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amazildoessomethingstupid · 6 years ago

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Chapter 96: Unspoken Rule

Man I thought it would be a lot longer before I did another of these, but as it turns out I fucking hate in between pages. Y’know, those pages between the actual good and interesting shit? Y’know the parts that are in between the fun parts, but you have to have them to actually move characters to the good parts? The parts that are boring and filler? Yeah as an artist/writer I hate those too and it took me most of the week to come up with a page to make it not boring as sin. Sadly this means, ANOTHER RANT! And this time we are taking a look at Unspoken Rule. But before we do, I’d like to share with you the bit of panic that set in and what kind of pressure I had on me when trying to force an update. For a second I thought that this rant was going to be about…

And I was very, very, scared.

Thankfully a friend notified me that I don’t know how to count, so we’re talking about this chapter instead! Boy what a relief that was, I thought. But it seemed a bit disappointing. I hadn’t heard anything of this page, seems like it’ll be a short rant. That won’t do. So I figured, “hey if there’s not much to say. Fuck it, we’ll do a double feature with the carnival…”

Sadly, I have something to say.

And we start with a good lighthearted joke. Although, that expression in the first panel throws it off a bit. The dialogue on the initial read says snark and sassy, but the face says honest concern, but then we show it is snarky. So the face is just, confusing. Not worth kicking up a fuss about, but definitely a headscratcher.

Anyway, on to what’s actually happening. Which is Mike is being nervous and back and forth about wanting to talk to Lucy and apologize. And it’s so weird to me. This is such a serious plot point, and major conflict in the story, yet this is played for laughs. And not even good laughs, just hollow jokes it feels almost tasteless. But not as tasteless as this:

BIG OOF

Alright guys, see this?

I am absolved of this being uncharacteristically brash and open. If Taeshi can do that kind of rudeness, so can I. Lucy is just so cold now, it feels bad. Not out of character, not unrealistic, just…bad.

But moving from that, we get into these two. And…

Awww…th-this is actually pretty sad. And engaging.

HEY! I SEE YOU REACHING FOR MY HEARTSTRINGS! YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY!

But seriously, this a very nice scene. It’s kind of touching, and it’s a moment I wish we had more of.

It’s…actually very nice. The characters are finally airing their grievances, and we’re getting somewhere. I…I actually like th-

OH YOU BACKSTABBING, HACK WRITING, BITCH! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! WHY ARE YOU STICKING YOUR DICK IN A GAS STATION MILKSHAKE?! BITCH,

ARE YOU FUCKING F’REAL SHAKES RIGHT NOW?! WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU FEEL THE NEED TO ADD THAT?! THIS JUST DESTROYS ALL IMMERSION, I ALMOST FELT SOMETHING THERE FOR A SECOND! BUT THEN YOU HAD TO DO SOMETHING SO DUMB! THIS ISN’T EVEN ON THE CHARACTER, THIS IS A STRAIGHT UP WRITING ISSUE! EVEN I WOULDN’T DO SOMETHING THIS DUMB! IT’S SO OUT OF PLACE! IT GIVES ME MENTAL WHIPLASH CAUSE I HAVE TO DO A DOUBLE TAKE TO MAKE SURE I’M NOT JUST FUCKING SEEING SHIT! AND YOU KNOW WHAT’S THE WORST PART ABOUT THIS FUCKING PANEL?!

IT’S IN THE PRINTED BOOK! Taeshi saw this, drew it, posted it, and got whatever feedback from it. Then later came back, saw it, and edited a bunch of things for the book, and decided, “No that’s fine. We’ll leave it there, that’s perfectly okay.” And just left it there! WHY?! You had a good scene, an actual honest to god, good scene. And you had to just make a dumb joke, and ruin the whole mood. This is the sort of bad run and gun cheap gag sort of shtick that you’d expect to see from Volume 1! Except, even Volume 1 knew when to take itself seriously, and maintain that serious tone! I mean imagine if this happened in something like Zach’s talk with Lucy.

Any good graces this scene had, in setting up these two working out their problems and moving in a nice direction is thrown out the window now, and for what?! What’s the purpose? Why would yo-

Oh…Oh no…

Please, have mercy! You already stabbed my back, please don’t stab me in the heart! Please, not like this!

Aaaugh, no! Not like this! Poor Rachel! It’s not fair I can’-

Wait….

I-is…Is that it?

Are you kidding me?

That’s it? Two pages? Really? That’s how you’re breaking it off? This is how you’re going to stab me? Look, there’s like 3 more inches left in the knife, come on. Push it deeper. Twist it, I know you want to. WHY ARE YOU HOLDING BACK? FUCKING WORK THIS SCENE AND MAKE ME CRY!

NO FUCK YOU, WE’RE NOT MOVING PAST THIS!

YOU WROTE RACHEL’S BREAK UP. IN

TWO

FUCKING

PAGES!?

YOU WROTE OUT ONE OF THE MOST GROUNDED, HEALTHY, PRODUCTIVE RELATIONSHIPS IN YOUR COMIC IN TWO PAGES LIKE IT WAS NOTHING! WITH A HORRIBLE ONE-SIDED DIALOGUE, WHERE RACHEL IS TALKING TO PAULO WHO HAS SUDDENLY INHERITED THE EMPATHY AND UNDERSTANDING OF A BRICK WALL! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT AFTER EVERYTHING YOU DID IN BUILDING THIS CHARACTER’S ENTIRE ARC AND DEVELOPMENT!? AFTER TRANSFORMING A CHARACTER WHO WAS PORTRAYED AS UNLIKABLE, BITCHY, ANNOYING, SLUTTY, AND DUMB.

To fleshing her out, to be deep, thoughtful, caring, and supportive. Rachel is my favorite character, and it’s not because she’s a slut it’s because she represented something in this comic that had been absent.

Natural character development. That wasn’t brought on by some big event shaking their entire core, and changing them. In fact, one of the best things about Rachel is that despite how differently her character’s reception is from Volume 6 compared to Volume 1, her personality, her attitude, and her core is mostly unchanged.

She’s still slutty, she’s overweight, she’s silly. But a big part of why I love her as a character, and why I think many others do as well, is because never does it seem to be a negative to her. We don’t see her get upset, or self-conscious about her weight, or her sexual behavior, because she’s confident in herself and accepts herself. Not only that, but she’s shown to take charge, stand up and not be afraid to call out what she sees is wrong. And outside of her character…

She was a role model for Paulo. Unlike Jasmine whose relationship was more Paulo bending himself to fit her lifestyle, Rachel was a character who accepted and supported Paulo’s lifestyle, but at the same time helped steer him to do the right thing. And in a comic where almost every fucking character is so intent on dancing around their issues and waiting until it blows up in their face, Rachel served as an example of someone who had it together. A proactive person, who didn’t want to see these characters get worse.

I have ranted and gone off on a lot of decisions and actions that these characters have done, but not once did I ever scratch my head or think twice about something that Rachel did. Her character didn’t need a bunch of insight, and excuses about hormones or “they’re teenagers, lol!�� to understand her. She simply was who she was, and I respect that.

In short…

Despite everything that my history with this comic gave me, the feelings I developed from all the bullshit that has happened in this story, despite all of that. It was this one character, what she brought to the table, and what she did for the comic and its characters, that gave me something I thought I’d long lost, and never thought I’d ever regain.

She gave me hope in this comic. That it would finally have its characters be proactive, regain its humor, and bring itself out of the slump it made for itself. With this character, and the writing behind her, I believed Taeshi was finally on the right track, and was setting up something great that would grow the characters and build upon them naturally.

But that’s not what we got. And the real bitch of it is, this could’ve been a real emotional moment. A well executed front-stab. We knew it was coming, we saw the writing on the wall, but we still needed to face the music. It was set up to be a wonderful tragedy, where both parties are well aware of the futility of their relationship. They understand each other, and why it won’t work, but also don’t want to let go. And I was going to make a comparison to Two Kinds, because they had a similar scenario with Trace’s wife and the whole idea of moving on is a recurring theme… But looking back I realized something. I don’t need to bring a comparison to Two Kinds or someone else’s comic, and no I’m not even going to draw a comparison of what I would’ve done in this situation by drawing a comparison to False Idol’s future scene (although I was thinking about that). No, we don’t need to look too far because you know what the real sad part about this is?

We’ve had this conversation before.

And just look at it. Look how heartbreaking this is. This is how it should’ve been. You see that Paulo understands what she’s saying, he knows what she means and how bittersweet their relationship is. It is one of the best moments from the newer volumes, and their inevitable breakup should’ve been a turning point. It should’ve marked a big life-changing moment for Paulo. Where he is sad about how he’s making Rachel feel, but he’s unsure about his own feelings. Maybe Rachel makes the decision for him and breaks it off, and Paulo realizes how hurtful his behavior is, and that he can’t play games with people anymore, that it’s not fair. It could be the moment Paulo turns a new leaf and becomes more mature, and in seeing that; Rachel can let go taking some solace in knowing that he is a better person now.

But instead we got this…

We’re not even halfway through this god damn chapter. Well where is it taking us now?

Huh…and it seems that the writing is not going to change pace either, I wonder where this is going.

Oh boy, everyone’s getting into teams! And oh man, Lucy’s going up against Mike! And boy is this contrived. And what’s even worse, is that despite how much Taeshi has shunned Volume 1 and its stupid sense of humor, and how shoddy it was. Volume 1 wasn’t THIS contrived, and when it was, it was pretty tongue in cheek about it. In fact!

This sounds like something Volume 1 would MAKE FUN OF. But let’s give the benefit of the doubt maybe it’s not that bad. It might have something going on, an-

(It’s interesting, I think I have like 3 reaction pics of Sam trying to shoot herself, but this one just can not be matched. And it’s not even meant for the rants.)

You know what? I’m not even gonna bother going over this part. No one will be seated during the harrowing “Will they won’t they” inconsequential dodgeball fight. Although I will say,

Not gonna lie, that actually got a laugh out of me. Good job. Anyway, Lucy catches the ball and wins the game who cares. But then…

First of all

Look at those arms. Damn Lucy what happened? You’re looking like two toothpicks in a marshmallow. But more than that. Did I read that right?

Yeah! It’s not like you stopped practicing Martial Arts! Why would you? It’s not like you had some serious physical trauma happen to stop you-

OH WAIT!

RECOVERY PERIOD? PHYSICAL THERAPY? PFFFT WHO THE FUCK NEEDS THAT? YEAH SURE, YOU’RE TOTALLY FINE AND CAPABLE BEING A FUCKING BLACK BELT IN TAE KWON DO. SURE! NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE STITCHES AM I RIGHT?

But I’m just combing cotton here, this all just fluff. There’s really only one thing left to talk about here.

And I’ll be honest.

This.

Is…

Pretty good.

This is honestly really well done. There’s nothing I can say about this. It’s a very serious moment, I can feel Taeshi reaching for my heartstrings but I…I’m okay with it. This was the moment I wanted to see. Finally these characters air out some of their grievances. We get insight to how they feel, we are finally getting somewhere. It’s not nice, but it’s progress an-

…

THAT’S THE TH-….

*sigh*

Fuck you too, Taeshi.

Three times.

Three fucking times in one chapter, that you set up something good. Had a good thing going, and then decided to fuck it up at the end. That’s a new record. Even when I expected nothing out of this chapter, you manage to let me down. You astound me with how much you disappoint me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were doing it to intentionally troll me. But I’m not that vain. Fuck you Taeshi, I’ve said this before but always with the tone of hyperbole, and a bit of optimistic cynicism. But this time I really mean it. I have no more faith in you as a writer. Whatever you come up with, however this ride ends. I don’t think you will pull it off anymore. I don’t think you have the competence to tie this up in a proper way. At one point you could’ve. At one point, I think you had it in you with the mindset, the creativity, and the emotional drive to tell a well-crafted story. But not anymore, and I despise what you’ve become. Let’s get this stupid chapter over with.

What’s next? What are we doing huh? What are we getting at?

Oh…

I see. This is where we’re going huh? That’s what all this was for?

ALRIGHT! Y’KNOW WHAT? FINE! I GUESS THIS IS WHAT WE’RE DOING BOYS! THIS IS THE NEW DIRECTION FOR BCB! LOOK! SHE CALLED PAULO CUTE! OMG THE SHIP IS SAILING, DON’T YOU GET IT? IT’S JUST SHIPPING! THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS! THAT’S HOW WE’RE DRIVING THE PLOT!

FUCK ALL THAT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, THIS IS WHY RACHEL GOT DROPPED! IT WASN’T CAUSE OF CHARACTERS NATURALLY CONCLUDING RELATIONSHIPS, IT’S ALL BECAUSE LUCY’S HERE AND WE CAN’T HAVE PAULO’S RELATIONSHIP WITH RACHEL CLASH WITH THAT! SHE’S OUTLIVED HER USEFULNESS! NOW IT’S ALL ABOUT PAULO X LUCY, OR PAULO X DAISY WHICH IS IT? THIS IS THE REAL DRAMA YOU ALL ARE LOOKING FOR! THIS IS HOW WE REALLY MOVE THE PLOT AND CHARACTERS! CHOO CHOO BOYS! ALL ABOARD THE SHIP! LET’S JUST GO ALONG FOR THE RIDE WHERE WE GOING TAESHI? I’M READY! I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING LEFT TO FUCKING LOOK FORWARD TO OR LIVE FOR! SO COME ON, WHERE ARE YOU SAILING US?

I give it a 2/10. Until next time, guys.

#Bittersweet Candy Bowl #rant

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dust2dust34 · 8 years ago

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Pieces of Always: August 2029 (FICoN ‘verse, Explicit)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

This installment is rated Explicit.

Summary: Ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: I am taking more of a beta role for right now. The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

A/N via Janis: Trigger warning for discussion of human trafficking of minors in this chapter. It’s entirely referenced as something Team Arrow stopped days prior and nothing is seen. Details are sparse.

However… I think most of you will enjoy the end of this chapter. Bre put some polishing touches on that scene this week.

I also thought I’d take the opportunity (I usually forget) to point out that my ask box on Tumblr is always open for questions on FiCoN. I’m also easily reached on twitter. On top of that, we have a Pinterest board going for this series as well as a Spotify playlist. Tumblr user name is so-caffeinated. The others are all so_caffeinated. Beware that spoilers abound, as well as the occasional spur-of-the-moment ficlet that winds up nowhere else. And… enjoy!

(read on AO3)

August 2029 - Down and Out

“I’m not gonna hit her.” Will shifts uncomfortably, his body tense as he looks around. He taps his hand against his thigh uneasily, and Oliver fights a smile, because he really, really should have seen this coming. Will shakes his head. “I can’t take a swing at her. She’s my baby sister.”

Jules snorts as she slips on a pair of boxing gloves and turns to her mom for help tying the laces. Felicity’s gotten awfully good at it over the years, so much so that it’s second nature for her now. Jules barely pays attention while her mom works. “You don’t seem to have a problem going up against me,” she points out with a toothy, sweet grin tossed over her shoulder.

“You hit back!” Will counters.

“I will so hit back, too!” Ellie protests, holding up her gloved hands. Her headgear is already in place.

“You’ll try anyhow,” Jules agrees, smirking at her sister.

Ellie sticks her tongue out in response.

Will looks like he’s at a total loss for how to fight this, but he’s obviously dead set against squaring off against Ellie. In theory, Oliver gets that. He can’t imagine being in a position where he’d have had to throw a punch, no matter how cushioned, against Thea when she was eleven. But, this is about a whole lot more than just practice. This isn’t some test in a martial arts studio for a colored belt. For their family, it’s always been so much more than that. He’s insisted on Sunday night training sessions since the moment he became a dad. It’s been a necessity from the start. But Oliver’s also had a renewed sense of urgency about his kids’ protection for the last few days. It’s left him driven to see them better prepared, better equipped to defend themselves.

“She could use the practice against someone bigger than her,” Oliver points out, the gravity of what he’s saying weighing his voice down. He stares at his oldest, watching the depth of his words starting to sink in. His kids have always been more aware than the average child about the dangers that lurk in the shadows of their city, but Will’s just weeks away from twenty one and he’s undoubtedly more informed than the others. “Out there, it’s not gonna be someone Jules’ size she’s up against. You know that.”

“I do,” Will agrees, though it sounds like he hates the sound of his own voice. “I just… I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Look at it this way,” Jules chimes in. There’s an edge of snark to her tone and Oliver knows which direction this is headed long before her words make it obvious. “You get to be one of the sage instructors of a one-day superhero. You’re her Obi-Wan.”

“First of all,” Oliver starts, locking eyes with his daughter. “Your brother is clearly a Lando, not an Obi-Wan.”

He’s barely aware of his wife blinking at him, but he does her hear say,“How is it possible that you’re even more attractive than usual right now?” while Nate makes a gagging noise in the background. Oliver’s lips twitch and he shoots Felicity a quick but loaded glance before returning to Jules.

“Secondly,” he continues, holding up a finger as he talks - because this is by far the more important part, “your sister can be anything she wants to be. I don’t care if that’s a superhero or a car mechanic or an astronaut or an ice cream server. Same’s true for you, Julie-bug. Your life is what you make it. The fact that you exist proves that’s true, so I don’t want to hear any more of this ‘fated superhero’ stuff. Got it?”

Jules rolls her eyes, muttering, “Whatever.” At least, that’s what Oliver thinks she’s muttering, but she’s got the mouthpiece in now and it’s hard to understand her. All the same, her cheeks turn pink and she looks away, so it seems like maybe he successfully pushed that idea back for the moment. Again. Felicity winks at him over Jules’ head with an approving smile.

It’s come up less frequently in recent years, Jules’ insecurities relating to her sister, but it’s still a factor. Oliver sort of thinks it might always be, to some degree. But he and Felicity will keep working to break it down, to reinforce that both she and Ellie are their own people with their own lives to write for themselves, and most days Jules seems to believe them.

“Come on,” Felicity says, rubbing Jules’ shoulder. “We’re starting with the bag. Let’s get you loosened up.”

“You’ll pair off with her in a bit?” Oliver asks his wife.

“Mmhmm,” Felicity agrees. “But I could probably use a few rounds with you later.”

Oliver’s not sure if that innuendo is intentional or not, but Will has to actually turn around so that he’s not looking at them as he shakes his head. Thankfully, the others are a bit young to pick up on the double-meaning, but Jules looks like she knows she missed something.

“That’s…” Felicity says, her words catching up with her. “You know what I mean.”

So, it had been accidental. It’s been awhile since she’s done that. Oliver knows he should let it slide, but damn it’s just such a good opportunity and he’s never been that great at impulse control when it comes to his wife.

Oliver grins. “You can explain it to me later in detail.”

“Dad,” Will objects with a whine.

And… yeah, that’s not really fair to do to his kids, as much as he’d love to keep flirting suggestively with his wife.

“You and Ellie,” Oliver says sharply. That earns a look from his oldest. “She’s been shadowboxing for weeks, but that’s not good enough anymore. And I don’t want her just focused on escaping an attacker anymore. I want her to take him down. Focus on the uppercut with her. Her hook needs work too, but not tonight.”

Will casts a look at Ellie. She’s far too eager for this, bouncing on the balls of her feet, giddy to take on her big brother for the first time.

“I liked this a lot better when I was teaching her how to break holds,” Will informs him.

“Sometimes it’s not a grab,” Oliver tells him, his face stern, his voice hard. “Sometimes it’s a gun or a knife or a syringe full of Vertigo and you can’t just learn how to-”

“Oliver,” Felicity interrupts.

His head swings to her. Her eyes are intense and he knows her well enough to see everything she’s not saying: “They don’t need to know this. This is too real for them. Take it down a notch.” His heart aches with the truth of that. But he saw a lot of kids this week who didn’t need to know this yet either.

And they hadn’t been prepared.

He’s ready to argue, to nail his point home, but then he sees Nate out the corner of his eye. His son’s brows are furrowed, a soft, confused look on his face as he stares up at his father. Oliver’s shoulders sag, an anxious desperation burning his gut. The last thing he wants to do is scare the hell out of them, but…

Damn it.

He just wants them to be ready. He just wants them to be safe. And the places his mind’s gone since that raid earlier this week, since he and Digg saved that freight container full of kids on the wharf… Every time he closes his eyes he sees Ellie there instead, shrinking away from him in fear. He sees Nate curled up in a ball in the corner, crying into his knees. He sees Jules looking brokenly back at him, eyes hollow and blank.

Oliver spent that whole night throwing up after he’d gotten home and he’d called the kids out sick from school the next day, both to spend time with them and force himself to recognize that they were okay. He just… he’s seen a lot of terrible things, but those kids… what those kids had been through, the future that had been meant for them, it hit him on a different level.

He’s still not past it. He’s not sure how to get past it, but training his family to protect themselves better is something he can do.

“Okay,” Will agrees, snapping Oliver’s mind back to the basement gym instead of that rank freight container. “We can work on uppercuts.”

Will’s always been intensely perceptive and Oliver has no doubt that his oldest has some idea of what this is about, even if he doesn’t know the details.

That’s okay. He doesn’t need to.

“Grab a mouthguard,” Ellie advises with overwhelming confidence. “And prepare to stare up at the ceiling.”

Will raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re all talk, short-stuff,” he says.

“Tell it to my glove,” she replies with a mock-sympathetic wince.

Despite the weight of his thoughts, the lighthearted banter relieves some of the pressure in Oliver’s chest.

She’s like this when she spars with Jules, too. The two girls have squared off against each other for years. They’re well matched, his daughters. Jules’ grace and Ellie’s swiftness make for an interesting and challenging fight. They’ve definitely learned from each other and Oliver has no doubt that the two girls working together would be a force to contend with. But neither one is used to taking on a much larger opponent, not beyond escape techniques anyhow.

Jules is fourteen and Ellie’s eleven. It’s time they learn. Past time, even.

A heavy sigh from Nate has Oliver looking at his youngest. “Do I have to do katas?” Nate asks.

He hates this. More than anyone else, he well and truly hates it.

Which is the biggest reason he needs to practice the most.

“Nope,” Oliver tells him, which earns him a hesitantly hopeful look that Oliver knows will very soon disappear. “Grab a foam bō and meet me on the mat.”

Nate’s eyes go huge, his jaw slackening as he casts a worried look to his mother. For her part, Felicity is surprised enough that she loses some of her hold on the punching bag Jules is going at and it swings into her, nearly knocking her over.

But she barely lets the bag phase her.

She’s too busy staring at Oliver incredulously.

“Tell me you’re kidding,” Felicity demands.

“I’m not,” Oliver immediately counters, his voice taking on a stubborn tone. “There’s no weapon you’re more likely to have on hand than something resembling a bō. Ellie’s great with a bow and arrow-”

“Thank you!” Ellie interjects as he continues on.

“-and Jules is sort of terrifyingly good with a chain-whip.”

Jules shrugs. “I like them,” she says. “It’s like rhythmic gymnastics. But with weapons.”

Yeah… that’s not concerning at all, but Oliver presses on. “Will has practically grown up with a bat in his hand and he’s got the power he needs behind a hit. Nate needs something, too. I think a bō is a good place to start.”

At the terrified look on Nate’s face, Oliver finds himself faltering slightly, wanting to make it better. He wants his kids happy, but he also needs them to be safe. And with Nate, he gets the sense that balance might prove harder than with the others.

“It’ll be fun,” Oliver says, giving Nate a hopeful smile. “Just you and me, buddy.”

“Oliver, he’s seven,” Felicity points out. Her anxiety about this isn’t helping anything because Nate just nods and edges closer to his mother.

“We’re just starting with basics,” Oliver promises. “Foam bōs and it’ll be all form and proper movements, honey. We’ll do it right.” He levels her with a heavy look. “I’m not gonna take any risks.”

She knows that. He knows she does, but he also knows that Nate growing up is hard for her. Ever since he hit kindergarten she’s had a hard time letting go, watching her youngest getting older. It doesn’t help that he seems content to cling to her for as long as she’ll allow. But, like it or not, he is growing up. And their lives demand a certain level of preparedness that other families don’t have to instill in their kids.

“Foam or not,” Felicity continues, “those sticks are hard, Oliver.”

Jules sighs and shakes out her arms, clearly wanting to get back to the punching bag, but having to wait for her mom to steady it.

“I’m just gonna show him the forms and do defensive moves,” Oliver swears. “Very slow, measured basics.”

Felicity swallows. Hard. She doesn’t like it but she trusts him and she nods as she reaches out to run her hand over Nate’s hair.

“Mom!” he protests.

“It’s fine, baby,” she says, turning to him and cupping his cheek. “This is just like katas only you’re holding a stick.”

“Uncle Digg had two broken fingers from sparring with one of those sticks!” Nate squeaks.

“Not the foam ones,” his mother points out. Thankfully she fails to mention the time he’d trained her with those foam bōs and wound up with a bruise across the length of his back that had lasted a week when she’d gotten a good hit in against him. It’d hurt like hell, but he’d been so proud of her that he hadn’t minded in the least. “You can do this, Nate. Your dad taught me. He can teach you, too.”

Oliver’s taught his wife a whole lot of self-defense over the years. She’s not a fighter by nature, never will be, but she can hold her own if she needs to. It took years to get her to that point, but he’s confident in it now. Oliver knows Will can handle himself, and he’s getting increasingly comfortable with both Jules and Ellie. But Nate…

“Come on,” Oliver urges his youngest, forcing his voice a little lighter. “The sooner we get started the sooner we can be finished.”

Nate sighs dramatically. It’s the long-suffering sound of giving in. His shoulders sag and he stomps over to the practice weapons rack, grabbing the first foam stick he finds.

“Lesson one is to pick the right weapon,” Oliver tells him, walking over and taking the stick from his hands. The look his son shoots him has so much sass that he looks like Jules for a moment. “This stick is too big for you,” Oliver continues, standing it on its end next to his son. “You need something just a little shorter than you are so that you can control it well and avoid hitting the ground, okay?”

“I’m gonna be hitting the ground,” Nate grumbles.

“You will not,” Oliver insists. Nate raises both eyebrows at him in utter disbelief. “Not after you’ve got this down,” Oliver clarifies. “Getting knocked down isn’t a bad thing as long as you keep getting back up.”

He realizes all of a sudden that there’s not nearly enough noise in the basement and he turns to the rest of his family to find everyone watching him and Nate warily.

Oliver takes a measured breath. “But being distracted in a fight,” he says, narrowing his eyes at them, “means you lose.”

They take the hint. Felicity grabs hold of the punching bag and nods at Jules who goes back to pummeling the thing with barely more than a sympathetic look to Nate. Ellie and Will are a bit more preoccupied, but Oliver keeps his gaze fixed on them until they turn away and square off against each other. He’d like to see how Ellie fares against her older brother, but Nate needs his attention right now and he knows that Will will recap it for him later.

“Use this one,” Oliver says, pulling the shortest foam bō off the wall. “It’s closest to your size and it’ll be easiest to handle.”

Nate grimaces as he takes the stick from his father. “Now I try and hit you with it?” he asks, with just enough edge to have Oliver forcing himself to take another slow breath. Man, this kid’s all attitude today.

“No,” Oliver corrects. “Now you learn how to hold it.”

“I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to hold a stick,” Nate deadpans.

“Can you?” Oliver asks, crossing his arms and stepping back. “Show me.”

It’s clear he’s called Nate’s bluff when the kid uneasily puts both of his hands right near the middle of the staff and holds it out in front of him.

“That’s how you think you hold it?” Oliver asks.

“Well, it’s in my hands, isn’t it?” Nate sasses.

“Don’t be cute,” Oliver says sharply. “This isn’t a game, Nate.” The boy wilts slightly. He chews on his bottom lip, shifting the stick with an uneasy shrug by way of response. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say that’s how you hold it. Try to hit me holding it like that.”

Nate stares at him for a beat before asking, “Don’t you need a stick to hit back with?” He shoots a nervous look toward the larger staff he’d tried to use at first.

“Nope, not today,” Oliver replies, setting his stance. “Come at me and try to hit me. We’ll go from there.”

It’s half-hearted at best and Nate’s movements are clunky and wrong, but then Oliver expected that; it’s sort of the point. When Nate lunges, it’s jerky and awkward, his whole body twists as he tries to swipe the bō at his father’s midsection. It’s a very simple thing for Oliver to grab the end of the stick and twist, wrenching it out of Nate’s grasp and tossing it aside.

“Well, that’s surprising,” Nate announces sarcastically.

Given that they’ve just started this - and they have a very, very long ways to go - Nate’s frustration level is a little over the top.

“You might not know how to hold a bō, but you definitely know that wasn’t the right way,” Oliver points out. “Just like slipping away from someone grabbing your arm, if your thumbs are in the same position it’s gonna be easy to wrench a stick out of your hands. The break is in the same place. You have to have one palm up and one down or you’ve already lost the fight.”

“I don’t even want to have the fight,” Nate grumbles.

“Doesn't mean you won’t wind up in one,” Oliver reminds him. “Pick it up. Let’s do this again.”

Nate follows directions - because he’s Nate and he always follows directions - but he’s clearly no happier about it than he was the first time. Most of the time, Oliver’s glad that his youngest isn’t a fighter. But he also quietly hopes that the boy will find a sense of satisfaction in his successes at self-defense, once he starts having them. This is too important of a thing for him to take lightly.

“Balance, Nate,” Oliver tells him, adjusting the boy’s hands. “You control the weapon, don’t let it control you. The more you have to move the more energy you exert. You’ll tire faster and your moves will be more easily read. We don’t want that. See how your hands are positioned now so that they cut the staff into three equal parts? You have more control like this.”

“Okay…” Nate agrees warily.

At least it’s a slightly better attitude than before.

“Think of it like math and science,” Oliver tells him. “This is all physics anyhow.”

Nate brightens up a little at that - which is predictable, when Oliver thinks about it - but a sharp cry from across the room pulls Oliver’s attention away immediately.

“Aw, son of a bi…” Will cuts himself off, his mouthguard hanging from the headpiece as he shakes his head like he’s trying to force himself to think straight.

“Are you okay?” Ellie asks, alarm shading her features as she drops her stance and touches her brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Fine,” Will answers, touching his lip. His glove comes away bloodied. “It’s fine. Solid hit, Ellie. I should’ve blocked better.” It’s starting to swell a little, which makes Ellie grimace. Will shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. Although I do sort of wish I didn’t have a split lip for my date tomorrow.”

“Ew, you’re gonna kiss a girl?” Nate asks, nose wrinkling up in distaste.

Will gives him a blooded grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Only if I’m lucky!” It’s done entirely to horrify his little brother - which is exactly what it does - but then Will’s always taken great pleasure in getting a reaction from his siblings.

“Go clean up,” Oliver advises his oldest as Nate shudders and makes a retching noise. “Do you need a hand with your gloves?”

“I got it,” Will answers, already unlacing them with his teeth.

“Good job, Ellie,” Oliver tells her with a proud smile. For her part, Ellie looks like she’s equal parts concerned about her brother and excited that she actually landed a real hit, but she flushes happily under the praise. “Maybe just do some shadowboxing until he gets back. Try and copy exactly what you did to get that blow in, okay?”

“Got it!” Ellie agrees brightly.

Will passes by Felicity and Jules on his way to the bathroom to clean up. Jules crosses her arms and tsks at him, shaking her head in amusement at his loss as Felicity touches his shoulder in concern.

“It’s fine,” he says again, squeezing her fingers and offering a slightly pained smile as he keeps moving. Her hand drops away but the concern on her face goes nowhere. She’s never dealt well with any of the kids getting hurt, no matter how minor.

But training them is necessary. It always has been. Oliver remembers when Jules was a newborn and he’d brought her down to the gym, set her in a pack-and-play and talked to her while he trained, explained step by step what he was doing and why. She hadn’t understood a word of it, but it had made this ‘normal’ to her from the get-go and it had given him practice at what to say and how to say it. By the time she was sitting on her own, he’d had her slapping bowls of water. She’d loved it, thought it was hilarious, even if the whole thing had made her mother uncomfortable at first. Felicity got past it, eventually, admitting how important it was that their kids could defend themselves.

The days of slapping water are long past, now, though.

“Let’s go again,” Oliver says, turning back toward Nate. “Don’t reposition your hands and watch your stance. There’s a few basics that work with a bō. For now, go with a front stance, just like when we do hand-to-hand, okay?”

Nate’s had that stance drilled into his head long enough that he can do it without thinking, but it still isn’t something that comes naturally to him. Not like it does to any of the other kids. The others are so athletic, but Nate… he’s his mother’s son and all of this is more of a struggle for him.

“Good,” Oliver tells him as he falls back into form. It’s tense and uneasy, but the basics are there and Nate is the sort to need positive reinforcement. “That’s a great start.”

“Am I supposed to hit you, now?” Nate asks. He sounds so uncertain that Oliver knows without a doubt anything he tries right now is going to fail miserably. He’s so tentative, so ill-at-ease. There’s no way to win a fight like that.

“Think you can?” Oliver questions.

Nate snorts. “No.”

“Then you won’t,” Oliver tells him flatly. “If you go in assuming you’ll fail, you will. Every time. Never take a swing unless you can picture it landing.”

“I’m never gonna get a hit on you, Dad,” Nate grumbles. His cheeks turn red with frustration or embarrassment, or maybe both. “You’re the Arrow and I’m seven!”

“You’re small, fast and have two good knees,” Oliver points out. “You’re not gonna beat me today or this month or even this year, probably, but you will some day.” The truth of that sinks in a little more than he’d thought it would. Oliver’s 44-years-old and he’s in incredible shape, but the damage he’s done to his joints makes itself increasingly well known these days and holding his own against Will when they spar has gotten a lot harder this last year. In part, that’s great. He knows Will is well-equipped to defend himself. It’s what he’s always wanted for his kids. But it also highlights to Oliver that he’s lost just a hint of his edge. Not much, not enough that it’s hurt in him the field, but it feels like a portent of things to come and that’s unsettling. Thinking about the day Nate will one day beat him… It’s startling. “You just have to keep working at it. It’s like anything else, Nate. You’ve gotta practice to get better.”

“Fine,” Nate agrees, though it’s half-hearted at best. “So show me how to hit you, then.”

“There’s my boy,” Oliver smiles at him, ruffling his mop of sandy hair. Nate smiles as he makes a noise of protest. He’s so very affectionate, so tactile, but he’s also been increasingly bothered by being treated ‘like a baby.’ At least, he has when it comes from anyone but his mother. He’s more than happy to have her baby him. Oliver kind of thinks he always will be. “There’s a few basic moves you need to learn, but let’s start with a Four Point Strike for today, okay?”

The term means nothing to Nate and he shrugs blankly before Oliver continues on with the basics of the technique. The up-and-down, side-to-side motion isn’t that hard, not comparatively, and he knows the hardest part for Nate will be striking the same spot and keeping his elbows up, parallel to the ground. Oliver plants himself behind his youngest, adjusts his hold, fine-tunes his stance, and puts his hands directly over Nate’s, guiding the stick in sharp, clear moves to give the boy a sense of how it feels when done correctly.

It’s easier like this, doesn’t demand that Nate take control, and the little boy is a whole lot more comfortable with his dad dictating the moves. He only tenses up after a few minutes when Oliver backs off and asks, “Think you’ve got that?”

“I dunno,” Nate mutters with a shrug. “Maybe?”

“Well, let’s find out,” Oliver decides. He can feel Felicity watching him as he grabs a foam shield off the wall and straps it to his arm. He learned the hard way that precision takes time and after chipping a tooth when Jules had gotten a little overzealous with a bō once, he’s learned that protective gear is a whole lot more necessary when training kids than adults. They have less control, less an idea of their own capabilities.

Nate looks right past Oliver toward his mother. He doesn’t want to do this, not even a little, but there’s not much choice. This isn’t for fun. This is for survival, for security, and Oliver will continue to demand the best from his children to ensure both.

“Right here, bud,” Oliver says sharply, drawing Nate’s attention. He pats a red X made of duct tape on the front of shield. “That’s your target. You can do this.”

The first attempt is lazy and half-hearted. He drops his elbows almost immediately and his grip slips a little on one side. He manages to hit the shield, but it’s nowhere near the mark. That’s okay, though. It’s just his first try. That’s what Oliver keeps telling himself, anyhow, even if his son’s lack of commitment is driving him a little nuts.

“Good first try,” Oliver offers. “Watch your elbows. Don’t let them drop. And focus. Let’s try this again.”

The next ten minutes see a bit of improvement, but nowhere near as much as Oliver would like. At least not from Nate. There’s a solid thunk from across the room when Ellie puts Will flat on his back. Felicity praises Jules’ form with excitement that tells Oliver she’s seeing some real progress. But Nate… it seems like his sisters’ successes actually just serve to frustrate Nate more.

“Again,” Oliver orders when Nate lunges sloppily, barely glancing a blow against the edge of the shield.

“This is stupid,” Nate announces in a huff, his arm dropping to the side.

Irritation roars in Oliver’s ears, flooding his veins, his own frustration building rapidly.

This is a lot of things - difficult, challenging, necessary, a process - but the one thing it’s not is stupid.

“It’s stupid?” Oliver asks. He knows the anger is leaking through his voice, but he can’t help it right now.

“It’s dumb and I don’t want to do it,” Nate challenges, his jaw jutting out in defiance. He throws the bō to the ground. “I don’t wanna fight. I don’t wanna be you. I hate this!”

Tension coils in every single muscle Oliver has and he only dimly hear his wife say Nate’s name in a cautionary tone.

“This, Nathaniel, is necessary,” he grits out. “You think you hate this?”

“I do hate it!” Nate replies, his little fists balled up at his sides. “I hate it!”

“This is nothing,” Oliver tells him. He’s not even aware that he’s walking forward, that he’s closing in on Nate. “This is messing around in the basement with your family. This has foam sticks and protective pads. This isn’t fighting every minute of every day for your own survival on a damned island filled with people who would slit your throat in your sleep if they could. This isn’t finding yourself drugged and crammed into a nine-by-six freight container with two dozen other kids. What do you think that’s like? Being hurt and dirty and terrified with no idea where you are or who took you. This isn’t-”

“Oliver!”

Felicity’s voice is sharp enough to cut through the fog of blinding frustration that’s muddied Oliver’s head. He stops talking, swallowing hard, blinking fiercely as she enters his field of vision. The red haze recedes as he watches his wife pull Nate into her arms. The little boy’s shaking, tears welling up in his eyes. Oliver deflates at that. It’s too much reality for him, it’s too much for all of them. Even Jules is watching on with a furrowed brow and Ellie’s leaning into Will, who’s draped an arm around her protectively.

Protectively.

That’s all Oliver wants. He wants his family safe. He wants to know they can take care of themselves. He wants Nate to take this seriously, because the alternative... God, he knows what the alternative looks like. He sees it every time he closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver breathes, his voice breaking as he drops the foam shield and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Nate. I didn’t mean to scare you, kiddo. I just… I need you to understand that the world is-”

“Not now,” Felicity interrupts, leveling him a weighty look as she cards her fingers through Nate’s hair before looking down at him. “You’re okay, baby. We just want to make sure you’ve got all the tools you need to protect yourself. Nobody’s asking you to be your dad. We just want you to be Nate. That’s all, just yourself. We love you for exactly who you are. We just want to make sure that you’re confident in your ability to kick a little butt in case anyone ever tries to hurt you. It’s just a precaution. Like seat belts in the car, okay?”

Nate sniffles into his mom’s shirt as he nods, but his face is so buried against her chest that Oliver can’t even see his eyes.

“I’m sorry I pushed so much,” Oliver tells him, watching his wife as he speaks. He figures she’s a better judge of how to deal with Nate than he is right now. Hell, she usually is. But this time she doesn’t stop him. “I love you so much, Nate, and I just… I worry.”

“S’okay,” Nate mumbles, but he doesn’t pull back from his mother at all.

It’s not okay, Oliver realizes. Not really. He scared the hell out of his son and he’s probably made him even more reluctant to train seriously. Anxiety swamps him at that thought, souring the back of his throat as he thinks about his kids, about the dangers that walk the streets and monsters that lurk in alleyways.

How many freight containers had they missed before this one? How many kids had disappeared? Were any of them fierce like Jules or joyful like Ellie or sensitive like Nate? Did they cry for their parents? They must have. Nate would have. Nate would’ve…

“Will, I have some cash in my purse in the kitchen,” Felicity says, jarring Oliver. He’s not even sure what he was looking at for the last minute or so. His mind feels adrift and bogged down all at once. “We’re calling it early for you kids tonight. Everybody clean up and and then Will can take you out for ice cream.”

“Shotgun!” Jules calls, smiling smugly at her sister before unlacing her gloves and tossing them aside.

“Damn,” Ellie sighs, letting Will help her with her gear. “Fine, but I get shotgun on the way back. And I’m getting two scoops.”

“Can I get extra cherries on top?” Nate asks, untucking his face from his mother enough to dart his eyes back to his dad. It feels like a test.

“Sure,” Oliver tells him, reaching out and lightly rubbing Nate’s shoulder. He doesn’t shrink away, so Oliver takes that as a good sign. “As many as they’ll give you. Just listen to your brother, okay?”

Nate nods. “‘Kay.”

“Come on, kid,” Will calls out, tilting his head toward his baby brother. “Let’s get moving. I bet I can eat more ice cream than you.”

“No way!” Nate protests and an instant later, he’s actually smiling. It’s like Will flipped a switch and the bright, happy, affectionate boy is back. Like Oliver hadn’t inadvertently scared the hell out of him just moments ago. “I’m a bottomless pit. Grandma said so. And besides, it’s ice cream. That’s my very favorite.”

“You sure about that?” Will asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got more practice and I’m way bigger than you.”

“Bring it on,” Nate tells him. “Ice cream is my specialty.”

In any other context, Oliver would be laughing. But, given the way this evening has gone, it just leaves him with a well of guilt in his gut. This is what Nate’s life should be. It’s what all his kids’ lives should be: ice cream eating contests and laughter and joy. And they are that… but they’re also weekly sparring sessions and constantly looking out for danger. It’s been many years since he and Felicity had decided that a meaningful life was more important than a safe one, even for their kids. But some days… some days seeing what that means right in front of him leaves him feeling hollow, like a failure.

“Just… look out for each other,” Felicity tells the boys. “Don’t make yourselves sick, please.” She’s looking at Will, her eyes saying a whole lot more than ‘avoid an ice cream headache.’

“Got it,” Will replies.

Oliver has no doubt that he does.

Felicity mouths, ‘Thank you’ to him as Nate abandons her arms and heads over to his brother’s side.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” Will tells her as the kids all head toward the stairs with typical chatter between them - talk of ice cream flavors and toppings, bemoaning the smell of sweat, bragging about training successes.

Nate turns back when he hits the top of the stairs, Will pausing with him, a hand on his shoulder. “Love you, Mom… Dad,” he says. It’s shy, sounds a little like an apology and that just serves to gut Oliver further.

“Love you, too, Nate,” he replies.

“Have fun, baby,” Felicity adds.

He turns with Will and leaves a moment later. The click of the door shutting fills the otherwise silent room. It’s overwhelming all of a sudden. He knows Felicity is watching him, analyzing him without saying a word. It’s not like she’s ever been the quiet type.

“Honey, I-” he starts.

“Not yet,” she counters. She pads up the stairs, locks the door and comes back down. “You and I need to have a chat.”

“I know,” he admits, putting up his hand to placate her, but she ignores the gesture, stepping closer.

“You scared the hell out of him, Oliver,” she tells him. She’s firmly in his personal space, eyes boring into him.

“I know that, too,” he tells her slowly, meeting her gaze. He knows what she’s doing, knows he deserves it, but he’s still on edge, and despite his best efforts, he feels the familiar sparks of anger. He didn’t do it purpose.

“Do you?” Felicity questions. Oliver clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring, but she’s not the least bit deterred. “He’s seven, Oliver. He just finished first grade.”

“Kids in first grade are victims, too, Felicity!” he snaps, his voice rising. “He needs to be trained. He needs to be ready. You don’t-”

“He wasn’t in that container!” she shouts, bringing the root of his issue firmly to light. Oliver starts, blinking hard. His eyes burn, watering far too much and he has to look away because just hearing that aloud… Felicity ducks her head to follow his gaze. “That’s what this is about, right? Those kids?”

Oliver can’t look at her. He stares at the floor, squaring his shoulders, bracing himself… And then he nods. Just once, crisp and firm.

“You saved them,” Felicity says. “We saved them.”

“Some of them,” he amends, finally looking at her. “We stopped that one, that…” His eyes slip shut again, his voice rough - strained - as he says, “Shipment. How many others have there been? How will those kids ever get back to normal after what they’ve been through? You don’t see their faces. You don’t see what their eyes looked like.”

She’s quiet long enough that he finally looks back at her. Her face is sad, her brows drawn together in pity as she shakes her head, almost like she’s stunned.

“I ‘didn’t see’ you mean,” she corrects. She moves closer, slowly, her hand hovering over his chest. But she doesn’t touch him. “Past tense, Oliver. It’s over. We saved them. We caught the guys who did it. We got those kids help.” She doesn’t let his gaze go, even when he tries to look away. “It’s done, Oliver.”

“I know,” he whispers, bowing his head. It feels like the hundredth time he’s said it. “I know that.”

Felicity doesn’t stop herself this time, pressing her hand over his heart before sliding it up to his cheek. He flinches but settles immediately, allowing her warmth to run through him.

“But you’re still fighting that battle, aren’t you?” she whispers. Her thumb brushes over his cheek. “Oliver… it’s over. Come home to us.”

“I just… I see…” He stops himself, putting his hand over hers and holding it to his face. It’s grounding. She always is and he needs that right now as his eyes slip shut. “I close my eyes and it’s like I’m finding them all over again. I see that little boy tucked in the corner, curled up to make himself as small as he could. It’s like…” He looks at her, his other hand finding her arm. It’s not for her benefit, it’s for his, her touch anchoring him. “It’s like that time we found Nate in his closet after a nightmare. Do you remember that? He was maybe four.”

“We panicked because he screamed and then we couldn’t find him,” Felicity murmurs in agreement, her fingers stroking through the scruff along his jaw.

Oliver nods, releasing her hand. It falls away from his face a moment later. “It’s such a big house. I love it here, but that’s the one time I wished we’d gotten something smaller. It felt like forever searching each floor.”

“But you did find him,” Felicity reminds him. “You did. And he was fine.”

“He wouldn’t even look at me at first,” Oliver says. It’ll dawn on him later that he isn’t clear about who he means here - Nate or the boy earlier this week - but they’ve sort of melded together in his head for the moment. “He was so small and he just shivered with his head pressed against his knees. He didn’t even have any tears left.”

“But you were there,” Felicity points out. “You made it better. Both times. You got that boy from the container to the police. He’s home now because of us. And three years ago, you picked Nate up and brought him to our room. We made a cocoon and he played with my hair until he passed out.”

“He slept with us for a solid week,” Oliver recalls.

Felicity stares up at him. “Because he knew he was safe with us.”

“But we can’t always be there,” Oliver says. And that’s the crux of all of this, really. Nate’s getting bigger. All of the kids are. And they’ll keep reaching for more and more independence right up until they’re in college talking about the date they’ve got tomorrow night. With Will, at least, Oliver’s pretty confident he can take care of himself. He has been for a long time. Will had taken to self defense so easily and his mom had already had him in karate when they’d met. The girls, too, are just balls of energy. Jules loves to one-up anyone and everyone, while Ellie is so happy with his approval. But Nate… Nate’s not like any of them. And it terrifies him. “I need him to be safe when he’s not with us.”

“I know,” she says. “Me, too. But you pushed your own fears onto him tonight, Oliver. He can’t carry them. They’re too heavy for such little shoulders.”

That’s a harrowing thought. There are so many demons that haunt Oliver. Fewer than one might expect - his family helps even things out more than he could possibly have anticipated - but they’re ever-present nonetheless. And of all the people in this world, it’s his baby boy he’d least want to see bear any part of them.

“You are still spoiling for a fight, honey,” Felicity tells him. “But the men who did that to those kids are in jail and our little boy needs patience and encouragement, not a crash course.”

“So what do I do?” Oliver asks, a desperate vulnerability lining the words. “How do I finish this fight? How do I get this out of my head?”

“Two things,” she says, stepping back and pulling out her hair tie before redoing her ponytail. “First, you need to remember that our family is a hell of a lot better prepared for the world than either of ours were at their age and that we’re in total agreement about keeping up their training.”

“And the second?” he asks.

“You let me prove it to you.”

“What?” he asks, not quite following her.

“I promised you we’d go a few rounds later,” she reminds him. “If you need a fight. I’m right here. And I think you need to remember that your usual methods work pretty well. If you could teach me to defend myself, you can teach our son. You just can’t do it overnight.”

Oliver doesn’t respond, just watching her as she stretches her arms and cranes her neck. It’s been a long while since they’ve gone up against each other. They’re usually so focused on the kids on Sunday nights and he tends to spar with Digg or even Roy at the lair. Felicity’s kept her skills sharp enough that she can fend off an attacker. He’d never send her into the field, not to fight, but he’s comfortable in her ability to keep herself and the kids safe. And, maybe she’s right. Maybe seeing that in action is exactly what he needs right now.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Did you want to use bōs?”

“Hand-to-hand,” she counters. “Five second pin after a takedown?”

Oliver raises his eyebrows at her. “You think you’re gonna pin me?”

Felicity grins back. “Baby, I’m excellent at pinning you.” A mischievous light sparks in her eyes right before she winks at him.

Oliver groans outwardly because when his wife’s in a playful mood it’s absolutely his weak spot.

“Felicity,” he says warningly, taking a step toward her.

She backs up a step, though, dodging his hands and falls into a defensive stance, watching him warily. She’s waiting for him to move, to attack. Virtually everything he’s taught her over the years is defensive, reactive. And, while he’s sure she could adapt that to be the attacker in a pinch - she’s awfully smart, after all - it’s not something she’s got any experience with.

So, he uses that to his advantage.

Oliver circles around her, keeping more than an arm’s length between them, as he studies her, looks for weak spots, for a break in her concentration. Her form is great, though, relaxed but prepared. And she’s clearly attuned to his every movement. But then, she usually is, isn’t she? He can’t even remember the last time they were in a room together and he didn’t feel her eyes tracking him, skimming over his form.

When he does finally make a move, he’s not surprised at all to find her ready for him. She’s smaller than him, more lithe, and she knows how to use that to her advantage. She should, he’s spent a very long time teaching her how. She spins out of his grasp easily, side-stepping and landing an elbow against the small of his back as she goes. That registers as a bit of surprise. It’s not all that hard and it doesn’t hurt, but it definitely throws both his balance and his expectations out of whack.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Effective,” she smiles sweetly from a few steps away, entirely too proud of herself.

It’s earned, though.

She does surprisingly well against him, making him work to even reach her. It’s a strong tactic, forcing him to expend energy and waiting until he’s more tired, weaker. That would work on most people, but Oliver’s battle-endurance outstrips virtually everyone else. After decades of fighting for his life, for his city, for his family, he’s learned to push back exhaustion. Giving up isn’t an option in his line of work and his stamina reflects that.

When he finally gets a solid hold on her, he goes for an armlock to take her down, but he makes one very uncharacteristic mistake.

He underestimates his opponent.

Felicity drives herself back into him, sending him off balance for just a fraction of a second. It’s surprise, more than anything else, that lets her take his legs out from under him. But she does, and before he knows it, he’s flat on his back with his wife straddling him, wearing an intensely proud grin as she pins him to the ground, her hands nailing his shoulders to the mat.

He could flip her. It’d be simple enough. It’s not like she’s got him in any kind of a hold, but he’s content to let her have this victory and he’d much rather stare up at her beautiful face and enjoy the solid weight of her body pressing down on him than keep fighting.

With a proud grin all his own, Oliver’s hands find her hips. “Who the hell have you been practicing with?”

“Lyla,” she answers. She’s so delighted by this reveal that she’s almost giddy. “I wanted to surprise you. And, well, I wanted to find out how to kick a little ass just in case you or the kids need me to step in sometime. Did I really do a good job?”

“You took me down,” he points out. “But…” He looks down as he runs his hands up her sides, his palms brushing over her ribs, eliciting a tiny shiver from her. Oliver meets her gaze again as he moves them back down, digging his fingers in slightly. He delights in the flush that colors her cheeks as adds, his voice low, “I’ve gotta say this isn’t the most effective position for pinning someone that I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh,” she says with faux innocence before biting her lower lip. The sight sends a shock of desire through him. “But I like this position,” she adds, suddenly arching her back and grinding down against him.

The sight of her hard nipples pressing through her shirt in combination with the delicious heat between her thighs pressing right against his growing arousal makes him moan. She grinds down harder, sucking on that damn bottom lip of hers, and he lets out a choked groan before sliding his hands around her to cup her ass. He grips her tight, pulling her even more firmly against him.

Felicity laughs, a delightfully breathy noise that’s erotic as hell. She sits up, peeling her top off, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze. His mouth waters, wanting to lean up and pull one of her nipples between his lips, but she’s already leaning over him, pressing them firmly to his chest.

She feels so damn good. He grips her ass tighter, rocking her hips against his, creating a low friction between them that has them both moaning.

“If memory serves,” she whispers, her lips brushing his. “You like this position, too.”

Oliver nods, a little too rapidly, his nose hitting hers as he tries to capture her lips… but this isn’t his show.

It’s hers.

Felicity kisses him. Oliver sighs against her lips, opening up for her, giving her anything she wants. It’s long and messy, a little desperate and completely perfect. She nips and tugs at his lower lip as she braces with one hand beside his head, the other rucking up his shirt to get to his abs. She’s always enjoyed the ridges of his well-defined muscles, and this time is no different. But there’s something distinctly playful about her today. Her fingernails scrape lightly. It’s as teasing a thing as he can recall in recent memory, sending a tickling desire surging through him. Oliver sucks in a wild breath, his hips jerking up against the cradle of her thighs.

She’s taken him down in more than one way today, something that’s obvious in the way she practically purrs in delight when she releases his lip and works her way to the underside of his jaw, seeking out his pulse point.

With the mood she’s in, she’ll probably leave a mark, but he doesn’t fucking care. No, that’s not true. He does care. He wants it. He wants her to be utterly and completely in control, to leave a mark and be playful and tease him until he begs. It won’t take long, not right now, because his ever-present adrenaline finally has somewhere to go and he wants to be inside his wife with a madness he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Felicity,” he gasps. It comes out more as a whine than anything else. His hands knead at her ass as he rotates his hips beneath her. He can feel her heat through their shorts, right against his cock, and it’s quickly driving him insane. “Please…”

Her teeth scrape against his throat and he almost chokes on his own tongue as he shudders, arching up beneath her. She takes advantage of that to work his shirt up further. It gets caught underneath his shoulders and a second later he’s sitting up, helping her tug it off before falling back down.

Sensation rains down on him - the hot, sticky mat under his back, her warmth on top of him, her heavy breasts dragging over his stomach as she sucks on his collarbone.

“Mmm…” Felicity sighs. “You’re sweaty.”

“I know,” he whimpers, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass again. He smirks, not able to help himself. “You think it’s amazing.”

She grins, looking up at him from underneath her lashes. “I really do.”

“I’m aware,” Oliver replies, a little amusement mixing into the rush of hormones flooding his body. “I’ve had fifteen years or so to figure that out.”

Felicity hums, dipping down to kiss his collarbone again, and again. Her tongue sneaks out for a taste, making his lungs stutter as he tries to get oxygen to them.

“You smell like you when you’re all sweaty,” she says. It’s sweet, cute, a different tone from the playful vixen she was a moment ago, but he loves this version of her, too. He loves every version of her. “It’s… it’s primal, you know?” Felicity runs her fingers down his chest, re-exploring the well-mapped landscape of his skin. It doesn’t matter that it’s been a decade and a half, the feel of her fingers on his skin still leaves his head spinning. A trail of fireworks light up along his skin. “It’s masculine, protective. It just… it hits me. And maybe it’s just association. I mean, I have been around you all shirtless and sweaty and ‘hello, there, Mr. Arrow’ more times than I can count.” Oliver looks down, watching her through heavy lids, staring at her stare at him, transfixed. It’s a sensual sight, primal in its own way, and it opens up something inside him as she continues, “But any way you look at it-”

Oliver can’t help it. He sits up, kissing her mid-thought. For half a second she’s startled, but then she melts against him, wrapping her whole body around his, cradling his head in her hands as she kisses him back.

“I love you,” he tells her in the scarcest whisper of a breath as they part slightly. “Sweaty or rambling, cute or seductive…” He grins. “Protective or screaming for me to come kill a spider-”

“That was one time,” Felicity protests. “And he was the size of my fist. We could have named him and had the cat raise him as her young.”

Oliver chuckles. “I love every last thing about you. I always have and I always will. I am so lucky to have you as my partner, Felicity.”

She might be forty now, but when she blushes happily, biting her lip and smiling, she looks just like she did when he first met her, when he hadn’t thought there was any room for this kind of joy in his life. And, just like then, she utterly takes his breath away.

“We’re lucky to have each other,” she points out. “And I love you, too. Which is something I’d really like to illustrate for you in vivid detail right now, actually.”

“I like that plan,” he grins, hooking his thumbs into the top of her shorts.

Felicity laughs. “I figured you might.”

She stands up, moving to push her shorts down but he bats her hands away, doing it himself. He doesn’t take his time like he usually does - the urgency to be inside her is too much - but he absolutely enjoys the view. She will never not take his breath away. Felicity kicks her sneakers off before losing the shorts, leaving her beautifully naked. She leans down and tugs his shorts down before resettling herself atop him.

They wrap themselves around each other, Oliver slowly falling back on the mat, taking her with him. She spreads her legs, pressing her wet heat right against his hardness. He chokes out a breath as she moans.

One of his hands goes straight back to her ass again - it’s a damn magnet to him, honestly - and the other reaches for her chest. He palms her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her beautiful blue eyes drift shut with a contented noise as she sits up, giving him more room. She puts one hand on his chest for balance and spreads her knees a little further out before rocking her hips against his.

His eyes damn near roll into the back of his head as his cock slips between her wet folds. His head falls back against the mat with a solid thud as every single bit of sensory input his body registers zeroes in on his groin and the way his wife is working herself atop him.

“Felicity… honey,” he says, pinching her nipple a little harder and bucking up beneath her. His hardness slips over her sensitive clit, making her hiss. He does it again, palming her breast before grasping it tightly. “I really need to be inside you.”

She nods, her hair swinging in her ponytail, and rises up slightly. She reaches between them, wrapping her fingers around his cock. His fingers dig into her, making her hiss again, but he can’t bring himself to stop, especially when she pumps him a few times - entirely to make him see stars, he’s positive - before guiding him to her wet entrance. She eases herself down onto him, her mouth open in a needy pant as he fills her. The wet heat of her body’s embrace is so very familiar to him at this point, but it’s still absolutely perfect.

He lets her dictate everything, happy to follow her lead.

The pace she sets is slow, almost lazy. It reminds him of their sparring, of the way she’d tried to wait him out, to wear him down. That tactic is more likely to work this time than in a fight. She’s simultaneously his biggest weakness and his greatest strength. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

She braces herself on his chest, her rocking hips slowly - slowly - gaining speed. Oliver runs his hands all over her; she’s damp with sweat, her taut muscles moving under his touch, her skin pink with her arousal and pleasure. He’s drawn back to her ass, the plentiful mound so perfectly full in his hands. He grips it tight, just to feel her, not changing the pace one bit, content to let her be in control, to watch her through half-lidded eyes, to see her pleasure growing.

It’s gorgeous as much as it’s intoxicating.

“Oh,” Felicity breathes, her lips parted as she rides him. She tries to keep their gazes locked. It only sort of works because her eyes keep fluttering shut when she grinds down and he hits that spot inside her that he knows makes her pulse race and her pleasure spike.

Part of him wants to reach for her, to run his hands all over her body and kiss every inch of her skin, but the way she’s perched atop him is utterly entrancing and a bigger part of him just wants to enjoy what she’s offering and watch her drive them both right over the tipping point of ecstasy.

But she definitely doesn’t take them there quickly. More than once, he starts to feel that distinctive rush of sensation, but she slows things down every time, picking up on changes in his breathing or maybe the tension in his thighs. It’s maddening and he loves it, but he loves it even more when she smirks down at him as he lets out a frustrated groan. Felicity when she’s a tease is a hell of a thing to behold.

After a while, though, when both of them are slick with sweat and they’ve traded more kisses that he can remember, her movements start to get a bit more purposeful.

“Oliver…”

It’s a helpless little noise, filled with want and desperation for fulfillment. She leans back a bit, bracing one hand against his thigh and grabs his fingers with the other. She brings their joined hands to her clit and lets out a startled gasp as both of their fingers find her stiff little pearl. He wants so badly to see her come undone at this point that his fingers rub her roughly, maybe a little bit faster than she’d choose on her own, but she keeps her hand on his, her own fingers woven between his and it’s the most erotic thing he can remember seeing in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for her to reach the point where she’s trembling, all her attention focused on their fingers between her legs, her hips moving over him, over and over. It does take every ounce of well-earned self-control he’s got to keep from coming until she does, but he manages it, barely.

With an abrupt shout, her whole body seizes up above him, her body stretching out beautifully as she clenches around him, jerking wildly. That sight alone is enough to tip him over, joining her, and he finds himself gasping her name as his vision blurs, her body milking him dry.

The world takes a moment to come back to him.

A heady buzz of euphoria swims in his veins and every bit of his skin feels like it’s oversensitized in the best possible way. But, when reality sinks back in, it’s a whole lot better than it had been at the start of the evening, especially when his wife collapses across his chest. Her hair’s a complete mess, her body sweaty and sated, her cheeks and chest flushed. The smile on her face is absolutely hypnotic. He could live in this moment forever, basking in the afterglow of their love making, with his wife happy and curled up in his arms.

Felicity smiles down at him. “Hey you,” she whispers, kissing him softly on the lips. “There you are.”

“I’ve been right here the whole time,” he tells her. “Mostly.”

“No,” she counters, but she’s still smiling as she lets her fingers drift through his hair. “But you are now. Welcome home, Oliver.”

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse, so head on over to @so-caffeinated and give her some!

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