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tarotwithdanise · 2 years

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Your future finances.

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

Pile one

Right off the bat—I see most of you guys have experiencing financial crisis right now, and if ever you have this small amount of money, you are very careful about handling and spending them because you are in this situation of financial shortage presently. Your future finances are telling you that it may not feel to like it, but you have turned a corner into round shape, you are on the way to recovery. Money is short, but with careful management, you can get through this. You are this type of person who's thrifty and clever, you know how to stretch a little into a lot. If you a a great ability to build further on your knowledge, you can take this even far on the highest level. Maybe there’s a frugality happening with your career? Your future finances will be based on your own hardwork, the definition of blood, sweat and tears. You are very careful yet not so averse to spending when necessary. Most of people who chose this pile are very thrifty. Again, you are someone who is very careful about money. You are cautious and clever. You take the advices you had seen online, but you weigh up the options before taking actions on it. Expect money from an old friend to repay a long-forgotten debt. Your past will bring forth a gift for the present you. Lastly, this is a confirmation that your finances will improve a lot than ever so you don't have to worry.

Pile two

Woah, pile two people. You need to calm down. It's like you are frustrated and stressed about finances right now. Your future finances are telling you that you are about to reclaim again your throne because stability is coming your way; you need to move and be patient! Stop. Wait. Don’t spend any money right now. Wait for the right time. Trust your intuition. Some of you might have or carry debt. Here’s the trick: Pay off the smallest one as fast as you can. Add that payment to the next debt and pay it off even faster. And so on until you have discharged your obligations. I know it’s tough right now. You don’t know where to turn. There are people who are able to help you, and you have to reach out to them. Try it; nothing will be lost if you try. You might feel like handing the financial reins over to someone else to take care of. Yet, you should be money-savvy enough to manage if necessary. Keep records. In the future, you’re the professional. In the future, you will command a good salary. The money hardly bothers you. There's a lot of feminine energy here. As of now, some of you and your family may not be wealthy financially, but what you do have is worth far more than gold in the future.

Pile three

I see a lot of you guys are attracted to the second pile. Check it out, it maybe have some messages for you. So pile three and two may have some similarities you will reclaimed your throne. I'm getting a lot of fire signs here—Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius. I see here that a lot of abundance is coming your way soon, especially when you get married. Unlike other piles, some of you might be financially stable now; I mean you can buy whatever you want to; if not, then this will be for your future finances. If that happens, you need to be thrifty, and you need to budget yourself from buying nonsense things because they may cause a big loss of money to you. You might also get scammed. I know that and understand that you want that purse, those new shoes and that vacation. Maybe it's better to appreciate what you already have at the moment. You may need a budget plan. A strict, organized, and firm budget. Don’t wait for it to happen; get it done. In the future, it’s all going so well. Your boss loves you (if you ever get a job). Money is flowing nicely. You won't dare a care in the world. Enjoy it; life is temporary. It’s always temporary, good or not-so-good. Starting now, you are reaping the rewards of the hard work you put in when you were younger. You have a good business minded/ahead, and no one will ever get the better of you. Enjoy the best things in life, but remember to share your canny financial wisdom. Pay it forward. This will come soon, I'm telling you. You need to a focus because this will happen once, and it was a very fast movement. Perhaps maybe you still in school, the best way is to cultivate good financial habits now. Always save 10% of all money that comes to you, and who knows maybe you will be a millionaire by the age of 40. I have advice for you: don’t focus on the money too much; love is more important. However, it’s good to educate yourself on money matters.

Pile four

So pile number four, this may be kind of irrelevant, but you might marry someone who is extremely wealthy as well their family. While for others, you may become rich by yourself. You might get involved in a family business by yourself or you might get and receive a huge inheritance. You are lucky enough to have a wealthy family, maybe not really for money but maybe for love. Good on you! In the future, you will get what you want in life, such as cars and houses. You are pretty sensible most of the time; even so, you occasionally succumb to an impulse buy. How has that worked out in the past? You’ve got this. You have all the skills and intelligence to make it happen. Go for it. In this pile, a lot of abundance is coming in. You can exchange money or gifts. A delightful encounter from which you will benefit. And chances is high that you might stepping up to become a millionaire or billionaire! If you handled money very well.

Pile five

Some of you might be attracted to the third pile. You can check out the message of that pile if you wanted to. So, pile number five is in the planning stage. You may feel frustrated that your efforts aren’t bearing fruit yet. The rewards are coming. All you have to do is relax; don’t fret. You can’t do anything about money right now. Adopt an accepting frame of mind. You will know when it’s time to act. Some of you may be feeling stressed right now. Don’t cave in. Chin up and carry on fighting for your beliefs. Money is not always the important issue but the health is. For few, you might start a business and have too much competition. You have to devise an USP. What can you offer that the rest can’t? That's the tactic for those who will open up a business. Prosperity can come and go just as easy. It’s always temporary, good or not-so-good, but money will be flowing nicely because your future finances is gonna be bright.

Pile six

Last pile, I see that you have been hesitating. Take a risk. If you are just about to rush into spending money without thinking it through, hold back. Thus, this is both a sign of encouragement and a warning. You know which applies to you. You guys might invest because I see here that there could be paperwork, a legal matter, a contract, or something else to sign related to finances. And you are confident that what you have done so far that it will deliver the expected financial returns. In fact, they may well be better than you expected in the future. For your future finances, abundance and all good things are headed on your block way. The promotion, the increased bank balance. All will be working in your favor. Also, to keep this abundance and prosperity, you need to help others wholeheartedly and voluntarily.

#spotify #for you #pick a pile #pick a card #tarot online #free tarot #tarot #pick a pile reading #pick a card reading #pick a picture #pac reading #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarotonline #tarottribe #tarotscope #tarot spam

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i-cast-teatus-deletus · 9 months

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Clothing - Pajamas (Part 1)

I did a phenomenal amount of legwork when it came to pajamas. There are tons and tons of websites out there that sell "plus size pajamas" and it turns out they go up to a 2X, also a 2X on their size chart is a US 16/18. Most of the search results for the first WEEK OR TWO didn't result in anything appropriate that was ALSO made of a tolerable fabric. I know exactly how long a recycled polyester pajama bottom is going to last, unfortunately. If this is a pair of pajamas that you likely won't use again after you've recovered, it's less of an issue, but I am trying to buy stuff that's a little more durable than that.

So you can imagine my shock and delight when I came across Land's End. I recognized the name, but I had never purchased anything from them, and this seemed as good a time as any to try.

Firstly, if you buy anything on the LE website and you're getting anything less than 50% off of the list price, you're getting scammed. They routinely have 60-75% off coupon codes, and usually there's a code already in effect on the website, a separate code for coupon sites (possibly multiples?), and a code for the mailing list at any given time. None of these three is always the best price, it will typically depend on what you're buying, and I highly recommend you try all of the codes at checkout to see if you can lower your total.

I ended up, if you can believe it, putting in THREE orders in a relatively short span of time (7 or 8 weeks, as I recall), mostly buying various clearance items to try them out. Not everything I bought was pajamas, obviously, but I'll highlight the pajamas that fit the theme here

I really loved the flannel pajamas, which are 100% cotton, sold separately as tops and bottoms, come up to a 3X and, inexplicably, fit me PERFECTLY. I'm used to clothes being wrong in at least one dimension, but their 3X is the correct length and everything. I love it so much I went and bought more pairs of flannel pajamas, and I got compliments on the pattern that I chose. It's a really warm and durable flannel, too, not like a lot of the cheap stuff most places use for pajamas.

They also have a flannel sleepshirt, which I also am quite fond of (especially as a light robe), that buttons up the front. I also bought, as mentioned before, a shirt/shorts set of their Tencel pajamas. They also have robes in a wide variety of fabrics, though I haven't bought any of those yet.

If you need to go larger, or find the patterns too feminine, they sell men's pajamas as well, up to a 4X, though I was less impressed with the men's pajamas pants that I bought. The flannel pants I bought in a 4X have been pilling already.

Unrelated to pajamas, though, I did buy some of their men's underwear (boxer briefs) and have been SUPER impressed with how comfortable and durable they are. If you're in the market for boxer briefs above a 2X (like I had been for years), they are definitely a place to look. I also bought a pack of cotton boxers from them, which were also really nice (though I wear them a little less often than the boxer briefs), but especially for surgery recovery (and especially wearing them as shorts) they are really great.

#ICTD Part 2 Clothing #Part 2 pajamas

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perfectlymarilynmonroe · 4 years

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The truth behind Marilyn Monroe’s infertility and abortion rumors by PerfectlyMarilynMonroe. Everything below is based off of credible resources.

The 1930s: Marilyn, then Norma Jeane, suffered from reproductive and stomach ailments since the very beginning. When she first began menstruating, around the age of twelve, her cramps were excruciating. She would later learn this was a result of her lifelong battle with endometriosis.

Endometriosis, according to Google, is “a disorder in which tissue that normally lines the uterus grows outside the uterus. With endometriosis, the tissue can be found on the ovaries, fallopian tubes or the intestines.”

The 1940s: Soon after Norma Jeane, at sixteen years old, her husband, Jim Dougherty, wanted a baby. Throughout their marriage, Norma never felt ready to be a mother, considering how young she was and the fact she hadn’t someone to model off of. However, Marilyn loved spending time with their nieces and nephews. She often bathed and fed them, played with them, and read to them. She dreamt of the day she would be ready and finally hold one of her own in her arms.

1951: Marilyn began an affair with dir. Elia Kazan but it soon ended when he planned to return to New York. Just before he left, she told him she was pregnant, and later wrote she suffered a miscarriage. There is no proof of this and many have speculated if there was a pregnancy or not. It isn’t impossible to think of, but only Marilyn knows the truth.

November, 1954: Marilyn underwent surgery at Cedars Lebanon hospital in Los Angeles to correct and relive her chronic pain caused by her endometriosis. This was a month after she filed for divorce against Joe. It is unknown if the couple was actively trying for a baby. At the time, her career was very important to her and she looked forward to having a family in due time. She said during an interview, in April 1954, “I’m not yet, but I want to be. Pregnant, I mean.” The couple did consult with her gynecologist, Dr. Leon Khron, during their marriage. It is unknown for what reason.

September, 1956: There is speculation of a pregnancy during the autumn months while she during the filming of The Prince and the Showgirl in London, England. It was recorded by a doctor and reported by Irving Stein (Marilyn Monroe Productions lawyer) who told Milton Greene. She was about 4-6 weeks pregnant when a September miscarriage occurred. This was reported in “Milton’s Marilyn”. At the time, Arthur was in New York, visiting his children, and denied this rumor to the press. Perhaps only Marilyn will ever know the truth.

Spring / Summer, 1957: Marilyn consulted with a New York gynecologist/specialist regarding her difficulties in getting pregnant. Multiple rumors came out at the beginning of the year that she was pregnant, but she was not. At a press conference, after Arthur Miller’s communism trial, in May, reporters were told not to ask any questions about pregnancy or her plans for a child.

June, 1957: Her doctor confirmed she was pregnant and the baby was due in March, 1958. In his autobiography, Timebends, Arthur Miller wrote: “The doctor, having administered a series of treatments over a period of weeks, had confirmed that she was pregnant, but could still not rule out the possibility of an ectopic pregnancy. I thought in talking to him that he really feared this danger at least as much as he hoped for a term pregnancy. But she was deaf to this cautionary tone. A child of her own was a crown with a thousand diamonds.”

August 1st, 1957: Marilyn collapsed in the garden of her home in Amagansett, Long Island, New York. As Arthur hurried to call an ambulance, Marilyn insisted on being driven to her doctor in Manhattan. When she arrived, her pregnancy, of roughly eight-ten weeks, was found to be ectopic. The pregnancy was terminated to save Marilyn’s life.

An Ectopic Pregnancy, according to Google, is “a pregnancy in which the fertilized egg implants outside the uterus. If left to grow, it may damage nearby organs and cause life-threatening loss of blood.”

August 10th, 1957: Marilyn left the hospital after a ten-day recovery. She insisted on walking to the car, instead of being wheeled and told reporters, “I’m going to rest, rest, rest.” She said she still planned to have a large family. Soon after, terribly heartbroken, she attempted suicide by an overdose of pills. Thankfully, Arthur found and revived her.

September - November, 1958: Marilyn learned she was pregnant once again and, of course, was thrilled. The pregnancy had been high risk from the beginning and was told by her doctor that if she didn’t stop drinking or taking her barbiturates (for insomnia, depression, and anxiety) her baby would be in great danger. When not working, she put herself on bed rest. The filming of Some Like It Hot was stressful enough when, due to exhaustion, she collapsed and was worried she suffered a miscarriage. But, she hadn’t. When she arrived back in New York, she was determined to take care of herself and carry the baby to full term.

December, 1958: Marilyn suffered a miscarriage at 3-4 months. It was her last attempt at becoming a mother. Once again, she attempted suicide by an overdose of pills. When she awoke, she said, “Alive, bad luck.” She was inconsolable for weeks, convinced it was her fault, that she killed her baby.

June, 1959: Marilyn was treated at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City to, again, correct her endometriosis. This operation was to unblock fallopian tubes and remove scar tissue. This was to hopefully enable her to have children. The surgery was unsuccessful. Marilyn was then told she could not have children. Heartbroken she said, “Thank you, doctor. I already know.” Later to the press, Marilyn said, “I’m sorry to report that I am not pregnant again. I feel fine now, but it takes time to get over the feeling of a loss.”

Click here for the “Fake 1960″ Pregnancy, myth dispelled.

Marilyn Monroe never had an abortion.

“The rumours of her multiple abortions are ridiculous. She never had even one. Later there were two miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy requiring emergency termination, but no abortion.” - Dr. Leon Krohn [Marilyn’s gynecologist 1952 - 1962]

Many claim Marilyn was pregnant sometime in the mid-40s, and gave birth to a child. This is highly highly unlikely for many reasons.

Her endometriosis! Everything I have just listed above, her miscarriages and struggles getting pregnant, pain, was due to a medical condition. It is very unlikely, perhaps even impossible, that at any time in her life she could have carried a pregnancy to term.

Her desire for a child. Marilyn would never have given her child away, had she had one, at any age. Marilyn knew exactly what it meant to a child who is separated from their mother. She once said she’d never want a child of hers going through what she’s been through. There is no record of her ever giving birth and from what her doctors could tell, she hadn’t.

Her niece debunks this rumor: “Marilyn’s gynocologist certified that Marilyn never gave birth. We get mail from many women --- and occasionally men! --- who fantasize that they are Marilyn’s offspring. Some are scams to solicit money via the internet.”

I hope this helps clarify many of the rumors about Marilyn and her pregnancies. It truly breaks my heart since she wanted a child so much. Her heart was so full of love, and to think so many want to twist her image as a sex-symbol or use her desperation for a child as a way to sell lies, and fabricate an intimate part of Marilyn’s life, is despicable. Marilyn, wherever you are, I hope this helps. ♡

#marilyn monroe #vintage #pregnancy #endometriosis #*myths/inaccuracies

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danetobelieve · 4 years

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Short Circuit || Jane and Winston

NB: This happened before the eye potw.

Ping. Jane swore quietly as another chat message popped up onto her computer. Admittedly, she wasn’t great with technology, but she knew how to use google like any other asshole. Except her work computer wouldn’t even let her use google. This had to be some sort of virus that Marley installed as a prank. It wouldn’t even let her force the machine to shut off and it hadn’t even run out of battery yet. Damn, she really regretted getting that replaced. She glanced over the message from KindledSpirit29.

Why won’t you talk to me :’-(

She was certain that Marley had to have done it because her user name was SexyDetective. Nope, that did it. Jane slammed the laptop closed and tucked it under her arm as she went straight for Winston. She had an appointment with them to drop it off anyway, but this was getting ridiculous. “Hey Winston,” Jane said. “Here it is. Sorry, I swear I’ve tried everything, and the stupid thing won’t even shut off properly. It just starts flashing.”

Winston had gotten permission from Roland to take the time off of work but they’d found themselves going in anyway. They’d wanted to be here with everyone else because at least then they weren’t alone with their own thoughts and they weren’t alone to crumble under Bea’s loss. Looking up, they shakily reached out and scooped up their mug of coffee and swallowed the cold dregs of it with a wince. They didn’t care enough to actually heat it up. “Hey Jane,” they said a little glumly but they could get away with acting as if they didn’t want to be at work, “don’t worry about it, from everything you’ve said to me it sounds like malware or something. I’m sure I can fix it. Let me take a look.” Winston had their recovery USB ready for this, having all the software you needed in one place was a much more convenient way to do it. “Did you have to call yourself sexy detective though?”

Oh shit, the kid looked pretty glum. Maybe Jane should have rescheduled or bothered her nephew to help her. He may be twelve, but that kid could do way more than her any day of the week. Maybe they just didn’t want to be at work. That tracked for a lot of twenty-something year olds. Still, she handed over her laptop, and shrugged. “I hope it’s that simple.” Computers were the devil - well, not really, but sometimes it seemed like every damn update they had were meant to muck up whatever older version was on there before and just cause more trouble. She frowned, looking at them. “I didn’t! At first it said DetectiveWu but it changed! Stryder must have changed it to be annoying.” Another ping from KindledSpirit29.

Who is that? What are you doing?

Jane frowned. “Look at that. That’s creepy.”

“That is really creepy,” Winston agreed with a frown as they plugged the USB drive into a port and began running various command lines to ping different functions and see just how deep the problem lay. “You think that Marley did this?” No offence, but Winston could already see from the sophistication of the design of the chat that this was not something that someone was just going to be able to pull up. This looked like a very specifically and deliberately designed function that someone had clear plans for. “Well, DetectiveWu, or sexydetective, I mean who am I to judge?” Winston was trying to be their usual sarcastic and jovial selves but right now it was hard. “I think that the problem is that whilst this just looks like a chat it is actually something more, i’ve heard that if you can talk to the bot it can give you answers which are clues on how to turn it off. I’ve never actually tried it but my only other idea is to entirely wipe the harddrive, so we might as well try that. Have you responded to any of the messages yet?”

“You know, because of the prank war.” Jane looked over Winston’s should, watching them as they typed incoherent things onto the computer. Winston sounded like they doubted it, though. Jane frowned. “I don’t know how else it could have gotten on there, I have an airtight anti-virus on it. Or, well, it’s supposed to be an airtight antivirus…” Maybe someone had scammed her. That could always be a possibility but that was kind of annoying if that were true. Jane balked slightly when Winston said other than talking to it, the other option was to wipe her harddrive. Shit. She was sure she had a backup, but that was a lot of work. “No, I thought it was just some spam bot or something.”

I am not a spam bot! Talk to me :) Get rid of the kid.

Jane wrinkled her nose. “Okay, maybe we should wipe the harddrive. That’s really freaky. How does it know - is it using my camera??”

“Oh, right, yeah that was pretty funny for a few days although I’ve got to say you guys weren’t as imaginative as you could’ve been.” Winston didn’t want to brag but they were sure that they were more then capable of coming up with something better then the variety of pranks that Marley and Jane had played on one another. “Sometimes even if you’re really careful these things can happen, it’s fine, we can clean it up, I’d just rather not wipe everything if we can help it.” Winston examined the computer and frowned at the message. “I don’t think the camera’s on, but just in case.” They pulled a piece of masking tape off and firmly stuck it over the camera. “We can wipe it if you really want, but it’ll get rid of everything you’ve got on there, so if anything isn’t backed up….”

“Are you saying I lack imagination,” Jane said, a grin growing on her face. Bold kid, funny too. “I thought the popcorn filled office space was imaginative.” And really annoying to clean up. “What would you have done if you were in a prank war?” She was still considering gluing Sarge’s stuff to the ceiling. Or at the very least, paw patrol’s stuff to the ceiling. Maybe not the skulls though, he seemed a little too creepily attached to them. She watched as Winston stuck a piece of tape to the camera. “My father has a stamp stuck to his at home. Used to tell me big brother was always watching.” Jane considered a moment, before shaking her head. “Alright, alright. We can try responding to it.” Jane reached over, pulling the computer a little closer so she could type. What should she say?

SexyDetective: How do I remove this from my computer?

KindledSpirit: YOU WANT TO GET RID OF ME?! YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME YET!

There screen flashed. “Ah! See, this is what happens when I try to emergency shut down!!”

“The popcorn stuff was very freaks and geeks,” Winston replied with a shrug, “I’m not saying that it wasn’t cool. It was. I just think you could’ve been more imaginative. Besides, did you think that Marley’s computer just started playing a Nic Cage soundboard spontaneously?” Winston shrugged gently. Getting involved in the unfolding prank war hadn’t been something that they had been planning but it was something that they had been roped into by Sarge and Winston couldn’t say no to him. “I mean, they can gain access to your camera, normally you don’t have to but I guess there’s no harm in always having one there and just taking it off when you need it. Winston watched everything that unfolded and frowned. “That’s weird, maybe ask it if you can get to know it in person? Worst comes to the worst you arrest a creep right?”

“That was you?” Jane said. “She thought that was me! Ha! That’s hilarious,” Jane snickered. She didn’t know what the deal was with Nic Cage, but there was something about his face that and over all vocal intonations that made him especially annoying. God, when did she get to be a Nic Cage Hater? “I’ve had a few cases like that - back when I worked in Portland,” she told Winston. “Where people would gain access to the camera in a computer to spy and be overall disgusting.” Her nose wrinkled, and she didn’t elaborate farther. “You think this is a real person and not some… artificial intelligence?” Ping! Jane looked at that screen.

I am not artificial intelligence!

Jane frowned. “Can it… hear us too? I didn’t even know my computer had a microphone. Stop that!”

You don’t like me! It accused them.

The screen started to flash again, and she swore she saw something spark. Jane placed a hand on Winston’s shoulder. “Uhhh, I think we should get away from it. I think it’s broken.”

“Technically, and you can’t tell anyone, but Sarge actually asked me to do it, not sure why. I don’t really ask questions when your boss asks you to do something like that.” Frowning gently, Winston shrugged. “There’s a chance that this is a bot or something like that, but AI doesn’t really exist to a level that is sophisticated enough to think independently. At least, not yet. Maybe in the future but not currently.” Winston shrugged and squinted at the screen. Winston reached out and placed their hand on the computer, reaching out with magic and examining it to the best of their ability. Interacting with technology like this was complicated. But it was something they were getting used to. Something felt wrong here, and Winston frowned as a new set of messages flashed up on the screen.

“What are you doing?” Jane asked as Winston reached out, putting their hand on the screen. “Winston, I don’t think you should -” More messages flashed up onto the excreen, and from what she could see there was a series of expletives. The computer’s charging port sparked. “Winston, get away from the computer right now.” Jane’s voice turned authoritative as she realized it was dangerous. She didn’t want them to get hurt. Jane was just considering the pros and cons of firing her weapon at the laptop in the precinct, but didn’t get the chance to think further when the laptop flew off the desk and crashed into the wall. Jane stopped and stared at the empty spot where her laptop was, before looking to where the broken pieces were on the floor. “What the hell was -”

A burst of electricity was coming from the broken pieces. Sparking in strange ways. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “Winston,” Jane said, slowly. “Get…. behind me?”

“It’s just a … trick that my tutor taught me,” Winston lied unconvincingly. It was a flaw that until recently they’d been proud of, being unable to lie had never really been a huge problem until now. Now that they were risking their life on their inability for deception more and more however they were starting to think that they might have to get better at it. “Ah, Jane what’s the plan here?” Winston asked as they obligingly stepped behind Jane. “I’m not sure that shooting your laptop because it’s threatening to pretend to be an EMP is really going to help…” Winston’s mind was racing as they did everything that they possibly could to think of a way to fix this without magic. “You ever seen anything weird like this before?” Winston really hoped that Jane was one of the cops that was cool with the supernatural because otherwise they were going to be a bit concerned by all of this. “I can definitely do something about this but if you’ve got a better idea I’m all ears.”

“I’ve seen some strange things, yes,” Jane said, glancing back at them. She hadn’t exactly seen anything like this before, with the flashing and sparking for the laptop getting worse. “Speaking of ears - cover your ears.” Jane said flatly. She drew her gun and swiftly shot the laptop 3 times in a row. The laptop shattered into more pieces, a loud whirring voices coming from nothing. She didn’t understand, shooting it should have worked. It was probably overkill, but come on, it was just a goddamn laptop! What was it, a laptop zombie? Wait. Jane stopped, frowning as she lowered her gun. Electric zombie? Were electric zombies things? Was it an electric zombie that was trying to be her friend? She just barely got the thought out when the damn thing, whatever it was, tried to attack. A flash of electricity had Jane jerking backwards, elbowing Winston out of the blast. “Sorry. Sorry. Crap. Okay, so my method didn’t work. Maybe we should get the fire extinguisher? What the hell is that thing? It’s definitely not a zombie.”

She shot it anyway. Great. Anything that Winston might have been able to do might as well now be useless. “I was being nice when i said I wasn’t sure it was going to help, now what are we meant to do?” Winston frowned gently however at the fact that it was still sparking as if it might explode at literally any minute. This was not what they had expected when there had been a problem with the chat. “You know about zombies?” Winston asked frowning, maybe Jane wasn’t one of the people who were completely oblivious to the supernatural anyway. “That definitely isn’t a zombie, I don’t know what it is but I would guess some sort of spectre from all the electricity and the sparking and the fact that you shot it and it’s just freaking out even more.” The laptop began levitating. “I am not an exorcist, but I have an idea, I need you to and seriously be really super careful, but grab a chair, break it so you’re holding a bit of wood and when I tell you I need you to hit it out of the air and then maybe I’ll be able to get it to stop freaking out for long enough for us to get a professional in here to deal with it.” Winston looked at Jane expectantly, “Okay?”

“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Jane said, frowning. She had hoped that destroying it would prevent it from doing anything else, but guess not. “I do know about zombies.” Jane replied back, happy enough that her hair was blocking the scar on her neck. She was more than a little concerned that the kid seemed to know about zombies too. “Spectre?” Jane was immediately reminded of the stupid step stool her and Marley had trapped in a dog cage in her living room. How irritating, had something gotten her work laptop too? “I have some familiarity with those too, just not this. There isn’t any salt in the breakroom is there?” Jane muttered, more to herself than Winston, as she went to swiftly break a chair into two. She supposed that she was going to have to trust them. Sorry to whoever’s chair that was, but if there weren't exactly many other options. She grabbed the chair leg and nodded. “Let me know when you’re ready. And be careful.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Winston honestly had seriously considered buying a hand gun until someone had told them that they were a literal human handgun. Not that that had made them feel better, but sometimes you wanted to shoot something dead. “You do?” Winston was a little surprised. They kind of just assumed no one else knew. Maybe that was a mistake. Their own ignorance getting the better of them in this case. “Uh, salt is a good idea in case this doesn’t work, I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to encase the computer in salt or iron to keep the ghost in there until we can get an exorcist out here, I’m just hoping this will work for a bit, like a bandage.” Winston cracked their knuckles and took a deep breath, ready for action. “Whenever you’re ready,” as Jane smacked the chair down onto the laptop Winston darted forward and to their pleasure and extreme displeasure they caught the still sparking laptop. Fortunately they had a spell planned for this, unfortunately the energy wasn’t exactly something that they had planned on. Wincing as they smelled the electricity burn their hair, Winston extended their will into the technology as they had before, it felt completely different from any other magic Winston had ever used. The electricity coursing through them and the laptop as if it were blood in a vast circulatory system, pumped onwards by a beating heart. Groaning with exertion, Winston forced everything quiet, the electricity stalling to a halt before disappearing momentarily, though Winston knew it would be back. “Oh, fuck,” they muttered before collapsing to their knees.

“I do.” Jane made a note to rush for the breakroom after Winston did whatever they were about to do to grab the Morton’s salt she knew was in there somewhere. She wondered if Marley was also allergic to iron too, since she avoided salt. Things to take note of and ask later. Now she waited for Winston to give her the signal and she swung the the chair leg hard down onto the laptop. “Winston, no!” Jane just about rushed forward to yank the possessed, broken-beyond-repair laptop out of their hands, when she realized they were actually doing something. Jane froze, staring at them like they had many heads. “What are you - oh -” The electricity in the air seemed to disappear as the vague smell of burnt hair filled the air. Shit. What the hell was that kid doing? She was reminded, as Winston fell to their knees, of when Otto had saved her from falling off that cliff. She shook it off, running to their side. “Winston? Are you alright? What the hell did you do to it? Here, come on, let me help you up.” She would take them to the breakroom, stick a snack in front of them, and then run back to dump salt on the computer and lock it away in a filing cabinet.

“Woah,” Winston replied somewhat slurred. That had taken a lot out of them. They were really feeling light headed. They were sure that their vision didn’t normally swim in and out like that, and there weren’t normally dots in front of their eyes. Don’t fuck with electricity and magic. Seemed to be the lesson. “I’m -” they took a breath, “okay I think…” frowning gently, Winston accepted Janes help and staggered over to the table they’d previously been working at, riffling haphazardly through their bag they pulled a candy bar from it and ripped it open, biting into it. “Sorry,” they said through a mouthful of chocolate, “it really took a lot more out of me then I thought it would…” wiping sweat from their forehead they looked at the laptop, “Breakroom?” they asked, “we need to salt that and I need more food if I’m going to be able to drive home. I don’t really want to get my room mate to pick me up because of ma- exhaustion again.” Had they really just said the word magic in front of Jane?

“Are you sure?” Jane said, doubtfully as she practically carried Winston back to the table. She leaned back against it, examining them as they grabbed the chocolate bar. “What exactly did you - oh. Right. Here, stay right there.” Jane left their side for just a few minutes. It took her a bit to find where the giant thing of salt she had gotten too, and she swiped her lunch box from from the refrigerator as well. Lucky for Winston, she was planning on working overtime tonight, which meant she had packed a lunch and a dinner. Maybe a little less lucky, she really had only made a roasted chicken sandwich along with a thing of chips for dinner. Not exactly her most spectacular display of cooking. She came back, sliding her lunch box in front of him. “Do you eat meat?” she asked, worriedly. “Eat that, if you do. It’s just a roasted chicken sandwich. I’ll deal with the laptop. I figure I’ll empty out a drawer, line it with salt, dump salt on the actual laptop, and then stick it in there. It shouldn’t be able to get out after all that.” Jane knelt down on her knees and immediately went to work doing just that. She would question Winston when they were feeling a bit better. She had caught their ‘ma-exhaustion’ slip up, but maybe now wasn’t an appropriate time to grill them.

“I’m sure, I -” Winston was so far from sure what the next appropriate thing for them to say in this instance was, they were 100% certain that a trained officer like Jane wouldn’t have missed the fact that they had always said magic, “it has happened before and I am bad at managing my blood sugar levels because I sometimes forget to eat,” they had forgotten breakfast, “so I am sure that this won’t be the last time that it happens either.” Winston looked at her food sadly and sighed. “Are you sure? I don’t want to eat your food if you haven’t got anything else…” deciding that it was that or passing out, Winston slowly bit into the sandwich and chewed on it thoughtfully. “That’s probably a good idea,” Winston looked around, “I am going to buy an iron lined box next time, I think that if another ghostly thing tries to attack me then I’m going to be pissed, because that really wasn’t my idea of fun.” They looked up at Jane. “I don’t think you missed the laptop once though, which is cool, Sarge would not be happy about bullet holes in the wall.”

“Right. Blood sugar levels,” Jane said in that type of tone that meant she didn’t believe them. She used that a lot in interrogation, but she still maintained that interrogating Winston on whatever they had done to the laptop that had caused that level of exhaustion. For the second time, she was reminded of Otto and his bloody nose. Ma-exhaustion… Magic. Hm. Noted for a later conversation - at least until they had eaten her dinner. “Oh, don’t worry about it, I just feel bad I didn’t cook anything exceptionally yummy other than a chicken sandwich.” Jane opened a drawer, and took everything out before she started lining it with salt. “If you had told me this kind of thing existed a few years ago, I would have laughed my ass off at you,” she muttered. She glanced at them as she grabbed the broken pieces of the computer and carefully put them in the drawer, careful not to break the salt line. “I have great aim, usually. I’m sure Sarge will get on my ass about the paperwork I’m going to have to fill out about the three shots I fired into it in the precinct.” She laughed. “Or the paperwork I’m going to have to submit to get my laptop replaced. Are you attacked by ghostly entities often? You wouldn’t happen to know an exorcist would you? I have a possessed step stool at home that I’ve affectionately named French Fry, but it unfortunately very much wants to kill me.”

It didn’t take a world class detective to tell that Winston had been rumbled by Jane. But unfortunately Winston was exhausted and drained and not really thinking about how clearly it was that they had used magic. In fact, they would silently congratulate themselves on their subtlety after. “Well, if we ever have to do this again I’ll make sure that you make me a full meal, I’m joking really, my room mate Ricky is the best cook I’ve ever lived with outside of my own mother and he usually keeps me pretty … you know sorted.” Winston nodded along as they finished the sandwich. “If you had told me this six months ago then I would have joined you and the worst thing is that I have been in White Crest my whole life and never ever seen anything like this. I guess I was just ignorant or in denial? Who knows.” They smiled and nodded. “You really do have great aim, but if you want I’ll try and get your paperwork through without getting anyone who’s too much of a stick in the mud to sign off on it, I have my ways you know.” They paused for a second. “Yeah, I know several exorcists. One is more reliable but I haven’t heard from her in a while and the other I haven’t heard such good things about.”

Jane grinned. “Well, I do like to cook - I’ve been told most of my food is pretty great. Sounds like you have a great roommate, though. Good to see kids not relying on instant ramen.” She thought of Dario then, a grown ass man relying on instant ramen, and then of Sarge and his lean cuisines. God, she should teach a cooking class or something, this was pathetic. She looked at Winston. It was clear that they were far more in the know than she originally anticipated, zombies and ghosts and magic and who knows what else. “I couldn’t imagine growing up here,” she said with a frown. “I’ve always been more of a city person, but I swear this small town is more active than Portland ever was - it’s hard to see a whole town so wrapped up in denial.” She stood, brushing the salt off her pants. “If you could do that, I’d owe you definitely more than a sandwich. I’m still new, and I don’t want to cause too much trouble trouble, you know? I’ll take both exorcists names, though, they’ll probably take French Fry off my hands.”

“I have the best room mates actually,” Winston replied with a shrug, “ I guess that I just really lucked out with them or something like that. Otherwise, yeah, I’d be relying on instant ramen or just going home for dinner every night or something like that.” Winston shrugged gently and smiled. They were blessed in someways. “Believe me, I couldn’t imagine growing up in a city and I don’t think that I will ever leave now that I know the truth about this place because there is way too much shit going on to do that, like I think if I did leave I would come back and there would just be nothing left of this place.” Winston shrugged gently. “I need to … check that they don’t mind me giving out their names, I assume that they won’t and I can’t imagine that it’ll be an issue but once they’re fine with it then I’ll put you guys in contact, it’s just the whole supernatural thing is complicated with ‘outting’ people.” Winston stood and glanced at their watch. “I’ll get your new laptop ready tomorrow, is it okay if I head home? I’m pretty exhausted…”

#p: jane #wickedswriting #para #chatzy para #chatzy #short circuit

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luckyfirerabbit · 4 years

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Jaune Doe: pt 7

(short and sweet, it’s how it came out)

It's been hills and valleys for him the last couple weeks. The nightmares come and go in waves, a few nights on, then off, then on again for a few more. His appetite is inconsistent but he doesn't appear to have an issue with it, though the staff is worried about his weight. But, on the positive side, they've got him off the IV completely and are managing his pain rather well with Ibuprofen. He's up and walking as expected. His concussion is healing as it should as well, but his memory is still spotty at best. Aside from his sleep disturbances his mood is stable, even pleasant, and he's able to tolerate what few visitors he receives with little issue.

Today, however, Jaune is noticeably concerned, lounging in his bed and staring at the ceiling with a sever knit to his brow. His transfer date is coming up and he doesn't know what to do. Pyrrha said she would figure it out, or at least help him do it, but she hasn't brought him anything yet, not even the copy of his file that she promised.

What's going to happen to him? Will they just toss him out? No, no...would they really?

"Knock, knock,"

Jaune blinks out of his troubled haze, reflexively smiling. "Hey, Pyrrha, I was just thinking about you."

"Oh yeah? Good things I hope." Oh my gods, why did I say that? She's starting to second guess herself already.

"You could say that." he lilts his head, noncommittal. "Everything okay? What's in the bag?"

"Well," she knows he's referring to the duffel bag she has in one hand. She approaches the bed and sets it down near the foot of it, asking for permission to sit on the edge before continuing. "I actually wanted to talk to you about your transfer."

"Oh, good. What did you find out?"

"I've got all the information on the hospital campuses available for you right here." she props her briefcase on her lap and opens it, passing him a folder that he had expected to be much thicker. "Most of them are nearby, and a few of them have single occupancy units so you could have some privacy if you wanted."

"That's great, thank you." he takes the papers, seemingly genuinely relieved. "And what about the copy of my file?"

"That's here too." she's still sifting through everything she keeps in the case, producing another pale colored file.

He shows his gratitude through a short lived but heartfelt smile, though the expression kinks with curiosity. "And the bag?"

Pyrrha snaps her case closed and takes a sharp, stabilizing breath at the same time. "I...bought you some clothes. I had to guess your size for the most part, but...yeah. There's some hard-soled slippers in there that should fit you, too, at least until you can tell me your shoe size."

"Pyrrha," he's stunned, "y-you didn't have to do that."

"I know, I wanted to." she can't look at him, focusing on her hands and the way her fingers drum at the edges of her briefcase. "I also wanted to ask you something."

"Besides my shoe size?" the little chuckle at the end sounds nervous.

"Yes," she laughs in turn. "I was wondering...I applied to be your sponsor. If you want...you can come and stay with me."

His brow creases, a mixture of concern and uncertainty flickering in his eyes. His hands fumble with the papers he's holding, eventually settling to let them sit atop his thighs when he draws his legs up. "I...you didn't...why would you do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," his hand reaches back and cups his neck, rubbing out the anxiety he feels mounting in his chest. He lifts his eyes and meets her gaze briefly. "It's...shit," he pushes his hand through his hair, fingernails in his scalp and catching on a cut he forgot about. "I don't know how to say it without sounding like an asshole."

"Then just say it, it's okay." she assures him.

"What's your angle?" he blurts out, feeling the shame of the hidden accusation immediately.

Part of her thinks she gets it, it's the same part that pushes down the little hurt brought on by his suspicion. After everything he's been through -just the stuff she knows about- how was he supposed to trust her like that? It's a wonder he has any trust for her at all.

Eventually Pyrrha just smiles and waits until he looks at her again. "Like I said before, I just want to help."

He still holds a certain uneasy wariness in his face. "And if I say no?"

"Then that's your choice." she nods once. "I'd hope you'd accept the clothes, though, considering you don't really have anything," she laughs, an attempt to break the tension that she's certain fails, "but you're welcome to say no. I'll still be your advocate, I'll still work on your case and make sure you're taken care of. Nothing changes."

Jaune hears sirens in his head, warnings, some vicious and desperate thing screaming for him to retreat. It's a trap is all he can think, in spite of everything he's seen -he knows- to the contrary.

For a moment the two just look at each other, and Pyrrha eventually takes that as a sign. She eases to her feet, her brief case tucked under her arm.

"Take some time to think it over, and just let me know when you've made a decision, okay? Until then, if you need me, just have someone page me."

He nods. "...Thanks." he offers timidly.

"Of course."

---

Every so often Pyrrha will skip her evening trip to the gym in favor of dinner out with her coworkers, which usually consists of Blake or Billy or Sahv, or some combination of the three. Tonight it's Blake and Yang joining her at Magic Wok. The three of them manage to get a booth tucked away in a relatively quiet corner, the perfect spot to sit and talk without disturbing or being disturbed by others.

"Am I an asshole?"

Blake coughs as her food goes down the wrong pipe, causing Yang to reach across to pat her lover on the back as she gapes at Pyrrha from across the table.

"What on earth makes you say that?" Blake sputters once she's able.

Pyrrha shifts in her seat, uncomfortable under their joint scrutiny. "I mean...maybe asshole isn't the right word,"

"Damn straight it isn't." Yang insists. "That's the last word I'd ever use in regards to you." she looks to Blake. "You okay now, baby?"

"I'm fine." one last cough. "But seriously, why would you think that?"

"Well, like we talked about, I told Jaune I was willing to sponsor him." she prods the tangle of noodles on her plate with her chopsticks. "And...just like you said he might, he got defensive and kind of...shut down."

"So why would you think you're an asshole?"

"Because," Pyrrha slouches, putting her hands in her lap as if she can hide her discomfort. "I just...I hate when I upset people. Especially when I just want to do the right thing."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't take it personally, because you're doing that anyway -that's right, I've got your number, superhero," Blake's felid ears match the asymmetry of her eyebrows, "but I don't believe he got defensive simply because it's you. It's because things are changing for him again, what little stability he has is about to shift and he doesn't know what to do, if there's anything he can do. And that's probably coming from a long time of having no control over his own fate or well being. Then, of course, there's the more than likely possibility of general trust issues."

Yang takes a long draw from the straw in her drink, her brow furrowing as she swallows. "He's probably convinced this is just some elaborate scam, and the minute he agrees to go home with you, all hell's going to break loose."

And part of Pyrrha knows there's not much she can do to change that for him. Jaune would have to discover for himself if she was trustworthy, if what she was offering him was real or some cruel joke at his expense. She shudders at the idea of just how bad he might think things could be, a man who -while drugged out of his mind and mad with pain- still had the wherewithal to be terrified and fight back against those that were trying to save his life.

"If what he went through was anything like," Yang continues, pausing to put a crispy rangoon in her mouth and tuck it in her cheek. She'll gesture with her hand, knowing they both know what she means. "Gods only know the kind of head games he's had to navigate until now. But I agree with Blake, I don't think it's because of you."

"I know, I agree with you too, just,"

"Just you're a micro-manager and this is something you can't change." Blake explains knowingly. "But you've got a good enough head on your shoulders to let it run it's course."

"I certainly hope so." Pyrrha sips her drink. "And I don't want to influence his decision so I'm keeping our visits to a need-only basis."

One golden brow rises. "Want me to influence him for you?"

"Yang," Blake warns gently, half-heartedly.

"No, I'm serious. Listen," Yang shoves down another rangoon and swallows, leaning towards Pyrrha on one elbow. "He doesn't understand the kind of person you are, he probably thinks you're like some fucking unicorn -all mythological and sparkly and too good to be true. Let me talk to him, I mean, you've been meaning for me to anyway, right?"

"True." Blake nods.

"But he should make this choice on his own." Pyrrha reaffirms. "He deserves that."

"He also deserves the best chance at recovery and getting his life back together." Yang counters.

"Also true." Blake chimes, seeming more focused on her food than the conversation.

"And I think you can give him that chance, Pyrrha. Hell," she laughs, easing away, back into her own space in the booth. "If it weren't for you, I might not have met Blake, so you basically saved my life."

Pyrrha blushes and tries to hide her face, failing miserably. "I just got you the referral."

"Semantics." Yang waves her hand in dismissal. "So let me go to bat for you, just this once, and I promise I won't use my impeccable charm for evil ever again."

Blake laughs, almost choking on her food again. Once she's able to she quickly swallows.

"Come on; I kind of feel like you owe me after not letting me curb-stomp your ex."

"Yang," Pyrrha exhales hard, appalled more so at herself for the effort it takes not to laugh than at Yang for the comment. "He wasn't that bad,"

"Bullshit." Yang points a finger at her, sharp, decisive.

Blake clears her throat, takes a quick drink. "Being in denial doesn't change the truth of the matter, Pyrrha, it would be better if you just accept it."

"I've gotten better at it." she admits meekly. "Just...I don't think anyone deserves to be curb-stomped. Believe it or not, I'm not a huge fan of violence."

"Well I am," Yang's finger has changed to her thumb and points back at her, "and as far as I'm concerned, a man who hits his wife deserves a helluva lot worse."

Pyrrha sighs and smiles. "And while I appreciate how fiercely protective you both are of me, it isn't necessary."

"You heard her, down girl." Blake nudges Yang with an elbow.

Yang tucks close to Blake, diving face first into the crook of her neck. "Woof,"

"Oh my god," Pyrrha groans, "check please,"

#Jaune Doe #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #bumbleby #blake x yang #blake belladonna #yang xiao long

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raywritesthings · 4 years

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A Different Hostage Crisis

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Helena Bertinelli, Quentin Lance, Tommy Merlyn, Dinah Lance, John Diggle, Felicity Smoak, Frank Bertinelli Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen (Pre-Relationship) Summary: Helena chooses one of Oliver's other loved ones to use as leverage, leading to a number of different results. / Season 1 AU *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

It was something of a relief when she was able to leave the drama her mother had brought back into their lives for the Verdant’s opening night. Laurel waded through the crowds as she spotted Tommy over the heads of some clubbers. “Oh! There you are.” He smiled vaguely in her direction. “This place is amazing. I'm so proud of you and Ollie.”

“Thanks,” her boyfriend replied, a bit of strain in the word.

Laurel tilted her head, scrutinizing him. “Is everything ok?”

“I'm great.”

Something told her he wasn’t going to give her a real answer unless she in part called his bluff. “Well, breakfast was a disaster.”

“Breakfast?” He echoed, making it clear he had completely forgotten.

“With my parents?” Laurel prompted.

Tommy’s eyes squeezed shut. “Right. That was this morning. Uh... Sorry.”

“Are you sure everything's ok? Because you seem completely off.” She didn’t think it had to do with the attack on his father. Malcolm had been cleared to leave the hospital and was supposed to be making a full recovery. So why did he seem so distant all of a sudden?

“I'm fine. I promise,” he said again.

“Tommy!” Thea wedged her way through a couple of people to Tommy’s other side. “Tommy. Did you call Roy yet?”

“I left him a message. He starts tomorrow. Which reminds me, I have to go check in with the office. Excuse me.”

Thea slipped away as well, back towards her family, leaving Laurel alone. She sighed. It wasn’t like now was the best time, but she had wanted to talk to Tommy about everything going on with her parents. She really could have used his support at breakfast, and he usually was pushing for her to involve him in her life. She had thought this could be a first step, so why was he picking now to bail?

A hand brushed down her arm, and Laurel whirled around to see a smiling Helena Bertinelli. “Laurel, hey. Remember me?”

Helena’s grip on her arm turned vice-like, and Laurel gasped. “What do you want?”

“Just to have a chat. Come on.” The Huntress tugged her back behind the bar and past some of the workers, most of whom didn’t give her a second glance. She was the manager’s girlfriend after all, and Helena was doing a good job making it look like they were just walking arm in arm. “Don’t worry. Oliver will join us soon.”

“Oliver?” Laurel watched Helena input a code into a doorway against the back wall, surprised she even knew it. Wouldn’t he have changed the code to something his ex-girlfriend didn’t know? And what did she have to do with any conversation Helena was going to have with Oliver?

Helena was dangerous, whether Laurel fit her usual target profile or not. She hadn’t wanted to risk anything out in the open considering she didn’t know if Helena was armed or not and could have hurt a bystander. But the likelihood that there was anyone in what had to be the storage area was slim, so she could take the chance and then disappear into the crowd to call the authorities or find security. And find Ollie. If Helena was taking a hostage to force him to talk to her, Laurel didn’t imagine it was for anything good. She needed to warn him.

As soon as the door swung open, Laurel used Helena’s distraction to shove them both forwards against a railing. She twisted their arms around so that Helena’s was against her back, the other woman hissing as Laurel moved to back up and caught sight of a number of green arrows lined up on the tables down below.

“What?”

Those were the Hood’s. The Hood’s things were here, were in Oliver’s club. Oliver, who Helena had said was going to be joining them soon… because he was the Hood to her Huntress—

Her moment of distraction cost her this time, for Helena lunged forward and squeezed her hands around Laurel’s throat. “I should really make you regret that. Come on.”

Laurel was half-dragged and half-thrown down the steps, her hair clip coming loose and half of it falling down from the bun she had worn. Her heel broke on the last stair as she tried to dig in, and Laurel swung out at Helena’s chest and face and hair, anything she could reach.

“Stop- fighting- me!” Helena’s nails scratched her cheek, and Laurel’s hands curled into fists at the sting.

“Thanks, but I’m not interested in dying!” She slammed Helena back into the table behind them but felt the metal of an arrowhead placed under her neck.

A door slammed somewhere above them and footsteps thundered down the stairs.

“Helena, stop!”

She’d never heard Oliver sound like that, and she knew the evidence before her had been correct. One hand shoved Helena’s arm holding the arrow away from Laurel while the other drew her back behind Oliver. She could barely see Helena now around his broad shoulders.

“I told you to stay away!”

“I had to get you to listen to me!”

“By trying to kill a person I care about?”

As much as Laurel wanted a minute to just sit with everything she had just learned these last few harried minutes, there looked to be a very real chance one of them was going to kill the other if she didn’t intervene.

Laurel marched around to the side so she could properly see them. “Would either of you like to explain just what this is about without violence, please?”

She was gratified to see that her voice was sharp enough to give the two pause. Helena and Oliver regarded each other warily as Oliver backed up a step to give Helena a bit more space, and Helena moved a step away from the table while straightening out her dress. Oliver drifted once again towards Laurel, positioning himself to be ready to move in front of her at a moment’s notice.

“This isn’t about anything because Helena is leaving. Now.”

“You really think I’m going to give up that easily?” Helena shook her head. “I know the Marshals will be transporting my father soon, I just need to know when and where so I can take the transport. That’s all I’m asking for!”

“You call this asking?”

“Okay, so this is about Frank Bertinelli?” Laurel asked, one hand massaging her temples. “And the Marshals, so he’s being taken into Witness Protection?”

“He’s agreed to testify against other members of the family on the East Coast,” Oliver told her, looking over his shoulder at her but not quite meeting her eyes with his. What she could see of his gaze looked uncomfortable, troubled. His hands twitched at his sides.

“He’s getting away with everything!” Helena declared, sounding tortured. “And he’ll never give them enough to put the ones who matter away. He’ll just slip away to his new life and rebuild it all from scratch.”

“It could happen,” Laurel acknowledged. Oliver looked at her sharply. “A member of the Falcone family turned state’s evidence in the eighties and later used his new identity to start a real estate business that’s been accused of scamming tens of millions from mall owners around the country.”

“You see?” Helena cried out, one arm flinging towards Laurel.

“We can’t control what Frank Bertinelli does or doesn’t do once he’s in Witness Protection,” Oliver said.

“But we can stop him from going. Once he’s in it, he’ll disappear, and I am not letting that happen.”

“If you kill him, then none of the East Coast family goes away, no matter how big or small. He has evidence,” Laurel explained.

“I had evidence!” Helena pressed a hand to her heart. “Everything he’s planning to turn over, I spent years gathering. It got Michael killed, but in his hands it’s going to be a ticket to freedom.”

The door to the club upstairs opened again, this time admitting Mr. Diggle, who looked far less surprised than she had to see this place though his eyes widened when they landed on first Helena and then her. “What’s going on?” He asked, descending the stairs with one hand laid over his sidearm.

“A conversation,” Oliver answered in clipped tones. “One that’s over.”

Helena glared at him, her eyes suspiciously bright, before she turned and headed towards a second door Laurel could only assume let out in the back or side of the building. Her gut twisted guiltily when Helena cast one last look her way and then exited with a slam of the door.

Oliver approached her but stopped just shy of touching her. “Were you hurt?”

“Not seriously,” she answered, taking a chance to finally rub at her throat where Helena had gripped it momentarily.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Where? Oh,” she said, when he reached out and cupped her cheek. His hands were calloused in a way they hadn’t been when they were younger. It made her think of all the pain he had had to work and fight through just to get home, the fight he was still taking on out there in the streets. He really was the vigilante she and so many others in the city were pinning their hopes on.

“We have a first aid kit,” he said, then motioned with his head for her to follow him over to a table. He patted the surface, so Laurel hopped up, taking the opportunity to unfasten her mismatched heels.

“So are we just skimming over the whole ‘she knows’ thing or did I miss the conversation?” Diggle asked.

Oliver stilled and looked at her. Laurel looked back.

“I guess that’s now?”

---

Oliver felt uneasy. Whether that was the unspent adrenaline leaving his system in the wake of Helena’s departure or the sensation of truly being seen by Laurel for everything he really was, he didn’t know.

“I guess,” he finally managed to say in answer to her question. Oliver set the first aid kit down beside her and started sorting through it for a disinfectant wipe. “So.”

“So.”

“You know,” he pointed out unnecessarily.

“Yes,” Laurel agreed. “Well, I guessed upon finding a whole basement of green arrows down here. The whole approach you took with Helena kind of settled any lingering doubt.”

Oliver’s eyes closed. His approach with Helena had been aggressive, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself when he had seen her and Laurel locked in what could have easily become a deadly brawl. Helena had been holding one of his own arrows to Laurel’s throat. He would have never forgiven himself if it had been used to harm her. But could Laurel forgive him now, or did she see the same out-of-control monster that had nearly beat a man to death in Iron Heights?

“Ollie, can you please actually look at me?”

He did, and as ever it threatened to steal his breath. Hair tousled and spilling down to one side, cheek scratched with blood trails drying, it didn’t change that she was the most beautiful girl in the whole world. His world which was threatening to swiftly crash down in the wake of his two best friends learning the truth one after the other.

Yet Laurel’s eyes remained kind as she asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“You don’t know?”

Laurel slowly shook her head. “I used to know you better than anyone, but it’s… we’ve both changed. You more than me, maybe, but why don’t you help me learn this part? You’re the Hood.”

He ripped open the package on a disinfectant wipe. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He hesitated a moment before beginning to wipe at her cheek. Aside from a slight wince at the initial sting of the wipe, Laurel’s eyes never left his. “You don’t believe what I told you in your apartment?”

“I do, but it was general. On purpose, since you didn’t want me knowing who you were. But what made you decide to do all this? What happened while you were away to make you take it on?”

She was asking for an explanation, the explanation he had offered Tommy and been rejected. Oliver swallowed heavily, taking his hand away from her cheek and instead reaching for the book Diggle was already holding out. His friend and partner was watching quietly and curiously, as though something was happening in front of him he hadn’t expected and was trying to puzzle out.

“When the Gambit went down, my dad wasn’t lost right away. I wasn’t completely truthful with my testimony,” Oliver admitted. “On the life raft, he gave me this as proof that he had done things and been aware of things done by others that had hurt our city. He asked me to make it right. I didn’t know how or if I would be able to do that at first, but as the years went on, I resolved to use the skills I learned to survive to bring an older kind of justice to the people on this list who had escaped from the law.”

Laurel nodded. “That’s why you noticed Adam Hunt’s name on my caseboard that first day, wasn’t it? Why you asked for my help with Peter Declan.”

“Yes.”

“Then why not just ask me as yourself? Why lie when I asked you if you were the Hood?”

“Laurel, I’m… you said it yourself. I’m a remorseless killer.”

She shook her head, what was left of the bun she had worn her hair in falling down. “If you’re talking about what I said outside the prison, you already know I realized that wasn’t true. But I was scared. This otherwise stranger almost killed a man because of me. If I’d know he wasn’t a stranger, that he was someone who had known me and cared about me for years, I would have understood.” She leaned forward a little, refusing to let him back away. “I do understand.”

Oliver cleared his throat and reached for a strip of gauze and some medical tape. “Thank you,” he murmured as he fitted it over the scratches.

“What are you going to do about Helena?”

“I don’t know. She knows who I am, so I can’t—” Oliver stopped and tried again. “If I turn her in, then it’s over for me.”

“Anyone else, and you’d have already put an end to it, Oliver,” Digg pointed out.

He sighed. “Helena is complicated. I helped make her what she is, and for me to just… she has a reason to be angry at her father, John. The same reason you have to be angry at Floyd Lawton.”

“But would I attack the people closest to you to make you do what I want?”

“Maybe you don’t do what Helena wants,” Laurel put in. “Maybe you do something else.”

“Like what?”

The upstairs door opened again, and he tensed at the familiar voice that sounded down. “Hey, Oliver, I get the club is really just a front for you, but it’d be nice if people actually saw — Laurel!”

Laurel grimaced as Tommy rushed down and to her side.

“What happened?” Tommy touched the gauze before whirling around to glare at Oliver. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Laurel said before he even had the chance to defend himself. “Why would you think he had?”

“There was an incident with someone else,” Oliver explained quietly, hurt by the accusation that still lingered in Tommy’s eyes. The truth was, if it weren’t for him Helena would’ve never had a reason to target Laurel.

“But Oliver helped resolve it, and it is fine,” Laurel stressed.

Tommy turned back to her. “How long have you known about him?”

“About him being the Hood? I think thirty minutes. How long have you known?”

“Since the night my dad was attacked.” Tommy shifted restlessly, then said, “Look, let’s just go home, alright? I think you’ve had enough excitement.” He took hold of Laurel’s hand and tried to pull her off the table, though Laurel flinched when her toes brushed the cold floor.

“Actually, I was trying to help with something.”

“Laurel, no.” Tommy looked between her and Oliver, denial turning to dismay. “You can’t. We talked about this, you said you weren’t going to keep doing this.”

“I said I wasn’t going to keep lying to you about working with the Hood, and I’m not. We’re all on the same page now. This is a good thing.” Laurel looked at each of them, her smile starting to fade. “Isn’t it?”

“Tommy’s not working with me,” Oliver told her.

“Because he’s a killer.”

“What?”

“He is, Laurel! And I know why you refuse to see that. I should’ve realized it was over the minute I found out who he was!” Tommy’s lips pulled back into something more angry and helpless than a smile. “It’s always been you two, just like I said at that dinner with that crazy Bertinelli girl.”

Oliver winced, though Tommy didn’t notice because he had turned away for the stairs.

“Tommy, wait!” Laurel looked ready to leap off the table, and Oliver offered a hand. He would offer his feet for her to stand on if she wanted, but instead Laurel looked at him, then up at Tommy, her lip trembling.

Before Tommy reached the top of the steps, the door opened, and Felicity nearly crashed into him. “Hi, sorry! Oh, uh, bye.” She watched Tommy exit, then looked down at all of them. “Is something going on?”

“Now’s maybe not the best time, Felicity,” John said, gentler than Oliver could’ve hoped to be.

“It feels like a lot of people know that door code,” Laurel remarked lightly, but it didn’t fully disguise the catch in her voice.

He looked at her in dismay. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s really not… I should’ve known it was going to end this way based on how he reacted to me working with the Hood last month.” Laurel pushed her hand through her hair, which he knew was a way to hide her wiping her eyes with her other hand. “There’s just a lot going on right now, so a breakup on top of it—”

“Do you need someone to take you home?” He asked.

“No,” Laurel said quickly. “Home’s actually the last place I really feel like being. I’d much rather focus on this whole Italian mafia family drama than my own.”

“Italian mafia drama?” Felicity asked. She risked coming down a few more steps. “Sorry, you must be Laurel, right? Gorgeous Laurel.”

“I don’t know about that,” Laurel replied, tracing the gauze on her face with her fingertips, though her eyes darted in Oliver’s direction. “Did Mr. Diggle call you Felicity?”

“He did. Did something happen to your shoes? I keep a pair of flats in my car,” Felicity said, pointing backwards over her shoulder. She lifted one foot beside Laurel’s bare one. “I don’t know if we’re the same size, but it’s better than nothing, right?”

“Definitely, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Felicity scurried back the way she came.

Seeing that Laurel had completely regained control of her composure, Oliver felt safe to venture, “You were saying something before Tommy came in, about doing something different than what Helena wanted to appease her.”

“Right, yeah. The, uh, the evidence that Helena said her father took from her, that he’s planning to use to get himself into WITSEC. Is there a way you could get a hold of it?”

“If I knew where he was. He’s probably keeping it close to his person. Why do you want it?”

“So you can turn it over to the FBI. Then he has to be able to prove he’s still useful to them. Plus, there’s the threat to his life that Helena presents. Witness Protection only takes on people they feel certain they can protect.”

“If a participant in the program died, it would affect the whole program’s reputation,” John agreed. “Make it less likely for others to sign up in the future.”

“Between the danger Helena presents and her evidence being taken from Bertinelli and turned over to the FBI in full with no strings attached, they’ll have to decide he isn’t worth enrolling. He’ll remain behind bars.”

“And Helena gets what she wants even if it’s not the way she wants it,” Oliver concluded. He turned around as Felicity re-entered the Foundry with a pair of flats in hand. “Felicity, how do you feel about hacking the FBI?”

“Wait, really? Yes! I’ve been waiting for this moment!” She exclaimed, pumping a fist before looking around self-consciously. “I mean, um, I can do that if it’s necessary.”

Oliver smirked. “Good.” He trailed one hand down Laurel’s arm, hoping it was a comforting gesture, before he stepped away to get his suit out in anticipation of learning Frank Bertinelli’s current location.

Once he had ended the blood feud between Helena and her father, he could fix the feud between himself and Tommy so that Laurel wouldn’t suffer for it. He had to believe that.

---

Helena had remained close by, watching the back entrance of the Verdant for any movement from Oliver’s team. She knew he’d probably sooner kill her than look at her for going after his precious Laurel, but Helena wasn’t worried. She’d trained herself for the possibility over receiving an arrow to the heart.

It wasn’t like she’d been planning to hurt the other woman all that much. How was she supposed to have known Laurel had some defense training under her belt and would be crazy enough to try it on a known killer? She should have gone with someone weaker like Merlyn.

When at last Oliver emerged, he didn’t even go to his bike before looking up and stating. “You might as well come out now, Helena.”

She carefully emerged, crossbow drawn. “I still need your help.”

“And you’re getting it.”

Helena blinked, hardly daring to believe it. “Had a change of heart about letting my father live?”

“No, but we have a way to make sure he keeps spending that life behind bars. Stay here.” He took one step towards his bike, and Helena shadowed it.

“No, I’m coming with you. I need to be there.”

“I can’t trust you not to lose control,” he argued. “What you did in there—”

“She fought me!”

“She’s the only reason I’m doing this!” His glare alone was enough to make her stop in her tracks. Laurel had asked Oliver to do something for her? After Helena had taken her hostage? It didn’t make sense.”

“I will get the evidence your father’s people took from the laptop you gave Michael and turn it over to the FBI. It should make them think twice about what worth he is to them in Witness Protection.” Oliver turned and swung a leg over his bike.

“Wait.”

He didn’t start the engine.

“You should have backup if you’re going to an FBI safehouse. And I know where he’ll be keeping it.”

“You’ll just go after your father.”

“No, I won’t. It’d be suicide. You’re helping me when you have no reason to. I can listen.” Whether their relationship had ended on bad terms or not, Helena wasn’t interested in setting him up to die, either. And if Laurel had really been the one who convinced him, Helena would make sure he got back home to her.

Oliver did not deny her again, so she retrieved her own bike, following after him as he sped out of the alley and onto the streets. They drove out of the city limits and towards the more isolated homes and mansions. Of course her father was restored to his usual luxury. Helena’s grip tightened on the handles, but she focused her breathing and kept following Oliver. She was going to steal the evidence right out from under Frank Bettinelli like his top enforcer had done to her.

Oliver pulled off by some woods and parked, Helena doing so beside him. “There’s twenty guards circling the perimeter. If one spots us, they’ll all know we’re here. We go on my signal.”

Helena nodded.

Oliver listened to his earpiece for a time. Diggle or someone must have managed to get into the FBI’s system or found the location via satellite. Helena just watched the distant flashlight beams.

“Now,” Oliver said softly, stealing across the lawn. Helena followed just behind and pressed herself against the wall when they reached the back of the house. She kept a lookout as Oliver worked with some kind of tools at the lock, which popped open.

The house was mostly dark. It was late, after all. Her father was probably asleep and helpless…

Helena forced those thoughts down and took the lead. “He always kept anything of importance in close reach of where he held court. And he’s a creature of habit.”

She snuck towards the kitchenette area, hands searching around the unfamiliar space in the dark. At last she closed her hands around the neck of a bottle jutting from the wine rack.

“The one at the house had a false bottom,” she explained.

“I doubt he had time to commission one for here,” Oliver pointed out.

“No, but he’ll have done something similar. I just have to figure out—” Helena paused. She had been removing each bottle one by one in order to more easily search the rack, but the latest one in her hand was empty. She shook it, and something rattled around in the bottom.

“I need some light.”

“How much?” But Oliver took out a small flashlight, shining it on the bottle. The outline of a flash drive was clear behind the glass.

“Got you,” she murmured with a growing smirk.

The sound of a gun cocking broke the moment. “It figures the FBI’s useless,” her father said. “I told them they should have been expecting the family reunion.”

Helena slowly stood to her full height, turning with the bottle in her hand. “Hi, dad.”

“What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“It’s mine, isn’t it?”

“Unlike your gun,” Oliver added, his voice distorted the way he did when speaking directly to others as the Hood. “Pretty sure that’s against the terms of your deal, Bertinelli.”

“Yeah? Well when I bag the Hood and the Huntress, I think I’ll be making the terms of the next deal. I’ll be a hero,” her father declared.

Oliver threw a flechette, making his shot go wide. The bottle shattered in her hand, glass stinging her face.

“No!” Helena dove, searching through the shards with one hand. She aimed her crossbow with the other and snarled as she caught her father in the shoulder with a bolt. He collapsed with a pitiful wail.

“We need to leave now!”

“Not without the flash drive!” Helena argued. “I didn’t kill him, now help me find it!”

Shouts were sounding louder and closer by the minute, yet Helena barely noticed as her fingers at last closed around the little thing hiding under the counter. She stood and was immediately knocked over by Oliver to avoid a spray of bullets.

“FBI! Surrender with your hands up!”

“Shouldn’t that have gone the other way around?” She couldn’t resist calling back.

Oliver didn’t appear to appreciate the joke. He was too busy nocking an arrow and firing. It wedged into the wall behind the agents. Before Helena could berate him for missing, a gas began to leak from the end.

“Let’s go.” He pulled her up by the hand, vaulting the counter at the other end of the kitchen. Helena followed, not knowing or caring what he just subjected the agents to. As far as she was concerned they deserved it for protecting scum like her father.

There were still a few agents waiting in the back for them. Helena followed Oliver’s lead and fired her bolts into their weapons, knocking them out of their hands. She kicked one man into his partner to send them both down to the ground for good measure, hearing Oliver engage two more agents behind her.

He grabbed one in what looked like a sleeper hold but refrained from putting the necessary pressure on him. “Frank Bertinelli received a crossbow bolt to the shoulder. His survival’s more important to your program than our capture.” Oliver threw the man down to the ground, then sprinted for the trees with her.

Helena’s heart pumped wildly in her chest as they sped back towards the Glades, a grin that probably looked terrifying on her face stretching from ear to ear. She had taken her father’s bargaining chip from him and injured him in the process. If he died from inattention, she’d consider it a job well done. If not… he would have to live with knowing she had succeeded in taking everything from him the way he once had from her.

Helena stopped her bike outside the Verdant once more, Oliver doing so as well. He stepped off his and looked at her. “The flash drive?”

Helena retrieved it from her coat. “You’ll get it to the authorities?”

“I have something of a contact there,” Oliver replied evasively. “But it’ll get done. You should leave town before the police catch up to your trail.”

“I’m not going far until I know for certain this worked,” Helena let him know. “But thank you. And… thank Laurel for me, too.”

Oliver nodded, heading back into his base.

Helena let out a breath, her gaze turning up to the sky. Had she done enough? Would Michael rest easier knowing she would finally be exposing her family’s operations the way they had planned? What did she even do with the rest of her life?

It was something she had little choice but to face and find out.

---

Quentin wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to come out here. Maybe it was guilt, or shame. If he’d actually been willing to listen to the Hood’s warning about the hit on Malcolm Merlyn, maybe they would have been in a better position to apprehend everyone in the Triad and the guy who had taken the shot. So he figured he could give him this one.

But he did not appreciate being made to wait. “What the hell does he have going on, anyway?” Quentin muttered to himself. “Not like he has to deal with the paperwork his messes stir up.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Detective.”

Quentin jumped and spun around, one hand going to his gun. But the Hood stood there, unarmed. “What’s this about?”

“The Huntress.”

Quentin groaned. “She’s in the city.”

“Not for much longer. I persuaded her to settle for keeping her father out of Witness Protection and behind bars.”

“And how exactly are you going to arrange that, huh? The Marshal Service has made the deal.”

“The information Bertinelli has been using to make himself useful to them was all collected by his daughter years ago. It’s on this flash drive.” Slowly, the Hood reached into his pocket and retrieved a small drive in a plastic bag. Quentin briefly considered and then dismissed the idea that there were going to be any usable prints on it. “I took the liberty of retrieving it from him with Huntress, and I’m entrusting it to you.”

“Why? What difference does it make who the information comes from?”

“Bertinelli has been giving the FBI this information piece by piece to extend his worth. Now they’ll have everything they need without having to go to him. If they continue housing him, Helena will hunt him to the ends of the Earth, putting the whole Witness Protection program at risk. I think they’ll agree to return Bertinelli to jail over taking that risk if he’s no longer useful to them. Would you agree?”

He had to hand it to the vigilante, it was a sound argument. “You get all that checked out by a lawyer or something?”

“Or something.” Right, like he was ever going to get anything out of this guy.

Quentin picked up the bag. “I’ll have to have our CSUs examine this, but it’ll get to the Marshals.”

“Thank you, Detective. The Huntress shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

“Well, she wouldn’t be a problem in the first place if you hadn’t gotten involved,” he pointed out, but the Hood was already rising into the air with one of his grapple arrows. Quentin shook his head. Why did he even try to reason with these people?

He brought the flash drive to Kelton and then headed home for some rest before he had to get ready to prepare to reason with some more people the next day. Laurel had sent him a text a couple of hours ago to plead with him to try another meetup with Dinah, so they were doing breakfast at Laurel’s this time.

When Quentin arrived, he was surprised to once again find only Laurel and Dinah present. “Where’s that lousy boyfriend of yours?” He asked as Laurel kissed his cheek in greeting.

There was a knock at the door. “I’m gonna get that,” his daughter said in lieu of answering the question, leaving the kitchen.

“I think they ended things last night,” Dinah said in a low voice. “Tommy showed up here alone and packed all his things. He didn’t even notice me at first, he was so upset.”

Quentin raised both eyebrows. Laurel and Merlyn had called things off?

Before he could get his hopes up too high, he received a shock that immediately soured his mood as Laurel returned with a different man in tow. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“He’s here because I asked him to come, so dad, don’t start,” Laurel warned, briefly touching Oliver Queen’s arm. Queen looked uncomfortable if resolute, and he reached out to shake Dinah’s hand.

“Mrs. Lance.”

“Oliver. Well, it’s— I was happy for your family to hear about your return. Actually, it got me thinking about our Sara.”

“Laurel told me,” Oliver said.

“Oliver’s agreed to tell you both about the night the Gambit went down,” Laurel explained quietly. “He thinks it should give you closure.”

Quentin didn’t really know what to say. He slowly took the empty seat by the table where Dinah already sat.

“The storm was… we didn’t really notice it at first. Sara mentioned the thunder once, but neither of us realized what was going to happen,” Queen said, his voice low and remorseful. His eyes were fixed on the floor. “The ship just— it broke. The floor shot straight up and Sara, she- she fell straight down into the darkness. I tried to reach for her, but I was pinned in place before the whole thing sank and I came up in the water. That was the last I saw of her. She never made it to the life raft.”

Quentin’s throat throbbed with the lump that had risen into it. His baby, her last moments… he met Laurel’s eyes and saw they were just as watery as his.

“But couldn’t she have washed up somewhere else? A different island,” Dinah insisted. She reached into her papers and folders and pulled out the picture of the girl in the baseball cap. “Doesn’t this look just like her?”

“It— there’s a resemblance,” Queen admitted. “But I know for a fact that Sara was not wearing a Rockets hat when she entered the water. I’m not sure she even had it on board.”

“No, she did, she packed it—” Dinah said before cutting herself off, her eyes going wide.

Quentin stilled just as Laurel and Queen did. “You saw her pack?” He asked, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“I- I came home early that day,” Dinah answered. “And I saw her. I saw her put the hat in her bag.”

“You knew?” Laurel demanded. “You knew Sara was going on the Gambit?” Beside her, Queen looked as genuinely shocked by the revelation as the rest of them.

“I told her not to-- I told her not to do this, not to you, Laurel,” Dinah said, half-rising from her chair. “But she said she was in love and she had to follow her heart, even if nobody else thought it was right. Just like I told her... Just like I told her I once did. So... I let her go. I killed her.” A choked sob left her. “I killed my daughter.”

Quentin reached across and took one of her hands, but if anything, it seemed to make her sob all the harder.

“I’m so sorry, Quentin. I killed our baby!”

He couldn’t seem to find the strength to stand and go to her, and what floored him more than anything was watching Laurel stagger, and then reach for Queen’s shoulder to steady herself as her tears spilled over. And Queen responded, pulling Laurel into a hug. The last man that should be here for this, that should be comforting Quentin’s daughter, and yet there he was. Quentin’s chair scraped back and hit the wall with a bang.

“I think you should go.”

The two of them froze, Laurel’s head turning back and forth between them as Queen slowly let his arms drop. “I understand, Detective. I’m sorry, for… for everything.” He slowly withdrew, turning for the door. Yet Laurel was right on his heels.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Quentin said.

She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Seriously? I’m going with the person who’s been honest with me since he came back into my life and has actually apologized. Call it following my heart.”

“Laurel—”

“I’m sorry, dad, but I can’t do this right now. I can’t hold yours and moms hands and tell you it’s okay. That was supposed to be your job.” She marched past Queen out of the apartment, who for his part, avoided Quentin’s eyes but left to join her.

Dinah’s cries seemed to have been shocked out of her in the wake of Laurel’s rebuke, for she stared after their daughter with wide eyes. “She- she’s changed,” his ex-wife remarked in quiet astonishment.

“They both have,” Quentin couldn’t deny. He had a feeling he knew just why Laurel’s relationship had ended with Merlyn, too. And he could only wonder just where her heart was going to lead her.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #helena bertinelli #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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peachymess · 4 years

Text

Not to be an edgy depresso, but yesterday I went to the psychologist place again. The psychologist I’ve been going to for the last 2/3 years now has quit, so my options were to either 1. come over to her private practice to continue being treated why her. Or 2. be transferred to another psychologist at the facility I’m at. I chose the latter. The one I’ve had for three years wasn’t really vibing well with me - talking over me and forgetting my name two years in etc.

Now... about four years ago, I had to do another such transfer. I had to get a new psychologist but due to some error on my registered address, they wanted to put me into the wrong facility which was too far away for me to get to on a regular basis. So I had to apply to get sent to the facility I (eventually) ended up at. At the time of applying, I was told this was a standard transfer and I did not run any risk of losing my right to help or anything like that. But that’s what happened. I was waiting for a letter that told me “we found you a new psychologist, here’s your start date” - it was just a transfer after all. But what I got instead, was a letter telling me I didn’t have the right to treatment. Among their reasons as to why, they listed that I didn’t abuse alcohol as much at that time. Which never was my main problem. There were too many idiotic contradictions in that letter to bring up now, but let’s just say I was deeply suicidal at the time and yet I was told I was too healthy for help.

I had to dispute and then wait. It took me a year to get back in there. It infuriated me so much that when you’re so low, you can just be dropped. Just like that. I managed to take time to write a dispute letter. At first I was going to take my loss but my anger fueled me. But what about those that don’t dispute? Those who are too sick to dispute the claim of their good health? Surely I can’t be the first one.

... anyways. After I tore their arguments to shreds, they gave me a psych a year in.

This, and many more instances of absolute bullshit, has given me major trust issues with the public health care/welfare/legal system. God, let’s not even talk about the lawyer who tried to scam me for several thousand dollars.

Now... my current psychologist quit, like I said. And upon making the choice of being transferred over to a new one, I asked my old one point blank: will me being transferred, come with ANY risk of losing my rights? Nope. I asked several times, has the application/notice been sent? Where am I in the process? Who will take over after you? Oh don’t worry Peachy, I’m sure they’ve got it figured out and you’ll get a letter when everything’s ready.

Well... welfare came back with a big ass slimy move I won’t talk about now because it’s a whole mess of it’s own. But now they demand yet another written statement from my psychologist (despite having several explicitly confirming I’m sick and 14+ years of treatment records). The problem is that since my psychologist quit, the ones having to answer this demand, is the public institution I’m indoctrinated in. Meaning, nobody there knows me or my case and thus has any expertise on making a statement.

That’s why I called in and had to ask the institution for an appointment with WHOMEVER, to figure out what to do, to speed run them through my ongoing case for years, and get a statement. After that, I wanted to ask for the contact information for my former psych - since, as she told me, if I didn’t win with welfare this time, I could ask for her info and get an independent statement from her as well.

And now to the point. This new meeting I had yesterday with top dog psychologist of the relevant ward,... I have never been in a more uncomfortable psychologist meeting before in my life. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say she emitted an unfriendly and stubborn air from the get-go and I could tell something was up...

Starting off, she completely stonefaced me when I said I had brought two relevant documents for her to read. She wasn’t interested. Despite me being the one working on this case for years, she wasn’t interested in my thoughts on how to go about this at all. She later proceeded to ask me questions to which all answers and more had been in the document I asked her to read for quickness. Eventually, she agreed to skim through one of them, after first ignoring the offer, then declining and then aggressively saying “fine, let me see it then!” At one point she even said “I knew this was going to be a difficult appointment”. And when I asked for the contact info of my old psych, she refused to give it to me, saying she was pretty sure she herself would be able to write a sufficient statement.

And then we had to get to the point of the appointment, what she had been more eager to get to: simply put, they want to kick me out. They don’t want to find a new psychologist for me, because - as she said - it would be a waste of resources and their time to treat me. Because I can’t get better. She - wrongfully, at that - said she believed me and my old psych had talked about acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that I’ll never get better. Firs of all no, we’ve never had any talk of that; in fact, my psych tried to make me have a more positive outlook on the possibility of recovery. And secondly, what kind of psychologist would tell a 28 to give up on recovery?!

This bitch, who looked to be no more than 30 herself, living her best life, was sitting there with this really nasty look on her face, telling me they wanted to pass me off to some other low threshold public nurse program where I just go and talk to a nurse sometimes, so I “don’t get worse”. While they themselves, don’t want to spend more resources and professionals’ time on trying to help me get better. That I, just a few years her junior at most, had to accept that this was as good as life will ever get for me. Because after so many years, I had only gotten worse so it was obvious I wasn’t going to get better. Just a few years ago, they denied me because I wasn’t sick enough for them. Now I’ve been “too sick for too long”?! And as she herself admitted, most of the focus these last years had been on my case with welfare rather than my treatment, so who’s to say there couldn’t have been better results with better focus/treatment? NOT to mention that I’ve maaaany times over the years BEGGED them to commit me for a few weeks because I could feel myself unraveling and being committed would help - and they’d always refuse!! If I’m not better after all this time, maybe it’s because they blatantly didn’t try their fucking best! And now they’re telling me to GIVE UP?!

When I got angry, she - in what can’t be called anything other than gaslighting - told me I was being rude for selling the nurses short. That “they’re just as good as the psychologist experts”. But SHE’S the one who says the experts would be a waste on me, while the nurses apparently can be expended. SHE’s the one saying her staff is worth more. And for my part, I said, if they’re equal, I’d rather go to the expert - who, according her, has higher odds of HEALING someone, on top of the equal ability to keeping me from getting worse. I want the highest odds. I want to go to someone who has the highest odds, the expertise and will to help me get BETTER. I don’t want to go to a nurse/get visit from nurses whose job is to listen to sob stories while they hold your hand! I’m absolutely not knocking nurses or their importance in our society. They’re life savers and usually some of the most caring people out there.

But that’s not what I need. I need to go to the person who has the highest chance of figuring out how I tick and have the tools and knowledge to then figure out what to do to make me BETTER! If we’re devolving my treatment from “trying to make better” to “trying to keep stable so I don’t get worse”, I am GIVING UP the chance of betterment! And where I’m at now, that’s not worth living. If THIS is as good as it gets, it’s not worth living another 50 years for.

The fucking audacity of this bitch telling me to GIVE UP on my life!! Telling me to “accept” that my life willl be like this forever. What - I’m not a pretty enough statistic for them? I’m not worth the money?

She even said that since it costs me energy to go see them, maybe it’s costing more than it’s worth. But going to see a nurse costa just the same! Even more - what, she means it’s better for me to just stay home yet another day? Like I do every sia already? You don’t have to be a psych to know getting out of the house sometimes is healthy of your mental health!

I felt so utterly powerless. Naturally I got really fucking angry and scared. And by the end she waved the threat in my face of revoking my right to help. She said to get help you needed: 1. To be sick enough (“check”), 2. Have a will to get better (“check”) but oh, also 3. Appear to be ABLE to get better.... and uhoh. For the record, I’ve never heard that last part before in my life.

I asked her whether this only had one outcome - of either her convincing me to agree to go to that public nurse visit offer instead, or she’d take away my right to help so I’d be FORCED to go to that offer instead. She didn’t want to answer that. Just told me she’s make a new appointment to discuss this further. On “where to pass me off”.

What do I fucking do when the people educated and hired to help, decide to give you up?

I’m just so fucking done. I’ve had to battle welfare for literally YEARS now, because they insist that despite years and years of records, they can’t see any proof that I’m sick enough to qualify. While on the other hand, health care wants to kick me out because I’m TOO sick for them. I’m being altered to whatever fits best for others! It’s all about the fucking money. But I’M the only one losing over this! It’s MY life in the gutter! That bitch can go home to her wife and cuddle up and say “ugh, stressful day at work today”. While I go home and continue living in this black hole that she tells me I have to accept!

Like I said, I don’t mean to be an edgy depresso, but I’m fucking pissed.

#angry rant #personal #mental health #i’d say the only good thing is free health care but when they don’t want to gove you that care anymore what is that worth?#being told to give up ua tye moat disgusting part

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dolphinitley · 5 years

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Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

The Best Sleep in Years

Reader awakes at Clemens Point by Arthur’s side the morning after he escaped the O’Driscolls.

Word count: 1,979

Master List

“What are you doin’ on the ground, girl?”

You awoke with a smile to Arthur’s gravelly voice. You lifted your right hand that had been resting on his hip while you slept. He was weak but in a much better state than when he collapsed from his horse at camp last night after escaping the O’Driscolls.

“Takin’ care of your sorry ass,” you replied jokingly. The late morning sun felt nice on your face. You rose and began peeling off the bandage on his bullet wound so you could put on a fresh one. “You cauterize this wound yourself, Mr. Morgan?”

“Yes ma’am. With a file and a candle.”

“Oh, I saw the wax.”

“Thank you for cleanin’ up the wound.” Arthur looked at you, waiting to catch your eyes.

“You’re welcome,” you said softly with a concerned look. You finished up with his bandage. His gaze was fixed on your face and hands the entire time. He had always respected your medical skills, but watching you care for him now made his heart warm. He was also impressed because removing pieces of a bullet from a cauterized wound was the most complicated procedure you had done with the gang thus far.

“Why you lookin’ so damn sad, girl? I ain’t dyin’ am I?”

“No.” You lightened up a bit. “No, you’re not dying just yet Arthur Morgan. You do got a couple broken ribs, though.” You showed him the bandages around his ribcage. “Gonna have to take it easy for a few weeks. Let people help you get around.”

He grunted in response. “Well, who am I to disobey the doctor’s orders?” he replied with a wink, which earned a smile from you. It was a relief to joke with him again after his absence. Everything was okay for a moment, but then your stare drifted to the sparkling lake.

“I’m gonna kill Micah.”

“It’s gonna be alright.” Arthur was gently stroking a loose strand of your hair in his fingertips. He’d never done that before, but it was soothing to you.

You heard footsteps approaching.

“Y/N? I can sit with him for a while if you wanna take a break,” Karen offered.

You looked to Arthur and he nodded back to you. You accepted Karen’s offer and headed over to the horses. You checked on your horse and had a healing hug with her. Then you stroked Arthur’s horse, gave her a sugar cube, and thanked her for bringing him back safe.

In the following weeks that Arthur took to heal, you were by his side. You felt pleasure in doing extra chores around camp that he was unable to do. You were constantly thinking of a way to leave and start a different life. Arthur’s injuries weren’t life threatening, but when he was a hostage he was in grave danger and could have easily been killed. The incident got into your head. This man was extremely important to you. You hadn’t felt like this for any man even before you started living on the run. You wanted Arthur to run away with you but you knew how fiercely loyal he was to Dutch and Hosea. So, you decided to stay for now and just keep going.

You were playing with Jack on the morning that Arthur was officially healed. Arthur walked toward you and Jack and was smiling. He’d let you cut his hair while he was healing, but he wanted to grow his beard out. There was something a bit different about him now. The time he spent resting allowed him to do a lot of reflecting. He was wiser now, and stronger. He finally looked put together again. He was wearing a red shirt with the sleeves rolled up and light wash jeans. He looked very handsome to you. You loved to watch him play with Jack. You caught yourself imagining what a good father he would be, but then snapped out of your pointless daydream.

“I’m gonna head into town later,” Arthur told you. “Help Dutch with some things.”

You were the slightest bit annoyed at his show of loyalty to Dutch but knew you had no real reason or right to be angry. Arthur was going about his normal business that he’d always done before he’d gotten captured. It didn’t bother you before. The time you had spent together during his healing was so intimate and delicate. It affected you and you wondered how much it had affected him. Maybe you just needed time to get back into the normal routine of things.

Unfortunately, that couldn’t happen. Only a few days after Arthur’s full recovery, the law had found your camp. They tried to make a deal with Dutch and he refused. They left, promising to be back with 50 men. At that, Arthur and Charles went out to find a new camp location. You helped everyone quickly pack up over the next day and get ready for the move. Arthur and Charles returned, saying they’d cleared a huge abandoned house. You couldn’t believe it had been years since you called a house your home. Sure, the area was swampy and humid, but at least it was warm and the land was beautiful and secluded. The camp was happier for a while, but of course that never lasts. You thought you’d escaped the problems in Rhodes, but the Braithwaites had other ideas. They kidnapped Jack in the night and handed him over to a rich and dangerous man in Saint Denis. Dutch, Arthur, and John set out to find him. You tried to comfort Abigail as best as you could, but there was no consoling a mother whose child was missing. You loved Jack, too. He was a great kid and your friend. If those idiot Braithwaites could steal Jack in the middle of the night without anyone knowing, this camp was obviously much more vulnerable than you thought. You kept your gun and axe on you at all times now. You were very alert and could feel it affecting your stress level and emotions.

The men finally returned with Jack, safe and sound. Everyone in the camp could breathe again and you spent that night drinking and singing by the fire. At first you had a spot by yourself by the fire, smiling at the happy gang. Arthur came up behind you and nudged your shoulder blade with a beer. You looked up and smiled at each other. He sat down next to you and you clinked bottles.

“Nice job getting Jack back. I can’t put into words how relieved everyone is that he’s home and safe,” you said.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we hadn’t gotten him back,” replied Arthur. “I hate to say it, but this whole thing brought that family a lot closer.”

You looked at Arthur intently. He met your gaze and quickly ran his tongue over his bottom lip. You gripped his bicep and shook him a bit with a smile. He smiled back and took a swig of his beer.

The next day you decided that if you were going to ever have a chance of leaving, you’d have to start saving up more of your own money. You were going out alone a lot more often and Arthur noticed, but didn’t question you.

Arthur thought of you even more than you thought of him. He thought of how smart, gentle, and beautiful you were. He thought of how careless it was of him to develop feelings like this and become vulnerable. This was a dangerous life and he knew he could lose anyone at any moment. He couldn’t stop himself from getting closer to you. You were his best friend. Your presence was one of the few things that elicited genuine smiles from him. When you were resting or otherwise busy, he’d spend time with your horse, talking to her and brushing her. When you caught him doing it once, you smiled.

In the following months you had gathered quite a lot of money for yourself from hunting and scavenging. You hid it in a lock box inside a hole in a tree by the house. You were just putting it away one evening when you heard a scream. You ran to the front of the house to see Kieran’s body and decapitated head propped on a horse that was sent into camp. Your hand went to your gun. Then O’Driscolls began emerging from hiding spots, one after another. You took cover behind a shed and saw Sadie running toward you with her gun out. You and Sadie took out O’Driscolls one a time until you saw Arthur sprinting through the cross fire to retrieve you and Sadie.

“What are you doin’ out here?!”

“Takin’ care of these dumbass O’Driscolls!” replied Sadie.

You all sprinted inside and finished off the attackers. You cleared the area all around the camp and made sure everyone was accounted for. Nobody was hurt, but you were all a bit shaken. The attack strengthened your doubts about Dutch and your thoughts about leaving.

That night you lied awake even after everyone had fallen into restless sleep. You stared into the crackling fire in the fire place and ran through the events of the past few months. You tried to convince yourself that things would work out here. You couldn’t help but think that there must be a better life somewhere. A life where you weren’t in a constant feud with another gang. A life where you weren’t always checking that nobody was following you home or trying to scam you.

You lifted your blanket off yourself and put on a cardigan over your knee length nightgown. You padded to the staircase and quietly climbed up to the second floor. Your felt your heart beating harder, a lump in your throat, and butterflies in your stomach. As carefully as you could, you opened Arthur’s door and stepped inside his room, but the floorboard creaked. Arthur turned on his side and saw that it was you in his room.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He was visibly concerned.

“Nothin’.” You shook your head and tried to give him a comforting look. You took a breath and focused on what you needed tonight. At this point, in this world, nothing mattered but for you to be held by Arthur Morgan. You walked over to Arthur’s bed and got under the covers as if it were natural. You turned on your side, away from Arthur, and grabbed his arm to wrap around your waist. He was still and puzzled for a moment, but then relaxed into the embrace. He brought his chest to your back, his knees to the back of your knees, interlaced his fingers with yours, and rested his lips on the back of your head. There was so much warmth shared between the both of you. With his lips gracing your head, Arthur whispered, “You sure you’re alright?”

At this question, you thought of how wonderfully ‘alright’ you were in this moment. The satisfaction of sharing such genuine affection caused you to tear up. You nodded in response to him. When he lowered his nose to the crook of your neck, you shivered at the tickling sensation of his scratchy beard on your shoulder. Your squirming caused you to push into his body more and he held you tighter and began tickling your sides. Your shared laughter was so childlike and joyful. You turned to face him and he allowed you to grab hold of both of his wrists, finally stopping the tickling. You released his wrists and he cupped your face and kissed your forehead. You wrapped your arms around each other and exhaled in the pleasure of feeling affection. You talked for a while, and then had the best sleep either of you had in years.

Tags: @igotshinee

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 fic #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fanfic #read dead redemption 2 fanfic

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talysings · 5 years

Text

Recovery Interrupted

So I returned from the Sagolli, and I saw that the Ashen Enclave had their clinic open. Considering the state I was in physically, I decided it would be wise to have them give me a look-see. And I figured while I was there, I could ask about having a test run to see if I am able to have children.

I still don’t know whether I should have kits, whether from adopting or from pregnancy (assuming I am even able). I’ve thought about it in the past, but usually only a passing thought, as I was on the road so much. Lately, I think about it more often, as I’ve written before. But I also have concerns.

In the first place, if I decided to do something like this (and I’m only thinking, I’m not doing anything imminently), I would most likely be admitting that I am going to be alone for the rest of my life. I mean, I have friends, but I doubt anyone will be too interested in dating me if I have a kit at home. It’s not like they are knocking my door down to date me right now, after all. And if I was able to ruin things so spectacularly with Vylette, with whom I had so much in common, how likely is it that there is someone else out there who also wouldn’t mind an already-burgeoning family? So, by doing this, I would sort of be closing the door on the remote possibility that I might meet someone. I’m not sure I am ready to close that door yet.

Second, I am sort of questioning my motives. Yes, I’ve thought about children in the past. I think about them a lot in general—children, I mean. I think it’s because of the way I grew up. It’s why I donate to orphanages. I want them to have a better life than I had, to have better chances. I’m not criticizing my mum, she did everything she could for me. And I think . . . I think I could be a good mum. I know I’d really try. I know I’d love them. But . . . my question is, is the reason I’m thinking about this so much lately because I am afraid of being alone? Am I trying to plug a hole in my life by having a child? Thinking to myself, well, here’s someone who has to love me? I don’t think so, but . . . it does seem like the kind of thing one might hide from oneself.

Third, I have obligations at the Palazzo. I’m not sure how they would feel about me being pregnant, which would clearly limit my performances for some time. I have responsibilities there. They might not feel like they could keep me on retainer if I can’t contribute. And without that, I would definitely have to go back on the road more often, which would also be difficult if I were pregnant. I don’t know, to be honest, I didn’t read the contract that closely when I signed it, which was probably unwise. I was just so excited to receive the offer.

So, I guess I have to figure things out before I make any decisions. But I wanted to know all the options, so I visited the Ashen Enclave, as I said at the beginning. S’hayla was there, which was nice, as I was nervous and she was a familiar face. And she and Abelaire, who I also know a little bit, took me to an exam room.

I told them I had been through some difficult physical experiences lately and wanted to make sure everything was in the same place. They checked me out and found I was super dehydrated, so they injected me with fluids, and gave me some vitamins and such. But, they found no permanent damage, which was a relief. They said I should go home and relax for a few days, no exertion until I ran out of the vitamins.

So I asked them to run the test. I explained that I had been assaulted when I was 14, and that it had not been treated at the time, so I wasn’t sure if permanent damage had been done. Abelaire offered to get a female chirurgeon if I would be more comfortable, but as S’hayla was there, and she was being so comforting, I felt all right about it—especially as the test wasn’t going to be long.

I’ve seen S’hayla around for ages. She goes to a lot of the same events as me. I have often thought about introducing myself, since I saw her so much, but of course that didn’t happen. However, since she brought Mana to meet Savo and I was there, she and I say hello to each other when we show up at the same place. So, better late than never, and it was nice that a friendly face was in the room for this test.

I won’t get the results back for a while. I guess I’ll have something to think about when they come in.

When I went upstairs, Fhey was in the atrium, no doubt trying to pull some sort of scam on the staff. With her was a tall, dark Keeper who I discovered was her sister Ayelle, in from the North Shroud. They were arguing about something. I didn’t get all the details. Fhey asked if I was headed home.

I had thought about dropping by Epoch to see Vylette play, but I thought she would be in the middle of her set by the time I got there. Also, although she came to see me before I left for the desert, I wasn’t sure how she would feel about me being in the audience. I decided to sit in the back so as not to be a distraction of any kind. I probably should have gone home, considering the instructions I had from the Ashen Order, but . . .

I looked a sight. My skin was dry and peeling, I had sand encrusted on my clothes . . . I hoped I could find a dark corner, but I went. Fhey and Ayelle met me there. I gave Fhey some gil for drinks, but I just wanted water. Vylette was already playing, as I had feared. Her playing was magnificent, of course. She has a pretty devoted group that seems to show up every week, one of whom . . . well, maybe I’m wrong. But their gaze . . .

When Mai and I parted, I never saw her again. Not because I was avoiding her or anything, but we just never ran into each other again. I’ve never seen her at an event, or bumped into her on the street. Perhaps she went to Othard . . . I know she had things she wanted to deal with there. Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen her since. So I have no idea how it would feel to run into her after everything now. Would she be friendly, or bitter? Would I be either of those things?

I’ve seen Vylette twice since . . . well, since what happened. I wondered if after the desert I would feel differently toward her. It doesn’t seem like it, my heart still feels how it feels. Hopefully it’s easier for her. Sometimes, I wish I could get drunk.

So I made it home, took my vitamins and slept. When I got up, I spent the day doing a whole lot of nothing. I read, I napped, I ate, I drank soooo much water . . . I went into my hot spring outside and relaxed.

Now, for some people, this might sound really good. But I’m not used to being so inactive. I like to relax after doing something. Not training feels odd, for instance. Maybe I don’t want to be pregnant after all, considering the obvious limitations that would eventually place on my mobility.

I was suddenly attacked in my hot spring! Now, to give myself credit, between the noise of the water flowing in the hot spring itself, and the sound of the waterfall nearby, I did not hear them sneak up on me. It was Ayelle, and she was looking for Fhey, and for some reason was convinced I was hiding her. She threatened me with a sword.

I was not in the mood to be threatened at home. She had grabbed my hair and dragged me into the house, and I looked for opportunities to disarm her, which eventually presented themselves. We ended up scrapping all over my house—quite literally, there is mud everywhere, things are broken, everything was knocked out of place, my brand new mattress got ripped open and feathers are everywhere—it was bad. Finally, I gave her a dragon kick to the midriff and she sailed down the stairs into the basement.

I stumbled down to where she lay, and took away all her weapons. I tied her wrists, then set about treating her wounds. She had a fever, so I put a cold cloth on her head and changed it when it warmed up. I am no chirurgeon, but I know a few things from the battlefield, and from patching myself up on occasion. She had a gash on her head which I sewed up, and her shoulder was dislocated. I gave her a belt to bite down on, and popped it back into position. Then I gave her some fish soup and water.

I only did any of this because she was Fhey’s sister. I was now covered with scratches, and had needed to exert myself when I was supposed to be recovering. This means it will likely take me longer now to get ready for my trip to Meracydia. So I am annoyed with Ayelle for attacking me unprovoked, for not listening to reason, and for calling me a liar under my own roof, in addition to slowing me down in my pursuit of Regier by adding to my recovery time. Grrr.

Fhey showed up then, of course, because why not? I won’t get into details at this point, but it has something to do with a task Fhey’s people have for which they need her, and Fhey’s unwillingness to go and do it because they have treated her poorly in the past. I cleaned myself up and plopped onto my brand new, all-torn mattress and told them to work it out for themselves. And I went to sleep. They were gone when I woke up. I have a lot of clean up ahead of me.

Maybe there are downsides to having a family after all.

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #balmung #balmung rp #t'ahliachelewae #wardensgaze #abelaire-cygnnoire #ashen-enclave #palazzoaldenard #fheylahaken

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stuarttwiss2018trailride · 6 years

Text

Day 22. Upsala, ON to Dryden, ON. 200 miles

A day that starts cold but with the warmth of a good breakfast with new friends. It gets very interesting with willing co-workers to join in the adventure before a long drive to Dryden, arriving just after dark

I don't think days like this one come along very often but there's more chance of them on the trail.

Kam and Jacob are kind enough to buy me breakfast and we exchange contacts in the hope of meeting up again.

As Kam and Jacob leave it begins to add rain to the 9°C and mist that is our morning weather.

My fingers are already cold in the rubber gloves I am wearing to keep my leather gloves dry when I pump gas 10 miles down the road.

Kam and Jacob are there again, I can't seem to shake them, but this is the only gas for miles!

I turn off 17 and head up logging roads towards the network of lakes and the tracks that serve the fishing and hunting lodges. I am on Ramblers Road, a good road, for about an hour and a half until it turns left onto another old railway track.

A sign says 'washed out in 3 miles' and I go to check it out. Stopping to photograph another stunning scene of water and trees a couple in a pick up stop and tell me the washout is pretty bad. As it's only a couple of miles to it I carry on past a couple of pretty painted cottages that remind me of Finland.

The washout is a a 30 metre gulf of water. Too deep to ford. I start to review routes out. Like a maze puzzle I have to find a route from A-Z through a network of trail lines. I am still puzzling over it when an old grey pick-up slowly comes up the trail.

We introduce ourselves through the window. I tell Murray my problem although it's quite obvious.

We agree that a route North isn't possible and that the only go-around is to completely retrace my tracks of the last hour or so.

Murray says that, 'If we were here in 2 months then there would be a new trail across made by a trapper.' I think, 'That's helpful!'. He adds, 'You could make it if you had a boat too.' I'm direct in my reply, 'Look Murray you have just given me two 'what ifs' and I'm not here in two months nor do I have a boat!'. With a grin Murray says, 'I have a boat!'

We take a few minutes looking at the banks of the washout and the climb down and out of the creek that the bike will need to make. It does look feasible.

Murray says, 'You could ride around for up to 2 hours or we could get across in a boat in 30 minutes.' The plan is made, the contract is sealed and I follow Murray back to his cottage in the trees.

Susan, his wife greets us with their retriever, Sable. Susan has a lovely smile and is, if anything, even more enthusiastic than Murray and I for this adventure.

Murray has a business like approach to things and as soon as we arrived he had started unloading the water he has been carrying in his pickup for the garden trees. I have been thinking as we drove back to the cottage and suggest planks and straps are needed.

We lift the boat off a woodpile and in to the empty back of the truck and Murray tells me to raid the woodpile whilst he gathers bags of tangled ratchet straps. The boat is surprisingly light and yet robust and we load it with everything that can come off the bike

Susan joins us and we head off, me following the boat and grinning in my helmet.

There is no internet but possibly cell net if I stand next to the cottages I had seen earlier. I try but cant speak to home so I send a 'paused for a while all is well' message on my Spot.

We weigh up the possible launch sites. Some are too far from the washout, others too wooded or steep. We agree that the washout edge is probably best as is a small inlet on the receiving side.

We are working well as a team. We are open about our concerns, explicit about the options we have and keep moving forward, focused on the challenge. It's fun and we are excited.

We keep on talking about everything we are thinking. This talking though our thoughts and sharing what we are concerned about serves us well throughout the day.

We decide to do a dry run to ferry my bags to the other side. This goes well and Murray is clear about when to paddle. The inlet we had spotted received the boat well and my confidence about the bike landing grows.

Getting the bike up and onto the railway line looks harder but possible if we pull from the top with straps. We look carefully at the routes but in the end decide to get the bike over to help solve the problem

Murray goes for Susan and Sable and as he leaves it occurs to me that he and Susan now have my bike! I share this with Murray and he promises me that this is the way their scam plays out!

Sable swims across. Susan joins us then Murray and I go for the bike.

The boat has to be stable so with two lengths of joined straps fastened to the front of the pick up we rig it nose forward into the creek. Planks are laid onto the transom and I begin to roll it aboard.

Murray shares his concern about the centre of gravity, I am worried about the mass and the wind. A solution comes to Murray to lie the bike on its side and as soon as this is done everything feels less of an issue. Adding the planks and pausing for a photoshoot we are ready to go. As a final confidence boosting precaution Murray ties a rope and floating stick to the bike as a marker and asks if I can swim!

The trip across takes seconds and we are soon pulling the boat high up and propping it on a small bough for stability.

Having laid the bike on its side we can get planks under the tyres and with these in position I can run the bike onto a see saw of planks off the prow. We've made it! We are so pleased with ourselves!

The bike is on a narrow beach, now it has to be lifted up onto the track. The washout itself is steep but looks to be the best bet if we use planks wedged onto a rock. As Murray arranges the planks he slips in the loose sand of the slope and I decide to move to the other side of the bike.

The rear wheel of the bike is already in the water. I make an error. Moving around the front of the bike will mean getting my trousers wet so I go around the front. As inevitable as gravity the bike falls and is lying on its side in the water. I lift the bike, getting my trousers wet whilst doing it.

The bike doesn't start. I take off the panels and the electrics are soaked. I fiddle with wires and try repeatedly to start it. The Lithium battery holds up well but the bike will not start.

Murray suggests that we get the bike up top and work on it there. Susan has found a better route up and Murray and I manhandle the bike over the big rocks at the water's edge to its new position.

Murray and Susan arrange a web of straps between two trees and the front of the bike and we begin the haul up. It's hard work but easier than we had expected. The final obstacle, a large boulder, is overstepped using the ratchets. We now have the bike back on track. Pleased as anything I promise hugs, like it or not, when the bike starts.

I have never had to sort out a drowned bike before. I have seen people turning them upside down etc but I am still puzzling over the solutions.

The bike is drying out in the sun, but slowly and Murray thinks we can speed it up if he goes to the resort a mile away and picks up an air blower.

Susan is sensibly sat in the shade and we share a Gatorade and trail bars and things about our lives. Susan tells me about her children, her recovery from two cancers and how Murray needed a pee and discovered their cottage. She talks about life in the woods, the terrible day her friend's Chow cross got caught in a trap and how such things give you strength. The dog survived. Susan's view of hunting bear has changed since she saw a mother helping a cub up into a tree. Murray hunts ethically, refuses to hunt with people who don't and uses the boat to do so.

I am randomly tinkering with the bike, trying different things and I open the airbox. A quart of water pours out! Ahh, it's probably not the electrics but rather water in the chamber. I remove and dry the air filter and mop up the water sat in the box.

Murray is back in a pickup truck with John a bear hunter. He's got a yellow compressor canister and we update him on the water from the airbox and start another approach, swapping out the spark plug. The old one is wet and replaced with a new spare. I have high hopes of the bike starting that are dashed immediately.

We try the bike upending but realise we need more help. At that moment Mike turns up with his ATV. He offers to help but then remembers his brother and their bear hunting plans.

I don't think we will see him again but soon he returns and with more hands we upend the bike and......nothing!

As a last gamble it's suggested that we try a bump start and I rig up the tow strap and Mike hauls me on his ATV. It's a half mile later when I hear the engine note change and then it rises and splutters into life. Mike is beside himself, as am I, and we high five.

I race back to Murray and Susan and my gear, racing the engine and pressing the horn.

I'm so pleased that the engine is running but becoming sad that our time together is almost at a close.

As I lash my gear Murray adds to the story of the cottage and how one of the three original owners was met and shared an old album from before Murray's birth. One picture in front of an outside camp kitchen has Murray's first manager and his Dad in it!

Murray has promised to update the TCAT lead, Ted, when the trail is up and running again. I promise to pass on details.

In a few hours I have come to love this wonderful pair of companions and we hug out our farewells. They leave with Sable who had patiently watched the whole effort and grown up silliness.

From the other sides we wave our farewells and I am off, glad to go but saddened by leaving.

The trail is as Murray has advised. This time his time estimation is accurate, which I remember I should add to his assessment, and I am at the junction with the road to Sioux Lookout in an hour of riding down the old railway.

It's still sunny, Murray has advised that the difference between this route and the direction of Dryden is only 20 minutes so I go for it and arrive in Sioux Lookout for gas and my next meal of wings and dip at a convenience store.

I ring ahead to my Airbandb and promise arrival in an hour. It's road all the way and dry up until the last 10 minutes which are in the dark.

Nathalie sends her son Daniel to show me the cottage.

The shower is some way off and and the bed a little soft but it has duvets and I can't stay awake except to text a 'thank you' to the team.

What a day!

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aphroditestummyrolls · 2 years

Text

I have made the executive decision that, for the next forty minutes at least, I do not hate myself. My body is fine, and I am grateful that it is healthy and functioning. I’m going to keep it healthy by doing this workout right now. It doesn’t matter what I’ve eaten today, or how much, because that is irrelevant to my working out.

I am grateful for my body. It’s just a part of me.

#tw eating disorder #tw anorexia #tw discussion of food #tw self hatred #recovery is a scam yet here i am trying again #I am trying IM TRYING

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mementosrp-blog · 7 years

Photo

( KIM YUHWA )

ALIAS › lily

FACTION › ada

( PERSONA )

BACKGROUND : delicate beauty. gentle grace. endless power. the proud queen possessed it all. her pride was her downfall, her power useless when faced with humiliation, with the foolishness that love brought — love also almost came to cost yuhwa’s life; the pretty little girl in her pretty little dress with her pretty long hair and chin high up, elated with pride and power brought by influence and wealth. love and trust was her downfall and had it not been for the fair queen’s sedulous and protective core aligning with her own stubborn wish to keep fighting they would have never came to form a bond. titania; she carried the delicate beauty of a frail flower and the powers of a restless warrior.

ABILITY/ABILITIES :

– flower manipulation: titania has the ability to control, shape and manipulate all blooming plants; turning, for instance, vines into vicious grips and thorns into weapons as sharp and lethal as daggers.

– sleep manipulation: she can induce and manipulate aspects of sleep in others. it’s possible for her to induce instantaneous sleep or tire someone out to have them fall asleep a more natural way. it’s also possible to force anyone sleeping to wake up regardless of the circumstances, which can come in handy should they put themselves into a dream like state for health recovery.

WEAKNESSES :

– the flowers are still fragile and delicate and therefore not especially durable, as well as incredibly susceptible to fire and ice attacks

– personas with strong mental abilities can’t be kept asleep for as long as she wishes and are sometimes able to control for how long they sleep or even, in some cases, if they’re affected at all

( STATS )

Knowledge : [ 6 / 25 ] Guts : [ 10 / 25 ] Proficiency : [ 14 / 25 ] Kindness : [ 3 / 25 ] Charm : [ 17 / 25 ]

— BACKGROUND

the white water lily « floating along restless waters ｡｡｡ »

⁕⁕⁕

｡the root ⁕

the flower seed was sown on soiled ground, poisoned and soaked with blood. there’s many secrets her family hides, many nooks and dark corners in the vast house she grew up in that hid grotesque memories of unresolved and restless lives.

yuhwa is the youngest child, the only daughter.

she’s wild, not passive; loud, not meek.

disapproving glances follow her wherever she goes. there’s loud voices and and harsh slaps and cruel punishments and as much as they try to get yuhwa to bend, she doesn’t break. there’s stubbornness in her, a fighting spirit that wants to grow and spread and entangle her roots deep within the earth.

⁕⁕⁕

｡the stem ⁕

yuhwa grows tall, like the stem of a lily. her shoulders are squared, her eyes are focused and she learnt to bend with the strong wind but not let it break her.

her family’s wealth and importance grew with her oldest brother’s marriage and while her parents and siblings all dinned at the table with laughter and music, she still had her place on the floor. it still hurt, deep in her chest, it still felt tight and uncomfortable to watch them, still stung bitterly in the corner’s of her eyes with each and every unshed tear. she’s still young and her voice only grows louder as she grips at her mother’s sleeves and desperately wails ’why’.

the answer never comes.

her hands are slapped away.

the girl locked into her room and sedated with pills as colourful as candy.

⁕⁕⁕

｡the leaves ⁕

she’s wild, they say. too savaged, like a beast. unrefined. a flower that bears thorns, too thick leaves with prickly ends wrapped around a delicate flower that had yet to show herself, had yet to bloom. yuhwa searches for love and encounters nothing, but rejection. she has three older brothers and three monsters living underneath the same roof as her. they push her down a staircase, try to burn her hair, try to look her into closets and crush her arms and legs between doors.

yuhwa learns to live with disgust cast her way, like she was marred and disfigured to a point of no return. she wasn’t even sure when it started, but remembered feeling tender touches and small affections as a young child. memories turned to dreams and yuhwa doubts her own mind, at times, thinks she must be going insane.

she’s only fourteen but lays awake late at night, gnawing her fingers bloody, her whole body restless and jittery as she stares straight at the ceiling of the cellar and tries to distinguish what was real and what was imagination.

why was she different?

she looked like them, she moved like them - didn’t she?

⁕⁕⁕

｡the flower ⁕

the flower blooms a year later and yuhwa doesn’t realise what the consequences until she’s shoved along dark corridors and into a metal ring. there’s an audience, loud cheers, a blinding light and an opponent. she didn’t know how to fight, but she was quick and small and pain was her teacher. bruises bloomed along her skin; sweat slicked, cut and dirty.

from the corner of her eye she always sees her family cheering and sneering at her pain and suffering - she’s nothing but an animal to them; a mean of entertainment.

it breaks her heart and it breaks her trust and it takes her a year to find titania and finally break free.

⁕⁕⁕

｡blooming ⁕

with sixteen years of age she’s living on the street, scamming and stealing, just to get along. she lives from one day to the other, spends nights falling asleep with a rumbling stomach and tears dried on her cheeks. her heart hurts, her chest is heavy - yuhwa knows how to bend, but not break. survival was what she was trained for, fighting for her life was what she became used to.

it happened purely by chance that a man she attempted to scam invited her to his agency. it’s a job he plans to offer her, but it’s advice and help she gets after he finds her age and living circumstances. yuhwa learns about support from the government, about how minors had to be taken care of and family.

she’s placed within a patchwork family with two other children and smiling adults.

two years pass in the blink of an eye and yuhwa enjoys a warm environment with people who care for her growth and education. the agent who had helped get her off the streets had ended up offering her a job again as soon as she turned eighteen and yuhwa accepted it without hesitance.

she cut her hair, moved out, keen to support herself instead of mooching off her adoptive parent’s.

modelling earns her just enough to get by, but it’s when the government finds her and the ADA is formed with her that things really start to look up.

yuhwa is twenty-one and the flower is finally blooming.

⁕⁕⁕

{ diary of a beast -

17.1.2011

it hurts. my fingers are all bloody and my nose and cheek and shoulder are throbbing and i can still hear them cheer on and on and on and ON

i didn’t stop when the girl beneath me started screaming, i couldn’t, i was too scared. i’m sorry. i didn��t want to hurt her but i had to, i had to. i’m scared and i just want it to stop but begging and crying was useless. what did i do that they hate me so much? i tried to be good but being good didn’t make them love me. they always look at me like i’m a nuisance, like they don’t want me here. why not?

mother used to tell me i’m too feisty and too aggressive. i threw too many tantrums. i fought with my brothers too much. a girl doesn’t kick and throw punches she used to say but today they forced me to do just that.

gladiator brawls. there were so many people and so many kids. younger than me. older than me. they’re saying it’s either them or me. i don’t want it to be me, it hurts too much. i keep screaming and crying but nothing happens. i’m scared they’ll lead me there again.

⁕⁕⁕

3.4.2011

i hate them so much. i hate each and every one of them.

fighting has become easier by now. girls are weaker but they last longer, they can take more. the boys’ punches hurt more but they’re easier to hurt too.

i avoid looking at mirrors. i don’t think i’ll like what i see a lot.

the bruises are all fading but i feel like a monster. i’m being treated like one.

⁕⁕⁕

19.6.2011

i want them to hurt too.

i feel like i’ve been fighting my whole life. it’s always been a fight with my brothers, against them, for my parents’ love. it all got me nowhere, right? so why am i still fighting?

because i want to survive.

⁕⁕⁕

27.9.2011

something…. weird happened today.

i felt lightheaded and weak and i was losing. there was no energy in me. i just felt cold and my arms and legs felt so heavy. it was scary but in a way it was also relaxing. for a moment i thought it was nice to not have to fight. i wanted to give up.

and that’s when it happened…. like vines there was something wrapping around my limbs. it was weird. i couldn’t see anything but it was like there was a really soft touch, almost warm, and a really really faint voice but just for a moment.

i probably just imagined it but it was a good enough wake up call, it made me feel like i had some energy still left in me.

i’m taking that as a sign to continue fighting no matter how tiring it is.

⁕⁕⁕

2.12.2011

i don’t feel so lonely anymore. it’s like whenever i have a moment of weakness that warm touch comes back and that faint voice tries to talk to me. i can’t understand it properly and i can’t really hear what it’s saying but i think it’s the voice of a woman. when i’m back in my room i try to think who it could belong to but nothing comes to mind. sometimes it remind me a bit of how mother used to be when i was really really young but that is such a far away memory that i’m not even sure how much of it is actually real.

i don’t know if the voice and the touch is real either, but i like to think so. it’s like my very own angel that’s here to protect me.

i’ll show her, i’ll show them all that nothing will ever destroy me.

⁕⁕⁕

8.1.2012

titania. that’s her name.

it almost feels like a dream.

i had no chance today, i should have lost. i had used up all my adrenaline, i had used up all of my energy, i couldn’t move and everything was blurry and getting darker. i thought i had fainted but…

when i opened my eyes i wasn’t in the metal ring anymore instead there were dark walls and giant flowers and weird monsters. i heard her call out to me and i rant to her, i found her and i immediately knew that there was no time to be weak. giving up wasn’t an option. failing isn’t an option.

i refuse to be treated like a monster. i refuse to be kicked around for entertainment like a mutt.

i’ll take my life into my own hands again and now that i have titania by my side too nothing can stop me. i’ll grow up to become a queen. }

#MT!RP: accepted #MT!RP: follow

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