#the one you can barely see is a black canary poster

[peculiardiction]

Coming at you LIVE from my bedroom, is Tim in his bedroom!

This is a dc gotcha for Gaza prompt! Was excited to do this one, and naturally went overboard with the background!

[power464646]

Wes Anderson's Umineko

What if Umineko was a Wes Anderson movie? I think it would go like this:

[Scene: the exterior of a mid-range hotel in a quiet urban neighborhood. The sounds of cicadas and distant traffic run throughout. It is a clear-skied summer day. The camera rises off the ground to reveal an open window on the left side of the screen. Two young women are vaguely visible through the window.

Cut to the inside of the room to reveal the two women are sitting on identical queen-sized beds on opposite sides of the shot. The room's walls are lemon-yellow. The woman on the left is wearing a black coat, and the woman on the right, a red suit. The ambience from outside has been replaced with muffled television chatter.]

INTERVIEWEE: And I think there's an aspect of disaster voyeurism in everyone. We want-

[Cut to the same room, but viewed from the opposite wall. The two women are watching a small television set. The audio is clearer now.]

INTERVIEWEE: -to see these things go wrong, even if we find no happiness in watching it happen.

[Cut to what the television is displaying: a middle-aged woman standing at a podium in a dark auditorium. She sounds completely clear now, and is facing a particular spot in an implied crowd.]

INTERVIEWEE: Now, this is not a new concept, and it is one I have found to be...

[Pause, smile]

INTERVIEWEE: Divisive in my twelve years of experience, as an author. I think part of what makes this idea so uncomfortable to so many people, as you yourself wrote of my last book, is not that this idea paints us as violent, carnivorous beasts, but rather, as lowly scavengers. Vultures, if, if you will. It brings to mind the Ushiromiya family massacre of 1986, which I can still remember as an outlet for this voyeurism for a lot of people. I'm not sure if you're aware, but at the time, all we had to account for the events of the incident was a message in a bottle. Naturally I don't recall the contents by heart, but I, and countless others, I'm sure, have a very clear mental map of the event.

[Cut to a wide shot of a young man in a white suit and red undershirt sitting on a dark waiting-room chair, the centermost of those visible in the shot. The wall behind him is canary-yellow, and his head is framed by an assortment of aviation and tourism posters. The words, “Chapter One”, appear above him in bold white text. There is music now, a slow instrumental rendition of Pink Floyd - Dogs played on piano and two violins. The narrator is Alec Baldwin, for some reason.]

NARRATOR: The Ushiromiyas are, or were, an aristocratic Tokyoite family whose various business enterprises-

[Cut to a sky-blue-walled office. An older man in a crimson suit shakes hands with a similarly formally-dressed man. The camera tracks him in parallel motion as he walks through the room.]

NARRATOR: -were almost all household names among the upper class in the four decades-

[As the camera follows him out of the left side of the room, it moves into an adjacent chartreuse-walled room, now following a brown-suited woman with her hair tied back who walks from one side to the other to sit at the head of a boardroom table. She clicks a pen just as the camera crosses into the next room.]

NARRATOR: -between nineteen-forty-six and nineteen-eighty-six. Despite their net worth-

[This room is pink. A man in a dark blue suit crosses the office space dictating something we can barely hear to an intern struggling to keep up with.]

NARRATOR: -however, the majority of the Ushiromiyas, with the exception of their patriarch, were debilitatingly-

[Cut to a younger, long-haired woman in a black coat, walking through the business class portion of a large airplane. She takes a seat towards the back.]

NARRATOR: -incompetent at their jobs, and were held afloat by the support of their father, Kinzo, much of which he had rescinded in the past twenty years.

[A still shot of an array of portraits on a varnished timber wall, arranged as a family tree. Kinzo’s is the largest, to a comical degree. A pair of gloved hands take down the portrait of his wife next to him and replace it with that of Beatrice.]

NARRATOR: What does exist of the family fortune is owed to Kinzo and his late wife, a woman rarely mourned in favor of his fabled mistress Beatrice, whom none of his eccentrically-named descendants have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

[A long shot of a stern-looking Kinzo sitting at a long table, with the classic portrait of Beatrice on the wall behind him. The walls are dark and the curtains are drawn, leaving the space illuminated only by a chandelier and the light it reflects on a checkered pale-brown-and-dull-brown floor. Standing beside him is Genji. Despite both being portrayed by elderly Japanese actors, they otherwise bear a striking resemblance to Bill Murray and Danny Glover.]

NARRATOR: Kinzo Ushiromiya was a very private man, and had become increasingly so in recent years.

[The same shot, but closer.]

NARRATOR: The closest he came to talking about himself was complaining for prolonged periods of time over whatever matter, big or small, had fallen into the crosshairs of his ire.

[A closer shot. Genji hands Kinzo a shot glass, which he takes without looking and downs.]

NARRATOR: Aside from his ever-changing roster of menials, The only people Kinzo ever spoke to were his closest relatives at family gatherings in the mansion on his private island, on the occasion that he ever actually left his study.

[Another figure, Shannon, comes into view and places a roast dinner in front of him. He begins to cut into a steamed vegetable and eat, never breaking eye contact with the camera.]

NARRATOR: Kinzo repeatedly expressed a stern contempt toward the other Ushiromiyas, and had yet to leave any of his estate to them in his will, or appoint a successor to his fortune. Now, in the final years of his life, his secrecy remained, much to the chagrin of his four children:

[Cuts to each of them behind the desks in their offices in turn, the third of which features a woman we can presume to be Kyrie leaning on the side of the desk.]

NARRATOR: -Krauss, the eldest son, whose penchant for risk-taking on the real estate market had left him almost completely penniless,

-Eva, a woman desperate to prove her financial skills to her indifferent father,

-Rudolf, a man self-obsessed enough to neglect the failing of all his relationships, commercial, social, and familial,

-And Rosa, the youngest by some margin, whose self-loathing and single-mother lifestyle had given a violent temper.

[Cut to the lowest rung of the family tree.]

NARRATOR: Aware of their father’s disdain, each of the children had conceived a grandchild in the futile hope that they, instead, could earn Kinzo’s approval. The cousins, however, had no such interest in their parents’ squabbles.

[A very long shot of the cousins, minus Ange, on the shore of Rokkenjima in 1980. Held for a few seconds, and then cut to George straightening his tie in the airport bathroom.]

NARRATOR: Eva’s son, George, was-

[Shot of the same distance, now in a library]

NARRATOR: -well-read-

[Now a martial arts class]

NARRATOR: -well-disciplined-

[Now being fitted with a suit]

NARRATOR: -and well-to-do, and being the oldest cousin, also the most likely successor to the Ushiromiya headship-

[Cut to him and Shannon silhouetted against the bright blue waters of an aquarium display. Strange-looking stop-motion fish alight from their schools to watch the two kiss.]

NARRATOR: -provided he could keep his relationship with Shannon, a member of his grandfather’s kitchen staff, hidden from the rest of the family.

[A long shot of a quiet harbor in early morning light, camera positioned perpendicular to the shore. While boatsmen go about their work, Jessica walks down the pier closest to the camera. A few seconds of seaside ambience before narration resumes.]

NARRATOR: Jessica, the second-oldest cousin, stood tied with George in likelihood to succeed her grandfather, being the child of his eldest son.

[Medium shot of Jessica at a dining table. The tablecloth is white, and the walls are vivid yellow. She appears irritated, and isn’t eating. The figures either side of her are arguing, but we cannot see who they are or make out their words.]

NARRATOR: This uncertainty had become the source of regular arguments among her extended family, with two complications.

[A similar-distance shot of Jessica tuning an electric guitar.]

NARRATOR: The first was her total disinterest in her family’s affairs, which she expressed at school by fronting a flamboyant pop/rock quartet.

[Another, now in the mirror of her bedroom. There is a photo tacked to the side of the mirror, which she hastily removes in conjunction with the sound of an unseen door opening.]

NARRATOR: The second was that she harbored a private affection for Shannon’s younger brother Kanon, who was also a member of the kitchen staff.

[Back to the airport. From a distance, the camera tracks a young girl by Rosa’s side as the two enter the building.]

NARRATOR: Rosa’s daughter Maria, frankly, did not stand a chance of succeeding Kinzo.

[A shot of Maria’s bedroom. She sits on her bed, on her front, swinging her legs back and forth while poring over some tome or other.]

NARRATOR: Maria was an autistic savant: despite being almost incapable of dressing herself or speaking coherently at age nine, she had, in the space of the last three years, memorized-

[A still shot of each book’s cover in turn.]

NARRATOR: - the Malleus Maleficarum, the Lesser Key of Solomon, and large portions of the Talmud.

[Back to the bedroom shot.]

NARRATOR: From her fixation on arcane texts, she had taught herself how to read English, Latin, and Hebrew fluently, and planned to learn Greek the following year.

[Wide shot of Rudolf’s house’s kitchen. the camera centers a six-year-old Ange, with her parents facing inward on either adjacent side of the table to her.]

NARRATOR: Maria held constant enmity toward Rudolf’s youngest, Ange, who dismissed her fascination with the occult as a waste of time. Thankfully, both were saved the trouble of a reunion when, the day before the annual family gathering of 1986, Ange fell ill and was not able to attend.

[The same room, from the opposite direction, to make more obvious an empty chair across from Ange.]

NARRATOR: Ange’s mother, Kyrie, was not married to Rudolf at the time their daughter was conceived. In fact, Rudolf’s wife at the time was on her death bed.

[Short silence from the narrator as the scene changes to the interior of a hospital room. On the left side of the screen, the lower half of an occupied hospital bed is visible. The music cuts out for the duration of this shot to reveal the beeping of a heart monitor and the distant sounds of affection between two lovers. The music kicks back in when the narrator continues.]

NARRATOR: Rudolf’s infidelity had alienated his eldest, Battler, into disowning the family-

[An old couple’s living room. The man from the chapter 1 title card sits bored by his matrilineal grandparents. The words, “The Akinatas”, appear at the top of the screen in that same bold text.]

NARRATOR: -and living with his late mother’s, the Akinatas.

[Cut back to him at the airport.]

NARRATOR: Upon his mother’s parents’ passing in early nineteen-eighty-six, Battler had decided to reconnect with his father, and for the first time in six years, would be rejoining the Ushiromiya family gathering.

[He stands up and leaves to talk to someone offscreen.]

NARRATOR: Within the next forty-eight hours, he and the rest of the Ushiromiya family would be reported missing, presumed dead.

[crxwflower]

Superposition: Chapter 3

FANDOM: Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) | PAIRING: Peter Parker x Y/N

Content: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Reader-Insert, Childhood Friends, Childhood Crush, Superpowers, Angst, Spider-Man, Avengers, Fluff, Nerdy Reader, Shy Reader

** WARNINGS: Descriptions of injury/pain **

SUMMARY:

"I don't believe in fate, no psychic vision. But when things fall into place, superposition."

You don't believe in destiny or fate. Everything happens for a reason, even if that reason cannot be explained. As a child, you knew Peter Parker. You were friends, and then you weren't. He was your childhood crush—a passing phase. Life just gets in between people before they can ever really get to know each other, and that's okay. But when tragedy strikes and you find yourself blessed (or cursed) with superpowers, you discover that perhaps life has a way of bringing people together, too.

Masterlist | AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Spider-Man never returned. He either died or disappeared during The Snap. Just like your sister, your father, and half of Earth’s entire population. Animals included. 

What remained of the government funded projects to erect memorials for the Lost, entire neighborhoods stood vacant as people flocked to cities for comfort, and cemeteries struggled to accommodate the influx of funerals for empty caskets. Crime spiked for a while until a bunch of volunteers banded together to supplement the struggling police force. The news broadcasts always talked about “rebuilding” and “moving on” and “becoming our own superheroes.” But they never addressed how people turned to looting when production stopped or how orphaned children wandered the streets days after The Snap. So many people died. Either from car crashes caused by the driver disappearing from behind the wheel or surgeons getting dusted in the middle of an operation. Women lost their babies. Suicide rates skyrocketed. In a world with superheroes, people get comfortable believing that the heroes will always save the day. No one ever stopped to consider what might happen if they failed.

A tiny glimmer of hope appeared when Tony Stark returned from space, only to shatter when he failed to bring the other superheroes with him before all but disappearing from the public eye. No one wanted to acknowledge that the Avengers lost, so rebuilding in the wake of disaster took a long, long time.

Police officers, first responders, doctors, teachers, community leaders—people essential to the functioning of a healthy society—disappeared in The Snap. But even in the wake of disaster, incredible people always step up to do the right thing. And so, slowly but surely, the world began to heal. Memories of lost loved ones lurked everywhere in the form of weathered “missing” posters and rows of empty houses, however, people stopped allowing those memories to hold them back. After The Snap came The Healing.

A car alarm goes off outside when you awaken, shafts of golden sunlight piercing through your blinds and disturbing you from your sleep. You don’t want to get out of bed. A sigh escapes your lips as you roll off your bed, trudging to the dresser to pick out your outfit for the day. The goal is to find the right tee-shirt and jacket combination to prevent anyone from noticing that you’ve been wearing the same pair of pants for about a week. You grab a canary yellow graphic tee and a jean jacket. Mission accomplished. 

You move to the vanity, running a brush through your hair and ignoring the pain as the bristles snag on tangles. You think a prayer for your poor, damaged hair and keep on brushing. No need to put on makeup today—you’ve been working to get rid of your most recent acne flare up and you’re not willing to risk making it worse. Hayley’s face smiles at you from a wooden picture frame, her arm slung around your dad’s waist as they pose in front of the Statue of Liberty. Your heart aches at the sight of it. Neither of them ever made it home. You watched Hayley disappear with your own eyes, but you are really not quite sure what happened to Dad that day. 

After your wounds mysteriously healed and the ensuing chaos Post-Snap distracted the remaining first responders, you somehow managed to wander all the way back home on foot. There, you sat on the porch steps for hours listening to wailing sirens and cries of anguish as the world crumbled around you. The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon when your mother finally arrived without your father. Covered in a layer of blood, sweat, and grime, she almost looked like she had a worse day than you. She remained silent, no matter how many questions you asked her, instead engulfing you in the longest hug of your life. You both needed it.

Months later, your mom packed up everything in the house and moved you to a smaller apartment closer to Midtown High School. She never talked to you about Dad and you never talked to her about your powers. The two of you forged an unspoken agreement to never address the events of that day. 

All prepared for the day, you opened your door and slipped into the kitchen. Your mom is at the dining table which is set for four, even though it is only the two of you in the house. Only a couple years ago, this place might have been filled with the clatter of plates and chattering of happy voices as everyone got ready for school or for work. But now an oppressive silence lingers in the air as you slink around like a criminal, quietly preparing a bowl of cereal while Mom stares blankly at her newspaper. She has aged considerably in recent months. She started her own business to help find homes and jobs for displaced people after The Snap, dedicating her life to helping others. It’s kind of ironic, considering how absent she is at home. You can’t remember the last time she said “I love you” or even a simple “good morning.” Some people turned to alcohol or drugs, your mom turned to her work. On one hand, you admire how much she has done for the community. On the other, you wish she would just talk to you about how she feels. You aren’t sure how much longer you can stand this silence. 

“Bye, Mom,” you say as you sling your backpack over your shoulder. She glances up and makes a small noise, almost like whatever she wanted to say died in her mouth. “...I’m heading off to school…” Still, nothing. You sigh, and disappear out the front door.

…. 

School passes in a blur. Project presentation, pop quizzes, final exam assignments, decathlon practice. Like your mom, you have learned to fill up your day as much as possible. It helps distract you from the silence. Not only is your house quiet, but the world seems to be suspended in a permanent state of mourning. Kids joke around in the halls with hushed voices and when the conversation dies out, everyone looks around with vague expressions. The sadness is easier to escape when you give yourself barely any time to spend alone with your thoughts. The last thing you want is to be miserable all day, only for you to feel even worse when you finally have to return home. If you’re not careful, your thoughts begin to drift to the fact that soon you will be doing things your sister never got the chance to do. You plan on going to Washington D.C. with the decathlon next year, not to mention the fact that you already got your driver’s license. Before you know it, you will be touring colleges and gettings jobs—all things Hayley missed out on when she disappeared with the rest of the Lost. The closer you get to the end of the academic year, the more these thoughts plague you.

….

At the end of the day, you send a quick text before going to stand out on the curb in front of the school. A brisk wind tugs at your sleeves, stray hairs freeing themselves from your ponytail and tickling your nose or getting into your mouth when you’re not careful. Only a couple minutes pass before a nondescript black SUV pulls up in front of you, the passenger side door swinging open on its own. The driver doesn’t look at you when you hop in, setting your backpack on the seat beside you. 

Buildings race past as you drive and drive, you drive until the buildings disappear and turn into quiet countryside. In the distance, the Avengers compound comes into view. You murmur a “thanks” to the driver when they drop you off at the entrance, driving off the moment you shut the door. A couple years ago, you began to realize that you didn’t hallucinate surviving electrical shock or your bones healing themselves. You were quick to write off how your skin became impervious to common injuries like paper cuts, but it was harder to ignore when you had dreams about being a cat-person-alien-thing and you woke up with feline eyes and two inch long claws. With your mother emotionally absent, you decided against confiding in her, and instead wrote a long-winded email to the Avengers explaining what happened to you and begging for help. It took a while to get a response, but eventually Blackwidow reached out to you and asked if you would be willing to take a few tests at the headquarters. 

Since then, you learned that, somehow, getting electrocuted changed your body on the molecular level. Evolution occurs naturally over many generations, but Agent Romanov explained that you are able to evolve in a matter of seconds. However, you also learned that it comes at the cost of using your body’s own resources. You did not suddenly become magical. You cannot pop new arms out of nowhere. But you can grow extra arms as long as you can stand the intense, unimaginable pain the comes from sprouting two new appendages in seconds. It also makes you incredibly hungry. Imagine the amount of food a bunch of pubescent boys consume and then multiply it by ten—that’s how much you need to eat after sprouting gills or stopping bullets with your invulnerable skin. 

Without the threat of alien invasions, the Avengers compound is almost completely desolate. Aside from the essential staff, you only ever see Agent Romanov on your weekly visits. The faces of the Scarlet Witch, Vision, Doctor Strange, and Spider-Man stare down at you as you move silently through the hall. Your attention lingers on the familiar red mask, tracing over the intricate details in the design. It’s crazy to you that he rescued you from death only hours before he met his own end. Agent Romanov says he never returned from space. He must have been so scared… You shake off your thoughts, not wanting to waste precious energy mourning a hero you never knew. The last thing you want is to keep Agent Romanov waiting.

….

“Sorry I’m late, Agent Romanov,” your shoes squeak on the pristine concrete floor as you walk into the training room. 

The red haired woman looks up from a dossier and offers you a warm smile. She looks exhausted today. Granted, you can’t remember a time since you’ve known her that she didn’t have sad, red-rimmed eyes. Hell, she hasn’t even bothered to re-dye her hair after the natural red started growing back. 

“Y/N,” she sighs. “I’ve asked you a million times to call me Natasha.”

“I know, I know,” you reply, “—it just feels too informal. I mean...you’re Blackwidow. I can’t believe that we’re on a first name basis.”

She laughs at that, pretty and melodious. It’s your constant goal to give her a reason to smile. Natasha has helped you out so much by allowing you to come here and train; she deserves to smile and be happy. 

“So,” you say, stripping off your outer layers and slipping into the training suit Nat made for you. “What is on the schedule for today? Hand-to-hand combat? Survival training? When do I get my lightsaber?” Natasha chuckles again, smacking you playfully on the shoulder. You learned quickly that she’s fond of Star Wars references. She says that it reminds her of Spider-Man and, hey, you kind of like the idea that both you and your former superhero crush have good taste in cinema. 

“No lightsabers. Not sure if I can trust you with those,” she winks at you playfully. 

“Come on! Just once? Scout’s honor.” 

“Nope, not a chance,” Nat retorts. “Let’s practice some aerial combat. I’ll man the drones, you destroy them however you please.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” you say with a mocking salute.

Your suit has a cutout on the back for occasions like this. One of the first things Natasha said when she found out you could go full-on “angel mode” was that it’s a highly valuable skill that you should practice. Because your body adapts so quickly to harsh environments and physical harm, you don’t have to think in order to become invulnerable or to breathe in low oxygen environments. But wings? That takes patience, willpower, and a lot of carbs. 

When you saw pictures of angels growing up, you never really thought about how they would require an entirely different bone structure. The sensation feels like growing pains—a dull ache which steadily blossoms into acute, burning agony. It begins with a new set of shoulder blades and rotating joints fusing to your spine, muscles and tissue weaving across the fresh bone as hair follicles adapt into feathers. That part hurts a normal amount—like when you grow six inches in a summer—but it’s when the rest of your bones begin to hollow so you’re light enough to fly, ribs shifting to accommodate a larger pair of lungs, that you truly start to acknowledge just how much pain you’re in. Millions of years of evolution takes place in a single minute, and soon a stunning set of iridescent hummingbird wings frame your body. It takes everything in you not to collapse, reaching for the nutrient-rich snack bar Nat offers you and devouring it like a starving animal.

“You good?” she asks, arching a brow.

“I’m fine.” not really, but you’re used to the pain by now. Not to be edgy, or whatever, but you would rather feel this pain than to feel nothing at all. You have always looked up to superheroes, and you kind of like the idea of becoming one yourself. It’s better than being sad all the time. One day, when you learn to master your abilities, you will be saving people just like Spider-Man saved you all those years ago.

You train with Natasha for several hours, pushing the limits of your abilities until you can scarcely move. Agent Romanov might look sweet and harmless, but there is a reason why she’s called the Blackwidow. Most people would go easier on a sixteen year old girl, but Nat is adamant that you need to get used to fighting until you have nothing left, digging deeper, and then fighting some more. After the aerial training, you moved onto target practice, obstacle courses, and one-on-one with Natasha, herself. 

Every bullet you fail to dodge, every time your body is forced to adapt to some extreme environment, every punch you land—it all drains you physically and emotionally. Just because you aren’t bleeding doesn’t mean you don’t feel every single blow. Your body still gets sore, and if you don’t eat enough after training, you might as well be unable to move at all. Thankfully, there is always a hearty supply of food ready for you when you finish these workouts. 

After you showered and changed back into plainclothes, you meet Nat in the dining hall so you can refuel before heading home. You never get used to walking in here. It is the size of a school cafeteria, maybe larger, and it is completely empty aside from the two of you. Only serves to remind you just how desolate the Avengers compound has become. Nat offers you a giant plate of pasta—seriously, it’s gargantuan—when you take a seat on the bench across from her. You grimace as you force your sore muscles to comply, mouth watering at the sight of the food. 

“You did great today, Y/N,” the woman says after you’ve helped yourself to several mouthfuls. She knows that you can’t really function until you get some food in you. “I’m impressed by how much you’ve grown since I first started training you.”

“Thank yo—”

“No, let me finish.” 

You quiet instantly, swallowing any words of thanks with your latest mouthful of pasta. Why does she look so serious? The anticipation nearly kills you.

“It’s been...tough,” she says, choosing her words carefully, “really, really tough the last couple of years. I—we failed to defeat Thanos, and it got a lot of people killed. The Snap...it changed everything. I’ve been struggling without my team here to help me, but meeting you has given me something to look forward to. You give me hope that maybe something good can come out of a terrible situation.”

You’re absolutely speechless. Leave it to Natasha to drop a bomb like that when you’re gorging yourself on noodles like some sort of rabid toddler. Tears sparkle in the corners of your eyes as gaze at your companion, completely in awe of the praise she just bestowed upon you. When was the last time someone said something so kind to you? It’s been years, definitely. You must look like an overgrown child staring at Nat with big, cry-baby eyes and pasta sauce all over your face. It’s not exactly your most flattering moment, but you don’t really care.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit, smiling sheepishly at the older woman. “I’m really honored, and you know that I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for—”

“Y/N, seriously, there’s no need to thank me. I helped you when you needed it the most, and now you’re helping me, too.” Natasha stands up. She picks up a small, slate-colored box that you didn’t notice earlier and walks around to your side of the table, placing the package in front of you. “A gift. For you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You stare at her a moment longer, some part of you unable to comprehend the idea that your mentor not only expressed her appreciation for you, but also is offering you a gift. A stern expression flickers across Nat’s features, and you rush to open up the package before she gets annoyed with your inability to function like a normal human being. The box is nondescript and smooth beneath your quivering fingers. Breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes your lips when you finally see what is inside. It’s a bracelet with a thin, silver band. And it’s not just any old bracelet. You remember seeing prototypes of this scattered around Tony Stark’s old lab. 

“Try it on,” Natasha says. This time, you don’t hesitate.

The metal is cool against your skin as you slip it on. The face of the bracelet is about the size of a quarter; you press it, and the metal morphs into a high tech suit as nanotechnology spreads across your skin. “No way!” you gasp, marveling at how light and flexible the armor is. It is the same silver hue as the original band, with varying monochrome shades depending on the thickness or flexibility of the area. Your torso is a dark, iron hue with plates of sterling protecting your most vital areas. A pale silver forms the topmost layer—a sleek and agile imitation of traditional european armor. You sort of look like a weird fusion between a medieval knight and a stormtrooper.

“I know you don’t necessarily need armor, but this should help absorb the shock of impact and conceal your identity. Plus, it can shift to accommodate wings or claws or whatever weird thing you decide to grow.” Amusement sparkles in her eyes as she watches you inspect your gift.

Natasha can’t see it due to the helm obscuring your face, but you’re grinning from ear to ear. You rush forward, enveloping her in a tender embrace. You could cry right now, but you’re trying to keep it together.

“Thank you so much,” you gush, voice threatening to crack. “This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me.” Your voice rings with honest truth. On most days, your own mother forgets that you even exist. And when she does acknowledge your presence, she acts more like a robot than a mom. In a way, Natasha has become a mom to you. Not that you will ever tell her as much, but the red-haired assassin cares for you when no one else does. 

“So,” Nat says, changing the subject. “Any ideas on what you want your alias to be?” Oh, right. That. You have a couple ideas, but you were unable to settle on one when you sat down at your desk to brainstorm the night before.

“Semblance or Replica. I couldn’t decide,” you reply.

“I like Semblance. Replica makes you sound tacky.”

Natasha’s matter-of-fact reply makes you laugh. It’s just like her to shoot down an idea immediately without needing to think about it. 

“Semblance, it is.” You can’t keep yourself from smiling. This is it. It’s finally real. No more looking up to heroes, because now, now you get to be your own hero.

“Come on, let’s finish dinner.”

No argument from you. You’re still starving—as awesome as the suit is, your thoughts keep drifting back to the steaming bowl of spaghetti on the table. 

You fill up on several more servings of pasta, chatting and joking with Natasha. The cafeteria doesn’t feel so empty when the both of you are laughing at another one of your bad jokes. You don’t really want to go home, but it’s getting late. As absent as Mom is, you don’t want to push your luck. Eventually she will notice that you’re gone. 

After a quick exchange of goodbyes, you opt to fly yourself home. You have tried out several different kinds of wings in the past, but your favorites are that of a hummingbird. Learning how to emulate their aerodynamic adaptations was a bit of a learning curve, but now that you know what you’re doing, you are capable of flying just as fast with a considerable amount of agility. If anyone spots you soaring through the skyscrapers, you would never be able to tell. Dark buildings rush past you as you weave through the city, marveling at the myriad of dazzling lights. It’s way past your curfew, but you want to make a pit stop at the Chrysler building. The rooftop is one of your favorite places to sit and watch the city below. But right now, you are eager to try out your new suit away from the watchful eyes of Natasha. 

You press the hidden button on the bracelet. Waves of silver nanotechnology ripple across your skin in a matter of seconds. You are no scientific genius, so you can’t say exactly how this sort of thing works, but you **have** poked around in the lab Tony Stark used to work in when he was an Avenger. From what you gathered, this technology is a lesser version of his suit, Mark 50, which had the ability to interpret the thoughts of the wearer and construct different tech at a whim. You wonder if this one has an AI built in. That would be cool. The longer you think about it, the more you want to know. Well, there is only one way to find out.

“Um,” you say apprehensively. “Can anyone hear me?” 

“Hello, Y/N,” says a feminine voice. “How may I help you?” You have no idea where the voice originates from. Are there even speakers in this thing? You try not to dwell on it—there is no use in questioning a product of Stark Industries. The only thing that matters is that it works.

“I’m not sure. What can you do?”

“I can do lots of things. All you have to do is ask.”

This is it. The big moment. You have a high-tech suit with a super awesome AI, so you’re first order of business should be monumental. Something worthy of the occasion. You wrack your brain for ideas, but all the anticipation and excitement overwhelms your brain, and you mind blanks. It’s like when someone asks about your favorite movie and you immediately forget the names of all the movies that have ever existed, but worse.

“Can you tell me the fastest way to get home?” Lame. 

“If you intend on flying home, standard GPS data does not apply to you,” The AI replies in a helpful tone. “It will be approximately 35 minutes by taxi at this time of night, however.”

“Oh, right. Thank you...Wait, sorry, do you have a name, or something?”

“I do not.”

Huh, that’s weird. Most systems have some sort of nickname for their artificial intelligences. There’s Siri, Alexa, and Google. Alright, no, the last one is less of a name and more of a vocal identifier. Or the people who created the technology were lazy and uninspired. 

“Can I give you a name?” you ask after a moment of thought.

“If you would like to.”

“How about Glados?” will she get the reference? Just the mere thought of it brings an amused smirk to your lips.

“Glados sounds nice.”

Your expression falters, disappointed that Glados didn’t catch on. Oh well. You think you’re funny—with or without validation.

 “Alright then,” you say after a short moment of silence. “Let’s go home.”

You leap off the roof, free-falling with your wings folded against your back. The ground rushes towards you, faster and faster, until you unfurl your wings and skim the tops of the cars. In other places, people might question a mysterious individual plummeting from great heights, but this is New York. These people have endured alien invasions and apocalypse situations. For all they care, you’re just another weirdo cosplayer. And that’s just fine. You’re not quite ready to become a superhero like Cap or Iron Man. But, damn, you really do love to fly.

….

When you arrive home, the apartment is just as silent as when you left it. Bones snap and muscles tear as you return to your natural form. You pause, waiting for your mom to barge in and demand to know where you’ve been. She never does, though. Just like every other time. Quietly, you tiptoe towards the kitchen. Empty. You try her room next. Also empty; the bed still made. Figures. She’s still at work and didn’t even bother to call. Perhaps she just assumed that you’re used to her pulling all-nighters at the office. 

Pfft, whatever. You’re too tired to be mad at her. 

After grabbing a quick snack from the fridge, you return to your room and turn in for the night, hoping that maybe your mom might surprise you with breakfast in the morning. If only.

[raywritesthings]

What Have They Lost? 1/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow, The Flash Characters: Barry Allen, Iris West, Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Connor Hawke, Cisco Ramon, Ted Grant Pairings: Barry Allen/Iris West, Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: "I can definitely tell you that there’s a way we’re going to bring [Laurel] back and she’s going to be alive and well. And Flashpoint might have a little bit to do with that." -Wendy Mericle AKA: The AU where that wasn't a blatant lie, and Flashpoint has bigger repercussions for Barry's friends and allies than he first realized. Notes: So, probably not wise to start yet another WIP without finishing the one I have going but...I got really excited about this idea and wanted to see what people thought. If this is continued (which I hope to do so), things may get a little confusing as certain characters will be going by different (more comic book accurate) names, but I'll do my best to make that clear when introducing them. There are characters referenced in this chapter who will have a bigger role going forward, and when that happens I will add their character tags. Similarly, if some characters haven't been mentioned at all yet, that doesn't mean they won't be in the story. Their character tags will be added later, too. Much thanks to @colorofmymindposts for beta-ing this chapter and helping me restructure some things. It's a much better beginning as a result. Title is pulled directly from a line in DC Rebirth by Geoff Johns while song titles and lyrics were pulled from both the Black Canary solo book and Green Arrow Rebirth, and I make no claim of owning any of them. I hope you all enjoy and let me know your initial impressions! *Also can be read on my AO3*

Barry felt that, all things considered, life was treating him fairly well lately.

Of course, he’d had to fix the mistake he’d made going back in time to save his mother, and even now there were consequences from that. The team hadn’t been happy to learn that truth, and he worried his and Cisco’s friendship would never again be quite what it was. There were things that had resulted from his meddling that he would always feel guilt over.

But not this. Not him and Iris. Despite an awkward first attempt at a date and the second getting interrupted as well, they were falling into a better pattern now as a couple.

She found him in his lab one late morning while Julian was out at a crime scene, so they had the space to themselves for a bit. Iris wrapped her arms around his middle from behind and placed her chin on his shoulder, though he doubted it was to see the spectrometer he was working with.

“Any plans for tonight?”

Barry shook his head. “Nothing specific. You know, just,” he waved a hand to indicate general Flash stuff, which Iris understood with no trouble.

“Think you could take a break for one night?”

Barry raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I got concert tickets and I want you to go with me.”

A concert? That wasn’t usually his scene. “How’d you get them?”

“Daria in Arts and Entertainment gets sent them sometimes and she can’t make tonight work, so she offered them to me.”

Daria in Arts and Entertainment? That probably meant this was some kind of pop thing, didn’t it? Barry’s face scrunched up.

“I don’t know, Iris…”

“Bear, come on.” She squeezed him tight for a moment before letting go and taking a couple steps back. “It’s Birds of Prey!”

“Am I supposed to know them?”

“They’ve only been my favorite band since college, so I would hope so,” she remarked, and Barry turned around with a frown. He could have sworn Iris always said she liked the pop star Cassidy best. “They do some slow stuff, too. I know how you like your jazz,” Iris added  with an indulgent roll of the eyes. “So are you in or out?”

He knew Iris still wanted to do some normal couple stuff as well as more extravagant dates. And if she was happy, Barry was sure he could put up with some music that might not be his taste.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m in. It’ll be fun.”

“Great.” Iris leaned in and pecked him on the lips. “Gotta head back to work, but I will see you later for our date. I’ll text you the details.”

“Okay.” Barry watched her go, his smile falling off his face as she disappeared down the stairs. If this was Iris’ favorite band, he was going to have to do some research.

He went to his computer and searched the name Birds of Prey, only finding articles about a band and their lead singer, a woman only known as Dinah.

“Triumphant return to Central City after particle accelerator accident,” he read aloud to himself from the bit of preview text from one article. What did that mean? And why did the name Dinah sound oddly familiar to him?

A knock on his lab door called his attention, and he was busy the rest of the afternoon with casework, even with Julian’s added assistance. Rather than resume his internet search after his shift ended, Barry decided to pursue a different avenue of inquiry.

Cisco was present when he rushed into STAR Labs. His friend barely looked up from the computer monitor he’d been studying.

“Cisco, hey, what do you know about Birds of Prey?”

That question caught the engineer’s attention. “Uh, you mean one of the greatest musical groups of our time?”

“Yeah. Sure.” How did everybody already know this band besides him?

“They’re stopping here on their comeback tour. I think it’s tonight, isn’t it? I missed the online bid for tickets.”

“Iris got two from her coworker, so we’re going tonight,” Barry revealed.

Cisco groaned. “Lucky. I only saw Dinah live once, back when she was doing open mic nights around colleges, you know?” Cisco’s gaze got a faraway look. “I had a poster of her on my wall all through grad school. I’d give anything for a picture with her.”

“Well, I can’t promise that, but I can try and get you a picture of just her.” Barry checked his phone. “I’ve got to meet Iris at the house.”

“Yeah, have a good night.”

“You, too.” It hadn’t been perfect, but Cisco had at least been willing to open up to him about some topic, even if it was one that made little sense to Barry.

He arrived home and changed quickly into clothes better suited for a concert. Iris already had the keys to the car, so she drove them over rather than him running them. They parked on the street near the venue and joined a fast-growing line to get in.

“So, everybody keeps calling this the comeback tour,” Barry began. “What’re they coming back from?”

“You really didn’t hear?” When he shook his head, Iris continued, “They were performing on stage the night of the particle accelerator explosion.”

“And there was an accident,” he said, repeating what he had read before.

“Yeah, the sound equipment and everything, you know? I mean, the band manager got them all off the stage before anyone got too hurt, but there were all kinds of rumors about Dinah’s voice being damaged or the trauma being too much to let her go back on stage.”

“Wow,” was all Barry could come up with. 

“Yeah. But, she got back in the game. This is their last stop on the tour, at least for now. People are wondering if they might go international next.”

They had passed through the doors and now were too busy looking for their seats to talk. They weren’t right in the front row, but Arts and Entertainment writers were clearly given a good spot, probably in hopes the review would be better.

The lights dimmed, and a voice came over the systems. “Central City, here tonight is the band that needs no introduction. This is...Birds of Prey!”

The obligatory fog machine obscured things as the musicians all got into place. He counted two redheads and a woman with hair so dark it almost bordered on black. Nothing about them seemed to stand out in his memory.

But he didn’t need the large screens on either side to tell who the woman was that strode confidently downstage to the mic in the center. Even if it should have been impossible.

“Laurel?”

The crowd was too loud around them, and Iris was busy with cheering and didn’t hear him or see his distress.

How could it be possible? He still remembered standing in front of Laurel’s grave, watching as Oliver tried to hold back the anguish that had been in the wet sheen of his eyes and the deep lines of his face. He didn’t think he could ever forget that look. It hadn’t just been Barry’s team who’d loved her.

And yet she was standing above him on a stage, so alive.

“Hello, Central City! It is good to be back.” Laurel paused to let the cheers subside. “I wanted to make sure we stopped here on tour. Had a bit of a fight for it. You can ask Ted.”

Iris leaned over to tell him, “Ted’s the band manager. He’s practically a father to her.”

“He is?” Who was Ted? Where was Captain Lance?

Iris nodded but gave him a second look. “You okay?”

He felt incredibly faint, actually, but there was no time to explain anything to Iris. There were people all around them and Laurel was speaking again.

“But Ted agreed, because we don’t walk away from things. Right, Central City?”

Laurel paused again for cheers. Someone out in the crowd shouted a, “We love you!”

“I love you, too!” She replied with a beautiful smile. “No matter how many times we get knocked down, we get back up. So let’s get up and get things started!”

She motioned back to the band, and the dark brunette hit her drumsticks together four times before the rest of the music started up. People were already on their feet, and Barry stood as well to see better. Now that he was over the shock he started taking more of her appearance in. There was still her blonde hair cascading down her back, but that was about where the similarities ended in how this Laurel styled herself. She had on a blue tank top, ripped up jean shorts, and fishnet leggings on under those. Fishnets!

Was it Siren? Was this all just some trick? And yet even as he thought that it made little sense. Iris’ favorite band since college, Cisco’s poster in grad school...somehow, Laurel Lance had been a member of this band for years. 

But she’d been a hero. They all knew that. Or they had.

The song they were performing now seemed to be called Fish Out of Water, judging by the chorus. Barry could relate to that feeling. Then it hit him that Laurel actually had a really good voice. He’d never known that about her, whether it had even been true before...all this.

Because it was dawning on him what this was. Just like the changes that had occurred to his friends’ loved ones because of his meddling, the only explanation for Laurel not only being alive but drastically different than he remembered was the timeline being altered. But how could he have missed this?

If this much was different, what else had changed in Star City? He’d spoken to Felicity briefly since returning to this timeline and realized John now had twins instead of a daughter, but what about Oliver? Were he and the others okay?

“I’m gonna slow things down a bit,” Laurel was saying. “Even if I know you guys like things fast around here.”

Iris nudged him in the side with a big grin. It faded as he looked at her, though. “Seriously, Bear, you okay?”

“It can wait.” Now wasn’t the time or place to get into it. He wasn’t even sure how to explain to Iris that a woman she had never met but admired was now still a woman she had never met but admired just in a different way.

“If ya broke the wings of a blackbird, baby...it’s a joke to think she’ll look backward, baby,” Laurel sang. She looked...sad, somehow. Not in an obvious way. The confidence was still there, but it was like something was missing. And Barry thought he knew what it was.

His mind raced as the band closed out with another louder number to get people cheering right at the end.

“How do you feel about pretending to be from Arts and Entertainment?” He asked at more of a shout in Iris’ ear to be heard.

She raised both eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Barry ran instead, back to her office at Central City Picture News to grab a camera and a couple of press passes. When he reappeared at her side, she blinked in surprise.

“Barry—”

“It’s kind of important that we talk to her. I’ll explain on the way home.”

Iris looked unsure, but she nodded, trusting him. Barry felt a boost of confidence at that; the rest of his teammates weren’t that willing to trust in his ability these days.

They made their way backstage with the passes and waited as Laurel and the others exited the stage. Barry felt a little stunned to watch her approach this close despite seeing her up on the stage. She was real and alive and a part of him wanted to rush forward and hug her — but that would probably get them kicked out.

There were a few lucky fans with special passes there, too, and he watched as the woman and sometimes-teammate he’d known signed autographs and took selfies with them. He snapped a couple of pictures with the camera he’d borrowed for appearance’s sake.

“Great show tonight, Dinah,” Iris called out to get her attention. She held out her hand when the other woman approached. “I’m Iris West with Central City Picture News. Huge fan, really.”

“Thanks for coming out,” said Laurel, her eyes only briefly passing over Barry, and it was so strange not seeing even a hint of recognition there. Had they never met in this timeline? What did this mean about whether she knew the others?

“So what’s next for the band?” He asked. “International, somewhere else in the states? Star City, maybe? It’s our, uh, sister city,” Barry added when both Laurel and Iris gave him odd looks.

“Funny you should say that. We’ll be taking some time off in Star, yeah. Ted and me, anyway. The other girls are stopping home in Gotham, but Ted’s got a place there.” She nodded back towards an older man with flecks of gray in his hair and a few lines in a deeply tanned face.

“Great,” said Barry.

“Your new song, Blackbird. It’s really good, and the lyrics, uh, what’s the story behind that?” Iris asked. Barry knew he’d put her on the spot and that this style of interview wasn’t exactly her specialty. He thought she was doing a great job, though.

Laurel shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of false starts in life. A lot of things I’ve had to walk away from. You learn to live with it.” She glanced over at Ted again who made some kind of motion. “Listen, there’s a girl scheduled to meet me in the green room, so if we could wrap this up?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll message your people if I think of anything else to ask,” Iris said quickly. “Thanks so much for your time.”

“Yeah, thanks Lau— uh, Dinah,” Barry remembered at the last second. Her eyes jumped to his with a sharp look.

“Yeah. You too.” Laurel said quietly. She turned and walked away, glancing back at them over her shoulder once.

“So what was that actually about?” Iris asked in his ear. Barry gave a start and looked away from the hallway Laurel had disappeared down. They went through a side exit and started the walk back to the car.

“I know her. Or knew her. Um, before I changed the timeline.”

Iris’ eyes widened. “Really? How?”

“She wasn’t a singer. She was the Black Canary. A hero, part of Oliver’s team. She died last spring—” Iris stopped in her tracks, expression one of alarm. Barry reached for her hand to keep her moving down the sidewalk. “—or she did in that timeline. I don’t know how this happened.”

Iris was quiet for a few moments, processing the information. “Well, at least she’s here in this timeline?”

“Yeah, but,” Barry began. He shrugged. “It’s so different. She doesn’t even go by the same name!”

He remembered seeing Dinah on the gravestone, only then realizing they’d all been calling her by her middle name the whole time. What made a person decide to change names? How far back did this divergence from the timeline go?

Iris was frowning, discomfort showing on her features. She had defended his actions in changing things to the rest of the team, but was this a step too far? What did she think of him now? “Well, Bear, I think you’re just going to have to leave this be,” she said eventually. “It’s too late to change things.”

“I know. I just — I need to check on the others in Star, okay? Just so I know what’s been going on if we ever have to team up sometime.”

“Okay.” Iris let him go with a kiss, and then Barry was off running again, first to get his suit and then to Star City.

What was Team Arrow like without a Black Canary? What was Oliver like? He didn’t know too much about the other man’s relationship with Laurel, but they’d obviously been close judging by how affected he’d been at the funeral. What would Barry be like without one of his teammates? He couldn’t even imagine it.

He entered the cave and stopped, calling out to make sure the space wasn’t as empty as it appeared. “Hey, Ollie, you in? Really need to talk to — woah!”

Barry didn’t quite dodge out of the way of two arrows connected by a wire that shot out and pinned him to the wall behind him.

A young man, teenager really, with blonde hair and dark skin emerged from behind a support beam. He carried a bow and quiver of arrows and was grinning as he approached. “Gotta watch your surroundings better, Flash.”

“Connor,” said a familiar voice, the tone only slightly warning.

“I’m only messing, dad,” said the teenager to Oliver as the older man approached. Barry felt his mouth drop open. Since when did Oliver have a second son?

Oliver himself seemed different, somehow, in ways that were hard to define. The stubble he usually had could more accurately be called a goatee, and there were lines in his face that Barry could have sworn hadn’t been there. But he didn’t look as abjectly miserable as the last time Barry had seen him.

“What’s going on, Barry?”

He decided to just cut to the chase. “What do you know about Dinah Laurel Lance?”

Oliver’s face scrunched up. He frowned, though it was more in confusion than anything else. Then the worst possible answer left his lips.

“Who?”

[convergencestoryboard-blog]

Harley Quintessential: part 1 of this King-esque HQ story

Panel 1: We see a nice view of the Coney Island skyline. The nighttime brings in the high tide, with its waves crashing against the docks. The boardwalk is quiet.  The Ferris wheel and the smaller rides among it are powered down and all the stores are all locked up.

       CAPTION: Coney Island, a small slice of New York that is a cornucopia full of hot dogs, a classic family vacation destination…...

Panel 2: Pan to a building with a sign that reads, “The Coney Island Freak Show.” The last shows have come to pass and now the building is dark. The only illumination comes from the neon sign above the entrance of the building, and a single light from the apartment above.

     CAPTION: And home to a gang of freaks.

Panel 3: We come to a small dark hallway. There is a small light on the ceiling.  The walls are painted in an endless pattern of diamonds. Off to the left there is a single frame hanging on the wall. It appears to have a golden medal of some sort inside of it. At the end of the hallway there is a brown wooden door.

     CAPTION:(offscreen, presumably behind the door) Oh Red!

Panel 4:  Closeup of our heroine, the great Harley Quinn. This once apprentice to the Joker is grinning from ear-to-ear. Her blonde hair is dyed blue and pink at the tips and is all gathered together in two separate messy buns. Her face is caked in makeup, although some of it is not her’s. Her red lipsticks is smeared. There appears to be some darker lipstick marks trailing down the nap of her neck.

     Harley: Ha Ha! I haven’t had this much fun since Mista J and I…..

Panel 5:  We close up on Harley’s best friend, Poison Ivy. Ivy is lying down on the bed. They are both on the bed that is adorned in purple sheets. Her arms are extended out as she pushes Harley who is hovering over. Her fingernails are painted a light green. She is shooting Harley a piercing stare with her emerald eyes. Her eyebrows are furrowed in frustration and anger.

     IVY: Harley…..I can't take this anymore. You complain that Gotham is a bad place for you.

Panel 6: We see Ivy’s feet and bare legs. Her toes are painted the same shade of green as her nails. She appears to be sitting on a bed.

      IVY: (offscreen) You said it brought back too many memories.

Panel 7:  There is a small silence in between her words. We are still watching her legs. We see the knees begin to unbend as she rises from the bed. She is getting off the bed and as she does it makes a loud creak.

Panel 8: We see her legs and feet as they glide across the carpet.The carpet is red. We see an open window in the background. Vines are beginning to seep through the window in an enormous wave. As she is passing it we see stray vines wrap themselves around her leg and trail up past her ankles.

      IVY: (offscreen) Now you’ve moved out to Coney Island to get away from it all.

Panel 9: We see Poison Ivy standing in the middle of the room. The vines have fashioned a makeshift dress around her. She is facing us, with her hands resting on her hips. Her face is twisted in a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness.

      IVY: You said you wanted to make a new start. (begins trailing off) We could…..

Panel 10: We close up on Poison Ivy with her head hanging low, slightly dejected.

Panel 11: Poison Ivy’s head still hangs low. One of her hands is up to her face, brushing away a possible stray tear.

Panel 12:  She has raised her head up high. She glance straight ahead, unmoving. She holds herself up in a stern manner. Her lips loosen as she speaks. Her following words come out cold and nonchalant.

      IVY: I guess it doesn’t matter now. You’ll always pick him over us, our friendship. You even pick him over yourself. (pause) God, your lack of self-preservation is astounding.

Panel 13: Ivy’s back is turned now. We see her curvaceous figure. She peers over her left shoulder, glaring back at Harley. Her left arm is slightly raised. Her elbow is bent and her hand hangs loosely. Her right hand rests on her hip. Harley is in the foreground, kneeling on her bed. Harley is dressed in nothing but her undergarments, a very simple black bra and underwear.

      IVY: I have a legitimate home and job now. And I can't do this anymore.

     HARLEY: Red you gotta believe me it was an accident.

Panel 14:  Close up on Harley Quinn. She is still on the bed. She shoots Poison Ivy an innocent wink and a smile.

     HARLEY: Would an ‘I’m sorry’ and a little TLC, if you know what I mean, suffice.

Panel 15: Poison Ivy is in the foreground in full view. She is walking away from Harley who is attempting to climb off the bed in the background. Harley has one foot off the bed. The other is still in the kneeled position. Her hand is extended out as she is trying to grab Ivy, realizing she made a grave mistake. Ivy walks away, taking confident strides with her head high and lips pursed. She doesn’t turn around.

     IVY: I’m heading home, unless you have anything else to say?.

Panel 16: Ivy has reached the bedroom door now. One of her hands is wrapped around the door knob. We see the bed in the far distance behind her along with the carpeted floor and a plain white wall adorned in a few posters. We can see a poster of the Joker, a few promotional posters for the freak show downstairs and a Black Canary band poster. We see Harley Quinn over Poison Ivy’s shoulder. She is now a few paces behind her, chasing her down.

      HARLEY: Pam, please wait it was a joke!

Panel 17: We see Poison Ivy close the door with a slam, right in Harley’s face.

      CAPTION: Then leaf subsides to leaf

Panel 18: We are in the hallway now. There is a partial view of Ivy in the foreground, briskly walking down the hallway. We see Harley open the door in the background. She hits the light switch on the wall and the hallway is illuminated. We can see the red and black diamond patterns on the wall clearer now. There is even black molding the runs along the bottom of the wall.  

Panel 19:  Poison Ivy is no longer in the shot. She has disappeared, leaving our heroine behind. We see Harley mid-stride, but she stops as trees burst through the right wall. The trees tear up the entire hallway creating the perfect blockade against Harley. The walls are crumbling all around. The light is shattered and the hallway is engrossed in darkness. There is a cool breeze wafting through the holes in the wall.

     CAPTION: So Eden sank to grief

Panel 20:  Harley is bending every which way, attempting to weave between the tree.

Panel 21: Harley is exhausted. She realizes her efforts to reach Ivy are futile. Something catches her eye. We see her crawling towards the framed medal on the floor.

     CAPTION: So dawn goes down to day

Panel 22: Harley kneeling on the floor. We close up over her shoulder and to the frame she is holding to her face. We see her reflection in the frame. Her eye makeup is running a little bit, probably from the crying. The gold medal reads “Gotham Gymnastics Junior Champion.”

Panel 23: We loom over Harley as she kneels all alone between the tree trunks. She is clutching the medal to her chest, sobbing. The walls are in complete shambles around her. Towards the right side of the frame we see a shadow that appears to be shaped like the Joker’s face.

     HARLEY: Please, don’t leave me alone.

     CAPTION: Nothing gold can stay