#i have thoughts about them reportedly killing her young that i wish i had the vocabulary to articulate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raywritesthings · 4 years ago

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Bird in a Storm

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn, Athena, Roy Harper, John Diggle, Thea Queen, Quentin Lance, Ted Grant, Moira Queen, Walter Steele, Raisa, A.J. Diggle, Felicity Smoak, Female OCs, Male OCs Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

John had only just dropped A.J. off from their morning in the park. He’d given his nephew some pointers and shot a few hoops with him, then sat him down on a bench to finally tell him about how the cops had caught the bad man who took his father away. It was a simplification, maybe, and when A.J. was older, he would get the full story. But John wanted his nephew to know that justice had been done.

A.J. had listened raptly, then asked, “Did the Hood help them?”

John had smiled. Ever since his mother had been saved first by the Hood and then later by Laurel’s vigilante persona, A.J. had become rather enamored with Starling City’s unconventional protectors. If he only knew his uncle was right in the thick of it. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

He had turned the radio on upon getting back in his car for the drive home, only to find not music, but a news bulletin playing across the airwaves.

“An anonymous source delivered the blueprints to the bomb being developed at Queen Consolidated’s subsidiary Unidac Industries to this station as as reportedly to the police. Eyewitnesses outside the SCPD’s downtown precinct say they saw who appeared to be Moira Queen, the current CEO of Queen Consolidated, being led inside by officers over an hour ago.”

John had sat there, stunned, only able to listen as the news report continued on. Oliver’s mother stood accused of sabotaging the Gambit to kill her husband, having her second husband kidnapped, hiring the Triad assassins to kill Malcolm Merlyn and commissioning a bomb to be set off underneath the Glades.

That last one chilled him to the bone. He had plenty of experience with bombs going off in cities, destroying buildings or cars, killing handfuls of people here and there in an unpredictable pattern designed to cause terror and paranoia. But from the sounds of it, this device at Unidac Industries was so much more than that. No one had been meant to learn it was even a bomb.

Now we know why their symbol was the subway map, John thought grimly to himself.

Something was missing from the news report, however. Where was the rest of Tempest in all this? What about the man Moira had been talking to that night John had spied on her? The man whose voice had been too indistinct to make out on the recording?

“Oliver and Thea Queen have reportedly left the precinct,” the reporter announced, breaking John out of his shock. If Oliver had been at the precinct, then he knew more about what was really happening than the news was telling. And John had a feeling that as long as his friend and Thea were in the spotlight like this, they might actually need a bodyguard.

He called Oliver’s phone and got Laurel, though she quickly filled him in on where they were headed. John drove as fast as he could to the base, made difficult by the number of people out on the streets. Some were shouting, others just wandering around with their mouths hanging open like they just couldn’t believe what they were seeing and hearing. A restless energy seemed to hang in the air.

He parked and let himself in the back, entering the base to find Oliver already grabbing his suit to change and Laurel in her own clothes that she wore at night, minus her jacket.

“Where’s your sister?” John asked when Oliver caught sight of him.

“She’s upstairs with Roy. I need you to stay with them while I track down Tommy.”

John frowned. “What’s Tommy got to do with this?” He knew Oliver was in something of a silent feud with the man, however reluctantly, but it felt like that should be further down the priority list.

“Everything,” Oliver answered simply.

“According to Moira, Malcolm Merlyn was the real leader of Tempest,” Laurel elaborated, causing John’s eyebrows to rise as high as they were able. Their city’s supposed great humanitarian had been planning a terror attack? “She had him killed, and Tommy swore he was going to find out who did it. He would have had access to everything his father had on this device and the Gambit and everything else.”

“So instead of having her killed, he’s taking her down publicly. Setting his father up as a martyr, too,” John realized. “He probably told them your mother had Merlyn killed to stop him from going to them.”

Oliver’s fists clenched. “It’s an easy story to sell.”

“Does your mother have some kind of dirt on Merlyn she can use?” John wasn’t particularly fond of Moira Queen; the woman had been a party to this plot in some capacity or another. But she didn’t deserve to go down for the whole thing. Not when it wasn’t the truth.

“The Dark Archer took it,” Laurel said with a scowl.

“He’s still out there? Oliver, if he’s working for Tommy now, then I need to come with you. I can’t let you go into that kind of battle alone again.” He didn’t want to rub his friend’s defeat at the other archer’s hands in his face, but he would gently remind him if he had to.

“John, I appreciate that, but right now there is a whole city of people who think my mother is a domestic terrorist, and there are some who are going to be angry. If they can’t get to her, they will try to get to me or Thea. If I’m gonna fight the Dark Archer again, I need to know that she’s safe.”

As much as he didn’t want him to be, he knew Oliver was right. John looked to Laurel. “What about you?”

“I’d be pretty outmatched against that kind of fighter,” she admitted. “And that’s assuming I could even get up close to him. Besides, I’m gonna be needed in the Glades tonight. People are panicking. That never leads anywhere good.”

“Alright, you might actually be crazier than he is,” John decided. “The best thing anyone can do is hunker down tonight.”

“But a lot of people won’t be, and people are going to get hurt because of it. I can’t sit down here watching it happen when I started down this path to stop it.”

Oliver was frowning but held his tongue. Either they’d already been over this privately before John arrived or he was keeping his thoughts to himself. He couldn’t imagine it was easy. John had often found himself worrying about Lyla whenever they had run separate missions in Afghanistan. Sometimes he still worried.

Laurel took her wig off the table and bent over to fit it onto her head. She rose quickly, the blonde locks falling down her back. She shrugged into a jean jacket resting on the back of a chair. Then she turned to Oliver, placing one hand to his cheek.

“Be careful.”

“And you.”

Oliver bent his head to meet her lips in a kiss, one hand at the small of her back pressing her closer. John looked away, having no desire to intrude on their moment. This was hard enough for them both already. Then she headed out to the back where she kept the motorcycle Oliver had bought.

John joined his friend by the computers as he brought one of the monitors up. “How are you planning to find Tommy?”

“One of the things I had to do on the island was learn from example. The more I observed, the better off my chances were.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means that thanks to Felicity, I know how to ping a phone.” He stood back up to his full height after clicking and typing away in a far more serious manner than their temporary teammate had done. John wondered what she must be thinking about all the news. At the least, she was probably safe since her small townhouse was outside the Glades. “I’ll change and then run it. You should get upstairs.”

“Alright.” He held out his hand and Oliver clasped it with his. John placed his free hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Oliver didn’t need to tell him the thanks was for more than a simple well-wish.

John headed up to the club area of the Verdant, finding Thea and Roy sitting at the bar watching the news on a low volume.

“Mr. Diggle? Where’s Ollie?” Thea asked as he joined them.

“Still downstairs. He’s trying to take care of some things regarding your mother.”

“Okay, what about Laurel?”

“She went back out,” John answered, not missing the spark of recognition in Roy’s eyes. “Said she needed to make sure her home was secure ahead of what’s shaping up to be a pretty rough night.”

“I, uh, I should probably do the same thing,” Roy said, standing up.

“Wait, what? Roy, no,” Thea said, standing with him and taking his hands. “It’s dangerous out there.”

“I’ll be fine. But this is my home, Thea. I gotta do something. Stay here with your brother’s bodyguard. I’ll come back.”

“Roy!”

But the young man hurried out the front door. John went over and locked them behind him.

Thea stood there a moment before sinking back into her barstool. She looked terribly lonely and afraid.

“I know this isn’t easy, Miss Queen, but the best thing we can do is stay out of the public eye right now.”

“They’re really gonna blame me and Ollie for this?”

He looked down. “The truth will become clear eventually, but people aren’t interested in truth right now.”

She said nothing, and he took the time to send a text to Carly, checking that she and A.J. were at home and planning to stay there. The news continued to play in the background, and he tuned it out but for a few snippets here and there.

“Chaos as protests break out outside Alderman Blood’s office. The alderman himself appears to be leading them.”

“People are storming the local groceries, taking food, water and other essentials, many refusing to pay.”

“As you can see below, traffic is backed up several blocks as some look to flee the Glades. Mayor Altman’s statement that the Unidac device is in police custody doing little to calm a public fearing a Biblical reckoning.”

“Susan, is it true we have sighting of who folks have taken to calling the Woman of the Glades?”

John looked up, but just then a pounding started up at the front door.

“Open up, Queen!” A voice called, some muffled jeers accompanying it. “Your mom’s sending us all to Hell, and I want a drink first!”

John shut the TV off. “Sit down behind the bar,” he said in an undertone to Thea. She nodded and hurried to do as told. John crouched down behind a table with his gun drawn, waiting for any sign of the door caving in.

This was going to be a long night.

—-

Tommy surprised himself at times whenever he recalled how little time had really passed since his life had changed forever. Even if he started counting from the day Oliver had come back home and brought the Hood with him, it hadn’t even been a year.

He reflected on this past year as the chauffeur drove him and Athena to the airport. He had finally made a bid for the heart of Laurel Lance, only to find hers would always belong to another. He could only think of their time together with scorn, now. To think he hadn’t needed to throw fundraisers or offer to better himself at all; Laurel’s tastes had and always would be for the bad boy, and seemingly one who used his might to get his way. He wondered how she might feel once Tommy completed his training with Athena. Would she realize what she could have had?

He had been cast out of his inheritance, forced to face the reality that he was a grown man, and what sort of man he wanted to be. While his anger had once burned towards his father for what had felt a rejection, he had realized what his father had felt he needed to do. Tommy’s life had not held much meaning before that; a part of him had always felt life itself was meaningless when good, honest people like his mother were gunned down for nothing. Now, he was the head of Merlyn Global and the last, best hope for both his parents’ legacies.

His life had been placed under threat over and over again in the very neighborhood his mother had lost hers and even in the safer sections of downtown. Starling was diseased, was the only conclusion he could draw, and he felt a smug satisfaction that now the whole city could see it, too. It wouldn’t change anything for the better, of course. They would sooner destroy each other than work towards a common good. Just like how Oliver claimed to work for the good of the people and yet was little more than a killer.

Oliver. His oldest friend and someone he once called a brother. He had always been jealous of Oliver in many ways; he had the loving parents, an adoring sister, the heart of the girl Tommy yearned for and the ability to bed countless others. He had always tried to tell himself that jealousy was irrational and a part of him he needed to suppress. Now he could see it for what it had been: a warning of what was to come. That his supposed friend was really his enemy.

In many ways, Oliver had caused these changes in his life to happen. His sudden return had had Tommy anxious to try and secure an exclusive commitment out of Laurel, only for that to fail thanks to Oliver enchanting her with vigilante theatrics. His attack on his own mother had caused her to take action against Tommy’s father. His dad’s convalescence in Starling General had brought Athena into his life and opened his eyes to what was really happening in their city. So perhaps, in a way, he ought to be grateful to his friend and brother.

He wasn’t.

His thoughts were interrupted as the car slowed to a stop once it passed through the gates to the private airstrip.

“Sir, there’s someone — I think it’s the Hood standing on the tarmac,” the chauffeur called into the back, bewilderment lacing his tone. Athena’s perfect posture somehow straightened up more, but Tommy wasn’t worried in the least.

“Stop the car here and start loading the rest of our things. I’ll deal with him.” It didn’t surprise him that Oliver had tracked them here. His old friend clearly had or knew someone with tech capabilities who would be able to get a look at the flight manifests of Starling International.

Tommy let himself out and walked about ten paces away from the other man decked out in his costume. Athena followed, her hand hovering by her belt where she kept her knife.

“What do you want?”

“For you to tell the authorities the truth about Tempest,” Oliver said, a growl in his voice even if he had realized using that modulator of his was pointless.

“Why, so they can prosecute a dead man? Face it, Oliver, if you were serious about wanting to save this city, you would have needed to turn her in anyway.”

“Don’t pretend this is about saving the city. All you’ve done is caused a mass panic,” Oliver accused him.

“Good,” he replied, watching the shock play out across what he could see of Oliver’s face. “I never said I wanted to save it. And really, all I’ve done is shake them out of their apathy. Funny how an innocent woman can be bleeding out in the street and no one lifts a finger, but even suggest a threat against any of their lives and suddenly it’s riots in the streets!”

His old friend eyed him sadly. “What happened to your mother was terrible. It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“For once, we agree.”

“I know you are better than this, Tommy. What about CNRI? The firefighters benefit. There’s a desire to do good in you in a real way. Not the posturing Malcolm was hiding behind.”

Tommy sucked in a breath through his teeth and released it, smiling as he said. “Funny you should say that. Getting involved in charity work was actually Thea’s idea. Said I should act like I was interested in the things Laurel was. What did Laurel call it…? Oh yeah, my annual attempt to get back in her pants.” He spread his arms wide. “Have to say, it worked for a while.”

He thought he heard the creak of leather as Oliver’s gloved fist clenched around the bow in his hand. For once, his friend could know exactly how he had felt watching him with Laurel all those years.

Tommy couldn’t possibly stop himself from adding, “You know she went down on me after the firefighter benefit? But I’m sure that’s nothing compared to what she lets you do every time you come swinging in to rescue her—”

With a snarl, Oliver drew an arrow and loosed it point-blank at Tommy’s chest.

Athena slashed it out of the air with her knife where it clattered to the ground before he could do more than blink in shock. A rope sprung harmlessly out of it a moment later.

His confidant went on the offensive, lunging towards Oliver, though he blocked the attack with his bow. The two traded blows while Tommy watched, wishing he actually did know this stuff already.

“Uh, Mr. Merlyn?”

He jumped in shock, having pretty much forgotten the chauffeur.

“The plane is ready.”

“Great. You can head back now. Don’t bother calling this in,” he added, holding out a one-hundred dollar bill. The man took it and dutifully went back to his car. “Athena! Let’s go.”

Athena was on the ground but had just swept Oliver’s legs out from under him as well. He gave an exaggerated wince as his once-friend went down like a ton of bricks. She jumped back to standing and came to join Tommy at the stairs, only for a second arrow to come flying and wrap around her.

Oliver had risen onto one knee and held another arrow in his hand ready to aim and loose. “I can’t let you leave.”

“Actually, you can.” Tommy smirked. “Because there’s something I know that you don’t, and after the year we’ve had, Oliver, that’s a pretty good feeling.”

Oliver stayed silent, waiting rather than give him the satisfaction of asking.

“Your mother was too hasty to get her revenge. Walter Steele is still alive.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’ll send you the address myself,” he offered. “Once I’m in the air. But if this plane doesn’t take off with me on it, the other men at that address will be ordered to finish the job. So what’ll it be, Ollie? Keep me here or save a man’s life?”

He could see the conflict that warred on Oliver’s face, knew the moment that he decided when his bow lowered just an inch.

Tommy nodded to himself. He’d known Oliver would have to choose Walter Steele and that he wasn’t really risking anything by offering the choice; how else could his old friend pretend he was a hero? “Just like you couldn’t beat my father at Christmas,” he said, watching Oliver’s eyes widen. “I’m going to learn everything he knew. Maybe once I have, we can settle this.”

He took the knife Athena had managed to work into her hand and cut her bonds for her, then turned his back on Oliver Queen and boarded the plane.

Once he sat down, he took out his phone in preparation to make good on his promise of revealing Walter’s location. Athena sat beside him, perfectly composed once more.

“How long will my training take?” He wondered aloud as the plane finally began to taxi down the runway.

“That depends on the dedication of the student. Your father completed his and rose to become one of our leader’s most trusted within two years. Another girl from your city has also excelled in her training, though she did so by seducing our leader’s heir.”

“A girl from Starling?”

“Yes. I believe she was called Sara Lance in her former life.”

Tommy froze, then a smile stole slowly over his lips. It truly was nice holding the most cards.

—-

Roy ran home as fast as he could, getting his gun and a knife out of their hiding places. He wasn’t going to try and use them tonight if he could help it, but he didn’t want one of his old crowd breaking in to take them and use them instead. With both tucked out of sight in his pockets, he grabbed his hoodie and pulled it down over his face and went back out into the night.

Laurel was going to be out here trying to restore peace to their streets. Why wouldn’t he be doing the same?

There wasn’t much point to jacking a car; the streets were packed with honking vehicles, people trying to leave like they thought the bomb was still going off. Roy couldn’t really blame them.

A block down the road, he saw two men with beers in hand grabbing the arm of a woman trying to go the other way. “Let’s have some fun before the end of the world, baby!”

“Let go of me!”

Roy charged down to meet them, slugging the first man across the jaw as he made a grab for the woman’s chest.

“What the fuck, dude?”

“World’s not ending, so get lost or get put down,” he declared, breathing harshly through his nose.

“Think you’re the Hood, big man?” The second man asked. He surged forward, only to stagger back with a howl as the woman sprayed him with a can of mace. “Shit!”

“Thanks for the help,” she said, and Roy nodded back. She turned and hurried to keep heading wherever she was going. Roy hoped she made it okay.

A wail caught his attention next, and his heart lurched as he noticed a toddler wandering dangerously near the curb, arms reaching up in a plea to be held. Roy ran and scooped the girl up, looking around wildly. Where the hell were her parents?

“Steffi? Steffi! Someone help me find my daughter!”

“Hey, that kid’s got her!”

Roy was grabbed roughly by the back of his hoodie and hauled around to face a potbellied man with a clenched fist.

“I wasn’t taking her—”

“Right, just a Good Samaritan, are ya?”

“Wait! Wait!” It was the grocer, Khan, who cried out. He rushed between them. “I know this boy. He would not hurt a child.”

He noticed who he assumed was Steffi’s mother standing just a few steps back, and Roy slowly lowered the little girl down to the ground. She was still sobbing, and he wasn’t sure she knew how to stop.

“I saw her near the road. I just…”

The man who had nearly decked him sagged while the mother gasped and hurried around him, picking up her daughter and shushing her.

Khan patted his shoulder and Roy looked down at the ground. All the times he’d stolen bits of food or dumb knick-knacks from the guy’s store, and he’d rushed to his defense.

“You should get home, Roy.”

“I’m alright. What about your store?”

Khan’s smile looked strained. “Ya Allah! It will wait until morning.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll come check on you,” he promised. Roy took off running again.

He passed a number of smashed storefronts and people running in every single direction. He still saw no sign of Laurel or even the Hood. Where was the Hood? How could he save Roy’s life and not show when countless others needed him? How did he decide which battles he fought?

Roy stopped for a moment, panting. He took out his phone. Five missed calls from Thea. But a quick check of Channel 52’s webpage gave him at least one answer: Woman of the Glades escorts legal aide office workers to safety amid riots

Of course, her old coworkers. Roy turned and cut across the bumper-to-bumper traffic, hoping to head her off before she got too far.

Several blocks later, a police cruiser was stuck in the middle of the street unable to make anymore progress. A garbled voice blared from its speakers. “Return to your homes. I repeat, return to your homes.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

“Yeah, fuck the man!”

A couple of teenagers in designer ripped jeans and spiked hair threw a couple rocks at the car. Their buddies all laughed.

“Stand down. Return to your homes.”

They weren’t even from around here, he realized, watching another one in the group filming it all. How much of this rioting was just people from outside the neighborhood taking advantage of all the chaos?

“Hey, get the hell out of here!”

A couple of the kids turned in his direction.

“Do you want to start a shooting?” He gestured towards the car. “They’re not gonna throw rocks back.”

The ringleader of the group stepped up and pushed at his chest. “Mind your own business, asshole.”

Roy shoved him to the ground.

“Hey!”

They were on him in seconds, and even if Roy could hit harder than any of them, he was finding it hard to fight his way past so many. He hit the ground, blows landing on his back while he brought his arms up to shield his head.

The whistle of metal through the air preceded a number of grunts, and the punches and kicks let up. The other boys all staggered back nursing arms, legs and backs as Laurel stood there in her wig and mask, seething.

“Get out of my part of town.”

The boys ran off, and she reached a hand down that Roy gladly took.

“We should get you back to the club.”

“I’m good,” he said, rubbing at his ribs.

“Put the weapon down and surrender with your hands up!”

The both jumped at hearing the command. One of the officers had gotten out of the car and was unclipping his gun.

“Come on!” Roy kept Laurel’s hand in his and ran, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest. Of course the cops weren’t interested in lifting a finger when some rich kids were beating up on him but when someone showed up to actually do their job.

They worked together, helping some who had stumbled and fallen or breaking up fights. There were shouts from a building where smoke streamed out, but when Roy raced forward, Laurel snagged him by the arm.

“You’re already having trouble breathing. Wait here.”

She kicked the front door open rather than chance the handle, waited a moment as an initial plume of smoke billowed out, then rushed inside with a hand pressed over her mouth.

Roy waited, hands twitching at his sides. He’d give it five minutes. No, two. Damnit, how long was someone able to go inhaling smoke?

“Hey, boy!”

He turned at the call, spotting an older Black woman two doors down. She was watching the smoking building with fear in her eyes.

“I have a hose. I don’t know if it’ll reach.”

Roy hurried over to the side of her house, grabbing the hose and yanking it as far as it would go in the direction of the building. “Turn it on!”

Water trickled and then spurted out, hitting the front of the building and getting in through the door. It wasn’t like TV; the smoke didn’t immediately start dying out. He couldn’t even tell if it was helping. But he was doing something, right?

Shadowy figures appeared through the smoke, then were spluttering as well as coughing when they were hit with the spray. Roy hastily moved the hose.

“No, it is good!” One man exclaimed, his Russian accent not nearly as thick as some of the others. He gestured for the hose, and Roy passed it to him, watching as the man drank straight from it. He offered it to each of his family in turn, each of them thanking the woman whose hose they had borrowed, a Mrs. Ross according to what they were saying.

The last ones out were Laurel and a woman with gray in her hair who clutched a necklace with wooden beads and crosses. “You save my sister on the buses, you save my family, you are saint.”

“Come inside, all of you,” Mrs. Ross insisted.

“Sorry, I can’t,” Laurel replied, her voice raspy with the smoke. She bent double, hands on her knees. There was a streak of something black on her cheek and the wig she wore looked frazzled rather than silky.

Roy moved by her to indicate he was staying with her. The Russian family took up their neighbor’s offer after many rounds of thanks, and soon it was the two of them left on the street.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just let me… let me breathe.”

He knew how she felt. Roy had no idea how long they’d been at this by now, but the streets seemed to stretch before them with no end in sight.

Eventually, Laurel straightened up. They exchanged a nod, and then were off running again. There was nothing in his head but the pounding of his heart, the whirring of helicopter blades as the news documented their struggle while never stepping in, and the buzz of his phone as Thea kept calling and probably worrying out of her head. It was stubbornness that kept him going, stubbornness and a sense of duty, but he wanted nothing more than to curl up in her arms and sob out his exhaustion.

Several minutes later, Laurel gasped and sped ahead of him towards a car wreck right on the main road. It was a pileup, and it looked nasty.

Some of those who had been involved had seemingly already gotten out of their cars. Blood stained the pavement beneath a few of the cars, indicating where more serious injuries had occurred. Roy saw a group of people gathered around a body that had been dragged to the sidewalk.

But the front of one man’s car was totally dented in, and the doors had crumpled up as well. The driver sat inside unmoving, a cut on his forehead oozing blood.

On the far side of a car, two kids who couldn’t be older than ten or twelve were crying. “Daddy! Daddy!”

He and Laurel each took turns yanking on the door handle. Roy went to the side door and opened it, crawling into the backseat to see if he could pull the man out that way, but he was wedged up against the steering wheel too tightly.

“Smash the window,” a gruff voice suggested, and Roy looked out of the car to see a man all in black with a mask on. He wasn’t the Hood, but who was he?

“Wildcat,” Laurel said warmly, a spark back in her eyes. She took her staff and did as requested.

Wildcat stepped in closer, his teeth grit together as he braced one hand against the inside of the driver’s door and used the other to pull the handle. There was a series of pops and crunches. The door finally opened with a great screech of the hinges.

The man’ kids came running around to their side, but Wildcat cautioned. “Easy, easy. We need to move him slowly.”

Together, the three of them managed it, gently laying the man to rest on the ground. Roy was relieved to see him breathing.

“How do we get him to Glades Memorial?”

The roads were too backed up even if they had a working car to drive him. Shouting and the occasional scream continued to rip through the air. They were surrounded by people, and yet no one seemed to care for anyone else around them.

Laurel’s face took on a pinched look for a moment before she suddenly started scrambling up onto the hood of one of the cars. “Hey!”

Roy exchanged a bewildered look with Ted, backing up a little when she whacked the roof with her staff. He noticed a couple people look up or around their way. Most of them didn’t.

On the roof of the car, Laurel was ripping one of her gloves off with her teeth. She shoved two fingers in her mouth and let out a whistle that had both Roy, the two kids and this Wildcat clapping their hands over their ears.

“Hey!”

It didn’t go completely silent. The whirr of helicopter blades still filled the air, and distant honking and sirens sounded on other streets. But every eye that Roy could see was now fixed on the Woman of the Glades.

“What we learned today is beyond words,” she began, her voice seeming to ring in the sudden stillness around them. “That there are some who consider human beings nothing more than collateral to pave a new parking lot over our graves. It makes me angry, too. It’s enough to make you lose faith in humanity.

“But we are more than they think of us! We’re better! We don’t step on each other’s necks to get to the top. We help each other.

“I was inspired by the Hood to take to the streets, yes. But I was inspired by this community to imagine the better world that might come if everyone was a little kinder, a little more like a family. Because that’s what I found here.

“So we can take out our rightful anger and fear on these buildings we aren’t allowed to own ourselves, or we can stand up tall and prove to those watching from the safety of their comfortable homes—” One hand pointed straight up to the helicopters still circling the sky. “—that we have our humanity even if they don’t. What’s it gonna be?”

Roy held his breath as he watched the faces of the people around them. Some stood slack-jawed. Others were nodding slowly, determination set in their shoulders and jaws. Still more simply watched, tears still leaking from their eyes.

“I need people to help me move this man,” Wildcat declared in the wake of her speech. “He needs a hospital. Someone to look after his children, too.”

“We can help.” Two men, older than Roy but not by much, came forward. “And my brother can watch the kids.” A teenager hurried to join them.

“I need a phone to call my son,” a woman called out, and her request was soon answered. As Wildcat led the group escorting the unconscious man and his kids away, Roy watched in wonderment as, little by little, the harsh shouts and screams of anguish turned to offers of aid and shared tears. It wasn’t as if a switch had been flipped. He had, he realized, seen brief moments of kindness all night even amongst the panic and boiling anger. But Laurel was making them all see it now.

On the hood of the car, still, she seemed to sag a little in relief, a tired smile rising on her lips. At least until a spotlight suddenly landed on her.

Roy shielded his eyes, heart sinking as he realized one of the helicopters hadn’t been for the news after all.

“Police! Remain where you are.”

Before he could act, a figure in dark green swooped down on a line, grabbing Laurel around the waist. She tucked her legs in, and they landed beyond the abandoned pile of cars in the shadow of two buildings. The Hood slowly let her back down, though their foreheads remained pressed together for a moment. Then the pair slipped away before the police’s searchlight beam could find them again.

Around him, people quickly helped each other make evacuation arrangements. None of them wanted to be around whenever the cops sent boots on the ground to canvas the area. Yet Roy stood there another long, stunned moment as his mind could only process one thing: the Hood was Laurel’s boyfriend. He was Oliver Queen.

Roy staggered back a step, then started running again. With a record like his, he couldn’t afford getting picked up by the cops on some trumped up charge to make them look good for doing something. And he wanted some things answered far more than he wanted to be sitting in a holding cell.

Good thing the one place he was guaranteed to get those answers was the one place he really wanted to be right now. Even if Thea was going to kill him.

—-

Oliver was exhausted even as he pushed on, Laurel running at his side. From confronting Tommy and being forced to acknowledge his friend had chosen a dark path to travel down all in the name of his murderous father, to the drive out to Bludhaven to rescue Walter and back again once he had made sure his step-father would be seen to by the local authorities there, he couldn’t actually believe it had been less than one day since his mother’s arrest. Since the city had turned upside-down.

He had arrived home to a Glades in chaos. Oliver had done what he could here and there, noting the shock on the faces of those he helped. He was known for beatings and killings, after all, not tying tourniquets around people’s legs to stop the rush of blood from a gunshot wound or ferrying them to the hospital. Oliver hadn’t stayed with any one person too long, partly to keep his identity safe and the rest because he was desperate to find Laurel.

And then he had heard her voice.

“We don’t step on each other’s necks to get to the top. We help each other. I was inspired by the Hood to take to the streets, yes. But I was inspired by this community to imagine the better world that might come if everyone was a little kinder, a little more like a family. Because that’s what I found here.”

Listening to her, seeing her standing there with a run in her leggings and her wig a disheveled mess of blonde, she had never been more breathtaking. She wasn’t just trying to save the world; she was doing it.

Just as things had calmed and taken a turn for the better, the police had caught her in their sights with a searchlight. Oliver had quickly jumped into action, swinging with her out of their view and hurrying away through the streets. In silent agreement, they were each putting off whatever questions they had for the other until they returned to the base.

Only there looked to be a slight situation developing outside it when they arrived. A number of men were gathered outside the Verdant’s locked doors, which had been painted in incredibly rude graffiti and negative sentiments towards his family. Every so often, one of the men would knock and holler something, a majority of them sounding half-drunk.

“C’mon, Queen! Open up, open up.”

How long had they been here yelling? Thea was inside, probably terrified out of her mind. Oliver reached into his quiver, but Laurel placed a hand on his arm. Then she stepped forward.

“Hey.”

A few of them turned, some slower and less coordinated than others. “Hey, that’s the lady — Shit, the Hood!”

Some small part of him couldn’t help being pleased at his reputation in this particular instance, and he knew he was smirking.

“The cops are coming through and probably looking to round up any troublemakers,” Laurel told them. “Go home, okay?”

“Or we can leave you here for them to pick up,” Oliver offered. She looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

The men seemed to get the message, however, and they quickly scurried off, empty drinks and spray cans left behind.

Oliver led them around the side, sniffing the air in disgust at the scent of urine that permeated the alley. Laurel’s face had scrunched up as well. They quickly made their way to the back door to the base, relieved to step into the far cleaner facilities.

For a moment, they stood there, the weight of everything, the aches and pains from battles fought, the weariness that set into their bones overwhelming. But Oliver caught Laurel’s eyes, and suddenly nothing mattered more than being close to her.

They surged together, Oliver’s hands smoothing up her back beneath her jacket and Laurel’s hands gripping his face and knocking his hood back. He took a moment to pull the wig off her head and place it on a nearby table, his other hand coming up to massage her scalp. Laurel moaned against his mouth, and it shot straight through him.

“I’m sure that’s nothing compared to what she lets you do every time you come swinging in to rescue her,” a snide voice whispered in the back of his head. Oliver shook it off with a growl. He wasn’t going to let Tommy and his jealous words poison this. Laurel did what she chose with who she chose, and he was grateful that he was who she had chosen in the end. That was all there was to it.

A loud pounding on the door that led to the club upstairs had them both looking up sharply.

“Ollie, what is so important down there?” Thea’s voice called, a little muffled.

“Be—” he cleared his throat and shouted louder, “Be right up!”

“We gotta get you cleaned up first,” Laurel muttered, displaying her hands, the fingertips of which were all smeared in greasepaint.

She helped wipe his face off, then Oliver changed and hurried upstairs alone. Laurel wasn’t supposed to still be here, after all.

His sister was fortunately distracted from his entrance and didn’t even get a glimpse of what lay beyond the door as she was busy laying into a tired and worse for wear Roy Harper. “—can’t believe you stayed out there, you could’ve gotten killed!”

“I know, sorry, I just—”

“You were trying to find the vigilantes, weren’t you?” Thea accused.

“Yeah, and I did.” Oliver’s stomach dropped when, for the briefest moment, Roy’s eyes flickered in his direction. “But the cops chased them off.”

“And that’s probably a good thing,” Oliver added, making Thea jump and run to him. John sent him a questioning look over her shoulder, to which he gave a single shake of the head in a negative.

“You were down there forever. Did you not hear any of those guys that were lurking around outside?”

“Uh, no. Sorry, I was on the phone. The, uh, the police in Bludhaven, they…” he had no idea how to break this gently. “They have Walter.”

Thea’s eyes went wide as she backed up. “They found his body?”

“No,” said Oliver, and he saw Diggle’s expression turn shocked now as well. “He’s alive. The guy the Feds found, he was tricked. He heard a shot and assumed, but he was wrong.” Alonzo had been wrong which meant Oliver had been wrong. And in telling his mother bad information, he had set her on a path to bringing Tommy’s wrath and the law crashing down on her. Oliver had done this.

His sister, meanwhile, gasped. “Oh, my God. When can we see him? When- when does mom get to see him? What’re we gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Speedy,” he answered truthfully. He had put off all those questions before because he had thought if he could just get Tommy to go back to the police and tell them the whole truth, things would be better. But now Tommy was gone. His mother was still on the hook for a conspiracy to destroy an entire city neighborhood. What did the future look like?

“What’s it like out there, Roy?” John asked, and Oliver was grateful to his friend for taking the focus off him at least for a few moments.

“Not great. And the cops are gonna be crawling all over. They could probably get you home,” he offered to Oliver and Thea.

“I’m not leaving you here alone tonight,” Thea declared, gripping his hand in hers.

“We’ll stay here,” Oliver decided. “It’s best for us all to stay in a group. Unless, John, do you need…?”

“Carly texted me a half hour ago. Bunch of the mothers at A.J.’s school have made the gym into a big sleepover area. They’re staying there until the morning. You’re right, there’s strength in numbers.”

“Ollie, what about Laurel?” Thea asked. “She lives alone.”

“I’ll call her,” he said slowly. “See where she’s at. Um, John, do you want to come help me look for blankets or something? I guess some of us can use the booths to sleep in.”

His friend nodded and followed him back behind the bar. Laurel was listening at the top of the steps, the door cracked open slightly, but she waited until they all headed back down to the main floor of the base to say anything. “Walter’s alive?”

“Tommy told me. I- I had to choose between bringing him in or saving Walter.”

“He was going to have him killed?” Laurel looked aghast.

“It’s what he said. Maybe he was bluffing. But he left on a plane to learn everything his father knew… everything the Dark Archer knew, because apparently they were the same person,” Oliver revealed. “And I let him go.”

“You had to, man,” John insisted. “Whether he was bluffing or not, you made the choice to save a life. Tommy will have to come back sooner or later. We’ll get him to give up the full story then.”

“It’ll be sooner than later,” Laurel added. “He’s the key witness, so whenever your mother’s case goes to trial, he’ll have to show.”

Oliver smiled softly. “I almost wish you were representing my mother instead of Jean.”

“I’m not sure the police would be happy with that kind of conflict of interest,” Laurel pointed out, though a pleased smile played at her own lips. “They didn’t fight it in your case because most of dad’s superiors were convinced he had no case. Ironically enough.” She reached out and took his hands. “But I am here to offer you and Thea any legal advice I can.”

“Speaking of your sister, we should head back upstairs,” John reminded them. “You gonna come in through the front, Laurel?”

“Probably would sell it better.”

He and John grabbed a couple of the hoodies and towels they had down here to use as makeshift pillows or blankets, then went back up to the club. Thea had gotten out the first aid kit that sat under the bar and looked to be touching up some of Roy’s smaller cuts and scrapes while he rested in a booth.

“Laurel’s gonna come stay with us,” Oliver announced as he offered Thea her pick of their meager supplies. It occurred to him they were all running on little to no food, but there was nothing he could do about that problem. He knew he at least was used to sleeping on an empty stomach.

Not two minutes later, Laurel knocked on the front door. Oliver let her inside quickly, locking it behind her and cutting off the wail of distant police sirens. Thea was busy getting Roy situated for the night, so Oliver simply led Laurel back to their own booth.

“Are you actually going to be able to sleep tonight?” She asked quietly.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Laurel pushed him to sit back in the booth first, then crawled in after him, resting her back against his chest and her head under his chin. Oliver brought his arms around her, gladly soaking up the comfort of her presence.

A thought came to him. “What happened to your bike?”

“Had to ditch it behind CNRI,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth. “The roads were too backed up.”

“We’ll get it tomorrow. If it hasn’t been taken to sell for parts.”

“I’m sorry, Ollie.”

He shook his head. “A bike’s just a bike. You, you were amazing out there tonight.”

She snuggled a bit closer and closed her eyes. “I love you.”

Oliver’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyes felt as though they were burning for a moment. “I love you, too,” he finally managed, kissing the top of her head.

A hush settled over the nearly empty club as, one-by-one, the five of them all dropped off to sleep.

In the early light of dawn Oliver’s phone rang, and he answered it with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Oliver?”

Instantly, he was wide awake. “Mom?”

Was it possible the police had released her? That they had discovered the truth on their own?

“Are you and Thea safe?” Her voice sounded shaky, like she had only just managed to pull herself together.

He sat up, causing Laurel to stretch and yawn as she woke fully. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re both fine. Where are you?”

“Still in the holding cell,” she told him. “They’re reluctant to move me given how riotous the situation was last night.”

“But they haven’t released you,” he said, disappointment resettling in the pit of his stomach.

“No. I’m just being allowed my phone call, finally. Two phone calls, really. You see, Starling General phoned me this morning. It seems Walter is alive and was transferred to their care late last night.”

Oliver’s eyes squeezed shut. His mother would have been notified first as next of kin, but had no way of getting to her own husband. “Mom, I’m sorry.” Sorry she couldn’t see Walter; sorry she had spent a night in a holding cell; sorry that he had been wrong, and because he had been wrong she had lost everything. The last he could never tell her, no matter how guilty he felt.

“You shouldn’t feel sorry for me,” she told him. “I played Malcolm’s games instead of doing the right thing, and I’ve paid the price for it. I only hope you, Thea and Walter will be safe now.”

Oliver swallowed once, feeling Laurel slip her hand into his empty one. “We will be.”

“If I can ask you to do one thing for me, sweetheart—”

“Anything,” he promised right away.

“Could you go to Starling General? The doctors think it would do Walter good to have some visitors given how long he was alone.”

“Thea and I will go, mom,” he answered her request.

“That’s my beautiful boy.” The warmth in her tone threatened to undo him. “They’re signalling me that my time is up.”

“But Thea—” His sister was still sleeping and wouldn’t even have a chance to talk to their mother.

“Look after her. Look after each other. I love you both so much.” His mother said quickly. The line disconnected before he could reply.

It was quiet for a moment. Nothing but the sound of his own breathing and Laurel’s hand in his. He turned his face into her hair for a moment, hiding from the day and all it would bring. A city in turmoil, his mother imprisoned and who knew what else. He just needed a few moments more before he could face it.

Once he felt in control again, Laurel let him out of the booth, and he went to where Thea lay, one arm hanging off the booth she slept in across from Roy. “Hey, Speedy. You gotta get up.”

“Five more minutes…” Thea groaned, and it was such a familiar, innocent sight his heart ached for a moment.

“We can see Walter at the hospital.”

His sister shot up, blinking and rubbing her eyes. “What? Where? Oh,” she said, taking in the surroundings. Her face threatened to crumple for a moment as yesterday’s events no doubt reasserted themselves in her memory.

“Come on, they think seeing some familiar faces might help him.”

“Is he even gonna want to see us? What if- what if he thought mom was the one who had him kidnapped?”

“Even if he did, he’d know you have nothing to do with it,” Oliver assured her. “Walter loves you, Thea.”

Roy was sitting up, one hand pressed over his ribs. Oliver frowned.

“You need looked at?”

“I’m fine,” Roy said immediately, though it didn’t have the defensive air it ordinarily did. Rather it almost seemed like Roy was hoping to impress him with his answer.

“We’re going to a hospital anyway, so you may as well come.”

“Need a lift?” John had gotten out of his own booth and looked about as well as could be expected for a man of his size having squeezed himself onto a small cushioned bench for the night.

“We have the car. And your family should see you.”

“Would you mind dropping me at my place, though?” Laurel asked, smiling in gratitude when John nodded.

Their group split up into two, Oliver navigating the roads still littered with debris and the odd abandoned vehicle here and there. It was eerily quiet after the night the neighborhood had seen, and the amount of damage done was a lot to take in.

“Why would they trash their own stores and homes?” Thea wondered aloud.

“It’s not theirs,” Roy said shortly. “No one in the Glades owns anything.”

“They couldn’t, thanks to Tempest,” Oliver added on a sigh. His sister shrunk down in her seat, looking sorry she had voiced the question.

They arrived at the hospital and saw Roy off to a specialist. Oliver told them any treatment would be covered by him. Then they were shown to Walter’s room.

They both paused in the doorway. Despite what Oliver had said, he was a little nervous to see his step-father as himself again. What did Walter know? What did he guess?

He was sitting up in his bed, the television playing what looked like grainy cell phone footage of Laurel from last night. Oliver was relieved to see she was unrecognizable. Indeed, the caption on the lower third simply read Who is the Woman?

“Walter?” Thea asked timidly.

He started, then turned his head. A smile rose to his lips, though his eyes were sad. “Thea.” When he opened his arms, Thea ran forward and hugged him.

Oliver entered more slowly, reaching the bedside and saying, “It’s damn good to see you, Walter.”

Walter had the grace to laugh. He picked up the television remote and shut off the screen. “I’m very happy to be back in civilization. I can’t imagine how you went without it for five years, Oliver.”

“From the sounds of it, you didn’t have it any easier.” Of course, Walter may not have been physically harmed, but he had seen the room the man was being kept in with his own eyes, and it was tiny. At least on Lian Yu he had had freedom of movement more often than not.

“We’re so sorry, Walter,” Thea said.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” their step-father told them. “Moira’s choices are her own.”

“You don’t really think…” Oliver said, wincing slightly.

Walter sighed. “No, I don’t believe she ordered my abduction. If Moira had been behind the whole thing, there would have been little point in keeping me alive. But I can’t say I know who I was being held as collateral by.”

“Mom says it was Mr. Merlyn,” Thea told him darkly. She looked back at Oliver. “Would Tommy know about it? Why haven’t we heard from him anyway?”

“His secretary said he left town,” Oliver lied, though it was technically the truth. “He might just want to process this alone.”

“It’s not a terrible idea, regardless if what your mother is saying about Malcolm Merlyn is true or not,” Walter said. “As much as I’m sure you both wish to be there for her, no one would blame you for wishing to get away from all this, at least for a time. Even if it’s to pursue higher learning,” he added with a look at Thea.

“I never actually applied to colleges,” his sister muttered.

“But maybe you should,” Oliver said. “Walter’s right, Speedy. We have no idea how things are going to turn out for mom or the family. The more you can learn and develop your own skills, the better off you’ll be.” Oliver truly didn’t know what he would do if the worst happened. He had no work experience outside barely running a club, and his only skills would out him as one of the city’s vigilantes.

“One thing that is certain that I should tell you both in advance is that I will be filing for divorce,” Walter told them, and he and Thea both looked down. “I wish things had been different, but I cannot remain married to Moira after this, not when I offered to help her find a way out of her situation before it came to something like this. But there simply isn’t trust between us. I’m not sure there ever was.”

“We understand, Walter.” Oliver said quietly.

“That doesn’t mean I wish to see either of you out of my life,” the man added. “When I married your mother, I consented to making Thea, and later you, Oliver, part of my family. That won’t change.”

“It won’t change for us either,” Thea promised, and he nodded along.

Oliver’s phone started ringing once again. “Excuse me,” he told them both before stepping out into the hall to answer it. “Hello?”

“Oliver? It’s Ned Foster,” said a voice he vaguely recalled. The COO of Queen Consolidated. Oliver felt a headache coming on. “I’m hoping to have you come into the office so we can discuss what things are going to look like for you and your family.”

As much as he wanted to just put it off, Oliver knew it would only make things worse in the long run. “Okay, yeah. I can do that. Is it fine if it’s just me?” He didn’t want to have to pull Thea away from Walter so soon. And given that Roy was still being seen to, she would need to stay for him as well.

“Thea will need to sign some legal documents, but your family’s attorney can deliver those papers to her.”

“Okay. I should be there in about ten minutes, then.” Oliver hung up and ducked his head in to let Thea know where he would be going and to call him if anything came up. Then he went back down to the visitor’s garage and drove over to Queen Consolidated.

There were paparazzi stationed outside the building probably hoping he or his sister might turn up. Oliver shielded his face with a hand and marched through the shouting crowd to the front door where security turned them away. Inside the elevator to Ned’s office, he could reflect on some of their questions. Had he known his mother’s plans, what did he think of them, what was going to happen to the company and the Queen fortune. That last question was about to be answered for him.

Ned shook his hand when Oliver was shown into his office. “Thank you for coming by so quickly. I can’t imagine it’s an easy time for your family.”

“No,” Oliver agreed quietly.

Ned grimaced as he sat down. “It’s also not an easy time for the company. You see, the authorities have determined your mother a flight risk, so they’ve frozen her assets. This is a document for you and Thea to sign that will protect the assets your parents left to you.”

Oliver read over the whole thing before signing. He had known this was the case, but the lack of mention of the manor did not speak well to their chances of keeping it. Ned took the paper back and placed it in a folder.

“Now, the trouble is the company. As it stands, the board has voted to remove your mother from the position of CEO. They’re also not open to accepting your or Thea’s candidacy.”

“That makes sense,” he replied, even if his heart was sinking. This was his family’s company, and it was being taken away.

“You have to understand that the board is doing what they can to get out from under this media storm. The stock has taken a serious nosedive, and that threatens the livelihoods of countless employees here and at our various international branches. As it stands, we’ve already made the decision to try and sell off Unidac. We’ll see if anyone takes it.”

“Right. Right,” he agreed. It would be selfish to hold onto the company if it was just going to cause people to lose their jobs. “What, uh, what do we do about income?”

“That’s not really something I can tell you one way or the other, Oliver.”

He thought for a moment. One thing that worried him more than all the rest about losing the company: his base. He had beta sites, of course, but it would be inconvenient to lose his main one.

“What about the Verdant property? Could I purchase it from Queen Consolidated? Most people associate it with me, so it’s probably not something the board will want to hang onto. And it can’t be very valuable compared to the other holdings.”

Ned sat there a moment or two. “That is not an unreasonable request. Let me talk to the board and Legal, see if we can work out a sale. I’m glad you’re thinking ahead for you and your sister, Oliver, and I do wish you both the best of luck through all this.”

They stood and shook hands again, and soon Oliver was descending in another elevator. It stopped on a random floor, and he nearly hit the close doors button — except Felicity Smoak had just walked in, head buried in her tablet. Before she could blindly reach out for whichever floor’s button she needed, Oliver pointedly cleared his throat.

She jumped, eyes widening at the sight of him. “Oh! Uh, hi.”

“Hi.”

“Sorry about your mother,” Felicity said, then immediately added, “I mean, I’m not sorry she was caught. Someone had to do it if you couldn’t — though I can understand that would be a tough position to be in. And obviously this is a really bad position for you to be in. Um… what are you doing here in this specific position?”

“Getting my family’s affairs in order, the best I can,” he told her. “I guess you were right about me ruining lives.”

Felicity winced.

“Walter’s alive,” he added conversationally.

“I know. I was reading about it, actually,” she said, gesturing with her tablet. “The Hood rescued him.”

Oliver hummed.

“Thank you,” she said in an undertone. “And I hope that, you know, you and your girlfriend’s hobby works out for the best.” She blinked and said. “That really sounded dirty, but I meant—”

“Felicity, I know,” he interrupted. The elevator doors opened on the lobby, and he stepped out. “For what it’s worth, I wish you the best.”

“Thanks.” She smiled shyly, and the doors closed on her like that.

Oliver sighed and left his old teammate and his family’s former company behind. If his years away had taught him nothing else, it was that people and places came and went. So long as he held onto what was most important in his heart, he could make it through.

—-

Having not actually gone home the previous day, it was a little jarring to pull up outside her place and find her windows boarded up. So were Anita’s and Jerome’s.

“You need me to stick around?” John asked.

“No, I’ll figure it out,” Laurel said slowly, opening her door and stepping around bits of trash strewn around the yard from her can, which had apparently been knocked over. She would get around to it later. First thing first was seeing if she could even get inside.

Her key worked, and Laurel couldn’t honestly spot a thing out of place. Before she could think on it too much, there was a sharp rapping on her front door. Laurel checked the peephole and smiled as she pulled it open.

“Anita,” she said as she hugged her friend. Anita hugged her back. She was honestly relieved to see she hadn’t been hurt, not having seen her all the last day.

“Was starting to worry you weren’t coming back,” Anita said when they pulled apart. “Jerome did your windows anyway. Soon as we heard the news yesterday, we knew it was gonna get crazy, and we had some extra boards in the back.”

“Thank you so much. You both were safe last night?”

“Yeah, we just stayed put. No way was I letting him go to work last night. Your dad came by around two-thirty, though. Probably woke the whole street up hollering outside your door.”

Laurel winced. She had a number of missed calls, most of them from him. Anita had tried once and Joanna as well, though the latter hopefully didn’t realize she’d seen Laurel last night. “Sorry about that.”

She shrugged. “Can’t blame him for worrying. I was, too.” There was something heavy to the weight of Anita’s gaze on her, but her friend changed the subject. “Jerome’s helping clean up the main street, and I’m making a bunch of the volunteers some food. You wanna help?”

“Yeah. Just, um, just let me clean up my yard and I’ll be over.”

Laurel got all the trash picked back up and back in the can, and by the time that was done Anita had finished most of her cooking. It was probably for the best. Laurel assisted her in carrying it the several blocks where they found a card table had been set up to host what looked like an impromptu potluck.

“Take what you need,” Mrs. Ross was telling a mother with her three kids. “Anita, put yours down on that end. We got paper plates and napkins set up on the other.”

“Laurel!”

She turned at the sound of Raisa’s voice, smiling at the sight of the other woman. “Raisa, hi. How’s your family?”

“We could be worse. The building, someone threw a- a—”

“Smoke bomb.”

“Yes. There is some damage, but we still have our home. I only saw it this morning. The staff at the manor, we remained at the house last night. No one knew what to do after Mrs. Queen…” Raisa looked down, and Laurel patted the woman’s arm in sympathy. “But I wanted to ask, have you seen Mr. Oliver or Miss Thea? They never came home.”

“Oh. Yes, they are both safe. The police actually found Mr. Steele, so they’re visiting with him at the hospital.”

Raisa gasped. “Mr. Steele is alive? Oh, that is good news. If only…”

“Yeah.” Laurel bit her lip, then asked. “Raisa, is there anything you might have heard Mrs. Queen ever discuss with Mr. Merlyn about all this?”

The housekeeper slowly shook her head. “I never intruded. But I always suspected he made her uncomfortable. She would request a glass of her favorite red after any of their meetings to calm her nerves. Was he involved with this Tempest?”

“I’m not sure how much I can say,” Laurel admitted, to which Raisa nodded in understanding. She looked around. She wasn’t much use at the food table accept for eating it. Laurel snagged a couple sandwiches for her empty stomach, then approached Jerome and a few more men tacking tarp up over missing windows. “What can I do?”

She was directed to help another group sweeping out storefronts and setting displays and other furniture back to rights. They were headed to 17th Street, and Laurel took the lead, anxious to check on Pam and her job.

The windows of Green Glades had survived, but every last pot and planter out in front had been smashed. “Oh, Pam.”

Her boss was using the push broom, and Laurel quickly took possession of the dust pan. “It’s to be expected. People want something to control when they feel like they’ve lost control of their own lives. I was perfectly safe upstairs.”

Laurel helped Pam to set everything to rights, then spent a little time at the other storefronts with the group she had joined up with. Someone had brought some kind of speakers, and the music and food helped create something of a lighter atmosphere. Back on the main road, Anita had coaxed Jerome into dancing while he and his group were on a food break, and Laurel smiled as she saw kids skipping around on the sidewalk. People were complicated things, but she thought so long as there were times like these, they could weather through the bad.

“The hell you doing showing up here?”

The angry shout had Laurel turning sharply. A few men had intercepted Oliver, Thea and Roy. The Queen siblings, both changed into what Laurel knew were their less nice t-shirts and jeans, looked unsure how to respond to the harsh greeting, if it could be called that.

“We- we just want to help,” Thea offered timidly. “We’re so sorry—”

Laurel cringed and hurried forward.

“Sorry?” One man repeated with a sharp laugh. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. What your mama did—”

“Isn’t what they did,” Laurel interrupted, coming between the two groups. “They didn’t know.”

“Yeah, they both work in the Glades,” Roy added. “How dumb would they have to be to do that if they were in on it?”

Most of the street had stopped what they were doing to watch this unfold, even a few of the children abandoning their game to stand and stare in confusion. Jerome had pulled Anita close, half-shielding her from the Queens and frowning at them. Raisa had a hand over her mouth, clearly worried for her charges.

“Thea and I were ignorant of what our mother and her associates were involved in,” Oliver agreed quietly. “Ignorance also isn’t an excuse for what could have happened had it not been exposed. What we hope is that we can atone for the things our family has done to yours if you will accept it.”

Laurel stared the men down, making it quite clear that if they chose to reject that offer with anything other than words, they would be going through her.

“They’re right.” A man in coveralls with a receding and graying hairline stepped forward. “Queen isn’t his parents. I heard you try to give Derek and his family a fresh start last fall, before that horrible business at the bank.”

Oliver swallowed once, not seeming to know what to say to that.

“We’re better than them in their mansions. We’re not gonna judge. You wanna do the work? Then do it.”

At the tables, Mrs. Ross gave an affirming hum. Anita patted Jerome’s chest, and her husband looked away and nodded.

“Innocent till proven guilty,” Hank shouted from where he was serving his usual wraps free of charge today. Laurel felt her lips twitch despite herself.

Gradually the small group that had gathered in front of the Queens slowly dispersed, some less happy than others, but Laurel let out a breath in relief.

She turned to the Queens. “I’m really glad you guys came out. It’s not going to be easy, but the more people see the real you, the more they’ll understand why you shouldn’t be tarred with the same brush.”

Raisa joined their group, hugging both Oliver and Thea. “It is a hard time for you both.”

“It’s not just for us. Raisa, the accounts… things aren’t looking good,” Oliver admitted to Laurel’s dismay. She’d known the Queens were going to take some kind of hit over all this, but she had no idea how this might affect Oliver’s ability to operate as the Hood. “We might lose the house. I’ll have to call the staff together for a meeting, but it can wait. This is more important.” He briefly pressed his lips to Laurel’s temple before heading over to Jerome’s group since they were getting back to work. The men grudgingly set him to work, though Laurel thought she saw some of their distrust melt away to grudging respect when it quickly became apparent Oliver was no slouch when it came to manual labor.

“Maybe we could offer to keep an eye on those kids?” Thea suggested to her boyfriend. “Roy has bruised ribs,” she added in explanation.

“Then something like that would be perfect,” Raisa agreed. “Come.” She led the young couple off, only for Anita to join her instead, looking smug.

“So, giving billionaire boy another shot?”

“Shut up.”

The next several days passed in a strange haze. No one quite seemed to know what happened now that the world hadn’t ended. Oliver was busy constantly between getting the outside of the club cleaned up and handling his family’s affairs. Laurel kept herself occupied with cleanup efforts and checking in on her friends and neighbors, both old and new. That had her climbing the steps to her old office building one afternoon and stopping at a desk buried under paper.

“Have to say, kind of glad I was fired before all this,” she remarked.

Joanna’s head shot up. “Laurel! Oh, thank God.” Her friend got up and pulled her into a tight hug which Laurel readily returned.

“I texted you I was fine,” she pointed out with a smile.

“Yeah, well fine for you could mean anything from you caught a cold to your house is burning down.”

Laurel held up her hands in surrender. “Well how’ve you been? Lot of new cases?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Even Anastasia’s moving her butt now. There’s probably going to be a class action suit brought against the Queen family. Anyone who lives in the Glades is entitled to compensation if we win,” Joanna told her. “But that won’t be on the docket for a while. Her assets are tied up right now because of the criminal case.” “I know.”

Jo winced. “How are Thea and Oliver taking it?”

“As well as can be expected. I think they’re just relieved the bomb wasn’t actually, you know.”

Joanna nodded. “Considering how crazy it was the other night without the bomb, I agree with that completely. Have you, uh, heard about the Woman?”

“The one in the mask?” Okay, Roy really had had a point, she should have thought of a name before starting all this.

“Yeah. She showed up that night, helped me and the others get out of the Glades since there were people outside the building.”

“Wow,” said Laurel, hoping she sounded surprised.

“Yeah, I kind of felt like you a bit. Don’t tell my mom,” Jo added with a laugh. “She doesn’t want me getting anywhere near vigilantes after what happened to you.”

Laurel smirked. “Oh, it hasn’t been so bad.” On the inside, she was relieved; Joanna definitely hadn’t recognized her that night. Her friend would’ve demanded answers by now if she had.

She left Joanna to her work soon after, thinking back to that night. It had been exhilarating and exhausting all at once racing from one end of the neighborhood to the other, first on her bike then on foot. Roy’s company had been a comfort when she had found him, and Ted’s appearance a welcome surprise. And part of her had just known Oliver would find his way back after facing Tommy, that he wouldn’t leave her to face it all alone.

It was strange, though, walking down streets and hearing bits of her own words played back at her. It didn’t really sound like her. Part of that was because it had been captured on somebody’s cell phone, and it didn’t seem like their speakers were the best quality. Another was that, for maybe the first time, Laurel felt like she heard a sense of command in her own voice.

She hadn’t been planning to make some kind of speech that night. Yet she had needed to reach people, some way, any way. And to her own amazement, she had. That was the real power that being a vigilante gave; a voice that was listened to.

By the end of the week, she was back to work at the flower shop. And that was where her father finally caught up to her.

It was startling seeing him enter the florist’s. He seemed so out of place and knew it, too. Pam opened her mouth to start her customary greeting, but Laurel said, “That’s okay, Pam. This is my dad.”

“Oh. Well, what a delight to finally meet the man who helped bring my lovely assistant into the world,” Pam said, and if Laurel wasn’t mistaken, seemed to be at least somewhat serious about it.

“Yeah, uh, good to meet you, too,” her dad mumbled. “Listen, can I talk to my daughter for a moment? I’ll be quick about it.”

“I suppose,” Pam agreed. Laurel had been sort of hoping she would say no. But she squared her shoulders and came around the counter to join him outside.

“Stopped by your place that night of the riots,” he began.

“I know.”

“Where were you? Where did you go? You know how badly I panicked when I realized you’d left the station?”

“Dad, we’ve talked about this. I’m living my life, my way now, you know?”

His shoulders slumped, and his head shook from side to side. “Look, I’ve accepted that you’ve made a life here in the day-to-day. But riots are different.”

“It’s not different for any of my neighbors and friends who have nowhere else to go,” she pointed out.

“But you weren’t even home!”

“I was at a shelter,” she lied, and thought she was more convincing than even with Joanna. Laurel had practiced this one because she’d known it was coming. “One of the local schools was letting people stay in the gym and needed volunteers to help keep things organized with all the kids. I was too busy to notice my phone at first, and my battery died overnight so I couldn’t call you back.”

He paused, scrutinizing her. “So you weren’t out there that night?”

“Why would I be?”

Her dad studied her another moment, then pulled her close. “I just worry about you, honey. You know I- I’m used to knowing everything about what you’re up to. I miss that.”

Laurel looked down. “I know those times made you feel better, but they weren’t what I needed.”

He blew out a breath. “I know.” A rueful grin rose on his lips. “You know, it’s funny. I keep going back over what she’s told us so far, how it was all for her kids.” He didn’t have to clarify which her he meant. “Her kids never would have wanted her to do it.”

Laurel blinked. Implied or not, that was one of the nicer things her father had had to say about Oliver in a long time.

“Maybe we all just kid ourselves. Maybe we don’t know what our children want, cause we don’t ask them or we think we still know best long after they’ve grown,” he continued. He cupped her face with one hand, thumb brushing the corner of her lip that had only just finished healing from that night she’d gone toe-to-toe with the corrupt SCPD officers. “But how’s about you keep me in the loop just a little from now on, eh?”

Laurel smiled, though she hoped he didn’t think it was sad. There were parts of her life now that she knew she would never share with her father. He just wouldn’t be able to take it, and it had the potential to destroy his career. “Yeah. A little.”

With a one-armed hug avoiding her dirt-smeared apron, he let her get back to her shift.

At night, she and Oliver patrolled together which more than made up for the time spent apart during the day. The nights were busy given that after the crackdown on the riots, the police had once again retreated back out of the Glades. They didn’t talk much about what was going on with his family, though she knew he had been to see his mother at least once more.

She also knew the day of Mrs. Queen’s hearing to determine if she would be allowed bail. It was a closed session given the possible danger to Mrs. Queen’s life if someone with revenge fantasies like the Savior had had decided to show up, so after her shift, Laurel went to the Verdant to wait, Roy keeping her company when he wasn’t needed to wipe down the scant few tables that were occupied.

When Oliver and Thea entered with morose expressions behind John, Laurel didn’t need them to say that Mrs. Queen would be spending the time before her trial behind bars. She stood from her stool and offered each of them a hug.

“We knew it wouldn’t happen,” Oliver said in monotone. “It just…”

Laurel squeezed his hand, unable to say the words he really needed to hear with Thea and Roy present: this wasn’t his fault.

Oliver gave a small shake of the head. “We need to talk about the future. Thea… I really think you should consider Walter’s suggestion.”

“I’m not just leaving home,” Thea said immediately.

“What’s this?” Laurel asked.

“Walter thinks it would be a good idea for Thea to take some time away from Starling while she considers her options regarding higher education or a career. You don’t have the guarantee of an easy life anymore, Thea. A college degree is something you might need someday.”

Thea scowled but had no argument.

“Look, all I am suggesting is that you take a vacation for a few months while the worst of this dies down a little. Take some online classes to improve your transcript, write a few college essays in preparation to apply.”

“While you stay here?”

“I have to stay here. I own a club, and I can’t afford a new manager.”

“What if you and Roy went together?” Laurel suggested.

Roy blinked. “Me?”

“What?” Oliver immediately demanded.

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Thea does not want to be separated from everyone she cares about, so if you’re staying here then her boyfriend is the next best option. It’d be good for Roy, too, let him see some more of the world.” She doubted her younger friend had had a vacation in his life. “And as long as they promise to behave themselves, I don’t see why it’s a problem. They’re both adults, and we went on trips together at their age.”

“We didn’t behave ourselves,” Oliver murmured in her ear, and Laurel smirked.

Thea, meanwhile, seemed to be warming up to the idea. “So Roy and I could take a trip together so long as I fill out some applications? Okay.”

“I want you to take this seriously, Speedy.”

Thea waved a dismissive hand, already getting out her phone to start looking at vacation hotspots. She grabbed Roy’s hand, but he stayed put.

“Find a table. I’ll be right over.” Once Thea was our of earshot, Roy said, “I can’t leave right now. The city’s a mess.”

“Roy,” Laurel said.

“Look, I figured it out. You’re — you know,” he said to Oliver after a furtive look around. “I want to help you. I helped Laurel the other night when things were crazy.”

“And you were hurt pretty badly,” Oliver pointed out. Roy looked about to argue, so he held up a hand. “Take the vacation to heal and to think about what you’re asking for. This kind of life is not easy, and sometimes, it takes more than it gives. If you come back and are still committed, Laurel and I will discuss it with you then. That fair?”

Roy didn’t exactly look happy about it, but he seemed to realize it was the best offer he was likely to receive. “Fine.”

“Good,” Laurel said. “Now go plan your trip with your girlfriend.” Roy left the bar for Thea’s table, and Laurel turned her attention on her own boyfriend. “Now we need to talk about you.”

“Me?”

“You’ve been sleeping downstairs, man,” John said, coming forward now that the discussions surrounding Thea and Roy were over. “And not even on a real bed.”

“The island didn’t have real beds,” Oliver deadpanned.

“But you’re not on the island anymore. And you shouldn’t have to feel like you are,” Laurel pointed out. “If you needed a place to stay, you could have asked one of us.”

“One of you?” He repeated with a raised eyebrow.

“Figured you’d like having options better,” John explained.

“And I know better than to assume we’re living together,” Laurel added lightly.

Oliver’s face fell. “Laurel, you didn’t assume anything. I told you we could do it even when I knew I wasn’t ready.”

“And now?” She asked.

“Now I would love nothing more than to be with you,” he told her. A smile spread across her lips, which didn’t stop him from leaning in to kiss them. “I’ll bring my things over tomorrow.”

“My day off. Perfect.” It was far from perfect, she supposed. Instead of a spacious downtown apartment with a five minute emergency vehicle response time belonging to a lawyer and the heir apparent to a Fortune 500 company, they would be sharing a cramped one-bedroom on a forgotten street in the poorest neighborhood as a florist and the owner of the least popular club in all of Starling City. But it felt, in a funny way, far more them than the children their parents had tried to raise them to be, and in a way that was its own perfection.

That morning, she was in the middle of her workout when a knock came at the door. She hadn’t actually expected Oliver this early, but she called to him, “One second!” before grabbing her towel and heading over to unlock it. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Ted!”

Her old teacher nodded at her. “Morning. Mind if I come in?”

“Sure.” Laurel grabbed her tank top off the couch and threw it on as well, noticing that Ted had stopped by the heavy bag she had only just been working at. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just was thinking, I might need this back,” he explained, gesturing to it.

“Oh,” Laurel said, her shoulders drooping.

“Seeing as you’re welcome to start lessons back up any time,” he added, turning around to look at her with a sheepish smile. “Turns out you were right and there’s, well, still stuff we’re needed for out there.”

Laurel grinned. “I knew there was still fight in you.”

“Wouldn’t be much good at teaching it if there wasn’t. I’m not kidding about the bag, though,” he added, but Laurel just shoved at his arm which had him smirking.

Ted stayed for a moment or two longer where they hashed out a schedule, both for her lessons and for nighttime. He wasn’t so keen on getting to know the Hood just yet, and Laurel knew it was something she would need to talk to Oliver about first anyway.

After her teacher left, she thought about hitting the shower before Oliver arrived, but there was another knock at the door. Laurel pivoted on the balls of her feet. “Coming!”

She checked this time to find Anita waiting rather than her boyfriend. Laurel opened the door and showed her friend in. Anita carried a bag with her, which she held out for Laurel to take.

“Finished this last night,” her friend explained as Laurel lifted out her black leather jacket. She smiled. She’d been using the jean jacket at night for now, but it just hadn’t been the same.

“Thank you so much,” Laurel said, running her finger over the arm where the tear had been. “Hopefully by Christmas I’ll have made something all by myself to pay you back.”

“Yeah, well look the whole thing over before you thank me,” her friend said.

Laurel did, puzzled at first, with her eyes widening as she turned over the jacket to see the back.

“I should have asked before I did it,” Anita said. “But I kept thinking about that photo you’ve got of the thing in its cage and how it wouldn’t shut up, and I thought it was sort of like you, you know? Trapped in a shitty situation but not gonna go out without a fight. But that’s why I did the wings spread,” she added, stepping forward and smoothing her fingers over the yellow embroidery thread. “It symbolizes freedom. And that’s what you are now, Laurel. You freed yourself.”

She stared down at the outline of a bird with wings spread, a strange sort of lump sticking in her throat.

“I mean they’re probably gonna call you the Bird Lady or something stupid now,” Anita muttered, and it shocked her enough that Laurel looked up to meet her friend’s eyes.

“I—”

“You don’t gotta explain it. I won’t say a thing more about it.”

Her eyes watered and spilled over as she moved forward and wrapped her free arm around Anita in a hug which she returned. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You don’t hate it?”

“I love it. Really.” She sniffed once and let go, stepping back. Laurel hugged the jacket to her chest, smiling.

Yet another knock on her door had her quickly tucking the jacket back in the bag even if she suspected who this finally was. Laurel let Oliver in, her smile widening at the sight of the bag he had slung over one shoulder and one box tucked under his arm.

“Hey, everything okay?” He asked, reaching out and wiping at her cheek with a calloused thumb.

“Yeah. Come meet or re-meet one of your new neighbors, Anita.”

Anita’s eyebrows shot straight into her hairline. “Billionaire boy’s living here? This is one for the books.”

“It’s uh, Oliver,” he said awkwardly, holding a hand out.

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Ollie,” Anita greeted as she gave it a firm shake. Laurel stifled a laugh behind her hand. “I gotta head out, so have fun unpacking, you two.”

“See you,” Laurel told her. The door shut, and she spread her arms a little, turning one way and the other. “Well, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking the box and setting it on her counter. “This is for you.”

“Everything you own fits in one bag?” Laurel asked dubiously. “Also you really don’t need to be getting me presents right now.”

He shrugged. “I missed your birthday.”

“You paid to fix my front window.”

“Well it’s our window now, so it doesn’t count. Anyway, I really want you to have this.”

It clicked, and Laurel reached for the box. “Is it—?”

She opened it to find a rather sleek ensemble in black and dark blue. Laurel couldn’t identify the material it was made out of, but she imagined it was sturdier than her leggings. A brand new wig and mask sat underneath.

“It’s amazing, Ollie.” She felt far less guilty knowing he’d already paid for it before his financial situation had become precarious. Laurel dove for the bag and her jacket, holding it and the undershirt of her new suit up to see how they might look together.

“Is that a… bird?” Oliver asked, eyebrows furrowed as he peered at the design on the back.

“It’s a canary,” Laurel answered. She set both items back in the box, smoothing the jacket down so the embroidered image rested face-up. Then she went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “And it’s what I’m going to start calling myself out there.”

“The Hood and the Canary,” he said. “Doesn’t quite go together.”

“You could always pick your own name for yourself,” she offered. “Instead of letting everyone else decide it for you.”

“Maybe. If it weren’t for you going out there, the Hood probably wouldn’t even exist anymore,” he admitted, and Laurel tilted her head in an unspoken question, her hands sliding to his shoulders. “I became the Hood to fulfill my father’s mission. And in a lot of ways, I failed because I was playing my parents’ game. Sticking to the shadows, paying more attention to the wealthy than the victims suffering from those with wealth. Starling City is going to take a long time to get better, and it has to start here.”

“That all sounds good to me,” she agreed. “And now that you’re doing things your own way, without all the family secrets, I think we really can make a difference. Whatever’s coming, we’ll handle it together.”

He smiled down at her. “Then let’s save the world.”

Laurel met him on her tiptoes for a kiss to seal that promise.

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

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flowesona · 5 years ago

Text

Miasma

Setting: Renaissance Venice (1630-31)

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

TW: Graphic Descriptions, obsessive/ yandere behaviour

A/N: I’m so happy to have had to opportunity to work with the wonderful @jooniescupcakes on this fic in anticipation of our amazing leader Namjoon’s birthday! Please check out the version of this fic posted on her blog which has an exciting alternate ending!

The humid air of the mid-evening provided a somewhat pleasant stroll. It would have been serene, if not for the desperate cries of people fighting against soldiers. Their screams of mercy at Namjoon were ill-received, as he instead chose to avert his gaze, to see how the Venetian water rippled. He couldn’t bear to face these people, to answer as to why they weren’t going to survive. Prayers, smoking, even infecting oneself with Syphilis. Every cure people had dreamt up were based on fallacious dreams. And Namjoon hated to associate himself with such disparity, hated to see those at the lowest in society doomed to a horrific fate.

No one had thought so many would be lost once again when the plague that had last reared its ugly head centuries returned once again to Italy, causing mass panic in Milan the previous year before reaching Venice and letting Namjoon bear witness to the curse.

Yet instead of facing the hopeless souls, Namjoon tried to distract himself with the more optimistic side of things. The patients that he was about to visit had reportedly not experienced any major symptoms of the plague. Yet as he reached the entrance of the quaint ‘house’ crammed into the rest of the neighbourhood and simply reeking of poverty, there was still a feeling of dread in his stomach, that he wouldn’t be able to cure them.

Brushing all pessimistic thoughts aside he reached out and rapped on the door twice, his greeting being met with a cough and the scurrying of feet.

“Oh! Dottore! Please, come in.” A worn-out voice accompanied the face of a woman that was anything but.

“Buona sera. What seems to be the problem?” Namjoon ducked under the entrance of the shabby accommodation as he spoke, surveying the surroundings with an ever-keen eye.

“It’s… papa was spitting blood today. I was worried something was wrong.” The woman explained, leading the doctor through the cramped room into an adjacent room, occupied by a middle-aged woman dabbing at the forehead of a bed-ridden man with a filthy towel. A sight of great pity, an illustration of suffering.

“Has he experienced any other symptoms?” Namjoon went to place his surgical bag on the floor but had second thoughts upon seeing the blood and spit dotted around, instead cautiously placing it on the stained sheets with a grimace. There was no doubt this family’s living conditions were integral to the patriarch’s illness, but alas Namjoon was a doctor, not a charity.

“He’s got an awful fever, dottore.” The woman sat by the bed replied, still stroking her husband’s face to no avail.

“I see. May you two please leave the room, I need to examine him.” Both women observing the scene left the room, not before glancing back at their sick patriarch and the masked stranger ready to decide their fate.

“Can you stand up? I need to examine for any other symptoms.” The wheezes and grunts of the pauper sitting up in his bed were not a good sign. But what was far worse was the sight of a buboe on his neck, previously hidden by the tattered blanket but now in plain sight for Namjoon to see. And it was not a pretty sight.

Even as Namjoon approached and used his gloved hands to tilt the chin up so he had a better view, the truth was clear. He’d caught the plague, and he was going to die in a matter of days.

“For now, rest and some herbal incense is the best road to recovery.” was all advice the doctor could give. He’d never seen such things curing the victims, but it was the most relief he could give. A placebo, blaming the bad air for the disease when there was most definitely something more to it.

He left the room with a horrible feeling in his stomach, the truth a heavyweight on his tongue.

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, the older woman instantly standing up and letting her chair fall onto the floor as she rushed to attend to her husband.

Namjoon took the opportunity to seat himself at the table.

“I have some bad news about your father, Signorina...?” He trailed off, realising that in his drowsy arrival he’d never learnt his patient’s name.

“Y/N. What’s a wrong doctor? Please tell me it’s just the flu or-”

“I’m afraid it’s a lot worse.” Namjoon pulled the rubber mask away from his face, letting himself breathe for a second without such construction on his face. He hated the sick feeling in his stomach from having to break the news, of already knowing this young woman’s fate.

“Your father has… there’s no easy way to say this, but he has the plague, blue sickness, whatever you wish to call it.” The doctor couldn’t even look at her face in shame. “The best you can do is pray that God has a place for you in heaven.”

“Wait, What?” All at once, the barriers broke and tears started falling from (Y/N)’s eyes.

“I’m very sorry. I must be on my way.” Scraping back the chair, Namjoon stood up to take his leave, to report the case and to find some devil’s drink to cure his mind of guilt but was held back as Y/N desperately took ahold of one of his hands.

“I’ve heard the screams of the people, dottore. Being trapped like rats or burnt alive isn’t fair. Please, you can’t do this to us!” The young woman searched for sympathy in any inch of his exposed face, finding his deep expresso-coloured eyes and giving him a pleading stare.

Namjoon felt like at that moment, refusing to do something would kill him. With how Y/N hung onto him like a lifeline, as she begged for him to save her from death, he found himself opening his mouth once again.

“It would… I don’t know if I can do that. If I don’t report it, you could spread the plague through your entire neighbourhood. We have to quarantine, it’s only what’s right for the people.”

“Since when did you rich people ever give a damn about ‘the people’?” There was a strange sense of familiarity in seeing Y/N sniffing as she spoke and the emotion behind her words, something that the doctor couldn’t quite place his finger on. Regardless of his strange nostalgia, he felt some strong feeling stir in his chest for change. He truly felt that he couldn’t just sit back and let this poor girl die.

“I… I know this is unorthodox but I could get you out of here. I’ll pay for a carriage and you can go to a better place in the country.” There was still some gnawing part of his conscience begging him to do more, but he pushed it down.

“And my family? Will there be help for papa in another city?” It was as if a light had been lit inside Y/N’s eyes and the strange feeling of nostalgia crept up on Namjoon, almost like deja vu.

But her hope was not long-lasting.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. He’d die on the journey, and there’s a high chance he’d die on the journey. The only way for you to guarantee your survival is leaving, and letting fate take its course.”

“But there must be something you can do! Some cure, some treatment you must have heard of, we’ll do anything. If you’re worried about the money...I’ll find a way to get it. Please, please help him.” Namjoon quietly watched the female plead, wondering how to appease her.

“I’ll see what I can do. There’s no guarantee for his life, I won’t promise you anything.” With a short and tense farewell, he slips on his mask and leaves the shaky house.

Namjoon looked up at the dark night sky, the twinkling stars laughing down at him at them, at all the people of Venice. Who else was looking at the same sky? How many were crying under the black blanket, which provided no warmth or comfort, as yet another loved one fell? The world saw this sight, but only Venice suffered so much under it.

If he kept staring at the warm glow of the full moon, maybe the cries would stop echoing. How long were they to suffer?

Then, his mind wandered to other things. The young woman, whose father he had just visited. It was understandable as to why she wanted him to keep quiet, but was it foolish of him to have surrendered? He had been hit with a wave of something, depressing but familiar, as he watched her pretty eyes. He struggled, even with all his knowledge, to put a name for it, and diagnose it.

He could, no, he should tell the authorities about her father, as it would prevent the spread of the plague. But this secret arrangement could also benefit him, it could be a way for him to experiment and possibly find some cure for this devastating problem.

He noticed his mansion on the horizon and picked up his pace, secretly eager to get home. The tiring job of trying to help people, only to watch them die, exhausted him and upset him. What was the point of being a doctor that could only give empty promises and bring news of death?

Unlike the streets he had just left, he lived in a cleaner and more quiet part of the city. Everyone here was swimming in money, but that didn’t make them any less of a target to the fatal and consuming plague. Many of the children stare from their windows, his large and strange mask attracting curious gazes and hushed whispers.

He had watched many people die, captured by the officials and burnt alive or, if they were too slow, the plague finished them off first. Namjoon had gotten used to the feeling of sadness, anger and disappointment, at this point, after all the deaths he had supervised, it was numb, part of a mundane routine. The thought of the young girl, looking at him like he owned the world like he could change fate, brought back these long-buried feelings in an unprecedented crashing wave, along with something else, unidentified.

———————————————————————

It was another messy evening, the blank sky ignorant to the screams and cries below. All the days blended together with the same sight, the same words, the same end. Namjoon was walking down the familiar path he took just a day ago, equipped with a new idea and a stronger determination. However, there was no certainty for success.

He walked up to the run-down house, glancing over the cracks he had missed in his rush during his last visit. He eyes the cracking paint and dirty windows, the tattered curtains not doing much to shield the inside. He slowly stepped up to the old, wooden door, sharply rapping at it thrice. He waited for a second, and the door swings open, the delicate female mumbling a small welcome with worry evident in her face.

“I...thought of something...to help with the buboes,” he glanced over to see her perked up, watching him intently, “it might not work, and it will surely hurt like hell, but its the best I have"

He curiously observed her changing emotions, happiness at first, hope glimmering in those twinkling eyes, mouth trembling, then disappointment, gravity tugging at the corners of her lush lips, eyes downcast. Finally, the last shine of determination, stronger than the soldiers lining up on the streets, brighter than the shine of the glaring sun.

It was that burning determination that made him remember.

Remember when he first fell in love with the sweet, pretty girl from his childhood.

The sharp jab of the nostalgia, the sudden waves of memories crashing against his confused mind, it was all confirmed when he caught sight of a small toy. It was old, blue and green patches on it, once bright, vibrant coats of fresh paint. It was a small dollhouse, although not in good condition, he noticed the shiny symbol, a logo of the best carpenter in the country. The door to the expensive creation was slightly open allowing little light and peeping eyes through, though it was not furnished. Maybe the fragile pieces had gotten lost over time, but the overall image was still obvious.

He bought that dollhouse, he gifted it to someone, his first love. It was a one-of-its-kind house, unique as every individual star. And it was expensive. Far too expensive for a family like this to even dream about. When he looked back at the female, lost in her own thoughts, he found himself observing her features; the familiar curve of her nose, the shape of her eyes, the plush lips.

Everything came back to him.

Those memories from years ago, when they were both ignorant, young and in bliss. Nothing mattered except themselves. He never knew how much her family struggled to put food on the table, and he never understood why she kept trying to return the gift. When he offered to get her a different house, she refused frustratedly, breaking into tears.

His parents had to explain to him what she was too embarrassed to say; that she wasn't as rich as them. She was poor, living at the bottom of the city's trash, and that was why she always wore the same dresses, and why she never had any toys.

Her family couldn't afford any luxuries. In short; they were completely and extremely different to everyone but themselves. He was born into a prestigious family, money raining down on him, and she had to crawl past scraps to survive.

Namjoon was appalled at the truth. He was angry that he couldn't figure it out by the subtle words and the obvious visuals. He didn't realize how much money, or the lack of it, affected them and their relationship. No matter what, society, with its cruel and cold hands, ripped them apart and forced them to stay away, each succumbing to their fate, only having the memories to hold on to.

"Y/N?" Namjoon forces out.

The female looks confused. Why did he suddenly call her name? And why did he look so shocked?

Inside, a cry of pain shatters the moment, and once again, Namjoon is forced to remember what he is here for. The patient, her father.

“I- maybe you should see my papa first,” she mumbles, gesturing towards the door, “thank you for coming again, dottore.”

Namjoon is once again escorted into the bleak, cramped room, a pungent odour drifting in the room. The closed window indicated that it came from within the room itself, though the doctor didn’t want to find its origin. The condition in which the patient, whose health was as fragile as a thin piece of thread, was terrible. He carefully navigated through the cluttered room, placing his bag with care onto the sheets, stained with yet another unknown symptom.

“I have come with a possible solution,” he spoke slowly, watching the way the older man coughed, scrambling to sit up, “but it will hurt, and it will not be a pleasant sight. If you wish to be cured, then sit quietly and bear the pain.”

“Y/N,” the man calls, waiting for the young woman to come running, “hold his legs tight, and do not let him go. I fear that in his painful struggle, he might strike me.”

She nods, holding onto her father’s scrawny limbs tightly. They watched silently as the doctor reached into his bag to pull out a needle, and a matchstick. He lit the small stick with a swift tug of his large hand. He carefully held the needle’s sharp point, letting the hot flames lick it hungrily. After a few moments had passed, he brought it towards the sick man, carefully aiming towards one of the large, nasty buboes, and shooting towards it with impeccable speed. His patient let out a silent cry in pain, tensing his arms more as hs daughter winced at the disgusting splatter of discoloured pus. This action was repeated again a few more times at all the bulging, taunting buboes on his thighs before moving on to the ones on his neck and groin.

The tiring and painful process took a couple of hours, and when it was done, Namjoon felt a sense of rushing relief. He left the room, reminding the patient to have a good rest. Back in the living room, he met Y/N, who was still curious about the earlier incident.

“You...don’t remember?” he asked.

The girl shook her head before offering him a drink in a cup, chipped away at the edges, “what am I supposed to remember?”

“I gave this to you...many years ago,” he carefully picked up the old toy, feeling the layer of dust that had settled on it.

“Namjoon?” Her eyes were wide open, gaping at him as he calmly smiled back, dimples showing.

“I admit, I didn’t think our reunion would be in such an uncanny situation, much less one so drastic. Have you been well?” He wonders what she was thinking about.

“I-things haven’t really changed much,” she says, eyes focused on stirring her drink, “but I see you’ve reached the stars.” her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

Reached the stars. He knows what she was trying to imply by the line, but he also knew what he wanted to tell her. I reached the stars for you. The words are left unsaid, but the thought of it lingers. After finding out her distraught financial situation, Namjoon had pledged to earn a lot of money and save her from the horrible life she had grown up in, he worked hard to be able to provide for her, and spoil her. However, cruel circumstances had them torn apart.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it. Look, tesoro, I missed you, really, I didn’t think I would ever see you again after what my parents did.” He reached forward to grab her cold hands in his, enveloping the smaller fingers in warmth.

“But you understand why they did it,” she whispers, tugging her hands out of his grasp, “there’s no wa-”

“Who cares what everyone else thinks? There’s always a way. I haven’t forgiven them for what they did, but they certainly paid for it.” A gleam of something flashes in his eyes. Insanity, the female recalls. She remembered Namjoon’s streaks during their childhood. The same look would be in his eyes, and after, a moment of unfiltered feelings, terrifying, maddening actions. Although she couldn’t remember all of it, she did remember a time where he found sickening, sadistic satisfaction in dissecting a live animal. A small, pure creature, he had ripped apart.

“Can we just talk about something else? How long have you been a doctor?” She quickly changes the subject and they go on chatting for hours.

As night falls, the full moon peeks out playfully at the sombre city. Namjoon is walking down the streets, a giddy smile playing on his lips. He’s ecstatic after reconciling with his love. He’s even happier to know she hasn’t changed much, and still possess the same little quirks. The way her eyes light up when talking about something she enjoys, or her nose scrunching in disgust, her animated chatter had sent him to Cloud 9. He knew, that she was still so perfect, just for him. All that was left was to cure his father-in-law and impress him, winning his daughter’s hand in law.

Another joyous chuckle escaped his lips, slowly turning into maddening laughter.

On the streets of Venice, there was not a more terrifying sound.

Namjoon worked tediously all night to make a cure for his newest patient. Although he had nothing to rely on, he had a theory that cleansing the buboes with a salve would help stop the plague spreading at the least. His salve was made of fresh honey and garlic, pounded and mixed well until it made a smooth paste. The smell was strong and sharp, but it was worth a try.

After packing the salve and putting it in his bag, he once again set off on the familiar path towards the house he had been visiting for the past few days. Seeing the girl greet him at the door made him more inspired to cure the man. He once again warned the man that the paste might sting or burn, before getting Y/N to hold him down again. Slowly, with steady hands, he applied the salve to where the buboes previously used to be.

It was a tiring process, the only sound coming from the whimpers escaping the older man’s mouth. A thin layer of sweat had formed on Namjoon’s forehead, as well as the two other occupants of the room, but with no proper ventilation, it was expected. At the end, he was more than happy to leave the congested room and into the less cluttered living room, where once again, a hot drink was waiting for him.

“Dottore, will he be alright?” the voice came from Y/N’s mother, anxious for his reply, “I can’t promise you anything. The results may take a day to fully show. I will see you then. Buona Sera,” he nodded to both ladies, his gaze lingering on the younger female.

———————————————————————

“Ciao, Namjoon.” The greeting from Y/N’s mother was a heartwarming one. She looked positively uplifted by his presence, hope shining in those starlit eyes that he loved in her daughter.

“Ciao, how are things?” The small abode had started to feel like home once again, as it had in those precious childhood years. Most would call the temperature stifling, made worse by derelict wooden walls, yet there was something comforting and cosy about the house. Maybe it was just knowing that Y/N was in the other room that made him feel so content even in such a bleak setting. Yet simply being there was not enough.

“My husband is well on the road to recovery thanks to you! I don’t know how we could possibly repay you, but rest assured we will find a way.” Namjoon hummed in response as he removed the protective rubber mask, the essential part of his uniform that he hated greatly, from the sickening scent of the herbs hidden in the ‘beak’ to the way it stifled him with heat.

“That’s what I actually came here to discuss. Is he awake?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, he should be.” The matriarch stuttered, feeling some intensity to his words that subconsciously brought shivers down her spine.

The doctor simply turned on his heel and entered the smaller room, immediately catching sight of Y/N by her father’s side. A smile worked itself onto his face seeing how everything was laid out perfectly for his plan to work.

“Signore L/N, I’ve been told you’re making a speedy recovery.” The two occupants of the room finally noticed their visitor, and with the way Y/N looked at him with a smile of joy plastered across her angelic features he was hook, line and sinker.

“Yes, yes.” The patriarch nodded to the best of his ability, giving Namjoon ample view of his neck to see the neatly dressed wounds were still in perfect condition.

“So, would it be possible for us to discuss the payment?” Seeing the discussion unfold, Y/N excused herself to assist her mother with the cooking of a hearty celebratory meal for the family.

Namjoon seated himself on the derelict stool previously occupied by Y/N, clasping his hands together nervously yet also in an intimidating move.

“I am in love with your daughter, signore. She is my everything, my anima gemella. I have loved her for the many years that we were apart, and I will love her for many more.”

“Well? Spit it out cucciollo, what is it you want?” His patient asked some gruffness to his voice.

“I want your daughter’s hand in marriage.” There was silence in the small room. “Living in this part of town is not right for her. If she’s my wife then I will be able to provide anything that she needs to live in luxury. Naturally, I can make sure you as her parents are-”

“No.”

Namjoon’s fist curled in anger as he persisted.

“I can give this family everything. I already have. Marriage is such a little thing to ask for when I’ve saved your life and asked for nothing else in return!”

“But I’m not going to sell my daughter off to be some noble’s plaything.” (Y/N)’s father snarled, using one weak arm to push his back straighter so he could be a more intimidating force against the doctor. “We have more pride than letting you run our lives like a puppet show, cucciollo.”

“You’ll regret this.” Namjoon left these last words hanging in the air as he stormed out, signing a death warrant for the family in his head.

As he snatched his mask up from the table, the two women in the kitchen exchanged nervous glances. The aura their doctor was exerting was simply deadly.

“Did you agree on the-”

“We’ll talk about this soon.” Namjoon’s deep voice almost sounded raspy, worn with emotion. “He isn’t able to cough up right now, but you’ll all pay soon enough.”

The slam of the door behind him was a signal of his rage. The doctor would certainly keep to his words, perhaps in a more literal sense that one would think.

———————————————————————

The loud banging on the door was a terrifying sound for the (L/N) family to hear, and soon the entrance to their fragile abode was burst open with a swarm of officers were in the home in a matter of seconds. The family of three sat up, confused and disoriented by the sudden intrusion, but this quickly morphed into horror as the patriarch was snatched up from his bed by two of the officers.

“What is happening? Unhand me, I haven’t done anything wrong!” He cried out, only to be interrupted by a deep chuckle.

“Yes you have.” The voice was familiar, and it didn’t take long for Kim Namjoon to emerge from the shadows. “You stole something from me.”

“If this is about-” The patriarch seethed, only to be stopped as the doctor held up his hand to signify silence.

“Right there officers. That dollhouse.” It was as if someone had set Y/N’s veins of fire. She couldn’t help but protest against the injustice.

“That was a present from him, from a long time ago! It isn’t stolen!” Namjoon cast his eyes on the young woman, and she once again felt the malicious power that this noble had as he smirked, shaking his head.

“You think I would gift a peasant family something so valuable? There’s no need to lie to protect your father, tesoro.”

As he spoke, his fingers traced over the faded design of the ornament, following every crack of paint until he withdrew his hand, instead beckoning another officer to take it away for him. And with that, Y/N’s father was dragged away simultaneously, his loud protests of innocence and begging of mercy becoming quieter yet still haunting the small Venetian streets.

“And what are you going to do now, tesoro?” With the emptiness of the house being quickly abandoned by the authorities, Namjoon’s voice cutting through the silence was an unwelcome shock.

“With your father in prison, there’s no way for you to earn any money to keep a roof over your head. Lest one of you get sick and you should need medicine.”

The women exchanged a look of fear. There was no doubt to the truth in his words, and knowing this only made the disparity of their situation worse. And seeing the revelation fall upon only made Namjoon prouder.

“It’s lucky I have a solution then.”

———————————————————————

Grime coated the walls of the jail cell, and rats scurried about the place as if they were the sole occupants. Yet their home was shared by a defeated older man leaning against the wall, eyes closed as if he could block out all other stimuli and just pray to god.

“See, this is no place for you tesoro.” Hearing a voice in the distance, the patriarch of the L/N family let out a moan of agony.

“Papa!” He opened his eyes to see his daughter clutching the bars of his cell, eyes wide with horror.

“Don’t touch those.” The presence of Y/N was marred by seeing the man who had put him in the awful cell in the first place. The man who, by the glimmering band on the young woman’s finger, was going to be his son-in-law.

“Papa, I’m so sorry that this happened to you. W-We’re going to see if we can get you in better living conditions, or maybe they’ll set you free. I swear, everything will be alright.” Y/N said, releasing her grip on the bars but not stepping away from the cage for a second.

“I can issue a pardon.” The L/N’s attention was diverted to the smug doctor standing behind Y/N. “But I’m not sure I’m quite ready to forgive you.”

Namjoon pulled Y/N away from her father, into his arms that trapped her in a paradoxically romantic gesture, as he pressed a kiss onto her pristine neck.

“Maybe your daughter will change my mind. But for now, we must be going.”

It was a bitter feeling to see his daughter be resigned as a mere object of the monstrous Doctor’s obsession, but the older man became distracted as his chest was captured in a wheezing fit, as when he drew his hand away from his mouth, he found spots of blood decorating it.

———————————————————————

Translations to Italian phrases used:

Buona Sera - Good evening

Ciao - Hi/Bye (a causal greeting)

Tesoro - Treasure

Cucciollo - Puppy (used usually by parents or to denote a rookie)

Signorina - Miss

Signore - Mister, Sir

dottore - Doctor

anima gemella - twin soul

#yandere bts #yandere kpop #yandere x reader #yandere bts au #bts #bts AU #yandere namjoon #yandere namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #yandere collab #bts RM #Kim Namjoon #yandere

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miathecinnabunny · 5 years ago

Text

Apartment 42 -- A BuckyNat AU

Master and rival assassins unknowingly live together for almost a year, making sure their real jobs remain a secret from each other and everyone around them.

Chapter 1

The young woman raked her eyes over the money in the briefcase and smiled. "Beautiful," she murmured.

"Well, it was a beautiful assassination."

The man across her was faceless, but she didn't find anything odd about it. She simply smiled at him. "A pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise. I shall spread word of the Black Widow. Someone ought to require your services."

Her smile grew. "That would be wonderful."

"Although, I'd hide that pistol a little better. We wouldn't want anyone accusing you of going--" BANG!!

The sound continued three, four more times. She thought he was saying the word, but it sounded like something was pounding a fist against a door.

Again, BANG - BANG - BANG!!

She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she was staring up at an off-white ceiling through red lines. The banging was coming from the front door. Grumbling and groaning, she rolled out of her bed and into the hallway, nearly falling into the other - empty - room.

BANG - BANG - BANG!!

"I'm coming!" she yelled as she stumbled into the adjoined kitchen, dining, and living room, tripping over a shoe as she reached out for the key on the table.

Muttering curses under her breath, she undid the latches and jammed the key into the door.

"Have you got my rent?" her landlord asked.

"Not yet," she grumbled, thinking about the money she had received in her dream.

"Then you get a new flatmate. Work out the rent between yourselves and if he decides to kick you out for not paying your share, I won't stop him. Enjoy the rest of your day."

As he turned and left, she stuck her middle finger up and twisted her expression. She quickly fixed her appearance -- as best as she could in the large sweatpants and camisole, with her hair in knots wilder than the vines outside the apartment block -- when she noticed the young man with a bag over his shoulder and gave him a smile. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Tallie," she said, sticking her left hand out for him to shake.

"James," he replied before reaching out to shake her hand.

She frowned at their clasped hands. Something about his felt off, awkward. Like it wasn't quite human. She'd shaken the hands of manual labourers before and even they had softer hands.

"It's a prosthetic," he whispered, amused.

Her eyes flew open and her jaw dropped. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't m--"

"It's okay. So . . . can I come in?"

She suddenly remembered what a mess she'd made of the apartment. "How about I buy you breakfast and you give me two hours to clean up?" she asked with a hopeful smile.

"If you tell me what Tallie is short for, I'll give your four hours."

She thought about it. She could do with the extra time. "Natalia," she said, "but no one ever calls me Natalia."

"Cute," he said with a grin, turning to leave. "I'll be back later with my stuff . . . Natalia."

She watched him leave, whistling a tune as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Oh, how she wished someone would pay her to kill the landlord.

Going into a spring-clean frenzy, Natalia zipped through the apartment, hiding it all. She removed the weapons from the spare room and found places to hide them in her own room. She raided the kitchen cabinets and made sure there were no traces of the chemicals she used to make poisons and their antidotes. She slipped on the tiles in the bathroom as she scrambled to make the first-aid kit look less like a disaster kit and more like your average home kit.

When the four hours were up, she was sweating and breathing heavily, but the apartment looked clean, tidy and most importantly, as if there were no assassins living in it. The ringing doorbell made her jump -- and she hated that she'd been startled by it.

Taking a deep breath and pushing the escaped strands of hair back, she opened the door. "Hi."

"Hi," James said. "Is it safe to come in now?"

"Mhm. I'd just suggest a bedsheets change before you sleep. Unless you don't mind using mine? They smell like lavender."

"Lavender," he said, nodding as he closed the door behind him, "I guess I'll tolerate it."

"Ha," she laughed nervously. "This is your key. Uh, bedrooms are down the hall, bathroom right at the end. This is the kitchen, dining room and living room. It's small but . . . livable."

Natalia didn't actually know if the apartment was livable or not. She barely spent more than three nights at a time in the apartment. More often than not, she was on stakeouts, waiting to hear for a job, or actually on a job. She hadn't received one for a while now and her dreams were beginning to manifest her raw desire for even a simple job.

No job meant no money. No money meant no rent. She was beginning to accept that she might need a day job.

"It's . . . very clean. Is -- is the toaster sparkling?"

"Well, it's May first. About damn time I did spring cleaning anyway. Uhh, why don't you get settled and I'll get to work on dinner?"

"It's four thirty."

"I can't cook very well."

James nodded. "Right. Well, I will . . . be back out in a while."

Natalia smiled as he disappeared into the hallway. Once he was gone, she allowed her terror to take hold of her features.

How the hell was she going to convince him she lived a normal life -- and that she lived in the apartment?

Damn that landlord.

///////////////

"NO! YOU'LL START A --"

James sighed helplessly as the pan caught fire and Natalia screamed.

"-- fire," he finished lamely.

"I'm done. I can't do this. I'm ordering food."

James raised his eyebrows. "Or you could let me try for once. I've been here one week and you've tried to poison me with burnt pancakes, raw chicken, expired milk, undercooked eggs, dead vegetables, and now you've somehow managed to set fire to the oil. Just . . . go watch the news or something. I'll call you in fifteen minutes."

Sighing, Natalia stalked off, angrily turning the TV on. How hard could it be to pretend to be normal? Was it supposed to be this difficult to learn how to cook? Was she supposed to be this terrible at learning?

Most importantly, how long would this charade need to go on for before she could start sneaking out again?

Surprisingly, exactly fifteen minutes later, James called her name. Switching the TV off, she got up and walked over to him. "Yeah?"

"Taste this," he said, shoving a spoon in her mouth and turning back to the pot.

She glared daggers at his back as she pulled the spoon out of her mouth, but she could not hold the glare. The soup was divine.

"It's not bad," she grumbled.

"Not had?" James asked, laughing, "it's the best thing in this whole country!"

"I doubt that," Natalia argued, leaning around James for another spoonful of the hot soup, "I mean, REO Speedwagon's Can't Fight This Feeling? Dirty Dancing? Lionel Richie's Hello? Soup is not on that list."

"You're a romantic, huh?" James asked, leaving the soup in Natalia's hands as he went to set the table.

"Am not," Natalia scoffed before taking another two spoonfuls of the soup.

"Hey, you better leave some of that for me."

"Make your own damn soup," she muttered, leaning over the pot.

"I did!"

"It's mine now."

"You are unbelievable, Natalia! Move over."

"No, I want more. It's tasty."

"You'll get more in a minute. Go get the cola I bought yesterday and put it on the table."

"But the soup--!"

Natalia blinked and stilled sharply at the look James gave her. It wasn't the stern, parent-like glares he'd been giving her everytime she screwed up at the stove. It was cold, harsh, demanding. She couldn't tear her eyes away, but she knew she had to do as he said. Who knew what would follow?

When he finally turned away, it was as if someone had lifted a concrete slab off her chest. Quickly, she walked to the fridge.

Natalia never realised it was the same look she gave the mirror on the nights when she prepared for a job.

"So," she said once they sat down at the table, "where'd you learn to cook like this?"

"Home," he responded, "my sisters loved it. Sometimes I learned new recipes to impress them."

"That's sweet. Are you the eldest?"

"Mhm. What about you? Siblings?"

Natalia shook her head. "Just me."

"Friends?"

Natalia shrugged. "Not really. I actually--"

Natalia's phone lit up. James noticed that it was a private number. He waited patiently as she answered the phone, mouthing apologies whenever she wasn't speaking.

"Yes, what time? . . . Now?! I -- okay. Where? . . . Right, I'll be there in ten."

"Work?" James asked when she put the phone down on the table and sighed.

"I'm so sorry, James. You made all this and --"

"I'll keep some in the microwave for you."

"I'm really sorry, James."

"It's all right. See you in the morning?"

"Yes. I'll be back by then," she said, getting up. He waved to her as she passed by on her way to the front door. No sooner had she gone out, did his phone ring.

He didn't even greet.

"We have a job for you. Central Park, thirty minutes."

"Yes, sir. I'll be there."

"Is that a problem for you, Soldier?"

Grabbing his jacket and his emergency bag, James left the apartment.

///////////////

"Howard Stark? You want me to take Howard Stark out?"

"Is that a problem for you, Soldier?"

"Uh, yes! The man's reportedly been considering hiring an assassin for a bodyguard! You know what assassins are like!"

"So do you. That is why this job is yours."

"But. . . fine."

The aged Russian smiled as he watched his obedient soldier shrug his dark jacket and shirt off. "It's good you accepted, Soldier."

"Not like I had a choice," James grumbled, peeling the old photostatic veil off his arm. "Sir," he added in a mocking tone.

Vasily Karpov was not a man to be trifled with and for a long time, James did fear Karpov's wrath. Once he learned of his own importance to Karpov, James developed an attitude no other would be allowed to to show to Karpov. Still, he didn't push often. As important as he was, there were gaps in his memory that made him wonder what his punishment had been. Having spent no less than a minute being as rude as he liked, James took the uniform silently and held still as the mask was fixed to his head for alterations.

"Do not disappoint, Soldier. The longer you spend around that civilian, the worse you will get at your job . . . and you know what happens to soldiers that do not perform well. Do not make me use the triggers on you."

"Yes, sir," James said firmly, accepting the new photostatic veil from Karpov.

///////////////

"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that?"

"You are assigned to Howard Stark. Am I right in assuming you do know who he is?"

"Right, but you don't want me to take him out?"

"Ms Romanova, we will give you twice your usual payment to complete this mission."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand why I've been assigned this mission. I'm an assassin. I don't look after people, I kill them."

"Howard Stark believes himself to be a target. We believe he is a target to Hydra."

"Hydra . . . they'd most likely sent the Winter Soldier after him . . . that's why you're assigning me to protect Stark, aren't you? I'm the only one who's gone up against the soldier and survived."

"You understand the severity of your mission, then, Romanova? This is no side job, no small assassination you're paid for on the black market. This is your test, your proof of your versatility. Proof that the Red Room breeds perfection, not mere killers. Do not fail us, Natalia."

Natalia shuddered. Hearing her first name fall from the lips of Vladimira Barkova -- a woman all students, Natalia included, referred to as Madame B -- always sent shivers up her spine. Madame B never meant it with warmth or care. Using a Red Room student's first name was Madame B's method of letting them know she expected nothing less than perfect.

Natalia was hesitant. How could she protect someone when she had been raised to do the opposite? Why did Madame B want to protect Howard Stark anyway? What did he have that they needed? Still, all her uncertainties meant naught.

"Will I need to be within a certain distance from him at all times?"

"Not always," Madame B said, shaking her head. "You will report to his home every morning and remain where you can see him until he returns to his home. Distance is of no consequence, though I don't see how you can protect him if you're not near enough. You will be given access and control over the security at the manor. Though his wife and son are not part of this arrangement and may come and go as they please, if their security ensures Howard Stark's security, then their security is your responsibility. If he wants to leave the manor at midnight, you will be awake and alert to escort him wherever he wishes to go. The manner with which you approach this task is up to you. But fail, and you will become a lesson."

Natalia nodded. "Understood, Madame."

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Masterpost

#apartment 42 #fanfiction #marvel #au #90s #buckynat #tony stark #peggy carter #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff

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bountyofbeads · 5 years ago

Text

Queen Elizabeth II agrees to a ‘period of transition’ in which Harry and Meghan spend time in Britain and Canada

By Karla Adam and William Booth | Published January 13 at 4:10 PM EST | Washington Post | Posted Jan13, 2020 |

LONDON — Queen Elizabeth II announced Monday that she and her royal family were "entirely supportive of Harry and Meghan's desire to create a new life" and that she had agreed to a "period of transition" during which her grandson and his wife would split their time between Canada and Britain.

In a statement, the queen wrote: “Although we would have preferred them to remain full-time working Members of the Royal Family, we respect and understand their wish to live a more independent life as a family while remaining a valued part of my family.”

The queen acknowledged that Harry and Meghan — she omitted their royal titles — “made clear that they do not want to be reliant on public funds in their new lives,” but she did not describe their new duties or ventures.

She cautioned there is more work to be done on the “complex matters for the family to decide” and said she expects final decisions to be made in the coming days.

The queen — a sturdy negotiator who has worked with 14 prime ministers during her reign — may be offering a bit of a “cooling off” period to the young royals, not expecting them to reverse themselves, but perhaps to give them a chance to decide in favor of a less dramatic break.

The announcement from the 93-year-old sovereign and leader of the House of Windsor followed an extraordinary meeting at her Sandringham estate attended by her grandsons Harry and William and her son and first heir, Prince Charles. It is believed that Meghan, who is in Canada, participated by phone.

The queen’s attempt to settle matters comes after a remarkable few days.

The palace was caught off guard by the timing of Harry and Meghan’s announcement, via Instagram on Wednesday, that they would be “stepping back” from their roles as senior royals and wanted to split their time between Britain and North America.

The queen’s statement Monday was the first confirmation that Canada was the place they had in mind.

[Read The Queens Statement on website ]

Earlier Monday, William and Harry issued their own joint statement, batting down “offensive and potentially harmful” reports that bullying by William had pushed Harry and Meghan away.

Decisions about Harry and Meghan’s new roles could have implications for the future shape of the British monarchy and for royals down the line of succession.

The palace didn’t offer more detail on what was discussed at Monday’s family summit. Here are some of the issues that need sorting out.

1. A BRITAIN-CANADA TIMESHARE

Canada seems to have gotten approval as an acceptable part-time home. It probably helps that Canada is a British Commonwealth nation.

But where, exactly, in Canada? Toronto, where Meghan lived while filming the TV show “Suits”? Vancouver Island, where they spent their Christmas vacation? A place like Yellowknife or Moose Jaw — where they really wouldn’t have to worry about tabloid intrusion?

How will they divide their time? And how will that influence the new roles they take on? Will a part-time base in Canada affect the work they do for royal and U.K.-based charities, which they say they want to continue? Will they be asked to take on broader responsibilities related to the monarchy’s relationship with the commonwealth?

2. TITLES AND THE ROYAL BRAND

Harry is officially “His Royal Highness The Duke of Sussex” and Meghan is “Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Sussex.”

Will they keep some or any of those titles? Was the queen signaling a decision by referring to them first as “Harry and Meghan” and only later as “the Sussexes” in her statement?

When Harry’s parents divorced, Diana relinquished her “HRH” title but kept “Princess of Wales.” Harry and Meghan have said they would like to continue to carry out certain duties for the queen, “as called upon.” But might giving up their responsibilities as full-time working royals mean they have to lose the HRH part of their titles, too?

They would probably put up more of fight to keep the Sussex bit, a courtesy title given by the queen. They use the “SussexRoyal” on their Instagram account and new website. They are also seeking to register the Sussex Royal brand as a global trademark on a wide range of items, the Guardian reported.

Of course, the British monarchy is its own brand. And the queen, who serves as its chief protector, will want to make sure Harry and Meghan are careful about avoiding commercial entanglements and other situations that could undermine the Crown.

3. INCOME AND TAXES

The couple say that they want to be “financially independent” and that they “value the ability to earn a professional income.” What will that actually mean? They say they will no longer accept money from the taxpayer-funded Sovereign Grant, which has covered 5 percent of their expenses. But what about the millions they receive annually from Harry’s father, through his inherited Duchy of Cornwall estate? That money has covered 95 percent of their expenses. Will Charles continue to support them to such a large degree? Do they want him to?

There may also be discussion about what kinds of jobs would be okay. Harry’s cousin Princess Beatrice works in finance, and Princess Eugenie is an art gallery director. Meghan, a former actress, has reportedly agreed to do voice-over work for Disney in exchange for a donation to the charity Elephants Without Borders. Would she take in a salary for that sort of work in the future? The royal family’s determination to remain apolitical may play a strong role in guiding what work Harry and Meghan can undertake.

Courtiers have probably outlined the potentially complicated tax situation the Sussexes could face. If they live for an extended period of time in both Britain and Canada, they may have to pay tax on their global earnings in both countries.

The queen is not required to pay income taxes, but she voluntarily contributes a sum equivalent to what a U.K. tax on her private income would be. Prince Charles has a similar arrangement.

4. SECURITY

The royals will also need to determine who foots the bill for Harry and Meghan’s security detail. As senior members of the royal family, they have been entitled to round-the-clock protection, paid for by the state. But junior royals, such as Harry’s cousins, traditionally pay their own way.

Especially if Harry and Meghan spend much of their time overseas, British taxpayers may balk at paying for their security.

The couple is unlikely to want to skimp on personal protection. After her divorce, Harry’s mother was accompanied by a less experienced security team, and that may have contributed to her death. Her driver, a security man from the Hotel Ritz, was speeding and intoxicated when he crashed their car in a Paris tunnel, according to the French investigation.

One of Harry and Meghan’s primary complaints has been about harassment and violations of their privacy. They will want security professionals.

5. RELATIONSHIPS

Although they may be some of the most famous people in the world, and although they represent the somewhat abstract notion of “the Crown,” the British royal family is still a family. And its members will no doubt want to resolve questions related to Harry and Meghan’s new role as amicably as possible.

Much has been made about a possible rift between Harry and his brother, William. The brothers sought to quash such speculation with their statement on Monday.

The two princes said, “Despite clear denials, a false story ran in a UK newspaper today speculating about the relationship between the Duke of Sussex and the Duke of Cambridge. For brothers who care so deeply about the issues surrounding mental health, the use of inflammatory language in this way is offensive and potentially harmful.”

Harry and William did not name the article, but the Times of London carried a front-page story Monday, quoting an unnamed source saying that Harry and Meghan thought they were “pushed away by what they saw as a bullying attitude from the Duke of Cambridge.”

Putting an end to further speculation about divisions within the family may be one of the reasons the queen has signaled she wants a quick resolution.

*********

Harry and Meghan plan a future in Canada, long seen as ‘friendly environment’ for the royal family

By Amanda Coletta | Published January 13 at 3:26 PM EST | Washington Post | Posted January 13, 2020 |

TORONTO — Crystal Kattenhorn is a lifelong fan of the royal family. So much so that when Prince Harry and Meghan Markle married in 2017, the Ontario woman traveled to Britain to camp out for the nuptials.

And when the couple announced last week that they would be stepping back from their duties as senior royals and splitting their time between Britain and a mysterious location in North America, colleagues crowded Kattenhorn's desk to ask how she was coping.

So she was pleased Monday when Queen Elizabeth II said she would support the pair as they "create a new life" — and that they would be doing it, at least part of the time, in Canada.

"I love the fact that they chose Canada to be the overseas base," said Kattenhorn, 46. "I think this is a positive outcome for all parties."

The drama surrounding the pair has drawn far more attention in Britain than it has here. The couple's announcement last week came on the day that 57 Canadians were killed in the Iranian shoot-down of Ukraine International Airlines Flight 752 outside Tehran. That's the news that has consumed Canada in recent days.

But developments around the royal couple haven't gone entirely unnoticed here. After Harry and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, said they would be dividing their time between the United Kingdom and North America, some Canadians began lobbying them to come to this Commonwealth realm, where Meghan worked for seven years and the couple visited over the holidays.

“It’s just got to be Canada,” the Toronto Star editorialized, wistfully. “At this point, our hopes are up. The country has so many wonderful things to offer. But, let’s face it, we’re a bit short in the glamor department. A bit of the Sussexes, even part time, could be just what we needed.

“. . . We don’t want to seem too eager. But it’s hard.”

Harry and Meghan have described the country as a “very special” place. Elizabeth, Harry’s grandmother, is queen of Canada, among her other titles. Harry first visited with his parents, Prince Charles and Princess Diana, in 1991. Meghan lived in Toronto while starring in the USA Network legal drama “Suits.” And it was here that they made their first official appearance as a couple in 2017.

Royal historian Carolyn Harris said Canada has “long been seen as a friendly environment for the royal family.” There’s a history of royals spending long periods of time here on private visits.

Princess Patricia, a granddaughter of Queen Victoria, lived here while her father, Prince Arthur, was governor general. Canadians grew to be quite fond of her, even putting her on their $1 bills in 1917. Prince Andrew, Elizabeth’s son, was an exchange student at Lakefield College School in Peterborough, Ontario, in 1977.

“Canadians tend to take less interest in the private lives of public figures,” Harris said. “There isn’t the same culture of paparazzi” as in Britain or the United States.

No paparazzi photos emerged of the family during its recent holiday in British Columbia. The Times Colonist newspaper admitted it knew all along where the family was staying but chose not to divulge the details until the royals left to “err on the side of discretion.”

According to a poll published by Hello! Canada magazine, Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, is the country’s most popular royal. Meghan and Harry crack the top 10, but they are further down the list.

Tim Hortons, the Canadian coffee chain, promised the Sussexes free coffee for life — an offer that backfired on social media. Critics called the preferential treatment for millionaires unseemly, given the company’s history of labor disputes.

Canada has mostly avoided the kind of debate that has raged in Australia and other Commonwealth realms about whether it should have a monarch as its head of state. Harris said that’s largely because severing those bonds would be a convoluted process.

The institution no longer occupies the space in the cultural imagination that it did in the 19th century, when loyalty to the Crown was seen as a positive feature that distinguished Canada from the United States.

“Even though many Canadians do not necessarily follow the details of the royal family unless there is big news,” Harris said, “the monarchy as a political institution is quite entrenched.”

Canadian monarchists took seriously last week’s news that the couple might be coming.

On the day of the couple’s announcement, Robert Finch, chairman of the Monarchist League of Canada, said the group was keeping Harry and Meghan in its “thoughts” and advised against “jumping to conclusions about what may in practice develop” as they carve out their new roles.

Two days later, the group posted a “friendly caution” to the pair on its Facebook page: “Any public support for their desire to occupy a new, hybrid role combining their royal status with more personal freedom could disappear quickly were there to develop a feeling that, even inadvertently, they had in some way showed disrespect to The Queen, whose style is self-effacing and whose watchword is duty.”

Canada’s small anti-monarchist group Republic Now chimed in, too. “More royals quit the monarchy,” it wrote on its Facebook page. “It’s time Canada did too.”

There remain complications for the couple to iron out.

Although Harry’s grandmother is queen of Canada, he’s not a citizen himself. If he and Meghan wished to stay in Canada for more than six months, they would probably need to apply for visas just like everyone else.

Some parts of the country might be friendlier than others. Harris noted sometimes-fraught relationship between the French-speaking province of Quebec and the monarchy.

Other Canadians might raise their hackles, she added, if it emerges that taxpayers and not the independently wealthy prince are footing the bill for his security.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, asked before the queen’s statement Monday about Canada’s role, said there would be “many discussions to come on how that works.”

“Most Canadians are very supportive of having royals be here,” Trudeau told Global News. “But how that looks and what kind of costs is involved, there’s still lots of discussions to be had.”

John Wright’s wife loves Harry and Meghan. Earlier this month, she mused that Harry would make a “really great” governor general, the representative of the monarch in Canada.

On Jan. 7, the day before the couple’s announcement, Wright, a pollster, inspired by his wife’s rumination, put the question to Canadians. More than 60 percent said they would support Harry’s appointment to the role.

Wright said he understands the affection for the prince.

“Harry seems like the kind of bloke you’d like to have a beer with,” he said.

Kattenhorn said she understands why the couple would want to step back from the spotlight: Britain’s tabloids have been “cruel” and “nasty” to Meghan. She hopes the statement from the queen will give the couple more space.

But her goodwill could run out, she said, if Canadian taxpayers were left on the hook for their time here.

“They both have the means,” Kattenhorn said. “They can pay for their own security.”

*********

What happened to Prince Harry? Five triggers for his royal exit

By Rebecca Taylor | Published

Monday 13 January 2020 21:01 UK | Sky News | Posted January 13, 2020 |

Prince Harry's announcement that he and his wife want to step back from their roles as senior royals has shocked the UK and the world.

How did this once-cheeky chappy lose his smile and end up in a position of wanting to give up his role in the firm?

Is Meghan, the actress-turned-Duchess of Sussex, to blame for his decision, or are there more factors at play in the prince's choice? Sky News looks at the evidence.

BEFORE MEGHAN

While some blame his new wife, there is significant evidence that Prince Harry's unhappiness in his role started long before he even met Meghan, let alone married her.

The Times' royal correspondent Roya Nikkhah told Sky News: "Tensions have been brewing for quite a long time - a lot of people have been quick to point the finger at his wife, (but) it predates her arrival.

"He wanted to find a different way of doing things. She found it hard to adjust and they found it hard to adjust into the new role.

"They want to do things differently, the royal family has been keen to try to accommodate that but obviously not fast enough to do it."

Some of the evidence he wanted to do things differently can be traced back to 2013, when he spent four months on tour in Afghanistan.

While on tour, he was known as Captain Wales, and preferred this to his formal title of Prince Harry.

Being in another country was closer to normal life for Harry, but he confessed sometimes even that brought too many eyes on him.

"For me it's not that normal because I go into the cookhouse and everyone has a good old gawp, and that's one thing that I dislike about being here," he said.

"Because there's plenty of guys in there that have never met me, therefore look at me as Prince Harry and not as Captain Wales, which is frustrating. Which is probably another reason why I'd love to be out in the PBs [patrol bases], away from it all. It's as normal as it's going to get. I'm one of the guys. I don't get treated any differently."

More recently, a friend of his from his days in Afghanistan, Dean Stott, told This Morning he thought the military was "probably the only environment that he could be himself".

It has also influenced a huge amount of his work since he left the military in 2015, after 10 years of service. Indeed, the first time he and Meghan made a public appearance was at the Invictus Games, the sports event he helps to put together for disabled ex-servicemen.

Russell Myers, the Mirror's royal editor, said: "Harry had issues coming out of the army - what was his plan? William was prepared for kingship and he has found it very difficult."

Harry has admitted in the past that he didn't always want to stay in the royal family.

"There was a time I felt I wanted out," he told the Mail on Sunday.

"But then I decided to stay in [The Firm] and work out a role for myself."

Harry said it was his loyalty to the Queen and charity work which persuaded him to stay.

"We are incredibly passionate with our charities and they have been chosen because they are on the path shown to me by our mother. I love charity stuff and meeting people," he said in 2017.

'DIFFERENT PATHS'

Another major element in the story of Harry is his relationship with his brother, William.

While Diana raised them as equals, there was always going to come a time when it seemed more like William was the heir - and Harry was the spare.

Ms Nikkhah said: "They are on different paths, i think they have felt it's difficult on those paths to be aligned in their thinking.

"I think Harry found it difficult to defer to his brother, that pecking order is very difficult.

William and Harry were close growing up, and their mother's death when they were aged 15 and 12 respectively will have given them a deeper bond and understanding.

However, they seem to have grown apart.

In a documentary filmed when Harry was on tour in Africa, he said: "We are certainly on different paths at the moment, but I will always be there for him, and as I know he will always be there for me.

"We don't see each other as much as we used to as we are so busy. But I love him dearly and you know the majority of the stuff is probably - well, the majority of the stuff is created out of nothing.

"But as brothers, you have good days and you have bad days."

The Sunday Times reported that William had declared they were "separate entities" and he could no longer "put his arm around him".

In a rare show of unity, the Dukes put out a statement calling a story which suggested William was a bully "false".

They said: "For brothers who care so deeply about the issues surrounding mental health, the use of inflammatory language in this way is offensive and potentially harmful."

HARRY'S ROMANTIC PAST

Harry's relationship with the media now that he is married may stem back to how his previous relationships ended.

He dated Chelsy Davy from 2004-2011, off and on, and then Cressida Bonas from 2012-2014, both seen as serious relationships which could lead to marriage.

The end of the relationship with Ms Davy was blamed on the strain of the media attention. Speaking in 2016, the first interview she had ever done, Ms Davy said the situation was "scary".

She said: "It was so full-on: crazy and scary and uncomfortable. I found it very difficult when it was bad. I couldn't cope. I was young, I was trying to be a normal kid and it was horrible."

Harry has also spoken of the "very hard times" she had to face.

While Ms Bonas has never spoken about why their relationship ended, it is widely believed she was also concerned about the level of media attention.

In 2016, while he was dating Meghan, Harry denounced what he said were racist undertones in commentary on her and their blossoming relationship.

When their son Archie was born in 2019, media calls around the event were much smaller than for any of William's children.

Instead of pictures on the steps, there was a brief statement from a happy new father, and then a short photocall.

The christening was private, a move that outraged many commentators - especially because it came shortly after it was revealed that the renovation of their new family home on the Windsor estate, Frogmore Cottage, cost £2.4m, paid for by the taxpayer.

A SIGNIFICANT BIRTHDAY

Harry this year will turn 36, the same age his mother was when she was killed in a car crash.

Others who have parents who died when they were young speak of the "curse" that they feel needs to be broken by surpassing the age at which their parent died or that they become "frozen in time".

In 2017, Harry told the Daily Telegraph: "I can safely say that losing my mum at the age of 12, and therefore shutting down all of my emotions for the last 20 years, has had a quite serious effect on not only my personal life but my work as well."

He said he had been close to "complete breakdown on numerous occasions".

He has recently told ITV how camera clicks and flashes remind him of his mother's death.

"I think being part of this family, in this role, in this job, every single time I see a camera, every single time I hear a click, every single time I see a flash it takes me straight back so in that respect it's the worst reminder of her life as opposed to the best," he said.

Harry has always been critical of the role the press played in his mother's death. Diana was killed in a car crash in Paris in 1997 while she was being chased by paparazzi.

MEGAN'S IMPACT

What evidence is there of Meghan's influence on Harry? There are reports that she has changed many aspects of his personal life, like diet and exercise, giving up alcohol for a time and taking up yoga.

It was a far cry from the party days of old.

But there are some who raise concerns about the impact of Meghan on the prince.

One person who noticed a change is Arthur Edwards, who is a photographer for The Sun.

He said: "It's the way Harry is at the moment, he’s just got this bee in his bonnet that all the media are to be ignored.

"Harry used to be the best of all of them. We’d get together in a pub and we’d talk about everything, get it off our plate. It would be frank and open, and you never reported it.

"Now, it’s not even ‘Good morning.’ Nothing. He treats us just like telegraph poles now."

The 2017 Mail on Sunday interview, which came while he was dating Meghan, also hinted at the changes he wanted to make, though their romance may have been too young for her to be a significant player.

He said: "We want to make sure the monarchy lasts and are passionate about what it stands for.

"We feel that the British public and the whole world needs institutions like this - but it can't go on as it has done under the Queen."

Harry said Meghan had not advised him on his mental health issues, but kept other elements of their relationship private.

Having once credited his grandmother as the reason he stayed in the Royal Family, when he once "wanted out", his decision to release the statement when the Queen had asked him not to has caused surprise.

Ms Nikkhah said: "That’s not the way Harry used to be, he has an enormous amount of love and respect for the Queen and this feels very out of character."

Meghan's comments in the ITV documentary while they were in Africa may also have been a factor in his desire to protect her. She said she was not OK and talked of a hope her work in the Royal Family would be treated fairly even if it was not easy.

Whatever the final push was, there's more than meets the eye to Prince Harry's decision to leave his role as a senior member of the Royal Family and seek to scale back his work.

How he and his wife shape their future could be the blueprint for the next generation.

But clues to Harry's big decision were, perhaps, present all along.

*********

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miep-knipperdolling · 6 years ago

Photo

“Reporter learns why Kemper is regarded as ‘real nice guy’”

(September 21, 1973)

Now that I have met "Big Ed" Kemper, I can finally understand how he got his reputation for being a very personable young man, despite the fact he is the admitted killer of 10 persons, including his own mother.

For the first time since his arrest in April, Kemper today discarded his reluctance to talk to a reporter, and chatted with me for about 10 minutes at the courthouse in Santa Cruz.

Previously, as have a number of reporters covering the Kemper murder case, I had sought to interview him, but had been turned down, along with everyone else.

This morning's conversation came about by chance while Kemper was awaiting the arrival of his lawyer Jim Jackson for an interview relating to preparation for his trial, which is set to begin October 15.

Kemper had just been escorted through the law library into a vacant Jury room by his guard, sheriff's deputy Bruce Colomy. Kemper was wearing leg chains and handcuffs on his wrist attached to a restraining chain around his waist, usual maximum security attire for prisoners like him.

I walked by the doorway, unseen by Kemper, and paused to say hello to Colomy, who was standing in the doorway, when Kemper came to the door.

While Colomy is always alert to his responsibilities for guarding his prisoner, it is obvious that he, like many another a law officer involved in the case, has established a friendly rapport with the young men who is six feet, nine inches tall and weighs 270 pounds.

As one officer recently said to me, "He is such a nice guy, I constantly have to remind myself of who he is and what he's done." Colony, probably out of a feeling of fairness toward Kemper, immediately made him aware of who I was.

"This is Marj Von B from the Register-Pajaronian, Ed," he said. "Do you want to give her a private interview?" he jested.

Kemper smiled and nodded his head toward me, saying, "Hi." Not wishing to get into the details which will have their day in court, I decided to keep our conversation in a lighter and more impersonal vein. "How's it going," I asked. Kemper looked down at his handcuffs and, twisting his wrists around in them, he laughed and said, "My lawyer says I'm not crazy enough."

Kemper has pleaded not guilty to eight first-degree murder counts, but Jackson has reserved the right to enter an additional plea of not guilty by reason of insanity. A number of psychiatrists reportedly had been called in by the defense to examine Kemper to determine the feasibility of entering such a plea.

Kemper just last fall was determined to be sane by two Madera County psychiatrists when the young man successfully sought to have his juvenile record expunged. At the age of 15 he murdered his paternal grandparents and subsequently spent five years in Atascadero state hospital for the criminally insane.

Despite Kemper's facetious remark there apparently has been no decision by Jackson on the additional plea, which was the basis for the defense in the other recent mass murder case involving Herbert W. Mullin. Although Mullin's jury found that he was sane, this is an opinion not shared by Kemper.

"If you've been confined as closely to him as I have," Kemper said of his former fellow inmate at San Mateo County jail, "then you've got to know he's crazy." Kemper continued, "And I don't mean just once in a while, like, man, I mean 24 hours a day." "You don't think it's really a put on?" I asked him. "No," Kemper said, "in my time at Atascadero I've seen a lot of 'em ('crazy' people), and he's one of them."

One of the things that admittedly has made the sanity issue difficult in Kemper's case is the fact that he is able to "psych out the shrinks" because of his familiarity with psychiatry. During his stint in Atascadero he acted as a technician, giving inmates some psychiatric tests.

The image of Kemper as a boyish prankster came through this morning when he looked over my head and saw Jackson's private investigator, Harold Cartwright, approaching. "Quick," Kemper said to me, "start writing so he'll think I'm giving you a full-fledged interview." Then he added with a mischievous smile, "Maybe we ought to call a full-scale press conference and get all the reporters here."

As I walked away, I couldn't help but remember a story' told me by Sgt. Don Smythe, one of the three sheriff's detectives who confiscated Kemper's pistol, just a few weeks before his arrest. At that time, Kemper had already murdered six coeds, but he was not yet a suspect.

After his arrest, Kemper told Smythe how close he and his two fellow officers had come to death that day. Smythe told me when he and the others arrived at the Kemper apartment in Seacliff to talk to Kemper and take the gun, because of his previous murder record, there was no one at home. Just as the officers were starting to leave, Kemper drove up.

When Smythe told him why they were there, Kemper reportedly said he felt he had a legal right to the gun because his record had been sealed, but that he wanted nothing to interfere with his efforts to reestablish his life; so he would willingly surrender the weapon to them.

Smythe said Kemper said, "It's in the house, get it for you." He turned and started to walk up the walkway to the front door of the apartment, and Smythe said, "It's instinctive with me when I am dealing with a suspect in any sort of case not to let him out of my sight; so I turned and walked after him." Smythe said that, "Just as Kemper started up the steps, he realized that I was accompanying him and turned and said, 'Oh, I forgot, it's in the trunk of my car."

Kemper returned to the car, got the gun, and gave it to Smythe. "Later he told me," Smythe said, after his arrest, "that he had intended to get a shotgun which was in his bedroom closet and kill as all. "He thought we were really after him as a suspect in the coed killings, and that it was all over," Smythe said.

"The only reason he changed his mind at the last moment, he told me, "Smythe said, "was that he realized I was going into the house with him and he would never get the shotgun into position in time because I was armed with a handgun," I remembered Smythe's comment about Kemper, "He's such a nice guy when you're with him, you just have to keep reminding yourself that he's killed 10 people."

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dcarevu · 6 years ago

Text

DCAU #20: Prophecy of Doom

“You gave him ten million dollars, sir? And to think I was fretting over the electric bill…”

Hey, guys, so lemme tell you about the craziest thing that just happened to me. There I was, dressed in my cloak at the DCAU brotherhood meeting. And the leader of the brotherhood, Nospoilerz, looked right at me and said, “You! Young man! You are in graAaAve danger! I see disappointment! I see pain! I see misery and woe!” I left the place scoffing to myself, not believing one word of it. But then I turned on Prophecy of Doom and I realized that this guy actually may have known what he was talking about.

Episode: 19 Robin: No Writers: Sean Catherine Derek (teleplay), Dennis Marks (Story) Director: Frank Paur Animator: Akom Airdate: October 6, 1992 Grade: D

Am I being too generous with that D? Because this is definitely my second-least favorite episode so far. It’s another Sean Catherine Derek/AKOM “classic” from season 1, and this just goes to show that sometimes reading the episode credits is all you need to do… Sigh… Bruce Timm himself has made certain remarks about both of these creative forces, citing AKOM as a subpar studio, and Sean Catherine Derek as a writer that would always try to throw in a big message, but could never really make it work in practice. We saw this in The Forgotten with the subject of homelessness, and we see it here again with the fortune teller who is actually just scamming people out of all their money. Yeah, she didn’t write the story of this one, only the script and such, but her fingerprints are all over the place when you break out the powder. Unless you’re a really good writer, a half-hour Batman show is just not a good way to get some of your important, socially-conscious messages across to the public. Who exactly wants to see that? Eric Radomski and Bruce Timm were going for a grim, crime-noir. Sean was pushing for a recycling bin and a god damn dog to be in the show, guys. I think recycling is as important as the next guy. And boy do I love a cute pupper. But this says a lot. Boy. Don’t you just wish that we got a whole episode about why we should should recycle? Just imagine how that woulda turned out.

We would see some of the “big, real world statements” taken on much later with Static Shock, and from what I understand, it often worked quite well. But this was after a lot of DCAU establishment. It also was a very different show than Batman TAS. Not to mention, well, Sean Catherine Derek wasn’t involved with Static Shock at all. I wish her no ill will, and I hope she’s happy writing for whoever she writes for nowadays, but the sooner these episodes we’re looking at leave her behind, the better. Reportedly, she clashed a lot with Bruce and Eric when it came to their visions for Batman the Animated Series, so overall I would say that she just was not meant to be part of this team, or wasn’t flexible enough to write stories that would suit this show.

I didn’t think he was legit until he showed me his kickass flyers!

Nostromos is the one-off villain of this episode, and I’m certainly not gonna be anxiously awaiting his return for a future episode. He’s a guy who supposedly has magic powers and the ability to read fortunes, but as we can tell from spending less than five minutes with him, he’s a big fraud. In this episode, it makes for some confusion as far as how we’re supposed to see and react to him. Mysterio from Marvel did this concept wayyy better because Mysterio was more frightening than this guy. At least back when I was a kid he was (yeah, I get it, he’s got a big bowl on his head)! With Nostromos, we, the audience, along with Bruce Wayne, are skeptical of him from the beginning, and the way he carries himself makes it really hard to feel threatened by him at all.

Top 10 DCAU guyliner material

“The vibrations are right for prophecy.” This guy offers a translation to a completely lost Bruce Wayne

“You are merely the eye trying to view itself!” explains Nostromos. Now this guy looks just as confused as Bruce is.

Even after we come to the conclusion that he likely was responsible for the sinking of the gambling cruise ship. He’s just so silly and his plan is so uninteresting. And then we see that the other people involved in Nostromos’ brotherhood (a big group of rich/important people) are eating up every word that he spews out, and we get music cues and other moments that almost seem to try and make us take him seriously. It makes the people in this episode seem like absolute dimwitted fools, and how all of them managed to finesse their way to the top of the money tree with that kind of gullibility is beyond me. The tone is really mixed. And it continues to stay mixed throughout the entire episode. It’s just weird to see Batman, the strong creature of the night who always saves the day (not literally, saving the day at night sounds bonkers), be in any sort of danger, but then see everyone else being idiots and that the villain is just a big joke.

“You!!!” This was a pretty poor-looking shot, especially when you see it in movement.

Bruce’s glass mysteriously shatters.

And what is Nostromos’ plan? Well, his main one is to basically convince the brotherhood that an economic crisis is right around the corner in order to get them to give him all of their money. Is that not the least creative place you could go with a crazy cult in a Batman episode? The least they could have done was made it so that Nostromos wants to kill Bruce for a specific, personal reason or something. Things do get a little bit crazier eventually, but in a way that’s almost as dull as everything else. Nostromos ties Ethan Clark’s (a friend of Bruce in this episode) daughter to this giant solar system display, where she is in danger of being crushed if another planet happens to collide with her.

Seems to me like he could have made things a little simpler if he had just threatened to shoot her.

This sequence just doesn’t visually suck me in, nor did it with Char. She thought it could have looked a lot better, especially when it’s such a preposterous idea. The episode needs to do something for me to fall under the spell of the suspension of disbelief. It has been said that Akom just didn’t have the chops to animate this the way it was asked for. And trust me, I believe that. It hasn’t taken me long to understand the impact of Akom on Batman the Animated Series. But in my mind…even with proper transition from the storyboards to full motion, is this really a scene that I would have been asking for? Did I really want a conclusion where Batman jumps around on moving papier-mâché planets gone awry?

This is pretty much the best we got, folks

So yes, I do in fact agree with Char, this scene could have looked a lot better. But I also have to ask the writers whether or not this was even a good idea in the first place. And Nostromos causes the planets to spin all over the place, past their normal speeds, by beating on the control panel and breaking it. Why does whamming on a piece of technology not usually just shut off the technology? It always sends it off on a deadly rampage. By the end, Batman escapes, saving Clark’s daughter. And Nostromos gets caught by a stray planet from the spinning display as it lands on top of him.

Nostromos and his crazy plot are much like how Red Claw ended up being a few episodes back. Has potential, then does nothing worth remembering with it. Y’know, this episode also feels like a 70’s Scooby Doo episode. The villain seems like a Scooby Doo villain, has a Scooby Doo villain-esque plan, and even gets caught like one of Fred’s traps. And y’know how usually Fred’s traps are completely over the top, but ultimately the animation and everything keeps it pretty underwhelming? That was the whole climax to this one. It’s like Batman was Scooby Doo, wrecking the bad guy’s plan and managing to trap them. I really wish everyone on the Batman TAS team had known better by this point when it comes to what type of show they should have been writing. Clearly some of them were in on it, but not some of those stubborn ones. I get that it’s still season one, but this episodes wastes time. Instead, we could have gotten something much better in its pace. But these writers were here taking up staff slots, not trying their hardest to produce a really good Batman show. They were too focused on only pushing hard enough to create a typical Saturday morning cartoon show, or a show that displayed a moral, and it’s like, another show could be used for things like that. I think when Paul Dini or Alan Burnett wrote their episodes, they made it so damn evident that they were pouring their hearts into the scripts, and were actually trying to make something good, something they they would have wanted to see. They were giving the best to Batman that they could. This show was airing before I was born. And even if it were brand new, it wouldn’t make any sense to hold a grudge or anything on some of these earlier writers. The ones who didn’t utilize the potential of a Batman show like this. Because what these writers did was make the good episodes seem even better. Not every episode may have been ground-breaking in this series. But even with those which weren’t quite up to snuff, with those which didn’t elevate the animation landscape, we still got so many episodes that did, and they are why the cartoon is remembered as being so important, so influential, and so gosh-darned entertaining. Them, and Batman going, “Psyyyyychic energiiiees, Alfred”. I could listen to that on repeat.

One of our establishing shots of the episode, use for a prelude which ultimately doesn’t end up being all that significant for the story. But at least the jazz was nice!

I don’t believe that we ever actually get any confirmation as to whether or not Nostromos planted this. I’m surprised an episode like this didn’t take the extra step to spell it out for us.

Uh oh, don’t let the fish drown!

Ethan and Lisa Clark. Wonder if they’ll appear past this episode.

Total Scooby Doo villain vibes.

Here are the mugshots

These keyboard sound effects, though. Let’s get some official Batman TAS ASMR.

Batman flees the falling elevator, not falling victim to Nostromos’ plot

This was a pretty shitty fight scene.

Were you even trying to avoid that swing, Batman? He even gave you some time to react before he swung!

This was a decent shot.

Kevin Conroy’s acting was a lot of fun here. He put a tremble into Bruce’s voice that we all know is Bruce faking, but that’s only because we know better!

The most disturbing moment of Batman TAS so far. This damn smile. Especially with the way his eyes move. And you’re telling me that Bruce couldn’t hold in this smile? It’s not like he saw the camera and knew we were watching. They shoulda had him wink right at us while they were at it.

Maybe the bit that saved this episode from an F

Or maybe it was specifically this ass shot. And you say you watch Batman for the plot.

This is the shot our climax ends on. Just take it in.

This one was harder to write for some reason. Could have something to do with the fact that I’m staying in some friends’ living room and sleeping on their couch with another person over spring break. Not to mention, I have to do a lot of this typing on the floor. But I hope it gave something worth reading regardless! Here’s to a smoother review for next time. They can’t all be winners. Much like the episodes themselves.

Char’s grade: C

Next time: Feat of Clay (Part 1) Full episode list here!

#batman tas #dcau #dc animated universe #batman the animated series #prophecy of doom #batman

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bethgreeneishopeunseen · 7 years ago

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What do you mean that you are an Empath?

Before I delve into the metaphysical concept of Empaths, I should clarify the different kinds of empathy. To be honest I’m still pretty new to being an Empath and the related community and research. However, I do know about some of it as the development of empathy often comes up in relation to trauma. How a person experiences empathy can develop and/or change because of trauma and usually does. Anyway, there are two main types of empathy. James Fallon, a neuroscientist and an expert on psychopathic behavior summarizes them as (X):

“Cognitive empathy is the ability to know what other people are feeling, and emotional empathy is the kind where you feel what they’re feeling.”

Social predators like narcissists and psychopaths tend to develop cognitive empathy as it allows them to blend into society, wear a convincing mask, and identify potential targets and their vulnerabilities. I wish I had known about this type of empathy a few years ago. For so long, I thought my twin brother was an empathetic person. He said that he was, and he acted the part. But in hindsight, he never was. It was all an act. When I’d come to him, drowning in pain because of our parents’ abuse (in particular our father’s), he’d tell me to just get over it. That I had a victim complex. We really are the perfect, fucked-up yin yang twins. He’s darkness, and I’m light. He knows what people feel, and I feel what they feel.

So, neurotypical people have a normal amount of emotional/compassionate empathy. They can pick up on what another person is feeling and want to help. In my AP Psyche class, during our feral children section, empathy was actually listed as one of the two defining traits of humanity. And then there are what I call Empaths with a capital E. These kinds of people have emotional/compassionate empathy to a high degree, a hyper empathy if you will. From what I’ve read, Empathy is something that’s more genetic in nature. Hyper empathy can also stem from trauma, as interpersonal abuse conditions you to your abuser’s moods. My father, and my mother to an extent, was very mercurial. My father was a volatile man who would do things like throw shit at the wall and damage doors. I had to learn from a young age how to read him. So I’m very sensitive to a person’s face, tone, and body language and how they change.

Anyway, being an Empath means that I feel people’s emotions and their overall energy/aura. It can be very overwhelming. One of the first times I noticed it was when I was catering an event on my campus last year. It was a dinner at the President’s house, so everyone was running around stressed, including myself. But the moment I went downstairs to the employee bathroom, I felt calm. It wasn’t my stress that I was feeling. However, I really became aware of it because of my paranormal experiences last year. I’m in my school’s Paranormal Club, and last year we visited an old restaurant and Gettysburg. The restaurant had some construction dating back to the Revolution, and in the dirt-floor basement we got some EVPs (electronic voice phenomenon; ghost voices). (One of the EVPs was actually an unidentified male voice saying, “No,” to my question of, “Did you die here?”.) In the basement, I suddenly began to think of these Civil War spirits that were reportedly seen, and I grew emotional. I had a knot in my throat and water at the edge of my eyes. It was odd. Then later that month we visited Gettysburg for a weekend. On our first night we went to Sachs Bridge, a place known for its activity. I watched a cigarette re-light itself, felt its cold back end after it eventually went out (as if something cold had held it), and then watched said cigarette move by itself when set on a railing. (And no, there was no wind that night and especially at that moment.) By the riverbank, as we were asking questions to the air (and hopefully ghosts), I began to feel sad emotions out of nowhere, like I had at the restaurant. Feelings of sadness, of yearning. Tears welled up in my eyes and slipped down my face.

And these excursions were last April. Back then I was still pretty numb and dry-eyed, as I was just starting to heavily process the abuse. After Gettysburg, I talked to @bethgreenewarriorprincess and a college friend about it, as I was considering that I was an Empath. The emotions that I had felt on those excursions weren’t mine, I couldn’t trace them to a specific trigger. My friends validated the possibility, especially after I mentioned my mother’s connection to the paranormal. She told me that the women in our family saw things. Her house was haunted by her mother and her uncle, and she would see shadows and figures move out of the corner of her eye. So I inherited my mother’s sensitivity, but mine was different. Rather than seeing I feel.

Overall, Empaths tend to attract toxic people, damaged people, and ghosts. Empaths are known for having a naturally healing aura, and we also like to help others. We’re fixers by nature. Anytime a friend of mine expresses distress I feel the urge to drop everything and jump to their side, to nurture them. Burn-out is a big risk with Empaths, from what I’ve read, and I can believe it.

My empathy has really grown in the last few months. Being abroad really helped to open up that part of myself, which was likely warped and stunted because of my family. Europe’s old architecture tends to affect Empaths as they have more energy because of the history. I would often be overwhelmed in cathedrals, actually, as this reverence and power would wash over me. It helped that my two closest friends that I made in France, @boldly-qo and @teachers-are-nerds, are also Empaths. We supported each other. boldly-qo and I were housemates, and we became French sisters. They have more experience with being an Empath and the paranormal, so they helped me embrace this side of myself.

I had my first personal paranormal experience about a week ago, during finals. I woke up one night at 3 a.m., and I kept hearing a clicking noise in the corner between my window and the door. I remembered that boldly-qo had looked for ghosts earlier that day. I sensed something in the room with me. It wasn’t malevolent, just a presence. The next day, after I mentioned it to boldly-qo, they mentioned seeing an orb. Orbs are common with ghosts as they require the least amount of energy. (Full-body apparitions are actually rare because of the energy that a ghost would need to generate.) The next night, right after I turned out the lights so I could go to bed, my overhead lamp started to flicker. While there had been electricity problems at my host’s throughout the semester, my light had never done that. And the flickering light moved around on the ceiling lamp. I thought that there was a presence in the room, so I got boldly-qo. They also felt something, something non-malevolent and likely female. The room wasn’t cold, but there was a cold energy and I also felt a heavy weight on my shoulders and chest.

boldly-qo had a spirit box app on their phone, and so we used to try and communicate. For socio-historical context, our host’s house was built in the 20s and during the 40s, Nazis lived downstairs. I stayed in Aix-en-Provence, and there was a concentration camp outside of town. From what I’ve gathered, spirit boxes are a relatively new kind of tech in paranormal research. Ryan uses them a lot on Buzzfeed Unsolved. The device/app scans radio frequencies at an extremely fast rate, generating a large amount of static and white noise. It’s so fast that, in theory, any voices heard can’t be human.

We learned three things while using the spirit box app: The spirit was a woman named something like Milfred (I think Mildred, as my great-grandmother had the same name), she didn’t live in this house, and she didn’t like being there. Grief and sadness overwhelmed me, and I started to cry, outright sobbing at one point. As I told boldly-qo, those emotions weren’t mine. They held me as the feelings ran their course. It felt like Milfred had left. I felt closure.

That night, boldly-qo dreamt that a soldier had killed them and took their family away. I think that we helped a spirit whose family was taken to the camps. Maybe she was drawn to the house of her killer. We know that Milfred was likely drawn to me and my energy – I’m grieving the loss of my family right now. We’re kindred spirits in a way. While I was frightened at first, because there was a presence in my personal space, by the end of the experience I felt empowered. It was beautiful being able to help someone who was suffering, to let a person know that they were seen.

I know that this is a really long and personal post, but I didn’t know how else to answer your question. It’s taken me about a year to internalize this part of myself, and it can be a hard concept to understand if you haven’t lived it. It’s a bit surreal and really connects you to the greater universe, to a sense of spirituality.

#asks #personal #empath #empathy #ghosts

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partyinthemysterymachine · 7 years ago

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we did some sleuthing a few years back for my birth father. he might be a man who is called the “cardboard box preacher” or some shit. was an alcoholic and a drug user in his youth and lived out of a cardboard box in LA for years until he Found God and began preaching. my mom wants me to contact him but i’ve been hesitant because there is zero evidence this might be my birth father.

my birth mother is a very large woman and reportedly, my parents never really had contact with her at all. all arrangements were made through her best friend, who cared for her during her pregnancy. melanie has contacted me through the years and i’ve been inclined to meet her, but my birth mother wants no contact, which i can respect of course.

if my birth father is this guy then it’s thanks to him i have a higher chance of alcoholism but isn’t it partially my choice to drink instead of blaming it on my genetics? and since my mother is so big, i also blame her for my weight problems but it’s also my own problem if i choose to eat like i do? like. i feel awful if i blame them for the root of my issues in obesity and addiction however knowing it’s in MY hands now to take care of it and nip it in the bud, or get help, or work hard to do what I NEED TO DO to keep myself healthy.

like. it’s wrong, right? is it wrong to feel like that? my parents are good. as a whole, my parents are good. i’m grateful my parents adopted. but they adopted two babies that have addiction and mental illness in their blood and they didn’t know that. well they knew about my brother, his mother was an addict and they knew, and he has a relationship with his birthmother and all and. i don’t envy him for it. i don’t want a relationship with my birth parents.

we were told at a young age that we were adopted and honestly that was a great move. i’m glad my parents said something about it. we are adopted and they explained it to us and told us that we are loved and they wanted us, so that’s why it happened. my brother (a 1.5 years older) had more of an issue with it in his teenage years (actually yelled “you’re not my real dad” at my dad and honestly i think i just laughed when i heard him screeching across the hall) but that was also the start of HIS alcoholism.

he got DUIs. he has a breathalyzer in his car for now. like. he couldn’t even pull his shit together until he was 30 and actually attend the classes to get his license back, much less a breathalyzer to start his car. he’s finally got his goddamn shit mostly together. he’s turning 31 this year. i think. and after all the bullshit he’s gone through, put my parents through, my mother has talked about him, he’s turned right fucking around like a full 180 and he’s HAPPY and HEALTHIER and he’s IN SCHOOL FOR SOMETHING HE LOVES and i’m so, so happy for him.

it’s like. i hope that i can find some meaning. i look to him and i’m like.. yeah. maybe i can make it past 30. maybe i can make it long enough to find something i love to do and have meaning. my dad tried to have a Deep Conversation with me on a winding Big Bear road about “are you still going to kill yourself” and i’m like, dad i really don’t know. he said he doesn’t want it to happen. he’ll do anything to make it not happen. he odesn’t want to lose his camping buddy. and i’m just. dad. please. i love you and your wife is an abusive leech (i don’t know how to tell him that) and i wish you would divorce her but i know you never will, and your daughter is about to start testosterone and you’ve been so loving, so adoring, so helpful, so kind and thoughtful and forgiving and honestly......

i don’t know what’s going to happen except i might not be here in four months. or six. maybe i’ll finally move and get a place in fuckass nowhere, mountainrange and try to exist. i’m trying, and he says that he’s proud of me for trying, and i’m

anyway, i don’t kno wwhere this was going, except that blame is weird and strange and owning up to failures is painful and a good skill to learn, and i’ve broken my sobriety and tomorrow is another day for success and learning to forgive myself and learn again

maybe i’ll live past 30

maybe.

#ches barfs up personal shit #also apparently dream daddy is my I'm Depressed (tm) game???#i always play it when i'm fuckin depressed #like ok??????? i guess

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theeurekaproject · 5 years ago

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Fratres in Armis

“You’re late.” “I know.” T sunk back into the crowd, trying to blend in with the rest of his cohort. He wished mess dress allowed for the use of helmets; he stuck out like a sore thumb when the TB-class soldiers faces were uncovered. He didn’t need to receive any more comments about how strange it was that he resembled the Imperatrix so closely, almost as if he was her brother. The people who pointed and gossiped were mostly conspiracy theorists whose obsession with uncovering the secrets of the Imperials bordered on insanity, but T had no intention of making anyone aware that the observations they’d dismissed as fringe lunatic nonsense were more accurate than anyone thought.

“Did you at least—“ “Yes, I gave her the chip.” T fidgeted uncomfortably, trying to shield his face from the onlookers. “We should stop talking about this.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?” Ace asked, clearly bored.

“How about how incredible it is that our glorious Imperatrix has taken her rightful place on the throne of Eleutheria?” T replied loudly, making sure he was in earshot of their centurion.

“Yes, let us bask in her glorious presence.” Ace rolled his eyes, though based on the way he was looking at Acidalia, he didn’t mind “basking in her presence” as much as he claimed he did.

The men around them whispered amongst themselves. It was technically a breach of decorum, but nobody seemed to mind—the noise of the cornicenes was loud enough to drone out any errant rumors. Still, T could hear scattered fragments of conversations, words like bastard and Martian and filia nullius. Momentarily, he wished he could inform them who they were speaking to. They’d shape up real quick if they knew the man in front of them was the son of Alestra Cipher.

But to reveal his heritage would be foolish, and it would only fuel the rumor mill to give hints and implications, so T didn’t bother to try to stop the conversation. He’d long since made his peace with the fact that high society would never see his sister as legitimate, and Acidalia most likely had, too. When the revolution came, these haughty scandalmongers would be outnumbered by the people they oppressed, and T would have his justice then.

Until that moment came, though, he would sit and let the nonbelievers complain.

Acidalia was making a speech again, another meaningless sermon about how very thankful she was for the mother who’d never been anything but violently abusive for the entirety of her life. Alestra stood next to her, a mocking caricature of a proud parent. To the untrained eye, she appeared harmless and maternal, but T didn’t need his enhanced vision to see that her eyes were anything but loving. Behind them was Aleskynn, bored and annoyed, twiddling her thumbs in between posing extravagantly for the cameras. Later her picture would be on the newsreels and splattered all over the Internet; she knew that the media favored photos of her over photos of Acidalia.

Aleskynn was a classic Eleutherian beauty, and once she grew up, men would be bending over backwards for her favor. If marriage as a concept still existed on Terra, she’d probably have a thousand proposals from soldiers each more wealthy and powerful than the last. She was only 13, but that didn’t deter anyone. T had nearly killed a man behind a bar in Appalachia for saying something that involved Aleskynn’s name and the age of consent; T had never met his little half-sister, but it didn’t take much for the big-brother instinct to kick in. Everyone else had dismissed it as an act of drunken violence, and he’d gotten off with a slap on the wrist, which was no doubt because he was a TB-class immune and the other man was an O9-class miles. Pulling rank almost always felt wrong, but that time, it was far more gratifying than T would have liked to admit.

T worried about Aleskynn sometimes, though Acidalia assured him that she’d be fine. She was no doubt the favorite daughter; her birth was what convinced Alestra to repeal the one-child law she’d passed in a fit of rage one night when some advisor had implored her to do something, anything, about Eleutheria’s dying environment. It took quite a lot to make Alestra change her mind, especially when it didn’t benefit her in the least. She didn’t have to listen to her own rules—it was generally understood that noblewomen, especially the Imperatrices, were excluded from nearly all legislation they passed. So going through the process of rewriting the law so that mothers could have multiple daughters was uncharacteristic. Alestra was extremely attached to Aleskynn—so much so that they practically shared a name—and perhaps that attachment had finally let her see the joy she was preventing other mothers from experiencing. (It was attachment, not love—T was convinced that Alestra was not at all capable of love.) He still remembered the night when Principissa Aleskynn was born, though he was only four years old at the time. They’d all watched the announcement, clustered around the screen in their home base. Alestra lifted her up like something out of Leo Regem, and the crowds below cheered, like the birth of a princess affected them in any sort of positive way. Maybe they just liked cute children with dazzlingly pale skin and golden-yellow hair. So they cheered for their new Principissa, and Alestra made a lovely speech about how sometimes when things go bad, you just have to start again anew. T was eight when he realized that it was nothing but a thinly-veiled way to make fun of Acidalia in front of the entire nation, and eleven when he realized that not only was she effectively disowning Acidalia, she was disowning him, too (if it even counted as “disowning” when she never acknowledged his existence in the first place.) His blood had boiled, then, and it continued to boil now, red-hot anger coursing through his veins as he watched the rest of the crowd stare rapturously at Alestra like she was God Himself.

But even Aleskynn being the favorite child didn’t save her from anything. Celestia was reportedly Alestra’s favorite sister, and that didn’t help her make it past the age of 7. It would only take one small thing, one little slip up, for Aleskynn to feel her mother’s wrath. And even if by some miracle she managed to avoid the brunt of Alestra’s insanity, she was still growing up in a horrific, cutthroat environment where innocent people were mercilessly slaughtered for crimes they didn’t commit on a regular basis. That was no place for a child to be.

Not that T had had a particularly wonderful childhood himself. At least they didn’t put underage immunes into combat; lower-ranking men had it even worse.

He used to wish he’d been born with an X chromosome; then Alestra would have no choice but to acknowledge him, and he’d be second-in-line. Perhaps then he’d actually know Aleskynn, and perhaps he and Acidalia would have been able to spend their childhoods together. But then he’d have the responsibilities of leading a planet, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever handle politics as seamlessly and perfectly as Acidalia did. Legitimate or not, she was practically made for the job, though T thought she could use a little more self-preservation.

Eventually Alestra’s voice stopped, and the crowd cheered again, mostly. The few servants scattered throughout the flock just looked at one another. T didn’t blame them; they had no reason to like Alestra, or anyone else in the upper class, for that matter. Then Acidalia started talking, and it was just another version of their mother’s meaningless, droning, scripted speech. She spoke like she was filled with emotion, but when T looked at her face, it was blank, empty. He started to doze off again, lost in his own mind, then suddenly something jerked him back to the present.

“You okay?” Ace asked under his breath.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” T shook his head. But there was something bothering him, some gut feeling that told him there was a problem. He scanned the men around him quickly—other than Ace, he didn’t trust any of them very much. Still, none of them seemed to be saying or doing anything incriminating. The man on his left stared at Acidalia mindlessly, no doubt ignoring her speech like T had been, and most of the others seemed wrapped up in a whispered conversation about bets they placed on the outcome of this year’s Winter Olympics. They all seemed relatively innocent. So what, then…?

Then he caught it. A woman stood a ways behind Acidalia, finger on the trigger of a very well-concealed laser pistol. His heart raced for a second and he tried to convince himself that he was being paranoid, that someone else would have noticed such a blatant assassination attempt, then he remembered that nobody else would have noticed at all. High-ranking supersoldiers, or at least the young men who would one day become supersoldiers, were the only people with accurate enough vision to see the woman from here, and T was the only supersoldier who was paying attention to Acidalia whatsoever.

Silently, he elbowed Ace, who looked at him curiously. He nodded towards the podium and Ace’s bright brown eyes suddenly displayed a look of recognition, and—

And then a million things happened in about one Planck second.

T tackled the woman to the ground without a second thought. She shrieked and set off the gun, though thankfully not in his direction—the laser went flying through the crowd, scattering Aleskynn and her ladies-in-waiting, who ducked for cover under chairs and behind their mothers. Behind him, Ace had Acidalia pinned to the ground, and luckily she had the sense not to move. T heard only her panicked “Quid—?” before she too realized the events that were unfolding, and she pulled herself out from Ace’s grip, darting off into the crowd and leaving Ace clutching at the remnants of her torn organza skirt.

T’s momentary distraction allowed the woman to wrestle out of his arms and fire another shot, which he easily dodged; she was clearly untrained, and he wondered if she’d ever even used a gun before. The laser ricocheted off the ceiling and hit someone in the audience, sending an emergency services crew that appeared out of nowhere sprinting to attend to her. Desperate, T hit the woman across the face, and blood flew across her white ballgown, leaving thick, scarlet-red stains. She fell back, dazed, nose bleeding, and T grabbed the gun out of her hand and kicked her to the side. He looked at the Imperial Guard, who stood behind Alestra dutifully, but they didn’t even seem to notice him. Of course they wouldn’t—half of them were probably in on the plan.

God damn it, Acidalia, he thought, what did I tell you? He spared a glance at the bleeding woman he’d just knocked to the floor. Though she was covering most of her face with her gloved hands, he recognized her immediately as Cassiopeia, last of house Generalis, one of Alestra’s favorite followers. Then he had the abrupt revelation that to anyone in the audience, this would look very, very bad. He and Ace had just tackled the Imperatrix to the ground while shots flew in indiscernible directions—to the innocent members of the court, they probably looked like assassins, and to the Nova conspirators, they were criminals for stopping their plans from coming to fruition.

He spared a second to look for Acidalia, who was easy to spot in a crowd of pale blondes. Her curtain of black hair wavered behind her like a flag—or a target. Then he jumped off the podium and made a beeline for her, taking advantage of the chaos surrounding him and the fact that nearly every other man here was dressed in the same uniform he wore. Ace followed, vanishing into the crowd of identical soldiers and leaving a trail of organza and satin fabric behind.

Acidalia sat near the entrance with her gun drawn, looking like a complete wreck. Her dress were coming apart at the seams where Ace had torn it, exposing at least half a dozen petticoats and a very uncomfortable-looking cage crinoline. One sleeve had fallen from its place on her shoulder, revealing a bright purple bruise, and her entire bodice was drenched in Cassiopeia’s blood.

“I never knew House Generalis had such a grudge against me,” she mentioned casually, like everything that had just preceded the conversation was completely normal.

“For Christ’s sake, Acidalia, what are you doing?” T groaned. “Get the hell out of here. I can handle it.” “I don’t need you being in any more danger than you already are. I can handle myself.”

“No one woman can ‘handle herself’ in a room where everyone else wants to kill her, Dalia.” “Neither can one boy.” “They aren’t specifically targeting me!” T yelled, exasperated. One of the girls, a gray-eyed Scientia who didn’t exactly look like she belonged here, stared at him in fear. “Look at these people,” he hissed at Acidalia. “Cassiopeia almost killed you, and the two noblewomen beside her most definitely saw, but they didn’t do shit. That means they were almost certainly in on it. Our mother’s a complete sociopath—she wants you dead more than anyone else—and even if there is a single other sympathetic soul in this room, they’re probably too afraid of her to do anything. I’m also reasonably sure that at least one of Aleskynn’s friends is a spy. Face it—this is not a good location for you right now.”

Acidalia looked at the crowd hesitantly, then lowered her gun. “You’re right,” she admitted, “and I hate it. This place is going to become a bloodbath in a few minutes, and it’ll all be over me. I do hate leaving wars I started.”

“Stop taking responsibility for things you weren’t involved in. You didn’t make any of these assholes join the Nova.” She looked at him, her eyes forlorn. T knew what she was silently saying—maybe she hadn’t intentionally started any wars, but her birth and subsequent ascension was the catalyst for years of tension coming to a head. But she couldn’t control where she was born any more than a common Cantator—the Ciphers liked to pretend they were hand-picked by some vague immortal god to rule over the Empire, but that was all a sort of pseudotheology limited to propaganda, and Acidalia knew that better than anyone else ever could. She had no reason to feel guilty.

“Dalia,” T said again, “go. I know you want to stay here and protect me, but you’re in so much more danger than I am right now. Please, just leave.”

Acidalia bit her lip, but she lowered her gun. “If I listen to you and run right now,” she said, “you need to promise two things to me.”

“Anything,” T said. “Cross my heart.” “One: tell Artemis I’m alive at some point. She doesn’t deserve to spend the next few days panicking about me; she has her own issues, and we certainly don’t need anyone else in the court picking up on the fact that she seems inordinately concerned about the bastard Imperatrix they’ve all decided to kill,” Acidalia said. “Not that they don’t have enough evidence against her already, but, well… I’d rather have them be suspicious than certain. Understood?” T nodded. “Makes perfect sense to me, though I might have a difficult time convincing Ace. He and Artemis don’t exactly love each other.” “Ace’s petty squabbles with his superior officers are irrelevant. Please promise me you’ll at least tell her.”

“I will. I swear.” That was easy enough—barely even a mission. “And number two?” “When I leave, you leave too,” Acidalia said firmly. “No staying behind to investigate new assassination plots or interrogate potential spies or do anything else you weren’t explicitly assigned. I am not letting you put yourself in more unnecessary danger.”

His heart sunk. “But—“ “Listen to me. You are seventeen. You have so much life left to live, and if you stick around here for any longer, you drastically increase your chances of being captured or killed. I never thought I’d tell you this, but please, for all that is holy, find Ace and proceed to your assignment in the Underground. You’ll be much safer down there.” T almost voiced a protest, but Acidalia’s expression said clearly that she was not in the mood to argue. She was scarily good at forcing others to bend to her will, and, like the rest of the planet, T was prone to forgetting all thoughts of resistance the minute he looked at her face. She was so domineering, every bit the empress she was born to be, and even though he knew, logically, that she would never so much as lay a finger on him, it felt unwise to even try to oppose her.

“Okay,” he said finally, hoping he wouldn’t regret it later. “I promise. Now run, please.” Behind them, he could already hear more shots firing—laser guns were quiet, but not silent, and if he listened closely, his enhanced hearing could just barely pick up on the whoosh of laser bolts over the sounds of screaming.

“It does sound like the calvary has arrived.” Acidalia spared a glance over T’s head. “I love you. Don’t do anything stupid.” “You know me.” T smiled reassuringly. “Now go.”

She looked over at him one last time, as if to ensure that he was still standing there, then tore off down the hallway, leaving a trail of fabric and diamond dust. Even after all these years, it still shocked T somewhat to see how careless she was with money. Lab-grown or not, diamonds were expensive, and the amount of precious stones that had been on her ruined dress could probably have fed a family for months.

Not that he really blamed Acidalia for being clueless about value and worth. Alestra hadn’t exactly given her the world’s best education regarding economics.

He stood there for a few seconds, making sure she’d actually left. She was almost always truthful with him, but there had been isolated incidents where she’d lied for his protection, and, uncommon though they were, they’d taught him to never really trust anything she said about her own safety. Acidalia wasn’t dumb, but she was dangerously selfless, especially when it came to her loved ones. T had seen older boys with that same magnanimous altruism. They usually didn’t make it past twenty.

Ace caught up to him just as he finished sweeping the hallways, which were, evidently, clear of Acidalia (though he wouldn’t put it past her to be sitting someplace up in the rafters acting like a royal sniper.) At some point, the torn pieces of her skirt had come apart, and they stuck to Ace with static cling. Strips of fraying lace dangled from his uniform, catching on pins and wrapping around badges, leaving behind tiny white threads that made him look like he’d been caught in one of Eleutheria’s famously rare snowstorms.

“You look like you have dandruff,” T said flatly, reading up to brush some of the white debris off of Ace’s shoulder.

“You look like you have heatstroke,” he retorted, his voice equally as deadpan. “Where’s your sister?”

“Gone.”

Ace frowned. “I was hoping to meet her.” “Not a good time for her to schedule an audience. And don’t call her my sister, you don’t know who’s listening.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Like anyone here will put the pieces together.” “Alestra would. We look very alike.” T and Acidalia could easily be recognized as siblings if they were stood side by side; they both had Alestra’s slender face and high cheekbones, coupled with their father’s deep brown eyes, brown skin, and pitch-black hair. The combination of “noble Eleutherian” and “penniless Martian” was not common, and it wouldn’t take a genius to see that they were more than strangers. Alestra had given birth to T, even if she’d have liked to forget it, and she was no idiot—she’d be quick to realize their relationship. T didn’t know the ramifications that would have, but considering his mother’s dislike of Acidalia, he had a feeling that it wouldn’t end well.

“We still can’t risk it,” he said, not wanting to argue with Ace any longer. “We need to get out of here. We have to go to the Underground at some point, anyway, and it’s too dangerous to stick around much longer.” The fighting behind them had mostly stopped, but it would probably not look very good if a Magistratus rounded the corner to see Acidalia missing and Ace clutching at the remnants of her torn clothes.

“Ironic, isn’t it? Who’d have thought that the Underground is safer than nice, pretty uptown Appalachia.”

“Sometimes it’s better to be in a place where nobody has any idea who you are.” T glanced one last time at the crowd of diplomats and the police trying to keep them in line before pulling Ace down another hallway. He knew this place like the back of his hand—he and Acidalia had spent their adolescent years hiding from Alestra in these stark white corridors. It wasn’t unusual for soldiers to be seen around the palace, especially high-ranking immunes like Ace and himself, but they’d always been cautious, just in case. The stakes were too high for them to let their masks slip. The planet had never been closer to a civil war, and T didn’t want to be the harbinger of a new era of violence—that was, if it wasn’t already written in his DNA.

#eurekaproject #on the edge of eureka #chapters #POV T #T #Acidalia #Ace (Character)#Cassiopeia

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