he gave me a flower!” Ceara smiled brightly as she pulled the rose from her foliage. She walked past her sister sniffing the flower before turning to Amaranda quickly. “I made him a wager, Amee. I said ‘If you win the race, you have to have dinner with me.”

“That…doesn’t seem much like a wager. Or a date.”

“Oh! It was. He has a perfect race record. I told him it would be a shame for him to lose in front of all those people watching.”

“So you blackmailed him?”

“Amee, me? I cannot believe you would accuse me of such a thing!” Ceara stifled her laughter as she playfully brought her hand up to her chest, covering her heart, acting like an accused innocent.

“So how was he?”

Ceara face fell deadpan for a moment. “Amee, he’s somewhat…boring. He just sat at the table staring at his food and kept saying ‘uh-huh, yeah, um.., right.’ And then he would look around the room and go back to his food saying ‘yeah, uh-huh, sure’”

“You probably had the poor man terrified,” Amaranda said, chuckling.

“I told him he had nothing to be afraid of. That I don’t bite anymore.”

Amaranda started laughing. “Dear sister, you have so much to learn. Come, come inside so you can sleep that ale off.”

#tyriaslibrary #tyrias-library #guild Wars 2 #GW2 #Scarlet Briar #valentines day

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