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breanime · 5 years

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Heartworm (Part Six)

Double posting takes so long! WARNING: this part has mentions and descriptions of violence, read with caution!

*gif not mine*

You decided that Detective Mahoney was the only good cop in New York City. After he’d introduced himself, he’d asked if there was a place you could go to talk. You knew Trish would have questions if you stayed at the office, not to mention your coworkers, so you took the detective to a small deli a few blocks away. He had assured you that he only wanted to talk, and you decided to play it cool until you could get a final read on this guy. So far, all you could tell was that he was a genuinely concerned cop who was actually interested in justice.

It was his poor luck that you were only interested in Billy.

“Is this okay,” he asked, “I mean, you won’t get written up for leaving early or anything, will you?”

“No, this is fine. I was on my way out anyway,” you answered, “So, um, Detective Mahoney—”

“Call me Brett.” He smiled.

“Brett,” you faked a smile back, “How can I help you? Oh,” you widened your eyes, pretending to remember something, “is this about the noise compliant I made with the city a few months ago? I told the super people had started loitering outside, but he didn’t seem to care…”

“No,” he shook his head with a chuckle, “That’s unfortunately outside my realm of influence,” his smile turned into a serious look, and you braced yourself, “Actually, I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking for you for most of the day. There’s something I need to tell you—to warn you about.” You nodded, silently encouraging him to go on. “Billy Russo has escaped police custody.”

This was, obviously, not news to you, but hearing it from the detective made your breath hitch. “When?”

“Yesterday morning,” he answered, “We have cops staking out his last known addressed and every badge in the city is looking for him.”

“That’s… That’s good,” you swallowed. You tried to bring back all the confusion and helplessness you felt when Billy had first been arrested and recreate it now. Mahoney—Brett—seemed like a kind man, but you couldn’t let him get to Billy…not yet, at least. “But why are you telling me?”

“It’s on record that you and Russo were a couple.”

“That was over three years ago,” you shook your head, “I haven’t seen Billy since then—at least not in person.” You ducked your head down shyly. “I did… I did watch the coverage on the news.” You looked back up at Brett. “But that’s it. I hadn’t heard from Billy since we broke up.” You shrugged. “I could give you a list of places he could be, maybe? I don’t know if it would be any help…”

“I would appreciate that, Ms. Y/LN,” he said, “but I don’t think you understand the danger you’re in. Russo’s dangerous, unhinged. It was reported that he asked for you by name the day he escaped. Now,” he folded his hands on the table, “it’s been three years since the two of you have talked… Why would he do that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know,” you answered, “I mean, he was locked up all this time, maybe he was just going through a list of exes and my name happened to be the one he said outloud.” You shook your head. “I imagine Billy wasn’t doing well in a cage.”

“He wasn’t in a cage,” Brett said, “We were keeping Russo under constant surveillance at a psychiatric hospital.” You made an effort to make a confused face. “Russo sustained some major injuries and some significant memory damage,” he explained, “His therapist said he might not even be competent to stand trial.”

“So he’s faking,” you said, knowing he wasn’t, “Billy’s a smart man, I’m sure he knows it’d be better for him to get off on a plea deal than admit he’s guilty.”

“It’s possible,” Brett shrugged, “His therapist and doctors think he’s legit. Either way, you might be in danger.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card. “I want you to give me a call if you hear from Russo,” he instructed.

“Of course.” Another lie. “I mean, I don’t—I don’t think he’d bother coming after me, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“I appreciate that.” Brett gave you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to have to come to you with this, I can get a squad car to stay outside of your apartment if you want…”

“Oh no, no,” you shook your head, “That’s not necessary, I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking up police resources. Besides,” you gave him a weak smile, “I’m telling you, there’s no way Billy would waste time with me. He’s probably halfway out of the country by now. And even if he’s not, Billy never tried to get in contact with me theses last three years, there’s no reason he’d try now.”

“Maybe,” Brett agreed easily. Too easily. “But still, keep an eye out; make sure you’re locking your doors. Maybe see if you can stay with some family or friends until this blows over.”

You chuckled. “You make Billy sound like the boogeyman.”

Brett didn’t laugh. “He’s dangerous, Y/N. He took down a room full of guards and killed at least two men in the last 24 hours.”

Two? You knew about Arthur, who could…? Your mind conjured up an image of Billy in his blood-soaked clothes. He probably didn’t get that hideous shirt and fur-lined coat from the hospital. “So,” you took a steadying breath, “it’s all true? Billy… Billy really did betray Frank?” You had spent so much time trying to block that out, to ignore and deny it in your head, but you had to know—especially since Billy, as he was now, didn’t know.

The detective nodded. “And that’s the other thing: Castle will be looking for Russo. If he comes to you…”

“Call you,” you waved his card at him with a half-smile, “I will.”

Brett stayed with you at the deli for a while longer before he had to head out. You waited until you were sure he was far away to finally take a breath. You whipped out your phone and typed in ‘NYPD Detective Brett Mahoney’ into Google. Of fucking course. Your hunch about him was right—he was a hero cop. There were pictures of him next to Daredevil. He arrested Frank back when he first became “The Punisher”—Brett was a badass with the face of a choir boy. Your respect for him grew as you scrolled through the news reports, interviews, and list of accolades connected to his name. He was vocal in his disdain for Wilson Fisk—a bold move for anyone who lived in the city, let alone a cop—and was an active member of the community. He seemed like a really nice guy, a good guy…

…a threat.

As much as you didn’t want to, you decided to take the long way home. You lingered in the deli for another 20 minutes after Brett left, then made your way to a bookstore, a pet shop, two music stores, three boutiques, and killed an hour watching some teenagers breakdance on the sidewalk. You were pretty sure Brett wasn’t watching you, you got the impression that wasn’t his style, but Frank… Frank would totally do that. You considered what you knew as you wandered around the city: you loved Billy, Billy didn’t have his full memories, Billy still thought he loved you, Billy was guilty, the cops were after Billy, Frank would want revenge, revenge would mean death, and that would leave you… Alone again. Hell, as far as you knew, you were already alone again. How in the hell would you know where Billy was if he wasn’t directly in your line of sight? You sighed to yourself, stepping into a pawn shop and staring unblinkingly at the assortment of things. You had no idea what you were going to do—you knew what you were supposed to do, what common sense and decent protocol would call for—but your common sense had taken a back seat to your emotions. Sighing again, you looked at a glass case of knives and your mind immediately went to Billy.

“What do you do if I come at you from behind?” Billy had asked you.

You wanted to make a dirty joke, but the seriousness of the situation and Billy’s face made you reconsider. “I go for the eyes and create a distance between us while you’re distracted.”

“Good. But what if I grab you by your hair?”

You swallowed down another inappropriate comment. “I stomp on your foot or try to kick you in the shins to get you to lose your grip.”

Billy nodded. “Good,” he stepped over to you, put a hand on the back of your neck and kissed you, “Now let’s practice how to disarm a man.”

You sighed, but complied. Billy whipped out a knife—because he almost always had at least one blade on hand—and took an offensive stance. This wasn’t a new practice between the two of you; Billy had taken it upon himself to teach you how to defend yourself months ago, after reading about some guys on the subway harassing a woman. His dedication to your safety was sweet, you knew for a fact that the number of people he cared about was a low one, and that these impromptu training sessions were his way of making sure you were taken care of. You took a defensive stance, placing your feet slightly apart and raising your hands to protect your face—just like Billy taught you. He made a move to approach you (much slower than he would if he was really attacking someone), and you side-stepped him, avoiding any close contact before slapping your hand over his wrist, twisting it, and grabbing the knife out of his hands.

“Nice,” he licked his lips, “Very nice. Let’s try it again.”

So you did. You spent the next two hours going through drills. Billy was an excellent teacher, he met you where you were and catered the lessons to best fit your size, strength, and style. You weren’t nearly the natural fighter Billy was, and you damn sure weren’t a Marine, but Billy always said you were skilled. He took pride in telling Curtis how you knocked him on his ass on Tuesday, or showing Frank the bruises on his chest from when he made you practice shooting with himself as the Kevlar-wearing, moving target. You liked the training a lot, too. You got to wrestle Billy and learn useful defensive moves all in one. Truth be told, you almost looked forward to the day some asshole mugger tried to come at you.

You would never forget the day that actually happened.

You had been walking home from the corner store. Billy had texted you saying he’d be home late since he was viewing some properties for Anvil’s home office, so you decided to run out and get some snacks for the house. You had your burlap bag hanging from your shoulder, full of chips and a six-pack of beer, and you were a block from your apartment when you felt a tug on the strap of your bag.

You were yanked forward, and you turned to see a tall man in all black. You stumbled over your own feet as he dragged you back into an alley. He pushed you against the concrete wall and you felt the breath rush out of you. You didn’t get a second to scream or cry out before he shoved a knife under your throat.

“Drop the bag, cunt,” he ordered, hot breath fanning your face. “Or I open your goddamn throat all over the sidewalk.”

You did as you were told, heart racing. The blade was cold against your skin, even in the warm summer weather.

“Now kick it,” he gestured behind him with his head, “over there.”

You gave your bag a feeble nudge with your foot.

“Do you think I’m playing with you, bitch?” He hissed, nose pressing against yours as he glared down at you. You felt the sting of the blade cutting into your skin. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. He was still glaring at you when you opened your eyes and punted your bag across the alley. Your eyes scanned his face, trying to memorize every detail. Billy was going to lose his shit over this. The man sneered at you, and you felt a chill go through you. “Good girl,” he grinned, “now take your clothes off.”

You froze. Suddenly an image of your downstairs neighbor’s daughters popped up in your head. They were 15 and 13, nice girls, and you knew for a fact that they walked to the corner store all the time, night or day. Rain or shine. What was going to stop this guy from doing the same thing to them? What was going to stop him from hurting someone else?

You were going to stop him.

You lifted your arm and grabbed his wrist. You twisted it with all your strength, ignoring his shocked sound of surprise. His grip loosened and you took that moment to snatch the knife out of his hands. The blade sliced through the palm of your hand a little bit, but you didn’t even feel it. You punched him in the face with your free hand, making him fall back a bit. That gave you the perfect opening to kick him in the chest, knocking him on his ass. You tackled him to the ground and straddled him, putting all of your weight on him to prevent him from moving. His eyes widened when you put the knife to his neck.

“Whoa, whoa,” he gasped out, voice shaking, “I was just playing,” he attempted a laugh, “Don’t—don’t you know we were just playing, you and me? It’s a joke.”

You pressed the knife harder onto his neck. You watched the blood bubble up and felt a surge of excitement bloom in you. “A joke?” You asked, smirking down at him. “Would it be a joke,” you watched his eyes water when you grabbed his hair and forced his head back, “if I open your goddamn throat all over the sidewalk…” Your smirk turned into a full-on grin. “…bitch?”

He had started sobbing now. “No,” he begged, “no, please, I’m sorry, I won’t ever do this again, I—”

“—Shut the hell up,” you hissed, pulling his hair. He cried out. You looked down at this man, this weak piece of shit, and wanted nothing more than to stop him from ever drawing breath again. You wanted to be the last person he terrorized, the last women he called a bitch.

You wanted to watch the life drain from his body.

But you couldn’t.

You flipped the knife around so that the handle was against your fists and pulled your hand back. Then you punched him right in the face with all your anger guiding you. You felt his nose crack, but you didn’t hear it because he was screaming. You hit him again, and again, and again. The handle was wet with blood, and your heart was pounding. You kept punching him until he wasn’t screaming anymore. A quick glance showed he was still breathing, so you got off of him, grabbed your bag, and walked home.

You thought more about that day as you waited in line at the pawn shop. You had tried to block it out, to forgot about the fear that went through you that day, followed by that feeling of absolute power and control…it had been intoxicating. It had been frightening. But Billy had been there, and he had been your safe place.

You waited until you got home to call Billy and tell him what happened. You barely got the words—“I was attacked”—out of your mouth before he was asking you a hundred questions and rushing home to you. You assured him you were fine, and you were, but he hadn’t seemed to hear you. By the time he got home, you’d bandaged your hand, cleaned off the knife, and put the snacks and beer away. You were on your third beer when Billy came bursting into the apartment.

He didn’t say anything, just pulled you towards him and engulfed you in a crushing hug. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around him. This was where you were safest, where you belonged. Billy provided everything you needed just by existing.

“I’m okay,” you said into his chest, “I’m okay. I knocked him out.” You had pulled back then. “Oh shit, I should have called the cops. I should call the cops.”

“I already did,” he said, voice muffled as he spoke into your hair, “Left an anonymous tip, saw the squad cars on my way home.” He exhaled, and you felt him relax against him. “I’m so—fuck,” his hold on you tightened, and you leaned into it, “I want to kill him.”

“I wanted that too,” you admitted, looking up into Billy’s dark eyes. They were electric with rage and emotion, and you knew yours were too. “I was going to.”

He kissed you, long and slow, and you kissed him back. You wanted to absorb him, to keep him this close to you always. He stared down at you, unblinking, when you both pulled back for air. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you breathed out. “I—Billy, is there something wrong with us?” You asked. “We shouldn’t be so comfortable with this. Because I’m not joking, Billy, I was going to stab him. I was gonna kill him. I—I—”

“—The only reason he’s not in a body bag at this very moment is cause the cops got to him first,” Billy interrupted, eyes hard, “I’ve killed for less, Y/N, and anyone who hurts you,” he put a hand on your face, eyes boring into yours, “is gonna die bloody. It’s you and me, Y/N, I’d do anything for you, and I want you to know that I love you, every part of you,” his lips brushed against yours as he spoke, “and if you had killed him…I would have helped you bury the body.”

That was it. The last thing you needed to make your decision. Billy was a killer. He betrayed Frank, he hurt Curtis, he was a traitor to his country if the news reports were right. Hell, Billy had told you himself that he’d committed multiple war crimes. Those were all facts, undeniable, inexcusable facts about him that you could never change or hope to ignore. But you loved him—that was a fact too. You had never felt more alive, more like yourself, than when you had been with Billy, even up until the very end. He was it for you. So you were in. You were all in, wherever he would go, you would follow.

You practically ran home, heart pounding with your revelation. It was like a bomb went off inside your head—everything you had, you were ready to throw it all away for Billy. You were made for him, and he was made for you. You knew, as you clutched your bag, that from this point on—nothing but death would keep you from him. You had given up on him once, and you had tried to move on with your life, but it hadn’t worked. You had been operating on auto-pilot, just going through the motions and pretending to be okay with being without him, with living in black and white. But now Billy was back, and he brought color back into your life. This time, you would fight for him. You would fight with him.

You practically ripped the door open when you got back to your apartment. You ran into the living room and felt yourself deflate a little. Everything was exactly the way you left it. You checked your room, the bathroom, and the kitchen. Empty. Sighing, you sat down at the kitchen table and put your head in your hands. Where could he be? What if he was hurt? What if Frank got to him? What if… what if he left you? Feeling trapped, you went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. You decided to drink instead of panic. It was getting late, but there was still time in the day. Billy could be back any minute. You poured yourself a drink and went to stand at the counter, contemplating whether you should bother cooking while you waited for Billy to get back when you noticed a manila folder on the counter. This was new…so Billy had been back. You put your glass down and picked up the folder. It had his name on it: Russo, William. The file was packed with papers and packets, full of details of his life. There were little color-coded tabs for Castle, Frank, Hoyle, Curtis, Madani, Dinah, and Rawlins, William. There were notes from what you assumed were his therapy sessions, and pictures of him in the hospital. Words like ‘dangerous’, ‘killer’, ‘psychopath’ jumped off the page. You flipped through the contents of the file, a sense of dread creeping into you. Finally, under all of the papers, was a handwritten note from Billy that had your breath catching.

Y/N,

I’m sorry. I want you to know that I love you. And I’m so sorry.

Goodbye.

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Hohohhohohoho! So this was my first time ever writing Brett, how’d I do? Also, anyone recognize where Y/N works? And ohhhh man, let me know what you thought of these last two chapters. Your feedback fuels me! Love you guys!

TAGLIST: @floralpeaceofmind @delicatelilyflower @dylanobrusso @ladyblablabla @banditthewriter @something-tofightfor @starsfragments @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @hisgirlwednesdayaddams@fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta @sadnessxvodka @ymariejp @sunnycolors @moonlightsay @its-all-o-kay @damagelove @keyeluh @itsmylife98 @funerals-with-cake @littlemermaidprobz @teacuplotus @king4thesirens @mrsjaxtellerfan @thebabblingbook @tartelette-aux-fraises @madamrogers @charlylama @iaintnofurry @k-buggz2001 @whitewolfslittlesilverfox @drinix @elanor-of-imladris @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @julliiaaq @holamor @ymariejp @shadowhunterscloset @songtoyou @anabella-baby @sssilverssserpent @heyitslexy

#billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #the punisher #heartworm

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fulcrumahsokaamidala · 5 years

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Saturday Spectacular #3

Happy Saturday!!! So this is me thanking awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and all the time they put into their fics. ♥️ I want to recommend spectacular fanfic stories I read this week! ♥️ They are posted in the order I read them. All posts will be tagged #saturday spectacular fic rec

Drunk Cuddly Oliver by @stephswims | Arrow | WIP

Emerald Archer Martial Arts by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | Complete

Summary: In May 2019, a tired Oliver Queen and four months pregnant Felicity Smoak retire from their vigilante duties and move to the redwood forest town of Bloomfield with their son William, to raise their family in peace.

Along the journey, they build their own successful companies, increase the size of the Smoak-Queen clan by a couple more, train their kids in self-defense, and live out a blissful existence.

This is the story of 7 years of their happiness and family antics, after 7 years of crime-fighting and hardship to save their city.

Semper Fidelis by @oliversmuse | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Oliver Queen is a member of the Bravo Squad, a team that specializes in search and rescue, covert infantry and translating foreign documents. He is known as one of the best and even though he is one of the youngest recruits he advances quickly. While serving he meets Lance Corporal Felicity Smoak, a young woman with skills in hand to hand combat. Despite the fact they butt heads they fall in love and soon start to talk about a future together. However, when her plane disappears on a mission in China and she is presumed dead, Bravo Squad searches frantically for her, only to find her plane and her bloody dog tags. Five years later Oliver runs into "Megan" at a coffee shop near that gym he has been running with his friends. She has lost her memory from the plane accident but has had dreams of Oliver and the Bravo Squad. With the help of his friends and team mates, can he help her reclaim her past and fall for him once again?

Airplanes, Coffee and Deadlines by @hope-for-olicity | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Felicity begins working at a national newspaper where she has always dreamed of working. On her first day, she meets a very interesting photojournalist. The two will eventually work together but sparks fly immediately.

and we're somehow caught up in a web of lies by inlovewithimpossibility | Arrow | WIP

Summary: After their encounter with the Count and Moira's release from prison, Thanksgiving is upon the residents of Starling City but when an article arises in the gossip magazines that throws both Oliver and Felicity under scrutiny, the two of them somehow find themselves caught up in the most elaborate lie they've told. What was supposed to be a relaxing week at the Queen cabin in New Hampshire for Oliver and a week celebrating Hanukkah and Thanksgiving alone for Felicity turns into a week at the cabin of acting, the Queen women and bubbling not-so-platonic feelings.

You Can't Afford Him by @quiveringbunny | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Oliver and Felicity, still strained after returning from Lian Yu following the takedown of Slade Wilson, take on roles that challenge their buried feelings when they go undercover to investigate a dangerous arms dealer. A Macau casino. A luxury suite. Suspenders. Lucky red panties. What could go wrong?

The Morning After by @stephswims | Arrow | One-shot

Providence by @so-caffeinated | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Will Queen has struggled in silence in the year since he was shot. But when a shadowy crime lord known as Domino targets the only woman Will’s ever truly loved, fate forces him to confront his demons in ways he never could have imagined… Whether he wants to or not.

Amelia Prescott has fought to take control of her life since learning two years ago that her personal and professional worlds were manipulated by others. But nothing can prepare her for just how hard she'll have to fight to set her own course, especially when her heart belongs to a damaged man and a crime lord threatens her every professional move... And her life.

Destiny brings them together, but as chaos reigns and personal demons haunt Will and Amelia both, it may also threaten to tear them apart.

(i want to) save that light by @callistawolf | Arrow | WIP

Summary: What if one little thing changed in the history of Arrow? What if, instead of going to Laurel's apartment after discovering the extent of Merlyn's plans for the Glades, Oliver stayed at the foundry and talked to Felicity instead? This series of short vignettes explores some of the ripple-effect changes that could take place throughout the next season as a result of this one, fortuitous change.

The What If Harassment Alternative by portlandborn | Brooklyn Nine-Nine | WIP

Summary: What would have happened to Peraltiago And our intrepid detectives, if Amy had reported her mentor captains ugly behaviors?

bliss within madness by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: “Hey, Mia. It’s your dad,” he whispered. Pausing, he added, “Mia or Lucas. We don’t know exactly who you are yet. But I promise you, your mom and I are gonna love you to the stars and back no matter who you turn out to be. I’m gonna call you Mia for now, though.” He kissed Felicity’s stomach softly, humming under his breath at the heat coming from her skin.

give all my secrets away by LiteraLital | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Before returning to the Waverider, Sara shares a drink with Oliver and Felicity as they reminisce about old times and some secrets are revealed, old and new... Based off the 7x18 sneak peek.

let me do this by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: 7x18 Spec. Mia arrives back injured from a mission and Felicity patches her up.

I'll take care of you by felicitybettx | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Oliver finds out his pregnant wife braved not one, but two death-defying explosions while working with the canaries. He doesn’t handle it super well.

a once-in-a-lifetime love by inlovewithimpossibility | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Felicity squeals a little as he lifts her into his lap with the utmost care, nuzzling her neck before planting a few kisses there. “Oliver?”“I ordered your fries and a chocolate shake.” He tells her and Felicity grins, pulling back to grasp his face in her hands.“You’re the best husband ever.” She tells him seriously and the smile that spreads across his face makes her feel like she’s a kid again.[extended scene from the end of 7x18 - takeout, sleepy cuddles and daddy-daughter chats with their unborn miracle]

i need you to be safe by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Post-7x18. Oliver does not react very well when finding out about the danger Felicity and their unborn baby were placed in. Felicity always knows exactly how to reassure him.

Can't Help Falling in Love by @smoaking-greenarrow | Arrow | One-shot Collection

Summary: Collection of fluff fics based on Tumblr prompts! Some are angsty, but most of this is fluffy. Enjoy!

I wear high heels (she wears sneakers) by @mogirl97 | Supergirl | WIP

Summary: “Lena. It’s not just about football.” Kara waved her hands around emphatically, “It’s about school spirit and hanging out with your friends—“ Lena didn’t want to bring up the fact that she didn’t have any friends to hang out with. “—and watching me obliterate a bunch of guys’ egos and going out for celebratory Big Belly Burger afterwards.” ~A Supercorp High School AU~

for you, i will withstand the pain by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Strange feelings of dread and hope associated with his baby's ultrasound photo prompt Oliver to make a crucial trip back in time to stop his past 2017 self from making a decision that threatens everything he's built with his family and by extension, the universe itself.

1st Night of Forever by @theartofbeinganerd | Agents of SHIELD | One-shot

Summary: Three years after the wedding that changed both of their lives forever, Jemma and Fitz are finally getting married, and officially becoming the family that they've built with Evelyn over the past few years - and they (and everyone around them) couldn't be happier about it.*The Fitzsimmons Wedding in my 1 Night 'verse, first started in 1 Night (+9 Months)*

whenever you're ready by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Mia and William from 2040 travel back in time to 2019 to access an uncorrupted version of Archer. Oliver and Felicity investigate a break-in at the bunker only to find their children from the future bickering. Emotional confrontations and conversations ensue.

Artemis by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: When the Queen's Gambit sank, two people were stranded on Lian Yu. Five years later, four came back.

Daughter of the Demon by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: What if in 1988 while traveling through Las Vegas Ra's al Ghul bumps into a nice waitress named Donna Smoak and they have one-night stand together? A little bundle of joy named Felicity Smoak is the result. In 2014, the Demon Head becomes aware of his youngest daughter's existence.

The Ravager by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Slade Wilson's plan for revenge against Oliver took time, money and no shortage of lives to pull together. His plan didn't anticipate Felicity Smoak. How will his plan change now that his lost-lost daughter is working with the very man he's trying to destroy?

The Daughter That Was Left by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Before the Gambit, Oliver Queen met QC intern Felicity Smoak. When he boarded the Gambit, he left something behind. Now, five long years later someone is waiting for him.

Felicity of Themiscyra by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Years ago, Donna Smoak left the island of Themiscyra and her sister Queen Hippolyta behind to live in man's world. She never told Felicity the truth about where she came from. As a result of the Undertaking, Felicity discovers some of her Amazonian abilities and makes an interesting new friend: Diana Prince.

I Scream But No Sound Comes out by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: When Oliver returns from Lian Yu after five years, he comes back different. What happened there damaged more than just his body. How will his friends and family deal with this new Oliver?

The Perfect Summer Day by cali-chan (girls_are_weird) | Stranger Things | One-shot

Summary: "Why didn't you go into the water with the others?""Because I want to go in with you." Joyce and Hopper take the kids on a day trip to the beach, and El helps Mike conquer one of his biggest fears. PG, fluff/romance, post-S2, Mike/Eleven.

Breathe Me In by cali-chan (girls_are_weird) | Stranger Things | One-shot

Summary: "So breathe me in so deep. Breathe me in, I'm yours to keep..." The two of them dancing through life together, as they had been since the beginning. PG, romance/fluff, post-S2, Mike/Eleven.

Carry Her Weight by cali-chan (girls_are_weird) | Stranger Things | One-shot

Summary: Something Mike had mentioned piqued her curiosity. "What's a piggyback ride?" PG, romance/fluff, post-S2, Mike/Eleven.

PB&J by @realityisoverrated-fic | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: After weeks of getting the silent treatment, Tommy tries to lure Oliver out to breakfast by sending him messages and pictures of how much fun he and Felicity are having. Oliver is still angry with Tommy and is refusing to take the bait.

#saturday spectacular fic rec #weekly fic recs

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wannawritefast · 6 years

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The Crown of Brooklyn

A/N: Hey! I have recently become obsessed with the mobster!AU. And I haven’t written for our beloved Cap in a while. So I did a thing. I hope you like my thing. I certainly like this thing. I’m tagging @caplansteverogers cuz I love her and she inspired me to write this! Feedback is appreciated and, once again, requests are OPEN. xoxo, Echo

Warnings: Death (including death of a single mother of a young girl), blood, violence, alcohol use, mentions of sexual harassment and rape, attempted roofie

You grew up amongst crime. Your father was involved in a mob in Brooklyn and your mother worked as a spy for them. Your parents would have been more surprised if you didn’t enter into the life of crime in Brooklyn than if you had.

Unfortunately, they died when you were in your teens but it came with the territory and you easily made peace with the fact that they had died doing what they chose to do. And you made easier peace with the fact that you wanted in.

Somehow you infiltrated the mob that had taken out your parents and investigated their deaths. But rather than take out the boss you became family of sorts to him.

He never had children and always wanted kids of his own (something about scaring any possible wives away with revealing his job). He held you close as he got old. He doted on you as if you were his own daughter and you were the little princess of the mob. When he passed away he passed his job to you: his only child and the young queen of one of the most powerful mobs in Brooklyn.

As you rose to power you evolved the mob into something different, something unprecedented; you focused your mob on the women. You cleaned out the plague of oppression in strip clubs still keeping them standing but actually taking care of your workers and recutting their pay to be fair. The strippers enjoyed their jobs but not the harassment that came with it.

You swapped out your heist squad with inconspicuous girls. Overall you found that they just did the jobs better.

You didn’t kill the men or condemn any of your girls that wanted to pursue relationships. But any men that continued to treat you or your girls like garbage after fair warning to change their ways were taken out immediately.

Your numbers grew quickly. Women on the streets of Brooklyn were terrific allies. You became a guardian angel of sorts to the women that had been taken advantage of, harassed, and violated. Even though Brooklyn was high in crime, the numbers for rape, sexual harassment, and domestic abuse went down and the perpetrators were dealt with seemingly overnight. Even when you left Brooklyn to travel, your destination was cleansed of their sexual assault perpetrators. Your reputation traveled around the world as much as you did and you became influential.

The archetype that women were catty and two-faced was only true in movies as far as your experience was concerned. You took care of your girls and they helped you in many more ways than you could have possibly imagined. Who knew girl positivity and togetherness could be so powerful?

Your team was built of the most boss women you had ever possibly met. As it turned out you had assembled the best weapons engineers, self defense trainers, and hackers the city had seen and it was all underneath everyone’s noses because you were girls. And they were your girls. The mutual dependency made everyone close and your sisterhood type of bond rivaled that of sororities. Let’s just say Elle Woods would be proud.

Under the moniker of Juno, the queen of the Roman gods, you made it a point to learn hand-to-hand combat (anything with a blade became your new favorite) and trained those in your care. Soon enough, grown men cried in fear of the women they so commonly threw aside in their pursuits of power. Bitches had never been so feared in all of Brooklyn.

The Bitches specialized in diamonds. Your black market sales made incredible amounts of money and you made sure that your girls were paid before you were. Your new weapons became something that the other gangs sought after and, in exchange for providing arms, they offered protection and backup when jobs needed to get done.

The gangs of the world soon had a soft spot for The Bitches and the scariest mob bosses took you under their wings. You joined them for family dinners and to much of them you were like an adoptive daughter or sister. They understood that you didn't get involved in bad blood feuds between the other gangs but saw you as family nonetheless. Enemies were powerful but nothing beats the power of friends. Naturally it came as no surprise when your gang became the most successful in all of Brooklyn.

Well… Steve Rogers and his goons wouldn’t agree with that. But who gives a fuck about him?

The two of you hated each other. Although you never dared attack the other, it was abundantly clear that you were oil and water. You didn’t mix. Something about power-crazed mob leaders that had equally large egos and self-assurance in their abilities. You never interacted with him and you liked it that way.

Your assistant pinged your BlueTooth earpiece in the middle of a meeting. “Juno, we have a situation.”

With your codename ringing in your ear (in case your lines were tapped), you raised your manicured finger to the businessmen in the room, demanding a moment. “Can it wait?”

She took a deep breath. “Not really…”

“Why?” You asked suspiciously.

“It’s Rogers…”

“Fuck him,” you said, with no hesitation and returned to speaking to your audience again.

“He’s here.”

You paused. That made you stop in your tracks. Your skin prickled and blood boiled at the mere sound of his name. “He’s here? Why the fuck is he here?” You spat. The people around the table all jumped.

“It’s one of our girls.”

Oh hell to the no… Without a second thought you slammed the projector remote into the table and shattered it. A part of the glass table rained down with it as you stalked for the door.

“Meeting dismissed,” you growled as you threw open the door and it banged against the wall. The hinges snapped off the threshold. “I have a dead motherfucker to deal with.”

You smoothed your white jacket and pencil skirt and cracked your neck as you unholstered your vintage pistol.

Your assistant met you down the hallway. Victoria was your temper control, thank god for that.

Seeing your warpath, she immediately slowed you. “It wasn’t him or any of his men.”

It sated you a little bit but you were still fuming. He knew better than to just show up uninvited, unannounced. What kind of bullshit was this? “Then who’s responsible?”

“I didn’t tell you who was taken out…”

“Doesn’t matter. Whoever did it is going to pay with their life.” With that, you pushed past her and into the room where Rogers and his boys presumably were. You couldn’t believe that he thought he could just waltz in here on your turf as if he owned the place. You shoved the door open and were met with four men all looking at you, two out of the three startled.

“Well, hello to you too,” James prompted. Your eyes immediately landed on Steve, the bastard. He only blinked casually at your storming.

“Shut it, Barnes!” You snarled. “Start talking Rogers. Why the fuck are you here?”

Your rival mob boss stared you down cooly. Two alpha personalities in one room created a volatile environment. Especially with Steve motherfucking Rogers. “Cursing isn’t becoming of a lady,” he mocked.

“Well, it's a good thing that I’m not a lady, Rogers. I’m your worst nightmare.” You got in his face, the white of your suit contrasting the volatility of your temper.

“I’m the King. I’m your worst nightmare.” He got in your face right back and stared you down right back with his light blue eyes that contrasted his pitch black suit.

“Yeah, you’re both nightmares. Get a room some other time,” your jaw dropped as your head snapped to one of his cronies… Sam. “Meanwhile we have a real problem.”

You bristled a bit and you weren’t sure if the wave of heat that washed over you was embarrassment or anger but you brushed it aside. “Please! Steve wishes he could.” You glanced at the boss standing next to you. He narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s not important right now though.” Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for the damage and nodded at Victoria to fill you in.

“There were two bodies discovered at 3 AM this morning at our docks. One of them was a Rogers cronie… a man known as Phillip.” Steve gulped beside you as Victoria continued. “The second was one of our own… Cleo.”

Your heart dropped at the announcement but you took a deep breath. “What were they fighting over?”

Victoria shook her head. “They weren’t fighting.” You cocked an eyebrow. “They were sniped. In fact, our intel tells us that the cron- uh- Phillip was planning on proposing later that evening… to Cleo.”

You needed to sit down. Cleo had disclosed to you that she was dating someone new. Someone who actually loved her… and her daughter. Her daughter… She didn’t tell you he was a Rogers goon. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Her daughter is with a social worker. I sent Florence over there already to get her situated in the meantime and I… um… I have custody papers when you’re ready to look over them and-”

You cut her off with a motion of your hand. That was a matter you would take care of later. “Any word from our private investigator?”

“Actually,” Sam interjected, “we sent in our P.I. as well… And there’s reason to believe that there’s a new mob in Brooklyn and they want your titles.”

“‘Titles?’ What do you mean ‘titles?’” You interrupted Sam.

“We mean they want you and Steve…” He drew a line with his finger across his neck.

“We don’t… We aren’t working together. Does this new gang have any brains whatsoever? Do they know that we’re not allied?”

“Yeah.” James spoke this time. “They just don’t care. And they’re getting bolder.”

Steve crossed his arms and spoke. “They took out one of our artifact ships last week. It was leaving our harbor on the way to pick some up and they exploded it. 150 meters from the docks. It was a power play.”

You took a deep breath. “What does this mean for us?” You asked. “Why do I care? For all I know this is a ploy by you to take me out.”

“Y/n,” he addressed you, softer than usual. Steve always called you by Juno when he did talk to you. This was serious. “There were two bullets… in each.”

You gulped. One would have been a coincidence. Two… was not an accident. Especially if Phillip was sniped. “You’re sure it's the new gang?”

“They signed off on the deaths. They took credit for it,” Sam interjected.

“I wouldn’t be asking for help unless there was a real threat here…” Steve turned to you, his face dead serious. “In fact, you’d probably be the last person I went to in conflict. They want my crown and power and will do anything to get it. Including take down threats, like you and me. I will not let them tread on innocent bystanders and pull civilians into the crossfire.”

His eyes held a certain plea. You hadn’t seen any expression close to this one cross his features. Ever. Although you would rather be arrested than help Steve under normal circumstances, this was not normal. And deep down you knew that you needed his help just as much as he needed yours, if the speculations about the new gang were to be believed. No matter how much either of you would want to deny that you needed help at all.

“Fine,” you agreed, “I’ll help.” A smirk pulled on the corner of Steve’s mouth. You pulled the whiskey in the glass vial off the alcohol shelf in the room and, after taking a swig, you poured it into five glasses. You maintained eye contact as you offered a glass to the mob boss standing in front of you.

“If your men or their families don’t feel safe, I can set them up a space. Just say the word.” Everyone in the room now had their glass. Victoria merely held hers respectfully but didn’t drink. She was never any fun. But Steve downed it in one go and returned the glass to you to be refilled. “It’s nothing Juno can’t do. But there’s something you should know, Steve.”

You refilled it generously. “I wear the crown here. Not you…”

“I hope you know, Steve, that this doesn’t mean I trust you.” You were seated in the booth of one of Steve’s restaurants: a swanky joint with invite access only. Tonight it was empty except for you, Steve, and the “up and coming” mob boss who was running late.

You smoothed your long red dress and subconsciously ran your fingers over your garter knife holster, just in case. Tapping your painted fingernails on the white-clothed table you took a sip of the red wine offered to you. The diamond necklace perched on your collar bones was a comforting weight but still did little to calm the small bout of anxiety in your system.

“I know it doesn’t. I still don’t trust you either.” Steve unbuttoned and rolled the botSteves of his shirt sleeves. He adjusted his red handkerchief. The two of you truly hadn’t intended on matching. It just happened. “God, he was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago…”

“Steve,” you started. He turned toward you and for a moment you realized how nice he looked. Only for a moment. “If I die tonight, the hit is going on your head.”

“You’re not going to die,” Steve grabbed his whiskey and took a sip as he reclined back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “It’ll be fine.”

You scoffed as you pulled your pocket mirror out of your clutch, which conveniently had bullets in it, and were reminded of the 1930’s style mini-pistol securely lodged in the middle of your chest. With the mirror flicked open you dabbed at your lipstick delicately with your finger.

“You look good. I have no idea what you’re fussing over.” Steve commented as he lightly scratched his nose. Was that a compliment? Your eyes shot to him in shock.

“Did Steve Rogers, the second best mob boss in Brooklyn, just compliment me?” You hovered a hand over your red lips in exaggerated surprise.

He rolled his eyes at you and was about to respond when the door to the dining room was thrown open. Steve and yourself stared at the swaggering young man who strode to your table.

“Sorry I’m late,” he breathed, but there was no apology in his tone whatsoever. “Traffic.” He snapped his fingers at one of the waiters and ordered vodka. The young man briefly sized you up by running his eyes unabashedly up and down your frame before turning to face Steve. What a pig… “So what seems to be the issue? I was invited here by the esteemed Steven Rogers with no explanation. I’m not complaining, by any means. But I do think you called me here for a reason,” his eyes landed on you again. “The eye candy is incredible by the way. How much is she?” He leaned forward with a smirk. Your jaw dropped in disbelief. Who did he think he was?

“She’s not for sale, asshole,” Steve asserted. He had his eyes narrowed at the little shit. The blood roared in your ears as the man’s vodka was set on the table. Your temper was no longer amiable. There was blood in the water now and you and Steve were honing in on your prey like you had a thousand times before.

You patted one of Steve’s clenched fists that was resting on the table. “Don’t worry, Steve. I’ve got this…” Your fingers wrapped around your wine glass and brought it to your matching lips. “Darling, you wish you could afford me.”

The man chuckled darkly as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, I see. No, don’t worry. I can respect an arrangement. Hey, sweetheart, tell your-”

“I’m not a messenger,” you sipped your wine. “And Steve and I have no arrangement. But I’ll tell you what can be arranged: a bounty on your head… or a hit. Your choice really.”

The man leaned forward threateningly. “I’m sorry but are you in any position to be making threats, whore?”

You blinked slowly and ever so slightly pulled down the top left side of your dress to reveal a tattoo of a minimalist crown: your unmistakable emblem of power. His reaction went from anger to lust to nervousness in mere seconds. The man gulped harshly as he downed his vodka and strained to keep his eyes challenging. You pulled the fabric back up and tapped Steve’s hand again. “I’ll let you cut back in, Steve.”

It was your turn to lean back once Steve took the reins. As he leaned forward you saw the amused sideways smile he had directed at you before it turned bloodthirsty. Something about watching it happen caused you to stir a little.

“You should really think about who you threaten before you do it. But you won’t have to worry about that anymore.” Steve poured himself more whiskey.

“Why-why is that?” The man stammered as his hands found his lap. This guy thought we wouldn’t retaliate…

“Because you’re going to shut down your sorry charade, pack your things, and leave Brooklyn.” Steve stared the man down. “And never come back.”

A waiter set down a tiramisu in front of you, Steve, and this sad excuse for a gang boss looking like he was going to wet himself.

You decided to speak up again. You stuck your fork in the rich slab of custard, coffee, and pastry. “Did you think you could take out my best programmer, yank her daughter away from her only stability in life, and not deal with the wrath of her aunties, one of which is Juno, the Mob Queen of Brooklyn?”

“I-I have a-uh-a sniper.” The man stuttered. He was grabbing for straws.

“I’m sorry,” Steve piped up. He stretched his arm closest to you out and laid it on the rim of the booth. “But are you in any position to be making threats, you son of a bitch?”

You chuckled at Steve’s response. “You’ve got two options: my way or Steve’s. Which one would you prefer?” You swirled the dark liquid in its glass.

“The latter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I thought so.”

The scoop of tiramisu on your fork tasted delicious. You watched the man in front of you wear regret on his face. This man was not cut out for the mob life. He wore his emotions too outwardly. You were doing him a favor really.

“Did you honestly think that you could threaten the two most powerful people in Brooklyn and get away with it?” Steve asked as he began eating the dessert in front of him.

The man only stared at his dessert contemplatively. You went back to your clutch to check your phone. But before the screen could even turn on, there was a clatter at the table in front of you.

You, startled by the sudden commotion, looked back up. The man’s hand was hovering over your wine glass with a tiny vial clutched in his fingers. A roofie bottle. Steve had one hand wrapped around the man’s wrist and the other had a gun pressed against the man’s temple. Steve was staring the man down, a deadly look in his blue eyes.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking with rage. In one swift motion you pulled your pistol out of your dress and stood up, knocking the table over. It toppled to the side noisily and the sound of utensils, plates, and glasses hitting the tile floor echoed through the empty room.

You pointed the gun at his forehead and a humorless laugh escaped your lungs. “You motherfucker… Looks like we’re doing this my way. Any last words?”

The man looked at you like he was a man with nothing to lose: the most dangerous look in the world. “You’re a bitch,” he spat. Quicker than a blink he drew a knife from his jacket and stabbed it into your outer thigh.

You screamed in pain and your leg began to give out for a few seconds. You supported yourself before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I am.” And with those words you fired your gun.

The man slumped lifelessly in the booth and rolled to the side onto the floor. You dropped your pistol to the booth and fell back into the seat. You stared at the knife protruding from your leg with a wince.

Steve stepped over the legs of the fallen table and got to the other side of you. Your head was now thrown back against the rim of the booth, trying to manage the sharp pain running up and down your right leg. Maybe if you didn’t look at it it wouldn’t hurt as bad.

“Are you ok? Can you walk?” His voice sounded. Your eyes were clenched shut in pain.

“I have a knife in my leg, Steve… What do you think?” You brought your neck back up. There was a knife in your leg. The only thought going through your head is that it would be a good idea if the knife was removed. You reached your hand to grab the handle. But Steve’s hand grabbed yours to stop it.

“You’re not thinking right. Don’t touch the knife or you’ll lose more blood,” You nodded in agreement. That made more sense you supposed. He yelled for his guard to call one of his medical cars. His guard raced off noting the urgency of the situation. “You need to lie down. Come on. Let’s get you to the floor.”

You nodded through the nausea and lightheadedness that was seizing you and helped Steve help you to the black tile floor. Keeping your leg as still as possible, you used the rest of your body to slide off the booth.

“It’s gonna be a few minutes,” Steve remarked softly. You were laying on the ground now and your vision was starting to sparkle a little bit. “Let me get you more comfortable.”

Steve was remaining calm as he took off his jacket and threw it over your torso. He began unbuttoning his dress shirt leaving him in a wife beater. His dress shirt was quickly rolled up and stuck underneath your head. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, not daring to look at your thigh.

“Steve?” You inquired. You could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness.

“Yeah?”

“Can you take off my heels please?”

“Yeah…” You felt the shoes get pulled off your feet but any pleasure that it may have provided was overpowered by the agonizing pain in your leg.

“Steve. I think I’m going to pass out.” You warned. Your hand latched on Steve’s. His opened to accommodate yours. It felt nice.

“You’ve gotta stay awake or… I’ll… I’ll take your crown.” He offered. His tone wasn’t serious but you appreciated the effort.

“If I wasn’t able to wear the crown,” you opened your eyes to look at him. His blue eyes looked into yours with something that looked strange… Worry, maybe? That couldn’t be right. Your mind was playing tricks on you. “I’d be more than happy for you to wear it.”

You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you blacked out.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room. It was a bedroom with typical furnishings but it had hospital equipment next to you instead of a nightstand. You stared up at the canopy draping over the top of the bed for a few seconds.

The silkiness of the sheets felt smooth against your skin. Remembering what happened before you went unconscious, you gingerly hovered your hand over your leg from above the covers.

“And Juno lives,” a voice sounded from the doorway. Footsteps moved along the carpeted floor and they stopped at your bedside. You turned your head and saw Steve standing with his hands in his pockets.

You groaned groggily. “Are my girls ok?”

Steve smiled at your question. It wasn’t a vicious smile but a kind one. One you hadn’t seen him wear before. Your heart didn’t skip a beat… did it? “You got stabbed with a knife in the thigh, passed out, had to get stitches (which I ever so graciously covered for you) and you’re asking if someone else is ok?”

You shrugged… it’s all you had the energy for. “Well, are they?”

He chuckled and shook his head at you. Maybe the nurse needed to look at your cardiac vitals too… “They’re as good as when you left them. You need to rest.”

“I can’t rest. I have to-,” you attempted to sit yourself up. Steve only put his hand out to stop your shoulder when it reached his palm. It felt like he had pushed you full force back into the mattress. “I have to lie down… For a while.”

“Is there anything you need that I can bring you?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he peered down at you.

“My pistol, my phone, and three shots of tequila.” You listed earnestly. “Please.”

“I can get you one of the those,” he responded before leaving the room.

You whispered to yourself. “Please be the tequila…” He sauntered back in with your phone and you reached for it longingly. You figured you would just have to settle for next best.

It touched your fingers and you unlocked it immediately to dial Victoria. But before you could touch ‘call’ Victoria herself appeared in the doorway.

“Oh thank God you’re alright!” She rushed into the room and hugged you tight. “I thought you had been taken out when Steve called and said you’d been stabbed.” He called them personally?

“Well, unfortunately for Steve, this bitch is still alive and kicking.” You winked at Victoria playfully and turned your gaze to Steve briefly. “Sorry, darling, you can’t get rid of me that easily,” you joked.

“Damn,” he cursed exaggeratedly. His eyes glistened humorously. “I can not believe you foiled my elaborate plan.”

You shifted the tone of the conversation and forced yourself to sit up, a little stronger than when you had woken up. “I suppose I’ve overstayed my welcome.” You yanked the blankets off your torso and shifted to move off of the bed.

You finally saw your leg since you had been ever so rudely stabbed in the leg. There were bandages wrapped from the base of your hip to the top of your knee. Your thigh was officially sans knife. The small use of your muscles sent a hot shockwave of pain through your leg and up to your lower back. Your expression soured instantaneously as you took deep breaths and steeled yourself to stand. Nausea welled up and punched you in the gut but you weren’t going to let a tummy ache stop you.

Victoria and Steve alike rushed forward to force you back to laying down. “What are you doing,” Victoria scolded, “Your leg isn’t even close to being healed.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Lie down, Y/n.” Steve ordered you. You knew he was probably right but the dominant part of your ego didn’t take orders from anyone, especially Steve. Defiantly and weakly, albeit, you pushed him to the side with the back of your hand and stood to your feet.

Or at least tried to. Steve had been right. The moment your injured leg was standing was the moment your knee buckled and you started to fall to the floor.

Your hands scrambled for the closest thing to hold onto to stop the impact. Your fingers wrapped around the IV stand but it wasn’t enough. Fortunately for you, Steve had better reflexes and caught you as you continued to fall. He swiftly grabbed your torso and secured you from falling further. With his calloused hands on your waist and your hands on his muscled biceps you stepped backwards and sat back down.

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” He asked as he pulled away slowly, uncertain if you still required his assistance.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Does this face look like it follows orders?” He cocked a challenging eyebrow at you. “The answer is no, Steven. I don’t follow orders. Besides you don’t want me here. We’re rivals. Remember?”

“Yes, I do remember. But I do also remember you getting stabbed in the fucking thigh in front of me. In my restaurant. While carrying out a plan of my volition. I am responsible for you getting injured. You need to heal and you are going to stay here to do that.” Steve had his hands on his hips.

“I have my own doctors, Steve. I can heal at my headquarters. I have power here too.” You leaned forward with as much dignity as you could muster.

He clutched his forehead in frustration. If nothing else you were glad that you were still able to piss him off while minorly incapacitated. “This isn’t about power, Y/n. This is about you being hurt. And I don’t think Victoria’ll let you leave here until you’re healed if I ensured your safety. Which I do.”

Your head snapped to Victoria who looked conflicted. She visibly squirmed at the equally scrutinizing looks you and Steve were giving her. “He has a point, Juno. Us moving you would do more harm than good.” You could practically feel Steve’s infuriating and victorious smirk. “Joan and I can handle it. We can send you documents and you can sign them on your tablet and send them back to us.”

“Victoria…” You started. This was NOT happening.

“It’s better that you get a break any way. God knows you need it.” She fiddled with her nails. Then she began to move for the door. “Getrestandfeelbetterbye!”

“Victoria!” And she ran out of the room shutting the door behind her. You were gaping like a fish.

She just… She just left you.

Alone.

At your rival’s headquarters.

While you were at a physical disadvantage.

You slowly turned your head back to the man standing in front of you. “Told you,” he chided.

“There’s no need to gloat, asshole,” you glared at him. “I hate you,” you mumbled.

“No, you don’t. Not anymore. You’re just angry.” He took a deep breath. “What kind of entertainment do you like? TV, movies, card games…” Steve suggested.

“You know what would be great?” You clapped your hands together in faux enthusiasm. “If you located the nearest cliff and took a long walk right off of it!”

He winced apathetically. “Sorry, doll, no can do.”

“Don’t patronize me.” You moved to lie down and tried to use your muscles to pull your hurt leg back over onto the mattress. But they either didn’t want to comply or they clawed at your nerve endings violently.

Steve’s hand found the underside of your partially bandaged knee and lifted it gently onto the bed. You weren’t sure whether to thank him or snap at him. “I still don’t like you, Rogers,” you jabbed as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared at the shut door to the room that seemed to mock you. “But I do like Netflix.”

“Really? You tell me you hate me and expect me to give you something after that?”

“Yes.”

“No. That’s not how this works. I’ll help you get healed but if you’re going to be rude then I don’t think I should help you pass the time.”

“Are you seriously wagering with a cripple right now?” You asked incredulously.

“Yes.” God, you wanted to rip his pretty eyes out of their sockets!

“Fine,” you growled. With gritted teeth you apologized. “Thank you for treating me and…” Your voice trailed off into a murmur, “I’m sorry for being difficult.”

“What was that?” He asked obnoxiously with a hand to his ear. This asshole.

“I’m sorry for being difficult.” You enunciated venomously. You pressed your lips together and crossed your arms as you stared at the wall rather than him.

“Now… was that so hard?” Steve’s voice was maddeningly smooth and his blue eyes glittered tantalizingly.

“No. It wasn’t actually.” You spat.

“Good. Then you’ll have no problem doing it again in the inevitable future.” Your anger began to bubble like lava.

“Can I have my Netflix now?” He raised a brow. “Please.”

“Why yes you can!” He over enthusiastically responded. Steve produced a remote from his suit pocket and pressed a button. An LED TV began to slowly lower from a slot in the dark ceiling.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my pistol, jerkwad. I would’ve shot the ballsiness right off of you.”

“I bet,” he agreed amiably as pressed more buttons on the remote nonchalantly.

You huffed a deep breath. “Dammit, Steve. You’re supposed to respond to me with witty repartee. You’re not being any fun.”

“Mmhmm.” The screen was open on the Netflix main screen and he tossed you the remote. Steve dragged a lounge chair to the side of your bed and reclined in it. Suit and all. “What are we watching?” He prompted.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “What?”

“Did I stutter? I asked ‘what are we watching,’” He answered matter-of-factly.

“Why? Don’t you have your mob to run?” Your brows were furrowed.

“I’m the mob boss. I can do whatever the fuck I want. And I want to watch something.” Even though you couldn’t quite argue with his logic your jaw was dropped and you didn’t move. He huffed and snatched the remote out of your hand. “I’ll choose then.” He clicked on the arrows and settled on a crime tv show.

You were still staring at him. He was contentedly facing the screen. He turned to face you, his blue eyes looking into yours. A stray blonde curl fell out of his gelled do. It was endearing. “What are you looking at?”

You shook your head and faced the screen. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing…”

The two of you simultaneously inhaled and exhaled a deep breath.

Halfway between episode 3 and 4 and making jokes about the the criminals, you fell asleep. It was exhausting, what could you say… You had gotten stabbed not even 24 hours before.

Steve hadn’t noticed you had fallen asleep initially. He thought you were ignoring one of his comments. It wasn’t uncommon. When you hadn’t responded after a few repetitions, he opened his mouth to give a biting remark and expected you to respond in like fashion.

But when he looked over at you, head lolled against the pillows, hair askew, and mouth slightly ajar, something weird happened.

Steve smiled to himself.

Not because of how vulnerable you looked (maybe that was part of it) or even because there was a little bit of drool seeping onto the pillow but because one of the most vicious and vengeful and ruthless people he knew slept looking like an angel. There were bags under your eyes and there were spots of imperfections on your skin. He couldn’t tell if it was despite them or because of them but he thought you looked… dare he say… well, beautiful.

He looked away. It felt oddly intimate watching you sleep if only for a few seconds. A little bit of an invasion of privacy. Steve gently readjusted your awkwardly flayed arms and pulled the covers up to your shoulders, careful not to wake you. He stood silently from his chair and walked noiselessly to the door. As he closed it shut, Steve took one more peek at you.

You only scrunched your nose momentarily in your sleep. Deadly, he thought.

But in that moment, Steve knew that he was completely, irreversibly and undeniably fucked.

The following days and weeks were nice. Startlingly nice. Every morning Steve dropped off a coffee for you and checked on you, if only for a few minutes. And every night, after he was done with his work for the day, you fell asleep watching that horrid crime show on Netflix with Steve. Like clockwork.

For meals, he would help you limp down to the dining room when you were finally able to move out of bed rest. He would visit you on his breaks. It didn’t matter if you were engaging in conversation with him. Steve would still sit in the room while you were communicating with Joan and Victoria. It wasn’t invasive at all… It was nice just to have his presence in your room.

You weren’t sure when the two of you began helping the other problem solve but the two of you were certain that you should have brainstormed together earlier. Neither of you were willing to admit, however, that the fault was with your pride… What? Steve’s ego couldn’t even fit through the door sometimes.

But you guessed you could say, at the very least, that you were on friendly terms now…

“Joan,” you switched your phone from one ear to the other when Steve poked his head into the threshold and rapped on the wood with that signature smirk on his face. You smiled at him reflexively and waved him in. “No, I agree we’ve given him plenty of time to pay. You have my stamp of approval to send in the Valkyries….”

Steve meandered into the room and fell back into his recliner. Joan’s tinny voice sounded on the other end. “Will do…” The sound of a keyboard typing filled the silence for a few seconds. “Your order is in.”

“Great! Let me know how that goes. I want a mission report emailed over immediately after …Oh! Is Phoebe there?” You asked hopefully.

“One moment…” The sound of Joan calling Phoebe to the phone was faint but still exciting for you.

“Hi, Anthie Juno.” The voice of Cleo’s three-year-old came on the line. Your heart warmed instantaneously.

“Hi, darling! How was school today?” You asked enthusiastically.

“It was fun! I went on- I went on the swings!” Her little voice informed you excitedly.

“Oh my goodness! Did you go so high?”

“I did, Anthie Juno. I was like a bood!” She giggled as she finished her semi-mispronounced sentence and the sheer adorableness that you imagined was happening on the other side of the line made you hold your chest.

“I bet you were,” you were beaming through your words. “I miss you so so much, Bee.”

She giggled again, at her nickname this time. “I miss you too. When can, when can I see you?”

You glanced over at Steve. He was smiling in your direction and your heart jumped a little bit. There was no doubt he could hear Phoebe speaking. The little girl practically yelled in the speakers whenever she was on the phone.

“I don’t know, Bee…” You wanted to see her but you didn’t want to overstep your bounds with Steve. He had already been so helpful. You almost felt indebted to him.

Steve spoke up. “She can come tomorrow if she wants…” He sat up in his seat.

Your eyebrows shot up. You put your hand over the microphone. “Are you serious?”

He nodded nonchalantly. “Absolutely…”

Your spirits soared. “How does tomorrow sound?”

The squealing on the other side of the line was answer enough. “Ok! Ok…” You could practically hear the gears turning in her little brain. “I’ll- I’ll see you tomowow! I love you! Bye!” The moment before Phoebe hung up you heard the beginning of Joan calling to her.

You chuckled and shook your head as you put your phone down next to you. “I’ll have you know, Steve. She is very excited to come over tomorrow.”

The smile on his face matched yours and his eyes crinkled. “I certainly hope so. I’d miss you if I hadn’t seen you in that long.”

“Steven, no one could ever get tired of this face.” You framed your face with your hands comically.

He jokingly winced to himself as he stood from his spot. “I don’t know about that.” Steve offered his hand when he arrived at your bedside.

You dropped your jaw dramatically and swung your legs over the side of the bed and took his hands. Making sure that you were standing securely on your uninjured leg, you placed a light amount of pressure on your stabbed leg. You could only stand on the ball of your foot before it began to hurt.

He, almost instinctively, wrapped your arm over his suit-clad, muscled shoulders. You hobbled through the bedroom on your way to dinner with Steve supporting you at your side.

“You know…” You pressed your hand against the wall of the hallway to hold yourself up as you addressed Steve. “You’ve been so nice to me that I feel like you’re buttering me up for something.” You were only half joking.

“The King of Brooklyn? Butter you up?” You rolled your eyes at his self-proclamation. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, slowing his pace to allow you to strengthen your muscle a little bit. “Now where would you get an idea like that?” Steve resupported you, this time with one hand on your waist and the other grasping your outstretched hand.

You just glanced at him from the corners of your eyes as you continued to limp to the dining room.

“I am not buttering you up, Y/n,” he corrected. “If I wanted something from you, I’d tell you. Honestly. Like how much your hair needs a brushing.”

Your jaw dropped as you scoffed at him. “Well, I don’t exactly have the materials to look presentable, Steven. I don’t need to spend much time like you do but I do need the proper instruments.”

It was part of your banter to roast each other.

“I can send someone to the store to pick up some stuff for you?” Steve suggested.

You smiled at him gratefully as you continued to limp along. “That’s alright… I can have Joan send some stuff over when she drops off Phoebe tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?” He asked.

You nodded assuredly. “I owe you big time, Rogers. Seriously, thank you.”

He only shook his head and smiled at the floor… bashfully? “You don’t need to thank me. I was being decent.”

“Steve, mobsters aren’t decent. I know a handful of bosses who, if I were their enemy, would have let me bleed out or took me out while I was down.” He looked up at you once again and you, in turn, looked straight ahead as you paced yourself down the hallway. “So, yes. I do owe you, Rogers. I owe you and then some. When you figure out how I can make it up to you, let me know and I’ll be there. Anytime.”

He smiled genuinely at you. “Anytime?”

“Anytime,” You confirmed without hesitation.

He chuckled to himself and your heart lifted a little bit. Just a little.

After a few moments of silence, Steve spoke up again. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he took a deep breath. “Dinner.”

“‘Dinner’?” You were confused. “Is that a code for something that I’m not aware of or-”

“It’s code for,” he lowered his voice, “I want to take you out to dinner after your leg is healed because I like you, Y/n.”

You halted in your tracks as your heart did a tap routine. He liked you? You had had your suspicions but there was no way you could have been absolutely certain until now.

“What if I said no?” You inquired. You weren’t serious. You definitely wanted to go on a date with him but you made it a point to see how a man would react to rejection before pursuing a relationship with him. Just because you really liked him didn’t mean he was exempt.

“I’d be disappointed but I’d respect your ‘no.’ You’re busy and you’d have your reasons, I’m sure.” He shrugged and aided you as you continued to limp to dinner.

“And if I said yes?” You prompted.

A goofy smile graced his features again. “Then I’d be excited and plan the best damn dinner you’ve ever had.”

“That’s quite the claim, Rogers.” You teased with raised eyebrows.

“You can see if it has any merit if you decide to go to dinner with me.” He smirked at you cheekily.

A sideways smile of your own moved your cheeks. “It seems like I’ll just have to.”

“It’s a date then.” He declared. You pretended not to see the kick in his step as the two of walked to the dining room. Steve supported you as you trekked to the dining room, his hands holding yours.

You supposed that’s how it was always meant to be: the two of you working hand in hand.

After all, you knew the value of a good relationship with others…

Especially one with your future husband.

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #mobster!steve #mobster!au

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jeanplaisance · 5 years

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The Goon Squad 2

For your listening enjoyment while reading this short story about the audacious endeavors of a select group of dysfunctional individuals, please use the following playlist for your selection of background music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-WzMovyzUA&list=PLWhQLCK89W8BDlgoZ-Rcp75q2WSjKRhGn

In the middle of a wasteland, the squad had set up a small encampment under the umbrella of an acacia tree’s foliage complete with a campfire pit and a tent large enough for the three of them, excluding the Gimp who preferred to endure the elements. It was here they had settled just outside of the ruins of a large city, a brief distance away from the shattered remnants of a highway.

“Leslie!! The Gimp is acting weird!” called out the Kid.

Leslie, without stopping his knitting, mocked, “Oh if I had a dong for every time I heard that…” With some pull and strain, the Kid managed to drag the Gimp out from behind the tent and into Leslie’s line of sight. He had equipped himself with a harness and was harassing the kid in a dog-like manner as if he wanted to be walked.

“Oh! Go find Fred! The Gimp wants to go somewhere. Why didn’t you just say so?” The Kid grimaced, as if to suggest that this question somehow stupid. Meanwhile, the gimp was nodding furiously to indicate that Leslie’s interpretation was correct. The kid groaned, bracing himself for the humiliation that was the cart.

The Goon Squad may be lacking in most classical faculties that one would consider necessary to proper human conduct, but they well understood energy preservation when it came to long distance travel in the wastes of society… Needless to say, fighting dudes on the beach was not conservative in any capacity. And thus, the gang all squeezed into a shopping cart hooked to the Gimp via harness and they began their uncomfortable, bumpy journey into the city. The Gimp gave no consideration to pot holes, believing them to build character, especially for a vehicle with no cushioning or shock support. Bumps were no factor in Leslie’s knitting abilities, and he proceeded unhindered.

You might picture that this group was recklessly barreling down the highways, speeding recklessly on the downward slope of overpasses, blazing through intersections and doing wheelies in parking lots. However, the Gimp is an obedient creature at heart. He obeys traffic laws. He stays in his lane, signals when appropriate, yields to oncoming traffic, and comes to a full stop at stop signs. He is fully concerned with the safety of his passengers, understanding that while he likes abuse, he should not assert that on others. He would obey the speed limit as well, but he will never reach speeds that mattered. Not with that attitude, at least.

Most of the city was desolate. Stores had been stripped of any and all supplies long ago, becoming operational bases to local bandits. Yet, one stood unphased by the catastrophe that struck. Sitting under an exceptionally high overpass, there was the Mega Mini Mart. Like a mini mart, it had only simple supplies, but unlike a mini mart, those supplies were in abundance. Where a mini mart might have cough drops, deodorant, band-aids, and cat food, the Mega Mini Mart had cough drops, deodorant, band-aids, cat food, deodorant, cat food, cough drops, band-aids, band-aids, band-aids, deodorant, cat food, cough drops, and deodorant.You see the difference? This is not to be confused with the Mini Mega Mart, which was a miniature scale model of the mega mart next door which has excellent variety in the products it offers. Its primary customers were ants and was run by fruit flies. Yet, everybody knew that the fruit flies were a front and the store was actually operated by yellow jackets in an effort to oppress ants through price gouging conventional living goods. At any rate, I digress.

True to its name, most everything about the store was plus sized. The sliding glass doors were at least three stories high, and centered above them read:

M E G A

M I N I

M A R T

Which took up the next few floors worth of advertising space. The Goon Squad approached the doors, and like any other mart, the doors automatically opened and welcomed them in.

The inside was no different in concept and was truly a civil engineering masterpiece. The aisles towered far above, lined with countless shelves of the same product in abundance, but all neatly faced on the shelves for the image of a perfect consistency. Classic supermarket stocking technique. It was as if no warehouse supplied this store and the store was the warehouse itself, but trust me: you don’t want to know about the Mega Mini Mart warehouse.

Accompanying the squad’s fruitless effort of following the aimless Gimp around was the constant, overbearing presence of terrible, easy listening grocery store music belonging to a long lost period of humanity. It played unrelentingly, adding an uncanny feeling to the mysterious absence of anybody else in the store. And so, they wandered.

After about 30 minutes though of walking up and down aisles, and even going in circles, the Kid had to put his foot down on the Gimp, figuratively. “Okay guys. That’s enough. Stop.” They listened for once. “What are we doing? Where is the Gimp taking us?”

Fred shrugged. “I don’t know. He just kinda figures it out. It’s hard for a guy who can’t read, but he finds what he’s looking for.” The Kid leaned in, surprised. “He can’t read?” Looking over to the Gimp, he could see it plainly spelled out on the Gimp’s face that he couldn’t read. Not because he looked like an idiot, but because there was nowhere on his mask for him to see out of. The Kid startled at this revelation. Turning back to Fred and Leslie, he pointed back at the Gimp in shock, “Wait, how does he get around like that? He brought us here! He stopped at stop signs!”

Leslie and Fred shrugged. “The Gimp works in mysterious ways.”

Putting their faith in the Gimp, they finally came conveniently to a shelf of baby powder on the first floor of Aisle 147. There is pain, and then there’s inconvenience and the Gimp was starting to chafe. How he had come to find this went unquestioned, quelling all disbelief from the Kid. From here though, it was simply about navigating to the front of the store and checking out. A simple task. Straightforward.

Yet, the mysterious absence of people was finally answered. With half a hundred check out lines, they were all closed except for Register 1. All the people were waiting in line to checkout. Their arms tired from their groceries, as they so boldly skipped out on a basket like so many fools before, underestimating just how many items they would find they truly needed. It was horrific as they shifted their weight, trying to relieve their sore arms from carrying these groceries. And the line. The merciless line! It extended all the way from the front of the register to the tabloids at the end of the checkout. Rather than seeking alternatives, the squad resolved to endure this test of patience.

Oddly enough, the checkout was normally sized, meaning there was roughly four people in line besides the squad. By this time, Leslie had finished his knitting, producing a nice blue woolen cap for the Kid who accepted it graciously, but was embarrassed to be wearing it in public.

There they stood, waiting in line, with their single container of baby powder inching its way forward slowly across the conveyor belt to the register. Past the register was the exit, guarded by two large men in berets and sunglasses, armed with assault rifles. They stood like statues at attention.

Beep. The attendant placed the baby powder over by the bags at the end of the checkout.

“That’ll be 37 dong, sir,” said the register attendant.

Fred leaned over the counter, incredulously. “37 dong? For some baby powder? You can’t be serious.”

“Have you tried the Mini Mega Mart next door instead?” repeated the attendant.

“Have you tried an asskicking?” Fred was his wit’s end, but conceded. Fred stuffed his hand in his pocket, but followed up with a quick pat down when he realized he’d forgotten something. “Oh shit, I forgot my wallet.” They all met eyes, except the Gimp who can’t fucking see. “Quick, Kid, give me some dong from your purse.”

“What?!” He exclaimed defensively. “Also, it’s a satchel!”

“Purse, satchel, whatever. I know you’re holding out on us.” He gestured to fork it over.

“Awww, c’mon, Fred! I found it! Why do I have to spend it on the Gimp?”

Fred sighed exasperatedly, rolling his eyes with great vigor. “How many times do I have to tell you, THE GIMP IS A VALUED MEMBER OF THIS FAMILY AND GOD HELP ME IF YOU-”

Fishing out some bills from his purse, the Kid forked over a handful of bills to Fred, clearly displeased. “FINE! TAKE THE STUPID DONG!”

The register attendant was completely unphased by this display.

“Let’s see... “ Fred flipped through the dong. He paused at the end, and then thumbed through it again. He stared off into space for a moment nodding, before he thumbed through it again. Leslie leaned over his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “You have 35 dong.”

Fred turned to him, “I knew that. I was getting there. I was just… making sure.”

“That means we’re two dong short,” Leslie continued.

Again, they were at a crossroads, waiting each other out. Fred eventually caved, and took off his shoe, pulling two additional bills out of it, crumpled from being stuffed into the tip. The flustered Fred tossed the money carelessly across the counter to the register attendant who proceeded as if this was merely an everyday situation. Yet for some reason, Fred made no move to pick up the baby powder, simply staring at the attendant instead.

“Uhh… can I help you, sir? There are other customers waiting.” The attendant pointed down the checkout, where a short, balding man with curly hair was standing with some box mac and cheese.

Fred sat there bouncing his leg, now giving stink eye to the attendant. Leslie approached him, gently placing his hand on his shoulder, “Fred, is there a problem?”

After a moment of strained silence, Fred finally spoke. “You son of a bitch.”

“Sir, is there a problem?” asked the attendant.

“Look, just bag the fucking baby powder.”

“Sir, that’s not in my job description. The customers typically-”

“I did not just pay 37 dong to bag my own baby powder. Are you fucking with me?”

“Sir, that’s not in my-”

“Yeah, you said that already. I heard you. Just bag the powder kid.”

The pair of armed guards had abandoned their post and were now approaching the register in light of the scene that Fred was making. Leslie and the Kid were growing anxious now, pleading with Fred to abandon his pride. He didn’t even need a bag. Just pick it up and take it with him.

“It’s about the principle of the matter now! Just because the vietnamese took over the world, this guy thinks good ol’ human decency is now out the window and we’re living in some kind of post-apocalyptic nightmare where a guy has to bag his own groceries!”

The attendant was picking up his phone and getting ready to dial. “Sir, I am going to have to call my manager if you continue making a scene. Sir, just-”

It was too late. Fred had jumped into the counter, and was trying to grab the phone from the attendant from the other side. “You let me speak to your manager!” One of the guard’s aimed down his sights… and fired.

Everybody flinched from the shot, and when they opened their eyes… they found a man dying on the floor. He coughed and sputtered, but through his pain, uttered his dying words. “Daryl, I know things between us never could have worked out, but…” He turned over and looked up at Fred, whom he had taken the bullet for. It was the balding man from behind them in line. Upon seeing Fred’s face, he collapsed back into the floor. “Oh for fuck’s sake… I thought you were my ex Daryl from behind. Who the fuck else would wear shorts with juicy written on the back… ?” He trailed off as he passed away.

The squad stared in horror at the armed guards, anticipating the worst.

“Hey bro, toss me some more ammo,” whispered one guard to another.

“What do you mean toss you some more? You only fired one shot!” The other was whisper yelling back.

“Yeah, but that was all I had. Now c’mon!”

“... I don’t got any.”

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t got any?!”

“I thought you had us covered.”

“What?!”

“I didn’t wanna sound dumb, but I didn’t find none.”

“Al, we’re guards!”

However, their argument was cut short because a fight broke out immediately. The Gimp, Leslie, and Fred had taken the opportunity during their arguing to rush the guards, taking them by surprise! With a single devastating back handed bitch slap, the Gimp felled one of the guards, devolving their squabble into a wrestling match on the ground. Fred assisted by kicking and stomping, hitting friend and foe alike. Leslie and his guard were pulling each other around the floor by each other’s shirt collar, scratching at one another’s face and pulling hair.

The Kid took no part in the abuse of the store staff, beet red with embarrassment at the display before him.

The fight was swinging ever further into the Goon Squad’s favor when it was interrupted by the flash of lights turning on somewhere in the darkness above near the monolithic store’s ceiling. The fight ceased and everybody turned to find the silhouette of a man standing proudly on the railing of a cat walk far above. In a graceful sweep, he leapt from the catwalks and in perfect form, dropped the entirety of six stories to deliver a single devastating elbow drop onto the Gimp, defeating him immediately. Rising was a man in laced boots and trunks with wrist cuffs on and a luchadore mask. Along his trunks read, “THE MAN-AGER” and countless tick marks designating numerous customers defeated.

He called out in a booming voice of showmanship, “Who dares to harass my staff?! Speak now, for I have arrived!”

Fred answered his call with a weak right hook, to which the manager dodged. Grabbing Fred by the shoulder and hip, he lifted him above, threw him on the floor, and defeated him instantly with another flying elbow drop. He rose once more.

Leslie came in with one of his famous flying drop kicks, “YEET, B-” But he was cut short! The Man-ager side stepped Leslie as he dropped helplessly to the floor, opening himself up to yet another devastating flying elbow drop. Yet to The Man-ager’s surprise, Leslie had blocked the blow to his ribs with his arm.

Standing once more, The Man-ager was grinning. “Hoho! A worthy foe! A mere elbow drop isn’t sufficient for the likes of you, but we’ll see how you feel about my Muay Thai Body Obliterator.”

I apologize for the interruption, but I cannot describe this move to you. So far, these stories have been rather tame and I would not want to pain any readers with the details the likes of which are involved with the Muay Thai Body Obliterator. I assure you though, that the Muay Thai Body Obliterator is a devastating move that has been banned in all forms of martial arts contests for its lethality and striking disregard for the sanctity of human life. I regret to inform you, that Leslie is the one who must endure such a technique, but fret not! Leslie’s a tough ol’ bird with plenty to live for. He has no time for dying.

The exit was now thoroughly demolished and the setting sun’s light was now pouring onto the shattered tile floor of the Mega Mini Mart. The Squad had been defeated, save for the Kid, who refused to participate in the fight with the staff. Though unconscious, nobody paid with their life. The Man-ager was now wandering from one to another checking up on each person. He straightened himself and turned his focus to the Kid.

“Hey, I sure do appreciate your staying outta cahoots with these here hooligans. Doesn’t do my heart much good to have to hurt folks like this.”

“Oh, no problem! I’m sorry you had to do this. I can take it from here and get them out of your hair,” offered the Kid.

But The Man-ager just laughed and shook his head. “Oh no, that’s not quite how this works I’m afraid.”

The Kid froze. “What do you mean? Surely you want to get rid of us.”

“These fellas have caused me a bit of property damage and I do believe I am in my right to be seeking reparations. I have been in need of some overnight stockers to help me out with runnin’ this operation...”

This was not part of his plan. In his mind, by staying out of the fight, he was demonstrating good will, he was going to apologize on behalf of the others, and everybody would be on their way. This wasn’t the first time things had gotten a little out of hand. Suddenly, however, he was the only one going on his way from this fiasco.

“I don’t need to remind you, but we are closing in 15 minutes.” With that, The Man-ager tossed up the unconscious Gimp over his shoulder, and began making his way over to Fred as well.

“Wait-”

“Unless you would like to join them, I would suggest you take your groceries and see yourself out.”

The Kid was left standing out in front of the Mega Mini Mart, a wool cap on his head and baby powder in his hand, and the sun was now setting.

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thisdaynews · 6 years

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Breaking News: Champions League Final: 5 key factors which could influence the game

New Post has been published on https://www.thisdaynews.net/2018/05/22/breaking-news-champions-league-final-5-key-factors-which-could-influence-the-game/

Breaking News: Champions League Final: 5 key factors which could influence the game

Taking a look at the key factors which could determine the biggest footballing war of the season

Right then ladies and gentlemen, the Champions League final is almost upon us. It’s fitting that the two most exciting teams this season clash against each other to grab the biggest trophy in club football. Liverpool vs Real Madrid, Ronaldo vs Salah, Zidane vs Klopp, Firmino Vs Ramos and what not. If this doesn’t excite you, trust me, folks, nothing ever will.

We look at the key aspects of the game which could well determine which team lays it’s hands on the trophy when Milorad Mažić blows his final whistle on the night.

#5 Liverpool’s inexperience:

Since that magical night in Istanbul, rightly called as the greatest night in the rich history of Liverpool FC, the Anfield faithful have waited for 13 long years to see their team compete in another final.

This in itself might be Liverpool’s undoing on the big night as, on nights having magnitude as big as this, it’s the players’ experience which helps in soothing the nerves, getting into stride quickly and rising to the occasion.

The fact that no one in this Liverpool squad has played a Champions League final before makes Klopp’s task all the more important as it’ll be his duty to maintain his player’s resolve, not allowing to succumb to such immense pressure et al.

These are the matches where players turn into legends; the ones that distinguish the true greats from the mere mortals. Klopp himself had to face defeat in his lone appearance in 2013 when his Robert Lewandowski-led team were comprehensively beaten by Bayern Munich, which was a perfect example of the Bavarians using their big match experience to snarl away Dortmund when Robben scored with the last kick of the game.

Madrid, on the other hand, are the most successful team in the history of this competition and will be looking forward to lifting the trophy for a record-extending 13th time. Marcelo, Ramos, Kroos, Modric and Ronaldo among the other Real players have played in numerous finals prior to this and it’ll be interesting to see if they can bring their experience to the fore one more time.

#4 Real Madrid’s shaky defence

Real Madrid’s defenders haven’t exactly covered themselves in glory this season

Real Madrid’s backline has been defensively poor throughout this season, letting in goals by the dozen. Opponents have found the back of Madrid’s net a staggering 15 times this season in the Champions League.

Keylor Navas has managed to keep just 2 clean sheets in 10 matches played this term, which pales in comparison to the competition high 6 he had managed in last year’s triumphant campaign.

The full-backs Carvajal and Marcelo have put in commendable performances going forward, but it has been their defensive showing which has left a lot to be desired. Their defensive lapses almost cost them against Juventus, who were cruelly kicked out of the competition when Ronaldo scored the last-ditch penalty.

Even in their last league game of the season, they blew a two-goal advantage, highlighting their defensive frailties. The huge acres of spaces left behind by the full backs were quite smartly exploited by all the teams, but Madrid being Madrid, survived by the skin of their teeth.

However, they’ll have to be at the top of their game in order to stop the marauding trio of Salah, Mane and Firmino. Klopp would consider himself a relieved man if the two are kept busy on the night as Real are bound to suffer going forward if the two are negated.

In the absence of Carvajal for the second leg against Bayern, Madrid were found woefully short of quality, both in defence and attack. Bobby Firmino has been the standout performer for the Reds this year and has troubled every defence with his directness and subtle movements.

Salah and Mane both use their supreme pace to run defences ragged and their combination will be fundamental to Liverpool’s chances. The center-backs Ramos and Raphael Varane will have their hands full throughout the course of the match and if they manage to come out of the battle unscathed, which quite frankly seems unlikely at the moment, this final will surely be Madrid’s for the taking.

#3 The midfield battle

Can they do it again?

Though the front three of Liverpool have rightfully gained plaudits from their fans and football pundits alike both domestically and in Europe, their midfielders have performed exceedingly well, both in attack and defence.

Their captain James Milner has registered the most assists this season (8). The captain’s armband has seemingly taken his game to a higher level and his immaculate performances on the pitch are a testament to that fact.

Jordan Henderson has been the defensive rock in the midfield three. The much-maligned England international has overcome a torrid start to the season and looks set to finish the season with a flourish.

Georgino Wijnaldum has enjoyed a breakthrough season, earning Klopp’s trust and has become an instant hit with the fans. In absence of the Ox, he’ll be the one tasked with dictating play and carrying the ball forward.

Madrid, however seemingly have the edge in this area of the pitch, thanks to the effortless style of play and insane reading of the game displayed by the midfield double pivot of Kroos and Modric.

The delicious outside-of-the-foot passes, amazing through balls, calmness on the ball and telepathic connection on the pitch has been a sight to behold. Casemiro, who has been brilliant in patches, symbolising Madrid’s year, remains Zidane’s best bet to play the role of a destroyer at the heart of Real’s midfield.

The Whites will be praying for Casemiro to churn out a repeat of last year’s final in which he was at his belligerent best and scored an absolute screamer during a critical phase to give Madrid some breathing space.

#2 Team selection, tactics and formation

Can he secure a hat-trick?

After an underwhelming end to a torrid domestic campaign on Sunday, Zidane stated that he had all the 24 players available for the big night and summarised his feelings about it by blatantly moaning that he was ‘fu**** up’.

That’s what the problem of plenty does to you more often than not. Klopp, on the contrary, might go with the traditional 4-3-3 with Wijnaldum playing behind the front three and Milner playing with Henderson in the central midfield.

Virgil Van Dijk ought to start as central defender along with Dejan Lovren while Alexander Arnold may start with Robertson as the full-backs. Bale looks set to regain his place in the starting XI given the breathtaking form he is in.

Another thought doing the rounds is that we might get to see the famed trio of ‘BBC’ back again which seems quite logical as well, but I personally feel that Benzema will have to make way for Isco given the scanty amount of game time he has had in the past few fixtures.

Also, it will be quite interesting to see will be how Klopp manages to make use of his substitutions if the game goes into extra time. That, although seems unlikely given the number of goals that will be plundered within regulation time.

Contrarily, Zidane has made a living out of his timely and tactical substitutions who have time again bailed his team out, with Marco-wonderboy-Asensio and Lucas Vazquez providing the fresh legs and width required on the pitch late in the game.

As far as tactics are concerned, the “geggenpressing” style of Klopp has stuffed the momentum out of many a side in Europe and against Madrid, the Reds will surely look to harass the Madrid players on the ball.

Casemiro, of all Madrid players, always seems a bit uncomfortable on the ball and I won’t be surprised if he’s touted as the trigger point for Klopp’s hounding boys.

A riveting off-pitch encounter awaits us, innit?

#1 Is there any stopping Mo Salah or Cristiano Ronaldo?

Who will blink first?

Both Liverpool and Real Madrid have qualified to the Final primarily due to the blistering form their respective talismans, Salah and Ronaldo.

While Cristiano has always amazed the football audiences around the world with his unparalleled consistency and a burning desire to win everything, the Egyptian king has been nothing short of a revelation in his debut season at Anfield.

Destroying defences in England and Europe alike, Salah has racked up the numbers (and trophies) at an astonishing rate this season. The Golden Boot winner scored a mind-boggling 32 goals in the Premier League this season, overtaking the record of 31 goals held by a certain Cristiano Ronaldo.

However, when it comes to the Champions League, there hasn’t been a better player than Ronaldo in its history. Even after he failed to score in two legs against Bayern Munich in the semifinals, he has already plundered 15 goals this term, 5 more than the PFA Footballer of the year.

While Salah has never reached this stage of the competition in his career, it will be the 5th time when Cristiano steps out to play the final for Madrid. He has ended up winning the trophy on four occasions and the Liverpool defence will have to defend for their lives if they are to stop the man from scoring in a competition in which he has scored 121 times.

They might follow the Bavarians’ strategy of tightly marking the Portuguese and closing out the passing lanes to him if they are to prevent him from finding the back of the net. As in Mo Salah’s case, there haven’t been many teams who have kept a lid on him.

Even if teams make a conscious effort to shut out Salah, he still manages to serve goals on a platter and that is the reason why he is so hard to defend against. For all the goals and assists which salah has against his name, he has shown this tendency to miss some easy chances as well.

Klopp would be wary that in a Champions League final against Real Madrid, there won’t be many chances on offer and he’ll require his sensational forward to be at his imperious best if Liverpool are to lift the trophy after 13 years.

When these two met last time around in an international friendly, it was the Madeira born player who hogged the limelight with his twin headers in stoppage time to overcome the deficit created by none other than Salah. Will Mo get his revenge in Kiev on the grandest of stages on Sunday night or will it be the Madrid superstar who will come out trumps again?

Your guess is as good as mine folks!

#Bobby Firmino #Carvajal #Casemiro #Champions League Final: 5 key factors which could influence the game #Cristiano Ronaldo #Firmino #Georgino Wijnaldum #Is there any stopping Mo Salah or Cristiano Ronaldo?#James Milner #Jordan Henderson #Keylor Navas has managed to keep just 2 clean sheets in 10 matches played this term #Klopp #Klopp would be wary that in a Champions League final against Real Madrid #Kroos #letting in goals by the dozen #Liverpool and Real Madrid #Liverpool FC #Liverpool's inexperience #Mane #Marcelo #Marco-wonderboy-Asensio #Milorad Mažić #Modric #not allowing to succumb to such immense pressure et al #Opponents have found the back of Madrid's net a staggering 15 times this season in the Champions League #overtaking the record of 31 goals held by a certain Cristiano Ronaldo #Ramos #Raphael Varane #Real Madrid's backline has been defensively poor throughout this season #Real Madrid's shaky defence

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junker-town · 7 years

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Red Bulls vs. Fire really is about Jesse Marsch vs. Dax McCarty

It’s not about revenge, it’s about the philosophy of how to run a soccer club.

No soccer game can ever be distilled into a single matchup, but some offseason drama and a long, winding MLS campaign has led to a playoff showdown that almost feels scripted: Dax McCarty vs. Jesse Marsch.

When the Chicago Fire host the New York Red Bulls in the first round of the MLS Cup Playoffs on Wednesday night (8:30 p.m. ET, FS1), McCarty will be at the heart of midfield for the home side, facing off against the team he spent the best years of his career with. Marsch, the coach who engaged in a power struggle with his now former boss to get McCarty traded, will be watching his team execute a gameplan designed to harass McCarty for 90 minutes.

McCarty can prove his old coach wrong. Marsch’s new starters can prove their manager right. And we get a perfect platform to debate one of soccer’s great problems: Should a team operate based on system first, talent second, or talent first, system second?

How we got here

In 2015, New York Red Bulls sporting director Ali Curtis fired popular and successful head coach Mike Petke — who won the club its first trophy and also played for the Red Bulls — and replaced him with Marsch. "It was a very difficult decision, especially given Mike’s service to the club as a player and as well as a coach," Curtis said about the decision. "At the end of the day, it is my decision and I own it ... This decision wasn’t about getting rid of Mike, it was more about bringing in Jesse Marsch.” Curtis went on to cite Marsch’s openness to new analytics and ideas about youth development as reasons he was hired.

Curtis was so confident about his decision that he attended a town hall meeting for Red Bulls fans that he knew would be filled with anger. He took all the heat as they pelted him with angry questions and told him to “shut the f—k up.”

Ultimately, Curtis was vindicated. The Red Bulls won Supporters’ Shield in 2015, then finished on top of the Eastern Conference again in 2016, with Marsch garnering praise for getting his team to perform consistently above its talent level.

But this offseason, Curtis and Marsch had disagreements about player personnel. One of those disagreements was about McCarty, the team’s captain and a consistent high-level performer over six seasons — Curtis wanted to keep him, while Marsch was ready to move on. Ultimately, Curtis was let go and McCarty was traded. The Red Bulls didn’t get any players or picks in return. Just Allocation Money.

Kamil Krzaczynski-USA TODAY Sports

That money hasn’t been used to improve the squad. The only players Red Bulls have brought in since trading McCarty have been internal promotions, loanees and bit-part players. Allocation Money rolls over from season to season, but so far, the Red Bulls traded McCarty for nothing.

Style at the expense of safety

McCarty wasn’t jettisoned because Marsch doesn’t rate him as a player. He was sent packing because he’s not a perfect fit for Marsch’s playing style. And while Marsch will change formations based on opponent and the personnel he has available, he’s an ideologue when it comes to his underlying philosophy — he called it "transition football times 100” in an interview with Matt Pentz for an article at ESPN FC. Marsch also talked in that interview about his commitment to finding the right players for his tactics.

"As a football coach, I'm very style-based. I believe firmly that it's important to evaluate what kind of players we're putting into our team. We can't play the way that we play without the right kind of players and personalities ... We don't have room for people that don't want to play the way that we play."

McCarty is far from a perfect fit for a team that wants to play up-tempo at all costs. If McCarty has one great skill, it’s figuring out how to mitigate risk. He’s smart enough to pick an early long pass when the moment is perfect, but McCarty is arguably the best defensive midfielder in MLS at retaining the ball and slowing play down.

This does not describe McCarty’s former backup Sean Davis or Red Bulls youth product Tyler Adams, who have both bought in completely to Marsch’s philosophy. McCarty was traded because Marsch thought those two were ready to take his place. So far, results have been mixed.

Adams, just 18, is unquestionably one of the brightest talents in the USMNT player pool. But he’s played more wingback than central midfield in the back half of the season, thanks to injuries and a formation change. Davis has adapted well to Marsch’s switch to an unorthodox 3-3-3-1 setup, but had a poor first half of the season. The Red Bulls seriously could have used a player like McCarthy in August and September, when they went eight straight games without winning, culminating in three consecutive matches in which Marsch’s team conceded three goals.

Wait, 3-3-3-1?

Yep. The Red Bulls haven’t used the same personnel two games in a row, so it’s impossible to guess their exact preferred lineup, but it looks something like this.

Marsch took a winding road to get here. After winter rumors that he would become the new manager of sister club Red Bull Salzburg, Marsch committed to staying for at least one more year, and to using the 4-2-2-2 formation that Salzburg and RB Leipzig used to much success. It went poorly — New York Red Bulls simply didn’t have the personnel for it.

Marsch made a slight adjustment, changing to a 4-2-3-1 formation that suited his players better, but still used the same high tempo principles. Results were fine, but injuries put Marsch in a bad spot. Center backs Gideon Baah and Aurelien Collin, along with winger Mike Grella, suffered season-ending injuries.

Counter-intuitively, Marsch’s solution was to play more center backs instead of fewer. His fullbacks learned how to play as the outside defenders in a back three — roles usually reserved for athletic central defenders — and he crowded the middle with attacking midfielders who press high up the pitch. The growing pains were severe, but Red Bulls closed out their season with seven points from their last three matches, with the lone draw being a decent 0-0 result away to Atlanta United, the second-best attacking team by goals scored in MLS.

Marsch for USMNT?

If you’re just a real MLS head and haven’t been paying attention to the international game, the United States men’s national team failed to qualify for the World Cup. It was a big deal. Bruce Arena got fired and everything. Now, U.S. Soccer is on the lookout for a coach who can turn things around, preferably one with some ideas about how to create a youth-to-senior pipeline and play a more progressive brand of soccer. Marsch might be their guy.

He’s a popular choice among media and analysts in the event USSF wants to hire someone who has experience with American soccer. For example: Ted Knutson, Matt Doyle, Grant Wahl and just about everyone else he works with at SI. Marsch is widely praised for having a strong philosophy and sticking to it, something he openly criticized Jurgen Klinsmann’s teams for lacking in 2015.

"I think that the tricky part with entering a new cycle is trying to look at new players, but also still maintain the identity that you want to be. I appreciate that they’ve looked at a lot of new players, but I’m not sure what the identity is of what they’re trying to build there. That would be my main question mark. It looks to me too much like a bunch of guys kind of thrown on the field ... No matter when you bring in new personnel, there still needs to be an identity to what the team is, and that’s not easy. I know, because you get guys coming from all these different areas and you have a few days to put the team together, but somehow there’s got to be a consistent message and way to play no matter who’s involved."

A strong MLS Cup Playoff run would only strengthen the calls for Marsch to get an interview. But Wednesday night’s game against Chicago could also serve to remind us of his weaknesses as a coach. Marsch got rid of McCarty, one of his best players, and was OK with getting nothing in return. The USMNT does not have enough talent for a coach to be able to disregard its top players simply because they aren’t perfect system fits.

The Red Bulls’ loss is the Fire’s gain

Last season, the Chicago Fire were utterly hopeless. Their 31 points and minus-16 goal differential were both the worst in the league. But from the first game McCarty started in the center of the park this March, they looked like a different team — confident, competent, and organized.

Kamil Krzaczynski-USA TODAY Sports

McCarty is far from the only reason for Chicago’s turnaround this season, but his influence can’t be discounted. Juninho didn’t play in that opener against Columbus Crew, golden boot winner Nemanja Nikolic didn’t score or assist, and Bastian Schweinsteiger hadn’t been signed yet.

“He’s great to have him in your back, behind you so he covers a lot and he also understands the game very well,” Schweinsteiger said of McCarty after the German star arrived and the two started playing together. “He knows exactly where to pass the ball, when to turn and when to keep the ball, so you can really see that he’s experienced.”

Juninho and Schweinsteiger were both injured late in the season, leaving McCarty to partner with 23-year-old second-year player Drew Conner and 18-year-old rookie Djordje Mihailovic in the center of the park over the last six games. He’s held the midfield together, as Chicago went 3-2-1 over that stretch, doing well enough to clinch a home playoff game without McCarty’s midfield mates.

And that brings us to Wednesday

Dax McCarty does not like the Dax vs. Red Bulls revenge narrative.

“It’s just another game, honestly,” John Wilkinson reported McCarty as saying on Tuesday. “I’ve already played them twice this year. The whole, like, revenge storyline and narrative, it’s just tired; it’s a lazy narrative for me because we’ve already played them twice.”

This is true. And in those two games, Chicago has failed to win. McCarty was on the pitch for a 2-1 Red Bulls win in New Jersey this April, and for a 1-1 draw in Chicago this September. It also makes sense that McCarty wants to win a playoff game more than he wants to stick it to Marsch.

But McCarty would be naive to think that the playoff game between the Fire and Red Bulls is an irrelevant to the narrative about his career — or Marsch’s. McCarty was not traded for business reasons. He was not a cap casualty. He wasn’t even moved to make room for another player. Marsch just didn’t prefer McCarty’s style of play, so much so that he was willing to fight his boss over getting rid of him.

McCarthy’s exit from the Red Bulls gets at the heart of one of soccer’s great philosophical questions: Is it better to build a system around your most talented players, or to have a preferred system that dictates your other decisions? Wednesday’s match won’t give us a definitive answer, but it’s rare that we get to see such a perfect case study in action.

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fulcrumahsokaamidala · 5 years

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Happy Saturday!!! So this is me thanking awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work. ♥️ I want to recommend spectacular fanfic stories I read this week! ♥️ They are posted in the order I read them. This is something that I want to continue moving forward, and all posts will be tagged #saturday spectacular fic rec

| ONE | (Oliver The Footballer) by @someonesaidcake | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Felicity Smoak had a plan; to save enough money to kick her monotonous job and start up the company of her dreams. She made good plans, solid plans, attainable plans.

He was never part of her plan.

His name was Oliver Queen, the reclusive Brazilian football star with a broken smile and a story to tell.

He'd never planned on her either.

Surprise Children by @icannotbelieveiamhere | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Oliver has just let William leave with his grandparents. He wants to protect William and keep an eye on his son but he needs help from an old friend in Central City. Felicity is acting strangely after her phone call.

His Girl Wednesday by BlueBayou | Arrow | Completed

Summary: Missing her interview for a position in the IT department of QC, Felicity Smoak meets Oliver Queen, son of the CEO and future CEO himself. Only Oliver doesn’t take the company as seriously as he should and after yet another fiasco with his assistant, his mother decides to take matter into her own hands and select one with more qualifications than long legs and deep cleavage. In an effort to get her off his back, he pretends he already hired one: the blonde nerdy girl he met a few minutes ago.

Or when Arrow and Ugly Betty crash in my head (except we all know Felicity could never be ugly). It is mostly Arrow, I borrow a few plot ideas/characters from Ugly Betty.

The Cuff Links by @realityisoverrated-fic | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: On the day of Robert and Oliver's funeral Moira gave Tommy a pair of Robert's cuff links that were always intended for Oliver. Tommy finds the perfect occasion to fulfill Robert's original intentions.

Workouts and Babbles by ElasticMonk | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Oliver comes to the rescue of one cute blonde at his gym just as Felicity stumbles upon one handsome mayor at her gym. They both have something in common, but will it bring them happiness?

He's Just The Nanny by @oliversmuse | Arrow | Completed

Summary: Oliver Queen has been working as a Nanny for the last 5 years when suddenly the family he is working for is transferred to another city. Open for a new assignment he is sent to the home of Smoak Technologies CEO Felicity Smoak and is hired on the spot to watch her three year old daughter, Ellie. As the weeks pass, feelings start to develop and things get complicated and Felicity and Oliver learn very quickly how love can change everything.

The Proposal by @spaztronautwriter | Arrow | WIP

Summary: When Felicity Smoak finds herself in a bind, she enlists the help of her assistant Oliver Dearden to help keep her from being deported and losing her job. The problem is, in order to do so, they kind of have to get married...

The What If Harassment Alternative by portlandborn | Brooklyn Nine-Nine | WIP

Summary: What would have happened to Peraltiago And our intrepid detectives, if Amy had reported her mentor captains ugly behaviors?

"Time for a story" Drabble Series by @smkkbert | Arrow | WIP

Summary: This fic shows Olicity and their life as a (married) couple with family. Although Olicity (and their kids) are the protagonists, other characters of Arrow and Flash make appearances.

It started as a drabble series, but developed more and more into a full domectic AU. Although some chapters are still drabble-like, there are longer storylines by now.

Do you remember by @smkkbert | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Eight years after Oliver and Felicity became teenage parents, they have everything they could have ever hoped for and more. They have a good life in a nice house. Their marriage is happy, and a second baby is on its way. The calm they have settled in is interrupted abruptly when a stalker starts terrorizing Felicity.

Arrow Out of Context by @smoaking-greenarrow | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Collection of prompts using Arrow quotes.

Airplanes, Coffee and Deadlines by @hope-for-olicity | Arrow | WIP

The Ravager by @laxit21 & mewmew666 | Arrow | WIP

Artemis by @laxit21 & mewmew666 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: When the Queen's Gambit sank, two people were stranded on Lian Yu. Five years later, four came back.

The Daughter That Was Left Behind by @laxit21 & mewmew666 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Before the Gambit, Oliver Queen met QC intern Felicity Smoak. When he boarded the Gambit, he left something behind. Now, five long years later someone is waiting for him.

Semper Fidelis by @oliversmuse | Arrow | WIP

Daughter of the Demon by @laxit21 & mewmew666 | Arrow | WIP

Felicity of Themiscyra by @laxit21 & mewmew666 | Arrow | WIP

I Scream But No Sound Comes out by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: When Oliver returns from Lian Yu after five years, he comes back different. What happened there damaged more than just his body. How will his friends and family deal with this new Oliver?

And So the Adventure Begins by @mindramblingsfics | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Felicity spent her first year of college focused solely on her studies. In year two, with the convincing of her best friends Iris and Sara, she lets her hair down a bit. Oliver spent his first year partying with his wingman Tommy and living up to the status that came with his last name. He realizes he should buckle down focus on the most important part: actual school. Oliver and Felicity meet, and even though they are on different ends of the spectrum, they don't realize that they can each bring out hidden parts of one another.

Emerald Archer Martial Arts by @alexiablackbriar13 | Arrow | WIP

Along the journey, they build their own successful companies, increase the size of the Smoak-Queen clan by a couple more, train their kids in self-defense, and live out a blissful existence.

This is the story of 7 years of their happiness and family antics, after 7 years of crime-fighting and hardship to save their city.

Providence by @so-caffeinated | Arrow | WIP

Destiny brings them together, but as chaos reigns and personal demons haunt Will and Amelia both, it may also threaten to tear them apart.

I wear high heels (she wears sneakers) by @mogirl97 | Supergirl | WIP

#fanfic rec satuday spectacular #fanfic #fic rec #weekly fic recs

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